It was not a fox.
“Koen!” I lifted my hand to my mouth. “Van!”
They stopped, staring—two pairs of eyes, one as brown as maple syrup, the other as green as spring buds. The boys were pressed up against a tree. No, Koen was pressed up against a tree, and Van pressed up against him, his hands knotted in Koen’s hair. Their lips were bruised pink and slick with saliva. I had interrupted something—Koen had just begun to lift the librarian’s shirt, exposing the bronze skin over his hip. But they were both frozen now, save for the heavy rhythm of both their chests.
My voice broke out into an incomprehensible syllable. I wheeled back—away from the tangled heart of the forest, away from the boys and their tryst. I saw Koen untangle himself from Van. He reached down to grab his coat from the muddy ground. That’s when I turned and ran.
I didn’t know where I was going, but it didn’t matter. I knew that I could outrun him. After all, I’d done it before. The ground was soft with pine needles. It seemed to fall away as I ducked between the trees, tears streaming down my face, my coat flaring up behind me. I told myself that I would run far, far away from him, lose myself in the forest at the heart of the ship, that I would never see him ever again as long as I lived if I ran fast and far enough.
It was a stupid, stupid hope. For one thing, the Asherah was so little. There was no avoiding anyone. For another, after only a few minutes of running, I heard the approach of pounding footfalls. A pair of strong hands reached out, grabbing me by both shoulders. I was pulled to the ground.
“Get off me!” My words came out in a screech. It was Van who grappled with me, locking his muscular biceps around my arms in some sort of wrestler’s hold. I could smell the pine on his hair and the cedar on his breath. Koen’s smell. The smell of kissing Koen.
“Get off!”
“Tsssshhhh.” He let out a soft hiss of sound, giving me a firm, strong shake. It reminded me of how my father would grab Pepper by the scruff when the cat swatted at him. It wasn’t a violent gesture; it was supposed to be calming. Now I was the animal. I gritted my teeth.
“There,” Van said. “There.”
Koen came running up to us. He stumbled over a few gnarled roots, reaching out to steady himself on a branch. Then he stopped, watching me fearfully. At the sight of Koen, I felt Van’s grip loosen for just a moment. That was my chance. I squirmed out from his strong arms.
“What are you doing?” I demanded. Part of me wanted to strike out, to come at them all furious teeth and nails. I was better than that, but just barely. I struck a nearby tree trunk with both fists instead. The bark burned the heels of my hands. “What are you doing? I was going to marry you!”
Koen didn’t look at me when he answered. He didn’t dare. His voice was no more than a whisper. “We weren’t doing anything. You still can.”
I let out a howl. Collapsing on the cold ground, I drew my knees to my chest, braying, my hands pulled up over my head. Koen called my name. But then Van said: “Let her cry it out.” I heard the soft crunch of leaves as he stepped over me to get to Koen.
I don’t know how long I rocked myself on my heels, crying into my arm. It seemed to take a lifetime for my breath to slow—I kept seeing it in my mind’s eye, how their hips had been pressed together, how Van had wrenched his hungry mouth away from Koen’s only at the sight of me. Maybe I should have realized it a long time ago. The silence in the library. The odd friendship between the talmid clock keeper and the young librarian. But I hadn’t.
“Faygeleh,” I said, the word bursting breathlessly past my lips. That must have been what my father had meant all those weeks ago when he’d warned me of rumors about Van. Abba didn’t know anything about the Children of Abel—but somehow he’d known about this, about the curve of Van’s hip as it pressed to Koen’s.
Men didn’t love men. Sure, some boys had flings with one another. In school we called them “faygeleh,” a word that meant “little bird.” But that was something you gave up when you were grown so that you could be a good husband, a father.
It made sense. It made so much sense.
Sniffling, I lifted my head; they both watched me. Koen clutched Van’s hand in his. I remembered the cool, loose pressure of his fingers around my fingers and fought the urge to look away.
“You love him,” I said. It wasn’t a question, not really, and Koen answered more quickly than I liked.
“Yes.” He looked relieved to say it. But then he added: “I can learn to love you, too, though. Like Van loves Nina. I still want to marry you.”
Slowly, painfully, I pulled myself to my feet. When I answered him, my voice cracked.
“Why?”
I saw something pass between them—unspoken words in a language I wasn’t privileged enough to speak. Van shrugged; Koen turned to me again.
“Because it’s my duty. Because it’s a mitzvah. Because . . . because your dad asked me to. On the first day of work. He went on and on about how much he worries about you. And you know, he’s right. I think . . . I think you need someone to take care of you. And I can do that. I love Van, but I can love you, too.”
“You’ll never love me like you love him.” The words hung between us, as ugly and as undeniable as a tumor. And we all knew it was true. He would never kiss me. Not like he’d kissed Van. I saw the librarian squeeze Koen’s hand, a tiny gesture not meant for me.
“And what about Nina?” I demanded of Van. “Do you love her?”
“I love them both.” There was no hesitation there. “It wasn’t easy to tell Nina about falling in love with Koen. It hasn’t been easy for her to share me. And it hasn’t been easy hiding it either. But life wouldn’t be worth a thing if I couldn’t have both of them.”
“Falling in love with him,” I echoed. The words felt hollow. “That’s the thing, though, isn’t it? You’ll take care of me, Koen. But you’ll never fall in love with me. You’ll never be my bashert.”
“There are different kinds of love,” Koen declared. “And it’s not like we have to love each other that way to get married. It’s not like my parents do.”
“But I want . . .,” I began. Koen stared at me but didn’t speak. A lump rose in my throat. I stumbled toward the main path, through the growing shadows of dusk.
“Terra,” Koen called as I walked by. He tried to reach his hand out, but Van warned him back.
“Don’t,” he said, and I was grateful for that. Still, I stopped just a few meters beyond them. They were still holding hands as they watched me. They’d never stopped.
“I have a question,” I said. Koen looked afraid of what I might say—but he nodded anyhow.
“Sure.”
“I wanted to ask you about the Children of Abel. I guess—I guess this is why you joined, isn’t it? Not because of the vocation system or the Council. But because . . . you’d marry him if you could, right? He’s . . . he’s your destiny?”
As their gazes met, I saw Koen’s soften. He didn’t look at me. That was as good as a confirmation.
A million arguments swam through my mind. A man couldn’t be another man’s bashert. They weren’t even supposed to touch one another, not like that, let alone fall in love. But looking at the two of them standing there with their fingers intertwined, I couldn’t bring myself to say it. Because they stood side by side, leaning into each other. I had the unnerving feeling that everything I’d ever been taught about love was a lie.