by Ella Hansing
sticky – as if the beads of water still tracing down the back of my neck and chest were now turned to sweat.
When at last I managed to crack the door, I opened it enough only so that I could fit half my body outside, keeping my other half safely hidden – allowing for an easier escape should matters fair worse. As my eyes adjusted to the brightness I found myself no more than a foot from Aeros, standing brazenly on the second step to our door – his shoulders cast back for all to see.
The sight caused my head to swim, my mouth beginning to gape in flustered disbelief as my eyes met his. It had been days since our shameful encounter with the prostitutes. Since then, I had taken every caution to avoid seeing Phaena and him – even sweet Hesba. Like a common market thief I had changed all my routes, stepping out only after dusk. Looking at him now reminded me how long it had been since I’d seen Hesba. Though it grieved me daily, I’d decided it was for the best – they were all better off this way, I knew it was the truth. Yet now Aeros occupied my very doorstep. What could he be thinking – standing there in the open light of day, for anyone to see? I could feel my neck twitch as I resisted turning to check and see who might be watching us from open windows.
Face lighting considerably at seeing me, Aeros immediately flashed his familiar, broad smile, stepping even closer to the house. Seeing he held a clay jar wrapped in his left arm, my gaze fell immediately to the ground. It was odd seeing him on my mother’s well-worn doorstep – to my recollection he’d never been there before; I didn’t think he even knew where I lived, let alone in which house. An uncomfortable feeling embedded itself in my chest, moving easily throughout the rest of my body – muffling my hearing even. Embarrassed by my wet hair and bunched clothing, I avoided his eyes – instead focusing with all my strength on not stuttering as I asked, “What are you – doing here?”
“My mother’s been worried about you,” he spoke, much too happy to sound cross. “She wants to know why you’ve been hiding from her.” Suddenly nervous, he quickly offered me the jar he held – adding, “I’m sorry for breaking yours the other night – my mother hasn’t let me hear the end of it. This is one of our extras.”
I was far too dazed to react naturally to anything he said, my hands remaining stiffly at either side of me as I leaned to check the road in both directions – incapable of receiving his offering or voicing any sort of timely response. It was then that I saw Phaena. Leaning in the shade against a house across the street, she silently observed us from a distance.
In an instant my cheeks grew flushed. Of course Aeros must be accompanied to my mother’s door, else suspicion and gossip be spread about such a modest young man and his journey to the lioness’s den. Struggling to swallow, I sealed my lips tightly shut – eyes narrowing as I tried to perceive her expression from all the way across the road.
Before I could distinguish the intentions behind her presence, the glint of metal hanging proudly at the center of her chest distracted me. It was surprising to see Phaena don jewelry so early in the day – but even more surprising to see the particular piece she wore. The necklace around her neck was at once familiar to me, as it was the same one I’d sold earlier that week to our dealer in the market. Being one my mother had grown tired of some while ago, she had handed it to me readily to sell for us.
I glanced twice at seeing the piece draped across Phaena’s fair skin – for a brief moment sensing my heart stop beating. I realized she must have bought it the other night when I spied her and her friend looking over jewelry for sale. Now here she leaned, in the broad light of day, with it proudly on display – for all to see. Straightening, I opened the door wider – my eyes transfixed on her now blurry figure. Anyone from our street, or perhaps even anyone from the lower district, would recognize the necklace as one of my mother’s former pieces. A more honest dealer would perhaps have steered a young lady such as Phaena into making a different purchase – fully knowing the sources of all his merchandise. The irony of seeing Phaena with it was almost comical. Amid the confusion of the moment, I was unsure whether I should call out to her in warning, or simply laugh.
Instead, the oddity of all my surroundings left me feeling trapped – stuck in a quiet stupor. I was overwhelmed by them being there, where they didn’t belong – with Phaena apparently strutting through the streets in my mother’s old jewelry, surely unbeknownst to Hesba. Reaching backwards, I gripped the door to find balance. All I knew was that I needed to get them out of there – needed to send them away, as quickly as possible. We needed a cloud of smoke to fill the streets – the distraction of a giant blaze, the cover of chaos to shield their departure.
Mouth still cracked ajar, I forced my head to turn back toward Aeros. I’d forgotten he stood offering me a jar. At seeing me speechless, he held it further out to me – eyes insistent. With jaw clamping shut I took it from him – glancing down in surprise at the heaviness of it, noting in confusion grains of wheat spilling from the rim.
Aeros shrugged his broad shoulders, quick to explain, “Extra from the field where I work. It’s enough for several weeks, I suppose – though I don’t know much about baking.” Grinning boyishly he leaned to one side, happy to be free of his gift.
Shuddering, my eyes closed once, tightly, before opening to meet his.
“Thank you, but we have enough,” I spoke – even and cold. “Besides, my mother cannot be filled on bread alone, as you know.” Without further explanation, I set the jar on the outside step between us, turning quickly to draw inside the house.
Perceptive, Aeros reached his hand out in just enough time to stop me, eyes now pleading.
Seeing my mother still lurk a short ways back inside the house, and being unable to shake him from my arm, I conceded to step fully outside to speak with him – first closing the door shut behind me and anxiously sweeping the road with my eyes.
With one hand still on my arm, he plunged his other into his pocket and withdrew the leather cord with the wooden bird at the end – the same he’d tried to give me the other night outside the temple.
“You forgot this also,” he spoke.
My throat at once felt as dry and cracked as the deserts beyond the city walls. Shifting weight, I raced to collect my thoughts, my head already beginning to shake in objection as I stammered, “Aeros –”
“Is this about the other night outside the temple?” he asked, voice rising steadily. “I should have acted sooner – those two should have been flogged by the temple guards for acting in such a manner in front of the house of Ashur.” The grip he still held on my arm tightened with frustration.
I flinched at his reference to the incident – the mere memory of it sending a jolt, like lightening, down my spine. Recollection of that night meant only agony for me, yet here Aeros stood, blatantly pointing to it. As I looked just beyond him, it was easy for me to imagine what little pride I had left, writhing out in the middle of the street, like a worm uncovered from soil; it would die before long – its soft flesh exposed to the harsh elements of day for all to observe.
Silent now, he extended the necklace, his stance unwavering.
With brow furrowed I pulled away.
“Daughter of Arrapha’s most illustrious prostitute?” I demanded, voice dripping with vehemence. Though my words sounded almost as if I spat, I could no longer contain myself, realizing now he was too foolish for his own good – that he would ruin himself and make a mockery of both of us if he didn’t walk away. I could tell by his hold on my arm, I would have to break him – I would have to break his spirit. I would have to grind him down – just as I was, to get him to come to his senses. Everyone could see it but him. I did and so did Phaena – glowering at us from a distance. Didn’t he know that I wanted to go to the festival, that I wanted to dance out in the open, shameless and free, and that I wanted to accept his gift – to accept all he offered? Surely it was cruelty and nothing else for him to stand so naively on our doorstep. It was too heartless to be unintentional – or at the very least some twisted plot the
gods had arranged for me.
“You would have me showcase your work – for all to see?” I continued, ridicule lacing my tone. Already I could see the light in his youthful eyes fade, his expression altering – much in the way a blossom closes under the full force of the sun. Finally it was out in the open – the words I least wanted to speak, the things I least wanted to draw attention to, so often skirted mercifully around, now exposed. Once I began I could no longer stop. His undeserved adoration sent me spiraling.
“Would you set your mother against me?” I demanded. “Would you have all of Arrapha talk of you and shake their heads?”
Silent now, Aeros dropped his hand, allowing the bracelet he held to hang loose at his side – his other hand releasing my arm so that we stood almost in opposition of one another, our shoulders leaned back but feet stationary, the sunlight boring down hard on our set faces.
“What don’t you understand?” I heard myself yell – scarce able to make him out as my eyes began to crowd with tears. “They’ll talk of you, but they’ll claw at me,” I continued, fighting to control my expression. Having lost control of my volume – as well as the usual sense of caution I practiced when outside, I found for the
