by Ella Hansing
finished both in mind and spirit. I knew it was ended by the way my thoughts had run out. I had spoken all that was in me and there was nothing left in its place but a painless weight, sinking low into the pit of my stomach. Without response I turned my back on her, ready to break free of her presence – heartbeat dropping as my eyes looked another way.
“An ending is in sight,” spoke my mother, voice rising now thunderous and potent. “I told you this one will eat from my hand.” She paused slightly before adding in definitive tones, “He will make me one of his wives. I am sure of it.”
At this I halted – feet becoming unbendable, like iron, so that I could move neither backward nor forward. I sensed my pulse quicken, the flesh on my face starting to burn as if the sun shone fully on me.
“He shan’t make you a wife,” I responded, quietly.
Arms folding like metal plates across her chest, she leaned to one side. “You think you are right – that you are smarter than anyone else. Yes you are so wise for your age – so devout in your ways compared with others. Don’t you want to know why you must accompany me out into the streets tonight, Ishtah?” As she spoke I could sense her eyes bore into the backside of my skull. “You will be my public captive tonight because tonight I will grind your arrogance and disloyalty into dust. You leave me little choice. You’ll believe when you see it for yourself. You will know by and by when your pride is broke that I am the one who gives to you. Now go light the oil as I instructed. I wouldn’t want you to miss anything in the dark.”
Turning on the axis of my heels I faced her once more – hands clenched in tight fists at either side of me. “He will not make you one of his wives,” I repeated, louder. “He will not know you beyond this month.” My words fell between us with the weight of a heavy tombstone turning over, a volley of dust filling the air after.
“Get the oil,” she ordered, thrusting her finger toward the back of the house.
“He will not make you a wife! He will not make you a wife!” I sang aloud, feet beginning to move almost as if I danced. My response stunned us both. At last I could see my words begin to cut away at her delusion – her mouth cracking open and eyes fixed in disbelief on my unyielding face. Without pause I made my move – adrenaline now surging through my veins. I didn’t wait for her to speak, for her to summon all her powers of persuasion before pushing past her to the corner of the room. Stooping to where she’d laid out her jewelry, my hand snaked around the assorted pieces to rake in the necklace her lover had given her. Gripping it tight, I rose. Storming to the front door, I escaped through it in just enough time to lessen the sound of her violent shriek – the radiance of the setting sun just visible over the city walls blinding me as I marched up the open road.
I walked with clouded vision, at first unsure of where I was headed or what my intentions were. The excitement of the crowded streets and swollen disorder arisen by the start of the festival deepened the chaos within me. Face stricken with a gravity starkly contrasting those I passed, I weaved my way up our road until it joined with a larger one – my walk, though hasty, refrained from becoming a run.
Eyes searching frantically for somewhere to hide – somewhere quiet and dark, somewhere safe – I ducked unresponsively from the path of a group of disorderly drinkers calling lazily after me. Everywhere I looked was full, the city air congested and stifling. The buzz of so many voices, the distant ring of tambourines and thud of the temple drums scrambled my thoughts. Every street and alley, every nook and cranny I might normally stash myself away in was filled with the aroma of sacrifice, of burning meat and fat trailing out in every direction from the central temple – enveloping all of Arrapha. I felt lost – as if I’d never been there before, unsure of which path to take. Around me the houses seemed to grow taller, stretching up until they bent out over the road under their own weight. The shapes of those I passed began to twist and blur together until unrecognizable.
Amid my anger I considered running to the house of my mother’s lover. I could picture myself casting the necklace at his door – picture it breaking into pieces before falling to the dirt ground. As I’d scarce seen the man once, let alone where he lived, my teeth dug sharply into my lower lip. He would escape my fury unscathed – ever the fate of the wealthy. I had no choice but to seek retribution elsewhere – to find my ending someplace else to something I surely hadn’t started. Even with it now being dusk, my skin perspired. Blinking, I slowed my walk as a large drop of sweat ran into my eye – at last realizing where my feet were taking me and what I wanted to do. Hastening, I headed in the direction of the eastern gates, gliding skillfully around an arriving group of travelers as I neared the entry.
In passing through the gates I forwent attempting to cover my face, knowing it pointless as the costume my mother had put me in and paints she’d colored my face with would stand out nonetheless. I was right in assuming at least one of the guards if not more would try and delay me. Out from the shadows they came lumbering at seeing me approach from afar – one of them with uplifted hands to halt my walk, at once beginning to question me playfully. At last I broke into a run, encumbered only slightly by the thickness of my skirt and length of my veil. Successful in evading them, I slipped with relative ease beyond the gates – immediately forsaking the main road and plunging myself into the rocky, uneven terrain encompassing the city.
Only once the gates were out of sight did I slow my pace, having managed to cover a far distance in surprising little time. Judging by the warmth of the earth beneath my thin sandals and the heat of the boulders my fingers touched as I picked my way numbly forward – undeterred, I could tell how hot the day must have been. Rounding the eastern bend of the city wall, I faced myself west in just enough time to behold the last of the sun – now hidden partially behind distant mountain peaks. The sight of it left me breathless, red and orange light engulfing me like flames. It was the first time since waking that day that I’d felt peace – pausing to watch the radiance fade.
My sense of quiet was short-lived. As the light began to dwindle, fear crept in on the corners of my mind. Instead of nulling my anguish or hushing my frenzied thinking, the silence outside Arrapha rang loudly in my ears much in the same manner the city had, if not more. Something unnatural pulled at me – drawing me on in the direction of my destination, the lonesome pool of water. As I continued on my crooked path I was quickly overcome by a sense of panic – feeling my journey there might somehow be forced, as if I were walking a course designed by the gods – by Ashur himself, and since he had yet to prove himself friendly toward me, his will could neither be guessed nor trusted.
I was afforded no time to exercise resistance, though, as the sound of rolling gravel brought my gaze back over my shoulder. In alarm I spied my mother, stumbling a short ways behind me on uneven terrain. Amid my fury I hadn’t considered the possibility she might follow me out into the streets, let alone out past the city gates – being scarce able to remember the last time I’d seen her venture past our door. Indeed, it had been ages since I’d last seen her out in the purifying light of the sun, yet here she now stood in my very sanctuary – uninvited, like a dead thing drawn up from burial, blind above the earth’s crust.
Seeing her spurred me on the few remaining yards between myself and the pool – waiting in quiet solitude for me. I glanced back to check her proximity to me just as my sandals reached the safety of the water’s edge. Forcing my parched throat to swallow, I stretched out my arm to dangle her necklace above the stagnant surface of the pool – swinging the jewelry enough so as to warn her of impending loss should she venture any closer.
Stopping short a few yards back, her legs gave way beneath her as she crumpled to the ground – skirt twisting around her ankles like a coiled rope. With only one eye traced in black, hair unbound and a blanket covering her – which she clasped with relaxing grip between her breasts – she was scarce recognizable. In the orange light of the receding sun, she appeared sweaty and fat – breathing heavily, as if she couldn’
t fill her lungs fast enough. Gone were any remnants of sympathy in her shifting eyes as she groped, resting her hand on a sharp stone that had come away from the city wall. Placing it snuggly against her belly, her eyes rose – flashing dark, like the shade of fabric she’d tied around her waist.
“Ishtah,” she panted, face masked once more in some manner of softness. “Do I disgust you, daughter?” She lowered her gaze, murmuring, “You call me selfish, yet all this I have done to myself for you – to provide for us. Yet you cringe now to look at me.”
Incapable of speech, I shook my head.
“But I have, Ishtah,” she insisted. “You deny it only because it is too painful for you to accept. I’ve sacrificed my life daily so that you can have one – so that you can turn your nose up at me or bury your head in the sand.” As the light shifted lower, the softness began to wash from her face.
“Nothing you do is for me – or for anyone other than yourself,” I corrected, struggling to hold my voice steady. “You do what you please because it pleases you, or else suits your senseless designs – like that child you carry.” Grip loosening, I
