The Girl With the Jade Green Eyes by John Boyd Page A

tension it had not achieved since the strings snapped in the high-school-prom debacle. He was looking forward with a teenager’s enthusiasm to a night on the town with the prettiest girl in the school.
    The motel where Kelly reserved their rooms was a two-story Spanish-mission-style structure built around a swimming pool in its completely enclosed quadrangle. One of a California-based chain, the motel retained a California flavor even to two artificial palm trees overhanging the pool. After they checked in, Breedlove, mindful of Kyra’s love of twilights, suggested they drive to the campus of the University of Washington to watch the sunset.
    On the campus few students were abroad on a Sunday afternoon, and he took her on a tour, showing her the various buildings where his classes had been, talking of professors and of student escapades. Passing the library, she remarked, “You must teach me to read, Breedlove.”
    She listened to his stories with a grave serenity so different from her usual animation that he asked, “Why are you so pensive, Kyra?”
    “You are remembering an old happiness, and such memories are sacred. Breedlove, I wish I could have shared your happiness.”
    Her vivacity revived near the stadium. A group of young athletes emerged from the field house, four whites and three blacks, and as they approached Breedlove and Kyra the emanations of their libidos seemed to crest ahead of them. Coming closer, they moved from the path politely to skirt the ranger and the girl, but once past they looked back and whistled their admiration.
    “They approve of you, Kyra.”
    “You earth men come in all sizes, shapes, and colors, and there are so many of you.”
    A boy and girl passed, holding hands and oblivious of all save themselves. The couple elicited Kyra’s first question of the outing, “Did you have a sweetheart when you were here?”
    He told her of the botany student he had courted and the ambiguous end of the affair.
    “Did you suffer pangs of unrequited love, Breedlove?”
    “No, I’ve only been panged twice in my romantic career, and the first was the worst.”
    Suddenly to his surprise he was telling her of the senior prom and about the shyness that kept him from asking the girl of his choice to the dance until it was too late.
    She listened with absurd gentleness, as a mother might listen to some tale of a childish wrong, and said, “Poor Breedlove, too shy to make out.”
    “You learned that expression from Matilda.”
    “Yes. She has a tremendous vocabulary.”
    As twilight drew closer he walked with her to a bench beneath a spreading tree, and they sat in silence as the shadows deepened around them. The old brick buildings grew more scarlet in the dying light.
    “What a beautiful planet.”
    A sadness in her voice transmitted her desolation to him and her wistful longing for home. Above them pale stars were beginning to flicker, and he thought with a feeling of dread of their boundless reaches awaiting her. Reaching out, he took her hand in a gesture of human concern and said, “Kyra, even if it means the personal end of me, I wish you would stay.”
    “It would never mean the personal end of you, and if I could not return your love for me I would stay.”
    She clung to his hand, and her words, though paradoxical, held connotations of a truth he was only beginning to admit to himself.
    “Are you speaking of your capability to feel love, or are you making a more… personal statement?”
    “I speak of both, but for you my feeling is private. You have always been my lover, Breedlove, and you will always be my lover. I am the summer and you are the flower.”
    Moved by the quiet dignity and conviction in her voice, he asked, not in doubt but in curiosity, “How do you know I love you?”
    “You tell me in a language without words.”
    It could be that she was confessing that she could read his mind, and he said, “I’d like to explore that remark over dinner with you tonight at the