EPILOGUE.

I suppose I should speak of my last encounter with Hamsa. It was in the Dreaming, of course, but he did not see me. Instead, I watched him from afar. It had been several weeks since our last encounter and I wanted to see how he was doing. I assume he must have travelled to Ataiyo, because his dreams contained ornamental cherry blossoms and pagodas, amongst other things.

But in the centre of things was Hamsa, sat at a café table, much like the one he had sat at, that first time I bought him dinner. The weather was grey and everything seemed unclear, almost as though he were trapped within a dense cloud of fog. Opposite Hamsa sat a figure, very much like myself. He reached out to take the figure's hand, but every time he did so, something would interfere. Sometimes he would find himself eating more food, or the figure wouldn't be there, or someone would say something to him, or some other form of distraction.

The dream continued for a while. Every attempt by Hamsa to make some form of contact was averted. It was as though he were at war with himself. He grew desperate and for a moment I considered helping him, but I did not. Instead, I left. I know the rules. I was foolish to think I could bend them.

You see, there was a price to be paid. He could have had happiness with me. But the strict moral controls that were a part of his upbringing were too strong. Fear outweighed love, I suppose. Hamsa did not dare accept my love in any world other than fantasies, as he saw them. Only in his dreams had it been possible for him to be who he really was, without fear.

And now Hamsa had tossed that chance aside, he would remain at war with himself, unable to accept who he was and unable to be the man he wanted to be. All that remained was emptiness. True happiness would evade him until he learned to accept himself which was likely to be for the rest of his natural life.

It was a heavy price to pay, but it was one he paid voluntarily. His punishment is to be alone. My punishment is to know that I am the cause. I am a wretched creature, to think I could have saved him, body and soul. It seems my power is only to save one or the other. Not both.

Such exquisite torture, but it is a torture we have devised for ourselves.

After all, don't we all construct our own versions of hell?