But the walls stay, the roof remains strong and immovable, and we can only pray that if these rooms have memories, they are not ours.
Did you think that he isn’t? I cannot help the way my brow quirks, just so in response, as if to imply any number of things. “I find it difficult to believe Prince Adonai has much opportunity to invite guests at his leisure, not due to a lack of means but rather of opportunity.” My tone is cool, bordering even on noncommittal. I recognise I am using a dozen words where it might be more economic to use only a few: Yes, he may invite guests. But where is he supposed to meet them?
It is her gaze that reminds me most of the women from my homeland: more specifically, she reminds me unnervingly of my mother. They share no similarities in appearance. No, my mother had looked much like me, if only more demure, if only less vibrant. Yet my mother had a way of stripping men of their intentions; of flaying them to the bone. She understood all that my father was; and rather than be dominated by him, or made lesser, she simply adapted. Beneath the outer facade of my family, it was my mother who ruled us, in her own astounding way.
That said, I have learned the art of exposing nothing of myself to women of such nature. In this aspect, I would never be as weak as my father had been. I listen to what she says: Pilate’s name in her mouth, socialites, a doctor. She reveals herself to be pragmatic not only in disposition, but occupation.
Nevertheless, I remain unimpressed. A rich girl decides to play at doctor: out of boredom, or curiosity? I cannot imagine this cool woman to do it out of empathy.
I wonder if she plays at it well; if she saves lives, or treats them with the scientific apathy of a child dissecting a worm. I find myself beginning to believe the Ieshans cannot understand suffering as the rest of the world does; only through the veil of the circumstances to which they were born. Magic; wealth; competition.
Yet, she intrigues me enough to ask: “And why become a doctor, Ruth?” At last, I break eye contact; but the gesture is not a defeat. I lean against the balcony railing with complete nonchalance. To any uninformed looking upon the scene, they might assume the balcony--and at that, the estate--belonged to me rather than to her.
But, I realise, it doesn’t. I am the third daughter. No, I am sure. Nothing belongs to her at all. Perhaps that answers my question more fully than whatever she may say.
It is her gaze that reminds me most of the women from my homeland: more specifically, she reminds me unnervingly of my mother. They share no similarities in appearance. No, my mother had looked much like me, if only more demure, if only less vibrant. Yet my mother had a way of stripping men of their intentions; of flaying them to the bone. She understood all that my father was; and rather than be dominated by him, or made lesser, she simply adapted. Beneath the outer facade of my family, it was my mother who ruled us, in her own astounding way.
That said, I have learned the art of exposing nothing of myself to women of such nature. In this aspect, I would never be as weak as my father had been. I listen to what she says: Pilate’s name in her mouth, socialites, a doctor. She reveals herself to be pragmatic not only in disposition, but occupation.
Nevertheless, I remain unimpressed. A rich girl decides to play at doctor: out of boredom, or curiosity? I cannot imagine this cool woman to do it out of empathy.
I wonder if she plays at it well; if she saves lives, or treats them with the scientific apathy of a child dissecting a worm. I find myself beginning to believe the Ieshans cannot understand suffering as the rest of the world does; only through the veil of the circumstances to which they were born. Magic; wealth; competition.
Yet, she intrigues me enough to ask: “And why become a doctor, Ruth?” At last, I break eye contact; but the gesture is not a defeat. I lean against the balcony railing with complete nonchalance. To any uninformed looking upon the scene, they might assume the balcony--and at that, the estate--belonged to me rather than to her.
But, I realise, it doesn’t. I am the third daughter. No, I am sure. Nothing belongs to her at all. Perhaps that answers my question more fully than whatever she may say.
