Part 7 of the Owl story, part 6 is here

Changes

I became aware of subtle changes in my metabolism. But at first some changes taking place in the appearance of Inga became visible. She was still the beautiful lady of the forest, more so even, since we shared the same lust for blood. Her breasts grew a little heavier, and I admitted to her I had wondered if she was pregnant. To that she smiled, and said she was always in control of her body, and it was the plain truth.

Exclusion

My sense of smell was becoming more discerning, to the extent that I could find Inga, by her scent, in a crowd of people (we avoided densely packed spaces, and visited town mainly at night. Yet we once lost each other at the opera – we both loved the classics – and I found her at once through the throng, following her scent.) I realised also, at the dojo, that my physical strength was growing steadily. My coach told me one day to moderate the energy I was putting into throws, or face exclusion from the club. I was astounded. 

Inga came with me on errands through town, and she did it to be with me, for she was no city lover. In town she wore the most discrete of her garments, making herself unnoticeable, anonymous, her hair covered with a scarf, or wearing a dark hat. Yet I was wondering if others, some others, saw us for what we were. Were they others like us? She really liked only the oldest parts of the city, the churches and cemeteries we could visit, the parks, and in there, the most solitary places. We would sit on a bench, away, she sitting on my lap her legs around my waist, kissing for ever.

Old cemeteries

She was interested in the old Jewish cemetery in Weißensee, which we visited many times. We could have been hindered by closed gates, as we tended to go out after dusk, but we became experts at opening locks and climbing walls. She knew some parts of the city, mainly north and east, that were unfashionable and somehow neglected. We visited the museums, her favourite was die alte Gemäldegalerie, where we would spend hours looking at the medieval paintings.

Winter

Winter was approaching. Our apartment had changed too: many more plants, the smell of herbs and old wax candles. Our love making became longer, slower, and at one with our feeding on each other. The perfection of it was no longer troubling, I was living in a dream. At one stage I may have had doubts about our right to behave the way we did with each other. For a while I even felt guilty for the way Inga was: hadn’t I caused her to became what she was? Was I her persecutor?

Outsiders

Her family looked healthy and “normal”. I admitted finally that we  – Inga and me – were not. We were outsiders. But she could read my mind, her eyes were telling me we should enjoy our lives, the way we wanted to live, that we were independent, even if different, that we were beautiful. I gradually realised we were now communicating with fewer words, and then always in dialect. But we were still reading to each other, late, until we fell asleep, rarely before dawn. 

Family

A few weeks after our visit to Marco and Viktoria, one late morning, as we were slowly waking up, we talked about the wolves. I was saying how extraordinarily beautiful they had appeared to me. Inga was silent for a while. Then she said: “They are family too.” And then added: “I want you to meet them, closer.” We worked the rest of the day, on my research, on her journal, planning the trip we had decided to make to the deep forest. In our daily life I no longer saw myself as Inga’s lover, but as part of her, another side of the being she was, and so it was, we anticipated each other’s gesture, desire, appetite, we were achieving symbiosis.