Mason and Rebekah
Currently about 220 pages into Mason & Dixon, and I'm really struck by how warm and playful the chapters focusing on Mason's relationship with Rebekah are. Of course there's so much sadness and melancholy and longing there too...but when Mason is telling Dixon about how they met, or recounting their picnic date upon the hilltop, there's just so much depth of feeling between them that I can't help but want to stay up there with them, and then a few passages later, hold Mason close, and mourn her, too.
Perhaps it's their banter, and the homey way they tease each other and kind of disappear into their own world, the way she calls him 'Heart...or the way both of their inner worlds rest in the others'. I'm sure there's more I'm not seeing or understanding here (and maybe it will develop in a way that's not so heartwarming later on), but at least right now, I just want to cry with Mason, and listen to him talk about Rebekah, and the inner world they created and shared together. It's the same type of gentle warmth and rhythm that I love from Bloom and Molly's introduction in "Calypso" in Ulysses (how she calls him Poldy!), despite any sadness or distance that's latently there.
I mean, does it get more lovely than this? (from pages 208-209):
"They found a Hill-Top and pick-nick'd. Mason, she had already notic'd, search'd ever in the smoky distance, beyond the Observatory, and the winding of the River, for the East India Docks. 'Do you dream of the far Indies?' she ask'd finally. 'I do. I wish we might go.'
He'd been in fact just about to tell her. It delighted him, this wordless Transgression of Cause and Effect. Aloud, 'So we might.' And her face turn'd to him. 'What are you doing on the sixth of June 1761?'
Innocently expectant, 'Oh, I'd have to look in my Calendar of Engagements...Are you inviting me off to the Indies, then?'
'Sumatra, if we're lucky.'
'If we're not?'
'Dunno. Hounslow Heath?'
'I meant,--would you go alone? Leave me here?'
'Twould have to be together.'"