Trinity

by Leon Uris

“All we have ever shared,” she said, “is a room, a bed and a little time. We have never shared the sunlight or the wind or the feel of rain. When we were together it was always so temporary we never had the time to be ourselves. Love can’t mature in one room.” “What happened”, he asked. “One night, I found myself laughing. I laughed and laughed until I had tears and pains in my side…..I talked to Blanche and told her about all the peculiar sensations I was going through and I asked her what was wrong with me. She said, ‘My God, Shelley, you’re just happy, that’s all”.
David Kimberley realized he had never made her happy. He had given her pleasure from time to time, but what they had shared really was flight from mutual disenchantment.



“…I’ve lived in limbo, Conor. Limbo is no place for a man to exist. Its living death, worse than death, praying for death.”



Atty neither budged nor acknowledged his presence. He played his fingertips down her back and over the curve of her hip. No response. He rolled away, onto his back. He knew she was awake, stuffing it in, would never show a tear. “You are mad at me and you’ve every right to be,” he said. “A little, not too much,” she answered.
“I don’t know what’s the matter with me. For three weeks, I’ve been looking forward day and night to seeing you…and then I go make a balls out of it”.
“It’s natural enough,” Atty said. “You’re all pent up with no one to let it out on. You’ve got to cut it lose on me, I suppose. I understand.”
“I don’t know how much of this guff you have to take,” he said. “Just because you get drunk once in a while, I’m not letting you go man. Besides, I’ve poor little pride where you’re concerned.”