Walk With Me (23 page)

“I suppose if we follow the stream, it will take us out of here,” Peter said.

“Are you so sure?” Celeste had come to detest how Peter always was convinced about his own ideas.

“Yes, I’m sure.” He pulled back his shoulders. If there was
anything he hated, it was the way Celeste mocked his sense of direction.

At first the strip of water was narrow enough to step across if they wanted to. With Celeste on one side of the stream and Peter on the other, they started tracking the stream. The water quickly turned foul as it became wider and twisted through the canyon, filling the air with a rotten smell. Without the distractions of the Orchard of Earthly Delights or the comfort of their postcards, Peter and Celeste each felt a dull ache of loneliness that seemed deeper than what they had felt before they had become partners, for then they had depended on the King for comfort. Now they walked as if they were a hundred miles apart. Their steps echoed through the empty hollow canyon, punctuated only by the stones the little travelers threw at bushes clinging to the walls until Peter told them to stop, afraid they might start a rock slide.

When it was time for lunch, they sat on some boulders, Peter on his side of the stream and Celeste on hers. While they ate, they saw a woman walking toward them, right in the middle of the scummy water. She wasn’t wearing cords of commitment, but they could hear her talking to herself, saying, “Where is he? Where is he? Oh my love, come back, come back.” When she saw Peter and Celeste, she became distraught and rushed toward them. “Have you seen him? Have you seen my husband?”

“We’ve only come to the canyon this morning,” Celeste said. “You are the first traveler we’ve seen. But tell us what he looks like, in case we find travelers ahead.”

The woman sat down in the water and started to tell them her story. “What does he look like? When I first met him I thought he
looked like a knight. He had an easy stride and big strong hands, and he was always so considerate—he’d lay down his coat so I wouldn’t have to step in mud puddles. And he had such grand plans for the journey to the King’s City. He was going to travel only on the high roads so he would always have a good view. When we agreed to become partners and travel together, it was the happiest day of my life. Then we had our weaving day and that became the happiest day of my life—until we drank from the chalice under the moon of honey. That was when I began to believe that each new day would be better than the one before, walking with my knight in shining armor.

“But I had fooled myself, for he never had any armor, shining or not—he was just an ordinary man. Soon I discovered he had a fear of heights, so we never did take the high roads he had always talked about. How disappointed I was to plod along in the valleys beside him. The only thing he talked about was himself. Day and night it was always, ‘me, me, me.’ I thought it would get easier when little travelers joined us, but that only made things worse. He didn’t like the way I disciplined them and said I was too soft. And for all of his complaining, he never helped me with them. He just sat around the camp eating and eating until he grew pudgy. Then he turned bald and started to snore every night so I could barely sleep.

“It felt so hopeless because we didn’t believe in cutting our cords. The only thing that kept us together was that he loved the little travelers as much as I did. Can you imagine how miserable I felt, trapped on the journey with such a common, uninspiring partner?

“I never meant to leave him—I swear I didn’t—but how could I help it? One day a knight came by. At least he looked like a real knight, handsome and dashing and wearing shiny armor. He said he was lonely just like I was, and we started going on walks together in the meadows. Then he took me up to a high trail, and it was thrilling to finally see a view. I suppose I knew it was wrong, but I felt so alive when I was with the knight. After all those years walking with my tiresome husband, I thought the King would understand.

“Then one day the knight took out his chalice and offered me a drink. But I didn’t drink just for the sweetness. No, it wasn’t just for that. I loved the way he looked into my eyes as we drank, not turning away like my husband did. I felt so happy then, to finally experience what I had been missing. After that, the knight and I went walking as often as we could. It wasn’t easy; we had to meet in secret. But there are so many little side canyons here that it’s not as difficult as it would be someplace else. After feeling dead for so long, I finally felt alive. When I wasn’t with the knight, I felt such intense anticipation at the thought of seeing him again. And then we would meet and I would see his face light up—” The woman hugged herself, as if trying to give herself comfort.

“Then one day, my husband discovered me slipping off for a rendezvous with the knight. He said I had broken my promise to him and betrayed the King—and if that was what I wanted, that was what I would get. I didn’t feel too sad when he made me leave. In fact, I felt relieved because now the knight and I could go off together as we had always talked of doing. And for a while, walking with the knight was so perfect, it was like being under the
moon of honey all the time. But the excitement didn’t last. I began to notice he had his own faults, ones I hadn’t seen at the beginning when the chalice had been flashing in front of me. That’s when I realized that all I had done was exchange one set of imperfections for another.

“We started to argue and soon he began to stay away for a week, and then for two weeks at a time. Since we didn’t have cords of commitment, what could I say? One morning I woke up and discovered he had left for good. He didn’t even leave a note. I looked for him for a while, but I couldn’t find him. I finally gave up and started out on my own again, but I found the way was much harder by myself. I had always thought nothing could be harder than living with my husband, but I was wrong. I missed him. We had traveled so far together and had raised the little travelers together. I realized that walking with him wasn’t as bad as I had thought. He had always been faithful to me. Maybe he wasn’t the most handsome partner, but he had never abandoned me like the fake knight had.” She started to weep. “I want to walk with him again, but I don’t know where he and the little travelers have gone. I’ve searched and searched, but I can’t find them anywhere. Please, please, if you see my husband, tell him I love him and I want to come back.”

Celeste promised they would. But Peter thought it was unforgivable that the woman had broken her vows, and her husband should refuse to take her back. That was what he would do if Celeste ever left him.

The stream grew wider and then a long rock cut the stream in half, but neither Peter nor Celeste noticed. They had traveled so long as strangers through the Plains of Distance and Way of Winter that, whether they were together or separated it made little difference to them. When Peter finally realized he could no longer see Celeste and the little travelers, several hours had passed. The gentle flow had turned into a rushing torrent, and as the River of Unfaithfulness plunged down the canyon, dirty foam sprayed into the air. Peter suddenly felt very thirsty, but when he knelt by a side pool and cupped some of the putrid water, he could not stomach the thought of drinking it.

Night came. As the faint light disappeared from the canyon, Peter sat by the water’s edge. He was happy not to have Celeste harping at him and the little travelers running around screaming. But he still felt lonely, and he wished there was someone to keep him company. Then, above the roar of the water, he heard a melodic voice saying, “Honey, honey.” He thought he was all alone on his side of the river, but the voice came closer and closer. “Honey, honey.”

“Who’s there?” he yelled. He heard a laugh that sounded so light and carefree, he was sorry he had spoken harshly. In a quiet voice he said, “I mean, who are you? Where are you?”

“Now that’s better,” the voice said.

All of a sudden he felt the warmth of someone sitting beside him on the rock. He was so surprised, he almost jumped up and ran away except the woman—for it was the warmth and the voice of a woman—touched his arm and said, “Don’t go, I won’t hurt you.”

He remained on his guard, afraid that Celeste might have sent the woman to trap him.

“I heard you say you were lonely.”

“No, I didn’t say that.” But he wondered if he had been talking out loud to himself.

“Maybe you didn’t, but anyone who comes down this path by himself has to be lonely.”

“I have a wife. I just am spending the night alone.”

“Then you won’t mind if I just sit here with you. I promise I won’t bother you. But if you want to talk, I’d be happy to listen.”

It had been so long since Peter had shared his thoughts and feelings with Celeste or anyone else. His heart was so full of things to say that the idea of talking with the gentle honey woman sounded appealing. So they sat together for awhile and talked about their journeys. Then the woman stood up. “I have to go. But I’ll come see you tomorrow if you want.” In a flash, she was gone.

When Peter woke up the next morning, he remembered the honey woman and hoped he would see her again. When he got back to the path, she was there waiting for him. He began walking, expecting her to come, but she just stood there. He could see in the daylight that she looked perfectly harmless and beautiful too, with long honey-colored hair and honey-colored skin. “Won’t you walk with me for a little?” he asked.

“All right,” she said.

As they started off, Peter realized how hungry he was because he had not had any breakfast. Before he said a word, the woman brought out a jar of honey. “You must be starving,” she said. She gave him a spoon of honey and as he ate it, he thought he had
never tasted anything so sweet and delicious. Celeste never worried about whether he was hungry and the meals she served him were so unappetizing that he found them hard to swallow. It seemed to Peter that the honey woman wanted nothing from him except to enjoy his company.

“It’s so hard to walk with my wife,” Peter said. “She just doesn’t understand me. She whines and harps on me all the time.”

“It must be such a strain for you,” the honey woman said.

“It is,” Peter said, thankful he had found someone who understood how difficult his life was.

That evening she disappeared again before Peter fell asleep, and in the morning she returned once more. They walked together for another day, splashing at the edge of the water. With the honey woman’s soothing words and spoonfuls of honey, Peter no longer noticed the foul smell or remembered he was playing in the River of Unfaithfulness. The river was becoming stronger and the path was filling with small boulders, but the honey woman started a game of tag to make the journey more enjoyable. As Peter scrambled over the boulders, he thought how Celeste would never have done that; she would have only complained that he had brought her on another difficult path.

Soon he could not imagine a day without seeing the honey woman. He didn’t think there was anything wrong with spending time with her. After all, his chalice was packed away in his bag. What harm could there be just talking with someone? There was no traveler nearby to warn Peter of the danger, and he never thought to take out his guidebook to remind himself of the King’s rules and the Servant’s encouragement. All Peter could think
about was the honey woman and the sweetness of her honey words, especially when the river was too loud and she had to stand on tiptoes and whisper them in his ear.

Once as he jumped over a boulder to tag the honey woman, he tripped and fell into the sand at the edge of the river, and the water splashed on him. Before he knew it, the honey woman was lying beside him. A gush of water showered down on them, and they laughed, not caring that their hair and clothes were dripping with the polluted water. That night, when it was time to sleep, the honey woman did not get up to go. She stayed beside Peter, talking and stroking his hair until he began drifting off to sleep. When he heard her get up and leave, he was too tired from playing to call her back. He fell asleep with a deep thirst.

As Peter slept, he dreamed he was drinking from the chalice with the honey woman. It was such a sweet dream, but when he woke up in the morning and remembered the dream, he was disturbed, for it had revealed his hidden desire. Then the Breath of the King reminded him what the Servant had said: wanting to drink the chalice with the honey woman was the same as doing it.

Peter sat on a rock, holding his head in despair because he knew that was true. Though he had not drunk from the chalice, he had given his heart to another woman and betrayed his vows to Celeste. Worse, the honey woman would be coming soon to spend another day with him, and he had never been so thirsty in all his life. How could he resist his desire to drink from the chalice with her? He wished there was a friend he could talk to, for that would give him strength. But he was all alone by the River of Unfaithfulness.

Peter got out the guidebook from the bottom of his pack and opened it. What he read turned him cold: “The lips of a honey woman drip honey, and her speech is smoother than oil; but in the end she is bitter as a lemon. Her way goes straight to death. She ignores the way of life. She takes crooked paths, but she doesn’t know it.”

What am I to do
? Peter wondered. He kept reading: “Keep to a path far from her, don’t spend any time with her; otherwise you’ll be giving away the best part of your life to someone who is not your wife. If you do that, at the end of your life you will groan in agony. You will say, I refused to correct my way, I would not listen to the guides or the guidebook. And my error will be visible to all my fellow travelers.”