Title: La Figlia Che Piange
A/N. Lines and title from T. S. Eliot's poem by the same name (it translates to "The Girl Who Cries"). "O quam te memorem, virgo," means, "O, how should I call you, virgin." I don't know all that many details about Billie's past, so no wank? Just a little drabblet to get me back in the swing of things.
She turned away, but with the autumn weather
Compelled my imagination many days,
Many days and many hours:
Her hair over her arms and her arms full of flowers.
“I forget,” he says, his fingers on her wrist, “That you were married.”
She just looks at him with those big brown eyes. God, what a girl.
“Well, I mean, Bill, you’re so young.”
His eyes are on her, watching her fingers comb through her tumble of hair. His mind is drawn inexplicably to the little leather-bound volume in his musty and barely-used apartment. The words come to him as if from a dream. Stand on the highest pavement of the stair, lean on a garden urn – weave, weave the sunlight in your hair.
When she smiles, it’s sharp and sad at the edges – just a touch. “I was never really young, David,” she says, and he remembers: she grew up under those hot lights, tight body and glossy teeth and a hungry belly. God, he thinks again, troubled. She should have been a child.
“I wore white.” She says it as if from a great distance, but then she catches his eye and grins. The teen sex symbol in lace-edged silk, the big church wedding - oh, how wickedly irreverent. He smiles back, flash of teeth, but thinks, O quam te memorem, virgo?
“You don’t talk about him,” he says, looking at her from under his bangs in that way of his.
She sighs, and puts a hand to his cheek. “It was a long time ago,” she says.