“I've always loved the story of that mountain,” she nodded at the darkening silhouette on the edge of their panoramic view. Dusty red rocks stood stark against the green tangle of pine. “Have you ever heard it?”
He shook his head, his eyes still fixed on the small box open between his fingertips. She sighed softly, watching birds swoop over the river, fighting noisily in the cement foundations of the bridge for a roosting spot.
“Red Mountain. My favorite story as a kid, although I forget where I heard it.” She twisted her hands in her lap, slowly cracking each knuckle. “Anyway, as the legend goes, the Mountain fell in love with the Dawn.”
He exhaled disbelievingly, raising his head to watch children skip across the bridge, dragging parents by the hand as the traffic roared overhead. She continued to stare at the mountain, the clouds behind it blushing lemon and lavender.
“Mountain loved the Dawn with all his heart. But she was too high in the sky to notice him. Mountain vowed to have her heart even though he was so far on the earth far below her.”
Behind them, neon signs flicked on, buzzing with insects. He turned his head with a slight smile, watching couples wander past on the cobbled street, hand in hand. Her eyes flashed to the box in his hands and back up to the bruising sky.
“Mountain tried to get the Dawn to notice him. He gave her wildflowers, blue and violet and yellow, and they would open their petals when she arrived and smile with all of their glorious colors.” A bicycler raced past, the wind whipping a single second of labored breath and flapping jacket into their ears as he flew by.
“What color would you call the sky right now?” he asked, joining her distant observation.
“I don't know, purple or something.”
“I would say it's more like salmon and robin's egg.”
“Although the flowers were very beautiful, from up high they were nothing more than little pinpricks of color in the forest, and the Dawn couldn't see them. And so, she did not notice Mountain.” There was a shout of disgust and amusement as teenagers paused to spit off the bridge into the river. She watched to see if the drops made a splash in the torrent of murky water, he smirked as the teens playfully slapped at each other. “Mountain decided that his flowers were not enough of a show of his love for the Dawn. So he gave her birdsong, so that the sparrows and jays could fly up high into Dawn's warm embrace and sing of her great beauty.”
Both started in surprise as soft piano music picked up from one of the bars behind the bench. “Nice timing,” he nodded at her lightheartedly.
“This song is overplayed,” she retorted dryly. He let his gaze drop back to the box, salmon and robin's egg twinkling in the velvet. “The birds, although they sang with all their voice, could not fly high enough, and thus the Dawn did not hear of their song, or of Mountain below.”
A small family wandered past, the father juggling a bubbly toddler, the mother smiling softly as she stroked her swollen belly. Behind them, two girls with shocking hairstyles and various piercings linked arms and shared a secret look between them.
She picked dirt out of her fingernails. “Mountain was becoming distraught that the Dawn would never see him. In vain, he cut out his heart for her, using the river as his blade. The water ran red with his blood.”
He watched an elderly couple hobble past, the man never pressing ahead as the woman took painstakingly slow steps with her walker. She paused with her story until the couple had passed.
“Mountain gave his heart to a cloud to send up to the Dawn. The cloud took it, for Mountain had often sheltered him for sleep. But as the cloud carried Mountain's heart higher and higher, the blood began to stain the cloud a bright crimson. By the time the cloud reached the Dawn, he was drenched in Mountain's blood.”
He closed the box with a silent lament. A train thundered past, splitting the dusk with a piercing horn. The sky darkened, the pink and blue growing dusty and gray as the sun dipped behind the mountains. She cleared her throat quietly as the rumble of the train was replaced by cars on the bridge overhead. “The Dawn was enraptured with the cloud's gift and fell in love with him instead. Each morning she paints the clouds red to show her devotion before the Sun can bleach them white.” He cast her a mournful frown, tucking the box into his shirt pocket when she did not meet his gaze.
“What happened to the mountain?” he asked, his voice rusty.
“Mountain left his chest open and bleeding, for his heart belonged to the Dawn and no one else. You can see it, the mountain is shaped like someone carved out a piece, and it's all red inside,” she concluded tersely. Both watched the moon crest elegantly over the river; an icy eyelash in the deep sky. “I guess it's an adequate poetic description of an alluvial fan colored with iron oxide.”
He stood wearily, shoving his hands roughly into his coat pockets. “I guess it is,” he muttered, stepping carefully around the bench to let her watch the moonrise alone.
