by Ella Hansing
her makeup smeared into her eye. “And you were nowhere to be found – of course,” she added, resentment building in her tone. “Abandoning me to spend your time with a mother not your own – walking the open streets as if you don’t know the one who gave you birth.”
Slowly I sat back, observing her at a distance. Like an infection following a wound, guilt swelled in the pit of my stomach. I’d hoped she was unaware I’d met with Hesba and Phaena on my journey to the temple last night – I hadn’t wanted to anger her, or jeopardizing my interacting with them in the future. I hadn’t considered concealing my relationship with Hesba to spare her feelings, though. Now, as she sat weeping before me, having somehow guessed what I’d been up to, it seemed almost too obvious for me to have missed; she was wounded by my actions. As my face began to soften she turned away; flustered and sweaty, clothes disheveled and hair tangled, she gazed bitterly in another direction.
Perhaps she was right, I thought. Perhaps I had left her side the other night out of arrogance, when I should have stayed on the roof to wait and assist her with whatever she might need. Having already accepted going to the central temple and walking with Hesba and Phaena down the open road had been a foolish thing to do, I now questioned what my initial motives had even been. Arrogance and disloyalty seemed forefront in the implications. Releasing her shoulders my hands fell neatly into my lap, eyes lowering quietly as I was filled with remorse. Perhaps it was true, that everything she involved herself with was done for my sake. After all, what other mother did I know who’d given herself in such a way, both body and soul, for her meager earnings? Biting my lip I bravely lifted my gaze, knowing I would need to change both my ways and my thoughts in regards to her if we were going to survive; I would have to find a way to cast off my disdain and forgo my selfish abandonment of her, of our home. With heaviness of heart I patted her mat, motioning for her to lie back down.
“Why don’t I gather the leftovers from last night; you can nibble on them while I find something to carry water from the well with. Stay calm and rest a while.” Rising, I moved once more to collect the dishware – quieter this time, adding, “When I’ve finished I’ll get you a cloth to wash your face, in the meantime tie back your hair. I’ll braid it after we’ve eaten.”
Comforted somewhat by my directions she lay slowly back, reaching to pull her blankets up over her scantily clad body. I moved away in silent resolve. Collecting the food remnants of the other night, I rearranged them anew on a platter and left it by her side. Once alone at the back of the house, I could easily sense just how tired, thirsty, and dirty I was. I wanted nothing more than to eat, drink, wash my feet and face and curl up beside the oven in the dark – to hide away for days until the humiliation of last night was lost in the oblivion of time.
Seeing my mother cry suppressed my impulses, though – hushing my thoughts so that I could scarce tell what I wanted, let alone needed. Unable to wash as we had no water, I settled for briefly straightening my hair. It took only a few moments to press it behind my ears, tying it in a small knot at the back of my neck. Though most of my needs could be postponed, from experience I knew hunger wasn’t one of them. By now near ravenous, I became worried I would start to unravel if I didn’t eat – worried that if I waited much longer I wouldn’t be able to keep myself together for either my own sake or my mother’s.
Entering the front room once more I began to search for my mother’s coin purse, which she often stashed beneath varying pillows. Noting she’d already fallen asleep, I was cautious to move things quietly – relieved to see her at rest as opposed to crying in despair, which only worsened our circumstances. The sight of her asleep – for once so peaceful, filled me momentarily with a sense of calm, enabling me to focus my thoughts as I searched her belongings.
Finding the coin purse in the disarray of the room was no easy task. When at last I drew it from hiding I was further disillusioned by how light it now felt. Emptying its contents into my palm, I quickly surmised there was enough only for one more meal. Confused, I dropped the coins one by one back inside the purse, stashing it inside my pocket. I knew we had some grain left over from the sack Aeros had left us, but after that what? Had she received no payment from the guest who’d visited her last night? Had he come merely to say they were finished, or did he stay the night with her and leave her without pay? Though dramatic, my mother’s outburst had conveyed very little detail.
Silent, I stooped to collect a piece of stale crust from the platter beside her, barely chewing once before swallowing. Snatching my scarf from its peg on the wall, I exited through the front – sunlight blinding me as I stepped outside. I had only a vague notion of what could be done about fetching water, with little strength to second-guess myself. Making my way over to our neighbor’s house, I lifted my clenched fist to knock on their wooden door – dreading someone might answer, yet unable to turn and leave.
I was glad to see the old woman answer – the grandmother I believed. Explaining how both our jars were broke, I begged her to lend me one of theirs, pausing to breathe only when I’d finished – face cringing slightly to brace for her refusal. I knew she disliked my mother – I could tell by the way she always grimaced in her direction when she sat on our steps or hung out our window. Still, she had always behaved kindly toward me whenever I passed in the street.
Watching me in silence, she hesitated for a moment before moving away. Breathless, I waited – unwilling to budge. A few seconds later she returned, pushing the door open enough so that she could pass a heavy clay jar into my open hands. Weary beyond entertaining shame, I received it from her without hesitancy. Moving back down her steps to return to our house, I forwent checking the street to see who might be watching. Though thirsty, I decided to wait till sunset to go for the water. Since my mother was asleep she wouldn’t know the difference, and besides this, I knew I was in greatest need of having time alone – to hide myself away. Legs scarce able to carry me back inside our home, the empty jar in my hands felt almost heavier than I could manage.
҉
Eyelids cracking slowly, I released the grip I held around my bended legs. Seeing it had grown dark since I’d first taken refuge beside the oven, I quickly realized how long I’d slept – a few stars visible overhead through the open roof hatch. Stiffly unfolding myself limb by limb, I questioned whether it was my thirst or my anxiety that woke me first. Rising dizzily I shuffled to the front of the house. Rolled over on her backside, I found my mother still fast asleep – sprawled out in the corner of the room. With no way of guessing how much or how little she’d slept the night before, or what exactly had taken place between she and her lover, I was hesitant to wake her. Judging by her fit of tears earlier, I assumed she’d be happier asleep rather than awake. Bearing this much in mind I made every effort to depart without rousing her.
If it weren’t for my being so parched, I would have waited longer to go to the well – waited until the early hours of dawn even before venturing out, just to be safe. Following my encounter with the prostitutes the other night, my apprehension over setting foot outside now soared to formerly unimaginable heights. I found some small peace of mind, however, in knowing I was better rested now – better able to run if need be, though I would have no strength to fight on an empty stomach.
Outside, my eyes were happy to be greeted by darkness – my skin relieved as well, refreshed by the cool night air. In setting down my jar and wrapping my scarf in place, I sensed how bunt my arms were once more from too much sun. I could tell my neck and face were burnt as well as I turned to check the back alley. Closing the door gently behind me, I resolved to start being less careless with myself, from that night forward. My mother would never sleep out under the sun, let alone as often as I did – being hesitant even to sit on the front steps too long or lean out the window too far in fear of losing her chalk-like complexion. I was sure she considered me a lost cause by now, with my face and limbs so tan. She seldom scolded me anymore to stay out of the sun; her beauty regime was
enough effort to maintain alone without looking after me. Stooping to collect our barrowed jar, I stepped off into the alley, soon choosing a roundabout course in hopes of avoiding meeting anyone – a lone cat hissing at me as I weaved through a narrow passage. Licking my cracked lips, I realize how thirsty I’d become. Remorse filled me at having subjected my body to such extremes as I had, day after day, such as food deprivation and sleeping in the open – unshielded from wind, sun, and insects.
I paused in rounding a last bend in the road, filled with immediate gratitude at seeing the well nearly forsaken. At such a late hour, a single elderly woman stood at the edge – nearly finished filling her jar. Like a cat waiting by the mouth of a rat hole, I held myself back, patience wearing thin as she ambled off into shadow. Throwing caution to the wind, I rushed forward once she’d gone from sight, casting the wooden bucket nosily down the well and moving eagerly to take the heavy rope. Though dehydrated, my mouth began to drool in anticipation of quenching my thirst – the sound of the pail splashing far below causing my heart to
