Dark equals White.
What a dunce he had been with all his tomfoolery, his jovian disputes. It had been clear from the beginning.
Yet wait. White had appeared very late in the game. There had been intimations. The quarrels. The disputes. The bad timing. It had not been until he had sensed, vaguely sensed a need for, or a lack of, the Whiteness. Until he had attempted t ease this knowledge into place. Until he had recognized the wholeness of White. It had taken some catching up and a degree of modesty unusual for him. Also a humility to accept Dark’s real even urgent need for White. And we must take into account the habits and customs with which Dark and he had surrounded themselves in their heretofore impenetrable bachelorhood.
Sunrise was streaking the river with thin morning colors. These slender tippings slanting on the water were, he realized, paler hues of the sun setting.
He walked over to her.
How pale you are Miriam, Eve, how white you are. Leaning over her he divided her hair into equal parts.
I think I’ve found the way.
Art from the cover of this novel (collage by the author).