The golden hand cleaned Shay’s pearl-like skin. She stared blankly at it as her head thundered between emptiness and thoughts of betrayal.
How could mother do this to her? Inviting strangers to the keep. It had always been quiet, just her mother and father, and the servants. Nana and mother educated Shay through books, dusty lesson plans that had sat on the shelf, unused, for ages. The script on the pages was meticulous, she remembered. She often wondered what hand could generate something so exact and uniform.
Nana ignored the question. Mother always sighed wistfully, closed her eyes and saw some other place on the insides of her eyelids.
“Another time. Another life.”
They proclaimed her unnaturally bright as Shay sped through the lesson plans. They were supposed to last for almost 16 years. She devoured them in ten and was left hungry still, though there was nothing else to learn. Not on the page or in books.
All of their teaching, all those beautiful plans hadn’t prepared Shay for this.
“Child, where’s your head?” Nana asked sharply.
Shay looked at the old woman. “What?”
“You’re clean as death. Now get out of that tub.”
“Nana, I’d--” Shay paused to control the tremble of panic in her voice. “I’d like to dress myself.”
Nana stared down at Shay, her face lined with worry. With a sad smile, she peeled the handkerchief from her head and bowed, offering her hair to Shay.
“Take your pick, child. I’ll knock when you need to get out and dress.”
“Really?” Shay bit her lip and rubbed her hands together in anticipation.
“Take one, lass.”
“Shay combed her fingers through Nana’s hair. Closing her eyes, she let her fingers listen for the right one, the right coarsely textured, wiry and unruly strand. Her hands paused on a hair that sang a melancholy tune. It’s sadness, the deep timber of its song called to her.
Pluck.
Nana rubbed her head. “I swear, I’ll never get used to that.”
“Sorry.”
“Alright, then.” Nana shuffled off, closing the down behind her.
Shay sat back, clutching her prize. Gazing at the strand, she waited for the story to come.
The melody it sang drew Shay into a deep trance. She forgot her own panic and worry. The tub melted away, and the water, too. She moved from being Shay, the quiet girl with a quiet life lived inside a quiet keep and became a memory. She sank deep into the experience of another. Having none of her own, she craved it.
The summer sun blazed overhear. It seared anything that dare stray from the relative safety of the shade. Anything. Bugs, animals, people. The plants suffered.
“Nothing but wilted and burned vegetables, not fit for the aphids. Not even fertilizer,” a younger Nana said. She scanned the landscape, sweat dripping constantly into her eyes. She wiped at it. “I’m not going to have any water left in me at this rate.”
Even under the tarp, the heat sat heavily on her. She cradled the limp body in her arms. The land was brittle earth, brown and yellow and black, as far as she could see. The sky was white with heat. The child in her lap breathed raggedly. Water hid deep beneath the surface. If it was there at all.
A sob burst from Nana. She shook her head and closed her eyes to the world.
But it was still there. Still drilling down on her, driving her to her knees, pushing her into the earth, forcing her down--unrelenting pressure--down. She shrieked, knowing she shouldn’t. Every bit of energy was vital.
“Why? It isn’t enough. This too?” Tears fell onto the child in her lap. The child opened its mouth to the wetness, breathing its ragged breathes.
The room came back slowly. The first thing Shay noticed was the water in the tub. She cupped her hand and drew a handful of water to her lips. Gagging at the taste of the perfumed water, she forced it down her parched throat, giddy at the cool wetness of it. Bitter though it was, she gulped handful after handful until her stomach sloshed with water.
Shay slumped over the side of the tub, her newly formed breasts pressing tightly against the edge of the cold surface. She shuddered over and over, replaying the experience in her head. The experience.
Finally Shay raised up. A knock came at the door. Even though she shivered, calm settled in her. Panic gone. She would have to thank Nana for that. Pain, sadness, thirst and despair. She would have to thank Nana for the experience.
Saturday, May 24, 2008
Monday, May 19, 2008
The Grey Hairs - 1
“There you are child!”
Shayla jerked at the shrill voice and turned to look at Nana. She sighed when she saw the red handkerchief covering the old woman’s hair. Not one strand showed.
“But Nana, I’m always here,” she said, exasperation staining her voice, though she wasn’t sure if it was Nana’s covered head or the way the woman fretted over her that irritated her the most. Her fingers twitched. They wanted to tear the cloth from Nana’s head and comb through the hair to find one of her treasures.
Nana walked to Shayla. Gazing down with sad eyes, she said, “Yes, Shay. And it’s a shame. A bloody shame.” She caressed Shay’s cheek with the backs of her knuckles.
Shay shifted. “What?” She didn’t like the way Nana was looking at her.
“When was the last time you left your room?”
Shay bit the inside of her lip to keep from rolling her eyes. She dodged Nana’s hand and escaped to her shelf of toys, played with a small wooden horse there.
“You know very well I prefer my room.” Shay trotted the figure across the shelf. “I don’t go outside.”
“It shows,” Nana mumbled.
Shay heard. Now, she did love Nana. The woman had cared for her since she was a tiny thing, after all. And sometimes Shay even felt like Nana’s child rather than her mother’s child. But she wasn’t. Thalia was her mother and Nana was a servant. Beloved though she may be, she was not family.
“Nana, Mother would be cross to hear you talking about that again.” Shay looked over her shoulder at the woman with a warning. Milky blue eyes returned her stare.
“And we all do what Thalia wants, don’t we?”
Shay blinked. “Nana!”
The old woman sighed. “Don’t mind me, Shayla. I’m just a crotchety old woman today.”
“But why Nana? What’s wrong?”
“ ‘Tis your birthday today.”
“That’s why you’re sad?”
“Hardly, my sweet.”
Nana looked at her again with that look. The one that made Shay want to cry until her clothes were saturated with tears.
“You’re soon to be a young lady.”
Shay held her breath and nodded. Her mother had talked to her just this morning about that, about changing from a child into a woman. She was confused by the talk and didn’t understand half of what her mother had meant. She couldn’t understand Nana’s reaction either.
“Come, my sweet.” Nana held out one of her golden hands. She claimed the sun did that, turned her skin that lovely color. Shay didn’t believe her. Thalia’s skin was just as pale as Shay’s. The Ice Princesses, Nana called them, sometimes with a bite to her words.
Shay looked at the contrast of their flesh. White in bronze. “Where are we going?”
“I’m to prepare you for the guests.”
Shay gasped. “Guests?”
“There’s to be a party to celebrate your special day.”
“People?”
Nana nodded.
“You mean there are going to be strangers in the keep?”
“Aye, my sweet,” she said softly.
Shay began hyperventilating. Her lungs pumped air in and out.
“Sit down. Don’t get yourself so worked up.”
“Strangers?” Shay asked. Her words sounded harsh and strangled to her own ears.
Nana’s lips pursed. “It’ll be alright, my sweet.”
Shay trembled. She was going to meet people today. She was going to meet people she had never seen before in her entire life. People who came from Outside.
She shook her head, looked up and started to plead with Nana, but darkness crowded her vision and she passed out.
Shayla jerked at the shrill voice and turned to look at Nana. She sighed when she saw the red handkerchief covering the old woman’s hair. Not one strand showed.
“But Nana, I’m always here,” she said, exasperation staining her voice, though she wasn’t sure if it was Nana’s covered head or the way the woman fretted over her that irritated her the most. Her fingers twitched. They wanted to tear the cloth from Nana’s head and comb through the hair to find one of her treasures.
Nana walked to Shayla. Gazing down with sad eyes, she said, “Yes, Shay. And it’s a shame. A bloody shame.” She caressed Shay’s cheek with the backs of her knuckles.
Shay shifted. “What?” She didn’t like the way Nana was looking at her.
“When was the last time you left your room?”
Shay bit the inside of her lip to keep from rolling her eyes. She dodged Nana’s hand and escaped to her shelf of toys, played with a small wooden horse there.
“You know very well I prefer my room.” Shay trotted the figure across the shelf. “I don’t go outside.”
“It shows,” Nana mumbled.
Shay heard. Now, she did love Nana. The woman had cared for her since she was a tiny thing, after all. And sometimes Shay even felt like Nana’s child rather than her mother’s child. But she wasn’t. Thalia was her mother and Nana was a servant. Beloved though she may be, she was not family.
“Nana, Mother would be cross to hear you talking about that again.” Shay looked over her shoulder at the woman with a warning. Milky blue eyes returned her stare.
“And we all do what Thalia wants, don’t we?”
Shay blinked. “Nana!”
The old woman sighed. “Don’t mind me, Shayla. I’m just a crotchety old woman today.”
“But why Nana? What’s wrong?”
“ ‘Tis your birthday today.”
“That’s why you’re sad?”
“Hardly, my sweet.”
Nana looked at her again with that look. The one that made Shay want to cry until her clothes were saturated with tears.
“You’re soon to be a young lady.”
Shay held her breath and nodded. Her mother had talked to her just this morning about that, about changing from a child into a woman. She was confused by the talk and didn’t understand half of what her mother had meant. She couldn’t understand Nana’s reaction either.
“Come, my sweet.” Nana held out one of her golden hands. She claimed the sun did that, turned her skin that lovely color. Shay didn’t believe her. Thalia’s skin was just as pale as Shay’s. The Ice Princesses, Nana called them, sometimes with a bite to her words.
Shay looked at the contrast of their flesh. White in bronze. “Where are we going?”
“I’m to prepare you for the guests.”
Shay gasped. “Guests?”
“There’s to be a party to celebrate your special day.”
“People?”
Nana nodded.
“You mean there are going to be strangers in the keep?”
“Aye, my sweet,” she said softly.
Shay began hyperventilating. Her lungs pumped air in and out.
“Sit down. Don’t get yourself so worked up.”
“Strangers?” Shay asked. Her words sounded harsh and strangled to her own ears.
Nana’s lips pursed. “It’ll be alright, my sweet.”
Shay trembled. She was going to meet people today. She was going to meet people she had never seen before in her entire life. People who came from Outside.
She shook her head, looked up and started to plead with Nana, but darkness crowded her vision and she passed out.
Sunday, February 24, 2008
76. Alone on a beach
The water was blue, a deep blue off the shelf, but bright turquoise in the shallows. It whispered against the sand, lapping the shore rhythmically, constantly licking, curling up, rolling back, coming, retreating. Coming.
My feet glistened with wet. Sand clung to my skin and sparkled in the sunlight. My eyes moved from my feet to the beach to the water.
“Come.”
I heard the invitation, or thought I did. It had been so long since—but never mind. I was in Italy, alone, listening to the waves, hearing invitations, feeling my clothes grow heavy. They itched at the places where they connected with my skin. I scratched my arms, my throat and chest absently. I raked the flesh at my abdomen, my thighs. My clothes felt like a million ants biting.
The beach was empty.
I tore off my clothes and threw them into a messy pile, not caring if the sea took them. I rushed into the water, it rushed over me. Clear, cool, sticky and salty. I floated. Alone. Not alone.
My feet glistened with wet. Sand clung to my skin and sparkled in the sunlight. My eyes moved from my feet to the beach to the water.
“Come.”
I heard the invitation, or thought I did. It had been so long since—but never mind. I was in Italy, alone, listening to the waves, hearing invitations, feeling my clothes grow heavy. They itched at the places where they connected with my skin. I scratched my arms, my throat and chest absently. I raked the flesh at my abdomen, my thighs. My clothes felt like a million ants biting.
The beach was empty.
I tore off my clothes and threw them into a messy pile, not caring if the sea took them. I rushed into the water, it rushed over me. Clear, cool, sticky and salty. I floated. Alone. Not alone.
Saturday, February 23, 2008
75. MANN
My footsteps were the only to echo in the halls of the museum. No one else was here, not even an attendant. I strolled up to another statue. Dust dulled the marble, turning it from white to grey.
There were pieces of her missing. My eyes hardly noticed those jagged stumps. Instead, the curve of her back, like a subtle question, drew me in. Her hands gripped the ends of her dress. The folds of the fabric framed her naked flesh. She looked over her shoulder. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at someone or merely waiting for the tub to be filled or for the slaves to help her undress.
I stood next to her and ripped a slit in my own dress. With my left hand I drew the back of the dress up and with the right I swept aside the fabric to the front. But it was all wrong. Grunting frustration, I dropped the ends, tore off my sandals and underwear and started again. Better.
I looked over my shoulder and waited to see.
There were pieces of her missing. My eyes hardly noticed those jagged stumps. Instead, the curve of her back, like a subtle question, drew me in. Her hands gripped the ends of her dress. The folds of the fabric framed her naked flesh. She looked over her shoulder. I couldn’t tell if she was looking at someone or merely waiting for the tub to be filled or for the slaves to help her undress.
I stood next to her and ripped a slit in my own dress. With my left hand I drew the back of the dress up and with the right I swept aside the fabric to the front. But it was all wrong. Grunting frustration, I dropped the ends, tore off my sandals and underwear and started again. Better.
I looked over my shoulder and waited to see.
Wednesday, December 19, 2007
74. A Curious Thing-continued
Had she been flesh and blood, she would have been a beautiful woman. But now her wide eyes gaped as vacuous pauses in her face. Her high cheekbones and defined chin shone skeletal in the vapor of her.
“Stay, stay, stay,” I heard or thought I heard her say. Her lips didn’t move, except to disappear and reappear. My skin felt electric; she haunted in currents and amps, the voltage of her excited me to paralysis.
I lingered unwillingly.
“Who are you,” I stuttered. I could hear something at the edge of sound. Nothing distinct or conclusive, but enough to make me wonder. “Why are you here,” I continued, feeling more confident and ready for the answer. I expected revenge. That isn’t what she gave me.
“Stay, stay, stay,” I heard or thought I heard her say. Her lips didn’t move, except to disappear and reappear. My skin felt electric; she haunted in currents and amps, the voltage of her excited me to paralysis.
I lingered unwillingly.
“Who are you,” I stuttered. I could hear something at the edge of sound. Nothing distinct or conclusive, but enough to make me wonder. “Why are you here,” I continued, feeling more confident and ready for the answer. I expected revenge. That isn’t what she gave me.
Tuesday, December 18, 2007
73. Succisa Virescit
I closed my eyes against the rocking of the ship and conjured an image of the abbey, its sprawling complex, a fortress of faith. I saw it during the springtime, when the rains abated and the roses stood out in red, pink and white against the warm monotonous hues of the cloister’s stonewalls. The Abbot said a pagan temple to Apollo stood on this very spot. I hardly believed him, but he escorted me to the vestiges of that old religion. It chilled me to see it lying there, so naked to the eye.
“But why not destroy it?”
The Abbott had shrugged. “What better way to show the order of the World and the supremacy of God?”
“Would not destruction do the same thing?”
“Ah. But years from now, who would see our victory?”
Sichelgaita was the daughter of Prince Guaimar IV of Salerno, born 1040, died 1090. Famously she bolstered the troops of her husband, Robert Guiscard, Duke of Apulia (Puglia), in the Battle of Dyrrhachium (aka the Seige of Durazzo) by fighting in full battle armor. She was (loving) likened to Pallas Athena. She and Robert were benefactors of the abbey at Montecassino, which is a couple of hours north of Naples. She is buried there (though I have no idea if her tomb survived the bombing raids during WWII.
The Abbey of Montecassino has a long history and its share of misfortune. Charlemagne came here for a visit, as did the Saracens, though their intentions were not so beneficent. The Abbey was sacked and burned in 883. This was the second destruction of the Abbey, the first being diligently performed by the Longobards of Zotone in 577. An earthquake in 1349 brought down the complex, but for a few walls. Finally, in 1944 bombing raids reduced the complex to rubble in three hours. Many refugees of the war lost their lives in this latest attack. I’d like to say it is the final attack on the Abbey, but humans seem inept at resolving conflict without death and destruction.
Note: This is based on a historical event, but not historically precise.
References:
Wikipedia, Sichelgaita
Wikipedia, The Battle of Dyrrhachium
Abbey of Montecassino, Official Page
Monte Cassino Foundation
“But why not destroy it?”
The Abbott had shrugged. “What better way to show the order of the World and the supremacy of God?”
“Would not destruction do the same thing?”
“Ah. But years from now, who would see our victory?”
Sichelgaita was the daughter of Prince Guaimar IV of Salerno, born 1040, died 1090. Famously she bolstered the troops of her husband, Robert Guiscard, Duke of Apulia (Puglia), in the Battle of Dyrrhachium (aka the Seige of Durazzo) by fighting in full battle armor. She was (loving) likened to Pallas Athena. She and Robert were benefactors of the abbey at Montecassino, which is a couple of hours north of Naples. She is buried there (though I have no idea if her tomb survived the bombing raids during WWII.
The Abbey of Montecassino has a long history and its share of misfortune. Charlemagne came here for a visit, as did the Saracens, though their intentions were not so beneficent. The Abbey was sacked and burned in 883. This was the second destruction of the Abbey, the first being diligently performed by the Longobards of Zotone in 577. An earthquake in 1349 brought down the complex, but for a few walls. Finally, in 1944 bombing raids reduced the complex to rubble in three hours. Many refugees of the war lost their lives in this latest attack. I’d like to say it is the final attack on the Abbey, but humans seem inept at resolving conflict without death and destruction.
Note: This is based on a historical event, but not historically precise.
References:
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