BLACK WIDOW

latibule

latibule
(n.)
a hiding place; somewhere no one could ever find you

•••

"London... its just the place I live to be. It reminds me of the light in my dark place."

•••

Seeing London again was an entirely new experience for Natalia. The first time she had meandered the snowy sidewalks of the capital of England, it had been Christmas Day, two years ago in 1950.

The sky had been dark and the stars had shone through the falling snow. It was cold and dry, which had reminded her of Russia. There were bright and beautiful decorations of scarlet red, shining gold, pine green, and luminous silver hung tastefully in every place that was able to support such extravagant things. There were marvelously decorated Christmas trees in the windows of every shop and twinkling lights hung aglow on every snow-kissed rooftop. The landscape was in celebration. The streets were empty after the long day's celebrations and everyone had retired for a long, peaceful night's rest. And in the distance, the happy beats of parties and soft lulls of hymns could be heard by the listening ear.

And now, the air was warm and humid. The storm had died down a bit, but rain still sprinkled freely. In every patch of grass, vegetation flowered at it finest. Dogwoods had bloomed and oaks were as green as an Irish landscape. Daffodils, primroses, and violets were scattered around the city, whether they were in pots or surrounding the trees.

large bells chimed in the distance as smiling people and chattering families bustled about in their spring Sunday attire. Stores were open, large windows broadcasting their goods, whether they be clothes or spring decorations. Bakeries, diners, and cafes had their door propped open, letting the sooth, inviting odoors disperse in the afternoon air.

Men dressed in sharp suits could be seen entering and exiting doctors' and dentists' offices and banks with a briefcase in hand and stylish hat on the top of their head.

Cars of all shapes, sizes, and colors honked and rumbled about the roughly used London streets. Some people were in hurry, anxious to get to where they needed to be, while others strolled with leisure. Natalia observed couples walking hand in hand. She watched fathers hoist their young children onto their shoulder as mothers looked lovingly upon them. She also saw busy men and women who ran about with hands full and worried, yet determined faces as a result of jobs and errands thrusted upon them.

She watched how all these people went about their day, whether they were silent and determined, distant and distracted, jovial and talkative, or angry and scolding. All these people had a story. They all had a story just as interesting as hers. Just as interesting as James's. And now they were all interconnected. Today. Right here. Right now.

What she was observing for the first time was pure and unaltered life at its most beautiful. Now that she was free, she took the time to observe the freedom in others. The way family, responsibility, love, and hurt drove life on. She finally was forced to think about herself and James. Now that they were free, they had to decide were they would find themselves among all these different people with lives that have poetic meaning and interesting stories.

Would they blend in the busy bodies with jobs and a reputation? Not likely. As James had already said on the boat. Anything like that would have to wait. Would they fall in with the happy families? No. Gaining connections and bonds was the absolute last thing they could do while on the run. Would they become the next couple of beggars on the street corner who gain the reputation of either a sob story or someone who is too lazy to work for a living? Natalia certainly didn't want that.

She finally concluded as she looked around at all the sights of London that she and James would have to fit in by creating their own. They didn't have to have a family or a job or a reputation. Natalia was sure that all they needed was to simply exist under the jurisdiction of only each other.