Zelazny, Roger - The Man Who Loved The Faioli

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Roger Zelazny. The Man Who Loved the Faioli

_____________________________________________________________________

It is the story of John Auden and the Faioli, and no one knows it

better than I. Listen--

It happened on that evening, as he strolled (for there was no reason

not to stroll) in his favorite places in the whole world, that he saw the

Faioli near the Canyon of the Dead, seated on a rock, her wings of light

flickering, flickering, flickering and then gone, until it appeared that a

human girl was sitting there, dressed all in white and weeping, with long

black tresses coiled about her waist.

He approached her through the terrible light from the dying, half-dead

sun, in which human eyes could not distinguish distances nor grasp

perspectives properly (though his could), and he lay his right hand upon her

shoulder and spoke a word of greeting and of comfort.

It was as if he did not exist, however. She continued to weep,

streaking with silver her cheeks the color of snow or a bone. Her almond

eyes looked forward as though they saw through him, and her long fingernails

dug into the flesh of her palm, though no blood was drawn.

Then he knew that it was true, the things that are said of the

Faioli--that they see only the living and never the dead, and that they are

formed into the loveliest women in the entire universe. Being dead himself,

John Auden debated the consequences of becoming a living man once again, for

a time.

The Faioli were known to come to a man the month before his

death--those rare men who still died--and to live with such a man for that

final month of his existence, rendering to him every pleasure that it is

possible for a human being to know, so that on the day when the kiss of

death is delivered, which sucks the remaining life from his body, that man

accepts it--no, seeks it--with desire and grace, for such is the power of

the Faioli among all creatures that there is nothing more to be desired

after such knowledge.

John Auden considered his life and his death, the conditions of the

world upon which he stood, the nature of his stewardship and his curse and

the Faioli--who was the loveliest creature he had ever seen in all of his

four hundred thousand days of existence--and he touched the place beneath

his left armpit which activated the necessary mechanism to make him live

again.

The creature stiffened beneath his touch, for suddenly it was flesh,

his touch, and flesh, warm and woman-filled, that he was touching, now that

the last sensations of life had returned to him. He knew that his touch had

become the touch of a man once more.

"I said 'hello, and don't cry,'" he said, and her voice was like the

breezes he had forgotten through all the trees that he had forgotten, with

their moisture and their odors and their colors all brought back to him

thus, "From where do you come, man? You were not here a moment ago."

"From the Canyon of the Dead," he said.

"Let me touch your face," and he did, and she did.

"It is strange that I did not feel you approach."

"This is a strange world," he replied.

file:///G|/Program%20Files/eMule/Incoming/Ro...20The%20Man%20Who%20Loved%20The%20Faioli.txt (1 of 6) [10/16/2004 5:21:31 PM]

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Zelazny, Roger - The Man Who Loved The Faioli

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