Sword of Aquarius
a romantic political tragedy novel by Rolf A. F. Witzsche
Volume 7 of the 12-volume series, The Lodging for the Rose

Page 40
Chapter 9 - Gethsemane.

Chapter 9 - Gethsemane.





      Right in the middle of our work in Mexico, I was once again called away by Fred, for another mission. This time I was send to Canada. Fred called it, "an urgent mission." That was all that he revealed. He said that the rest was classified. He told me that I would be contacted in three days in Vancouver, at the University's Chan Center for Music, after the evening concert. "A ticket has been reserved in your name. Don't miss the concert!" he said. "A lot depends on you being there," he added.

      The mystery became instantly clear when I arrived at the concert hall. The concert was performed by a Norwegian quartet. Mozart, Brahms, and Schubert were on the agenda. The violinist, according to the poster was Olive Osipov.

      I looked at my watch, it was seven thirty. I could imagine Fred grinning, as he probably realized that I realized, whom I was to meet. Just about then, the cell phone rang. Fred just laughed and laughed. "So you made it in time for a change," he said and laughed once more. After that, he became serious. "Peter, you are not there for a picnic. You are there for an urgent mission. Don't forget that!"

      As for myself, my focus was on Olive for the next three hours. This time, I could feel that she was playing for me. They all were. Sylvia's singing came to mind, when we first met. I had been at every one of her performances. Now, I felt the same again. I fell in love with her all over again through Olive's music, through her playing for me. This effect seemed hardly possible, but it was so. There was something alive and sparkling about Olive and her music, which came to life through her playing.



      No it wasn't any personal magic that made her appear like that. Olive Osipov is a woman who embodies the qualities of universal love fully; more fully than anyone I have ever know. It flows from her soul through her music; through her manners; through her smiles; through her looks; through her gestures. She is the dynamo of love.



      After the performance, during the applause, she was met on stage by a group of children who presented a bouquet of roses to the musicians. The children chose Olive as the recipient. I was surprised to see the children; to see children at an evening chamber concert, and more so, to see them on stage. But, there they were. Olive was moved to tears by their gesture. She crouched down and embraced every one of them. She enveloped them with her love. It was there, on stage, that I saw as it were for the first time in my life, the glow of a love that one might call the real 'mother-love,' the kind of love that I realized I had not attained myself as yet. There was no 'distance' between her and the children; no vertical separation at all. The flow of love between them was a lateral flow; a meeting, gently, heart to heart; a meeting between many, but of one Soul.

      It appeared that in this flow of love, the flow of the music that the trio had performed, continued. It was reflected in it. It was elevated to a higher order by it.

      After Olive had embraced everyone of the children, she stood up, handed the flowers to the pianist, and while the children were still on stage, she picked up her violin again and played a special solo piece just for them, a piece I had never heard before. She played not for the audience primarily, but for the children. One could sense that she did, but one could also sense that this unity included nevertheless everyone, too. It confirmed the unity of the children with the audience. Afterwards, the entire trio played for the children.



      When Olive and I finally met in the lobby, as arranged, the same embrace continued, only with a different focus. I felt honored to be included in this embrace that still continued, even as I felt as if the music still continued on.



      We stayed at one of the smaller hotels that night, an old place overlooking the harbor. The booking had been prearranged. The view from the nearby late-night cafe, high above the city, was a sea of lights in every direction one looked. Our continuing 'embrace' in the restaurant, surrounded by this sea of lights, was carried forward by the same music that still continued on in my thoughts. It was the music she had played for the children, and for all of us as well; the music that reflected the real 'mother-love' which gave the flow of love a special sparkle.

      There was no focus on sex in this embrace, even though, on a higher plain it was a sexual embrace in its totality. It was an embrace that unfolded on that higher plane where all lower aspects lose their significance, so that only that which is of substance, remains. I began to realize in this embrace, as we talked and kissed and smiled at one another; that it might have been Olive's love and its effect on me after our meeting in the Alps, that had helped pulled us out of the rut in those days before the Caracas Conference began that Olive had arranged for us for this purpose. That's just the kind of woman she was and always had been as far as I could remember.

      Olive's is a kind of love that, if one is touched by it, seems to rest on everything; pervades everything; unites everyone; is echoed in everything that is good and beautiful. I felt it as a love in which Anton and Nicolai became alive again as a near presence; a universal presence that envelops one; a presence in which their face still shone as brightly as ever and promised to continue forever.



      An amazing atmosphere unfolded between us, a leisurely atmosphere that somehow reflected what Anton and I had pioneered in Caracas, and later in Siberia. Only, it went beyond that. I felt no urge whatsoever, to rush into any kind of sexual intimacy, nearly a year had passed since we had seen each other in a setting where this was possible. The short time that we had spent together in Caracas had been too brief, even for a hurried kiss. The pace now was like a luxurious eternity leisurely drawn out moment by moment, hour by hour. Nothing was rushed. Nothing needed to be rushed. I saw her inviting smile, the soft outline of her breasts. They held a promise, and I knew that promise would not be betrayed. So, why should one hurry along? The moments were beautiful and satisfying as they were. I felt like someone who starts eating his pie beginning at the crust and leaves the best for last, in order to have the taste linger on.



      "What is the urgency of our meeting?" I asked Olive when we were leaving the late-night cafe.

      "The urgency," she repeated and laughed. "The primary urgency is, that we have another honeymoon again. Just the two of us, for a week. The secondary urgency will become clear to you by the end of this week."



      She was rather mysterious about it all. Even our final destination remained shrouded in mystery. Nor would she tell me at the hotel.

      I didn't mind the mystery, of course, with her steering the ship. Indeed, the next morning we were off on our way by ship, or rather by ferry boat, across the Strait of Georgia to the city of Victoria at the southern tip of Vancouver Island. Half way through the ferry ride, crossing a narrow passage between several islands, I commented on how timeless everything appeared. I suggested that the old weathered rocks, overgrown with pine forests and other types of trees, probably looked the same a thousand years ago when no one in Europe even knew that this land existed.

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