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had wished to see what I loved most. And the lake had shown me the
Beast and me together. But my eyes had not understood the image
my heart rendered at my own request, for I had not yet learned to
look with the eyes of love, the eyes of the heart.
I lifted my right hand and turned it over to gaze down into the
palm, at the place where the young man in the vision had pressed his
lips. I felt a fine tingling begin there. Spreading out toward my
fingertips, up my arm. It was the same sensations I experienced when
a piece of wood began to share its secrets. The sensation the
Heartwood had denied me for what felt like days without end, save for
one moment only. The one on which the Beast and I had held it
together.
 Oh, of course, I said aloud.
 Belle? Grand-père Alphonse said.
 The Heartwood, I replied.  I tried so hard to see what it held
within it, to find the face of true love. And all the time, I was going
about it the wrong way. Looking for the wrong thing.
 It took two, I said.  Two different people to make the
Heartwood what is it. Two different experiences, grief and joy,
combined. True love never had just one face, does it? It must always
have two, or it isn t true love at all.
 That s why I couldn t see anything, no matter how hard I
looked. I was only looking for one thing, one face. I forgot that, to find
true love, you must look with love s eyes.
 I think, Grand-père Alphonse said,  that you have grown very
wise all of a sudden, ma petite Belle. What will you do with such
wisdom, I wonder?
  Go back, I answered at once.  He let me go because he loved
me. I see that now. He gave me what I wanted most. He let me leave
him. Now I have to go back and finish what I started. But first I must
talk to Papa.
I stood up and started for the barn.
 You are sure, Belle? my father asked a short time later. Following my
startling pronouncement in his workshop, Papa had insisted we all go
back to the house. Despite my sense of urgency, I had agreed. I had
left my family once without saying good-bye. I would not do so a
second time.
 As sure as I can be, Papa, I replied.  I think I understand  I
cast a quick look in Grand-père Alphonse s direction   that I see the
truth now. I understand why I could not read the Heartwood before.
 But you think you can now, my father said.
 Yes, I answered, just as I had in his workshop.  I do think so.
I looked around, at my family s shocked and sober faces.  I can t leave
this unfinished. It isn t right. But even more, going back is what is in
my own heart.
 Well, then, my father said into the startled silence that greeted
these words.  I think that you must follow your heart and go.
 Roger, how can you say such a thing? my mother exclaimed.
 How can you let her go into danger a second time?
 I m not so sure she s going into danger, my father said, his
eyes on mine. There was not a trace of worry in them now. As if
learning what I held in my heart had freed the pain he d carried in his
the whole time I d been gone.  Perhaps she never was.
My father shifted his gaze to April, sitting at Dominic s side.
 I remember how April looked, he went on quietly,  when we
did not know whether or not Dominic was coming home. Perhaps the
greater danger lies in not finishing what is started, in carrying
unanswerable questions all the days of our lives. And I think, finally,
that I will put my trust in my daughter ahead of my own fear. I will put
my trust in her strong heart.
 But he is a Beast, Maman protested, though I think even she
knew that she had lost the argument.
 And Dominic was once a thief, April spoke up.  Not everyone
ends the same as they begin, Maman. Papa is right. Belle s heart is
strong. Give it the chance to find its own way. Let her go.
 Oh, very well, since I see I am outnumbered, my mother said
waspishly, but I saw the sheen of tears on her eyes.
 Thank you, I said as I went to kiss her. I turned to face the
rest of my family.  Thank you all.
And so I set out to fin the heart of the Wood through no other
enchantment than the strength of my will, with a power no greater
than that which I carried in my heart.
I never would have made it, but for Corbeau. For it seemed to
me that the Wood did not welcome me back. I had injured one it
claimed as its own. The path turned and twisted where once it had run
straight. Unexpected branches kept sweeping across it, as if to knock
me from the back of the horse. A cold, sharp wind blew straight into
my face, although it was early summer.
But Corbeau never faltered. I laced my fingers through his
mane, closed my eyes, and held on tight. And so, throughout that
long, cold night, I searched for the home of my beloved not with the
eyes of the mind, but of the heart.
We came to the iron gates just at dawn.
The young woman still stood, one broken hand outstretched, but
the right-hand side, the one with the image of the young man, had
completely tumbled down. It lay in pieces on the ground. At the sight
of it, a terrible fear seized my heart.
 Fly, I urged the horse.  Fly, Corbeau. Take me to him. Don t let
me be too late.
Through the ruined gates and along the avenue, we flew,
clattering up the hill and into the courtyard.
 I m here. I ve come back. Where are you? I shouted. And it [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]