seshat's blog post - The ice factory - part 5 of 5 - the end

After a few months, John feels at home in the old ice factory, which in bygone days used to supply the ice boxes of the city. He knows the old-fashioned ammonia cooling installation inside out. When he sleeps, the rhythmic creaks and groans of the machinery echo in his dreams, guiding him.
In the workshop, the worn surface of the oak table smiles at him with a familiar face. The series of instruments on the table no longer frightens him. He even has his own toolkit, given to him by Genevieve after finishing his first sculpture. What’s more, he no longer complains about the single yet inescapable rule of his mistress of apprenticeship: ice should be touched and worked with bare hands.
He enjoys sculpting at her side, around this shared table. When she hums and murmurs as she works, nothing exists except the ice and an unknown ache inside him is soothed.
He nevertheless vaguely senses that something is missing.

---

One evening, as John enters, he wonders if the air-conditioning has broken down, as it’s warm in the shop. Genevieve greets him with a knowing smile.
“I hope you’re on form today. I’m going to teach you the essence of ice sculpting.”
“Will you show me how to make the ice come alive? I want my sculptures to breathe and burst with life.”
“You already know how, John. With some practice, you’ll even surpass me. No, I’ve already taught you everything about the birth and life of the ice. Now it is time to discover its death. It’s the real reason why you came to me.”

With these words, Genevieve lowers the shutters. Through the slits, the setting sun draws orange bands on the walls. She lights a few candles on the table where a miniature mountain range rests and invites John to sit next to her on the ground. They lean against the wall, side by side.
“A real ice sculptor must fall in love with the ephemeral. Tonight we will watch this sculpture melt until it disappears.”
She takes his hand.

In a few hours, millions of earth years pass by. As mountains peaks, glistening in the darkness, transform into rolling hills, John discovers Genevieve’s body with his trembling hands. There is a melancholy gleam in her eyes that he hasn’t seen before.
The drops of water falling to the floor are as many tears shed for life.