As they live through a sandstorm of truly biblical proportions, the two, who still have not acknowledged their mutual attraction, fall asleep together in the same car only to awaken the next morning nearly buried, obviously brought closer together by the catastrophe. And when they discover a prehistoric cave the object of Laszlo's expedition where ancestors of all humanity left their trace in art, they are reminded of the reality of transitoriness, of death, and the everlasting human yearning for beauty. In this dramatic setting, Laszlo and Katherine are keenly aware that they represent a mere incarnation of the ancient pattern. Herodotus, the father of history, reminds them of the fact that their own lives like all others are merely tiny chapters in a magnificent, tempestuous tome. That background cannot but add to the sense that their union is both irrevocable and hauntingly beautiful.
Genuine passion implies both splendor and torture.
In both ways time expands and ceases to be a measure. In love, everything is two and everything strives to be one. Love is especially powerful as against the horror of war, the exploding mines that kill randomly regardless of ideology or moral worth, as if God had suddenly forgotten all sense and reason. The beauty that emerges from the love of two human beings who find each other absolutely splendid and irresistible, becomes almost sacred. Actually, it is sacred it is the essence of life.