In the Lion's Den

The Aftermath of a Kiss

Simon's heart was beating fast as he tried to catch his breath when darkness surrounded him again.

He had only been able to pull away from Bess when he had felt that familiar pang in his throat. The signal that had warned him for years that the old man was approaching, just moments before he heard the thuds of his cane on the kitchen floor above his cell.

Had he felt it the nights before? Probably, but it had not been of significance then.

It was of significance now as her scent of soap and roses still enveloped him, reminiscing her mother's rose garden in Somerset.

105. It usually took him counting to 105 slowly before the old man would enter with yet another atrocity.

He started counting.

One, Two, Three, Four, Five.

Bess would have about a minute to hide in the wine cellar.

It was not a lot, but she could do it. She had always been good at playing hide-and-seek.

Six, Seven, Eight.

He had been searching for half an hour, combing every corner of the military compound under the hot afternoon sun. Slowly a panic crept up in him.

'This time I won't find her', he catastrophized, 'she'll be lost and I'll be sent away'.

He did not want to be sent away, not from the one place where he felt safe - as safe as one could feel while daily risking one's life on the North Indian border.

Safety for him meant being around people who respected and cherished him.

People, who reacted predictably to his ways of being and sometimes surprised him with a kindness he couldn't possibly have predicted.

People, who accepted his decisions even if they were not what they had suggested for him and who needed him as much as he needed them.

He would happily risk his life everyday if it meant he could stay with these people.

The panic was followed by the sudden idea of a bush he had not inspected yet - and by cries of joy as the little girl exclaimed:

"Finally, Simon, I was beginning to think that maybe you wouldn't find me and I would win this time, but then I would have stayed the night under here and do you think one could eat those worms to survive a night out in the bush?"

He laughed and pulled her out and told her that even if one could, there would be no reason to stay the night in a hideout outside and that a proper dinner always was to be prefered, because a proper dinner included dessert.

That's what made her promise that if ever he hadn't found her by nightfall, she'd remember that she shouldn't worry her mother and that dinner would have dessert and thus, come out on her own even though it meant defeat in the game.

He already knew that the next day she would convince him to play hide-and-seek again and he'd grudgingly allow it, knowing he couldn't really tell her no.

Instead he made a mental note to find out if these worms were indeed edible.

He would make a fool out of himself if he asked the local people such a trivial question - but then again, he could count it as valuable knowledge for the regiment, bettering the chances of survival for anyone being separated and having to fend on their own.

Regardless he would teach her how to make a fire when alone in the wild to roast those worms - he gathered that if they were indeed edible, they'd be better roasted.

And then she hopped alongside him to her parents house and said: "Tomorrow you have to hide and I have to search. How shall I ever learn how to find you, when it's always you looking for me?"

Eighty-two, Eighty-three, Eighty-four

They had never played it that way. And she had found him anyway.

She had found him, and she had kissed him.

She had held his hand and placed a soft kiss on his lips and all the self-restraint he had been able to keep up for all those years had fallen away.

He had made an utter fool of himself by kissing her back.

Kissing her as if he was drowning and she was his lifeline.

He was drowning.

And she was his lifeline.

Even if she hadn't meant it.

Even if he couldn't let her be just that.

No. He wouldn't think about the implications now. He wouldn't think about the problems ahead.

Ninety-nine, One Hundred, One Hundred and One

Think about something good.

He would remember her scent and her warmth and the feeling of her lips on his.

He would remember how utterly she made him feel like the man he was.

He would be reasonable and calm and use his negotiation skills to persuade the old man of the madness of his scheme.

The old man was too mad to be persuaded of the madness of his scheme.

But Simon would stay calm and state his point.

And he would talk as an adult to an adult.

Because he was a man and he had been kissed by the woman of his dreams and nothing would make him feel like a little, scared boy today.

One Hundred and Five, One Hundred and Six, One Hundred and Seven.

The old man should be there by now. Had something held him up? Had they found Bess?

Was he allowed to feel like a frightened adult while expecting the worst?

When the door finally creaked open again, there was no commotion behind it, just the tap of a cane.

Simon let out a breath he hadn't noticed he was holding.

Just to panic again when he realised someone was missing from the scene.