The Bridge - @Short Story

The Bridge - Part 2

The Bridge               

by sloanranger

Part 2

His family had emigrated from Adra, in West Bengal, India, to London. Their only desire had been to give their son a chance at a better life. It hadn't worked out as they had hoped - despite their lavish new home and the fortune in jewels they had brought with them, it was not enough. Jewelers or no, they were common tradesmen as far as Lizzy's father was concerned.

"It is unthinkable," her father had said, at the end.

Wealth was not enough to affect the way Lizzy's parent felt about allowing his daughter to marry an Indian. Even had his skin been lighter in caste, the mere location and parentage of his birth had been enough to disqualify him as a prospective husband for his daughter.

Their only meetings had been on the morning walks Lizzy was in the habit of taking with her aunt.

She'd sat on a bench in the park beneath a huge sycamore tree for an entire summer. Amrit walked by her several times and after the third day, tipped his hat in courtesy. Thereafter, each day he circled the park and then seated himself on a bench the opposite side of the path as Lizzy and her aunt.

Long, earnest looks developed over the summer. Finally a chance presented itself when her aunt's parasol had fallen from the bench. He had immediately crossed the path and retrieved the parasol for her. Profuse in her gratitude, her aunt made introductions and the next few days were bliss for the young girl and her suitor.

Amrit spoke of his love for England and for his homeland of West Bengal, in India.

"I love England, Miss Lizzy - but I miss the colors of India," he said. "My country is full of light and color."

Of the places Amrit had seen so far, he loved Paris best. He told Lizzy of all the lovely sights there: the statues, Notre Dame, the Louvre, the parks... and the many bridges crossing the Seine.

"Ponts, they are called - the bridges," he said, excitedly. "The views from these bridges are incredible.  And the most beautiful things, are the swans on the river."

"Swans... on the Seine; oh, Amrit, really? I can't think of anything more lovely."

He nodded, smiling. "They are magnificent," he agreed. "But there is nothing there... or anywhere -  so lovely as you," he said quietly."

The girl looked down and pink suffused her neck and cheeks. "You are kind, Amrit." She replied softly. "But it must be a wonderful thing to be so beautiful and to be able to fly, too."

"My people believe one can have lifetimes as other creatures ...swans, even."

Lizzy laughed a little. "I don't know about that," she said.

"Neither do I, really," he smiled. After a moment he said. "On the Seine, they come so close, that sometimes and you may feed them."  

Serious then, he looked down at her. "If God grants, I will take you to the Bridge one day, and show them to you."

"I would like that very much, Amrit," she said shyly, looking up at his soft black eyes.

"It is settled then," he said, laughing. "We shall meet on the Pont au Double, the little bridge that takes us straight into Notre Dame."

 "Yes," Lizzy looked faraway. "It is settled."

(To be continued).