by Sophie Jaff
Self-pity is the color of curdled milk. It roars like other people’s laughter, tastes like the ends of wet hair sucked, and the bland chew of fingernails. It mewls like a newborn kitten, it burns like bile at the back of the throat.
It takes a while before she realizes that you are leaning against a tree, watching her. She recognizes you, and is embarrassed that someone so high should witness her thus.
“Stop gawping and leave me be!” she snaps.
You do neither, only ask, “Why are you crying, fair maid?”
No one has ever given her a compliment. She squints at you through her swollen red eyes to see if you mock her, but no, your expression is grave, concerned.
“Surely you must know?”
You shake your head. “Tell me,” you say and offer your hand to help her up.
She hesitates for a moment. You are, after all, a stranger. What would her mother say?
But then a gust of rebellion sweeps her up. And what of it? she thinks, gnawing her lip. I am a grown woman and know my own mind.
Rebellion is the sky’s final hue of purple flame before the day runs out.
She takes your outstretched hand, allows your warm, firm fingers to close over her own. You smile at her then, and she sees that you are handsome. Here is a handsome man of good position taking an interest in her. Perhaps she has not lost her chance after all. Perhaps her salvation will come another way.
Hope smells of fresh mint, and tickles of murmured promises. Hope is a cool green swallow.
She begins to tell you of her woes. You are a good listener, understanding, sympathetic. You are, in fact, so attentive that she no longer pays attention to where you are going. She does not question the wisdom of walking deeper into the wood with you as the sun begins its descent. She is only happy to be in your presence, only happy that someone is paying attention to her.
Insecurity is lavender. It pipes merrily at weddings that will never be yours. It scoffs and pulls your ear down with firm, unforgiving fingers.
And so you wander farther and farther away from where the villagers drink and dance and make merry, where they will do so until dawn.
It will be more than a fortnight before they find her desecrated body, strange and savage symbols carved upon it.
Her throat slit, her skin a tapestry of red.
12
Katherine
As they roar down the runway and climb upward, Katherine’s most pressing thought is not about the magnitude of leaving (escaping) New York, nor about the life she’s abandoning. It’s not even, much to her shame, about how this move will affect Lucas. It is about whether or not they’ll be offered a turkey dinner tonight. And if so, will it be edible? She thinks both are strong possibilities. It is, after all, Thanksgiving. And they’re flying first class. First class. The most she ever strove for was business. Not that she’s ever flown business either. She can count on one hand the number of times she has flown overseas. She always thinks that first class seems a crazy waste of money. Everyone is on the same plane after all, so if you’re going down, you’re going down together. Now, sitting in her spacious pod, being offered champagne and orange juice, she may reconsider.
She glances over at Sael. The seats are so huge and distant, she actually has to turn and look. He’s got his laptop out and he seems engrossed. Lucas sits next to her, plugged in and content, watching some animated movie. It’s his first flight and his first, possibly last, time in first class. She’s not sure he appreciates any of it. She wants him to appreciate it and love it, but she also doesn’t want him to freak out or get sad. He can’t understand the implications of this flight. How can he, when she doesn’t truly understand the implications of all this either?
“England, huh?” everyone says. “That’s great!”
“At least they’ll speak English,” her friend Liz had teased her. “And I hear that’s very similar to American.”
Lucas seems to be happy about the journey, but not wildly excited. That’s probably a good thing. He’s taking it all in his stride, like he did when she told him about the move. After fielding a bunch of questions, she thought the best option was to let him watch something. She thought she might enjoy watching the endless lines of passengers grimly make their way to the back of the plane, but now that they’re floating in their seats she doesn’t feel the gleeful smugness she was counting on, but instead an anxious sympathy. I totally understand where you’re coming from, she wants to say. We shouldn’t be here either. And that’s the truth, because why would they be going to England if it weren’t for Sael? They wouldn’t be going anywhere. They would still be trapped in a cold and hostile city with eight million residents. Without thinking about it, Katherine places her hand protectively over her belly.
“Good evening!”
Katherine starts, looks up. An elegantly coifed flight attendant is there. Perfectly made-up and smiling, she reminds Katherine of someone.
“Sorry to startle you, but I wanted to share our dinner choices with you tonight.” She hands Katherine a cream-colored menu.
A menu! On a plane! Katherine wants to share the ridiculous amazingness of this with someone, but Lucas is not going to appreciate it, and sharing it with Sael wouldn’t be much fun either. She will have to gloat alone. She checks out the options. A full Thanksgiving turkey dinner (she knew it!) or salmon. She shyly makes eye contact with the flight attendant, unsure of how to proceed. Should she ask her what she, the stewardess, prefers as if she were a maître d’?
Before she can say anything, the flight attendant adds brightly, “Our salmon is very nice, but obviously, in your condition, turkey might be preferable.”
Katherine wonders if Sael has heard, but he’s still staring down at his laptop screen.
“Thank you.” Her mouth is dry. She gestures to Lucas, who is laughing at the antics of a small blue dog with large floating eyebrows. “He’ll have the turkey dinner too.”
The stewardess nods affably enough. “And to drink? Obviously, you won’t be having wine.”
It’s her eyes, Katherine realizes, those glassy, marble eyes.
“A ginger ale.” She keeps her tone level, pleasant. “Please. And he’ll have some milk.”
The stewardess nods, and then moves over toward Sael.
Katherine rubs the bridge of her nose, trying not to cry. It’s not stopping. She has to admit it. It’s not stopping. Here we are on the plane and the stewardess is going to bring us our turkey dinners and we’re trapped and it’s not stopping. Because she had thought it would stop once they left New York. She had secretly hoped that somehow the sterile environment of the plane would kill it off, a quarantine.
She’s gotten all too good at recognizing that slack look, that vacuous gaze. There are those who would revere; Mickey with his outstretched hand I just wanted you to know, the Bible thumper prostrate Holy, Holy, Holy. There are those who want her dead, Candice sprinkling glass on her food, Snow White regretful but matter-of-fact Sooner or later one of us will kill you. The worshippers may seem harmless but in truth they are almost as frightening. She has triggered something within them but it’s not her that’s the trigger is it? None of them can help it Lucas told her.
It’s the baby.
And as the baby grows, will their murderous urges and devotions grow stronger? Deep down she thinks knows the answer. She has never been so afraid.
Will it be like this England? She can’t breathe; she needs a moment. She grabs her purse and heads to the bathroom.
Katherine tries for the door, but it’s too late. The stewardess is suddenly beside her, her eyes now clouding over. She’s smiling, but tears are coming as the words tumble out.
“You’re so lucky to be pregnant. I’ve frozen all my eggs, the ones they could get to. Eggs on ice. My potential babies in some deep freeze, and there’s only a minimal chance of it working. You do it to yourself. The injections are huge. You pump yourself full of hormones. Like a turkey. Like a Thanksgiving turkey on steroids.” She lau
ghs a little, but it sounds more like a sob.
Katherine reaches for the door again. The handle seems to be jammed.
“He’s never going to leave his wife,” the stewardess continues. “I’m getting too old for him anyway. It suited him at first, my schedule, the long distances, the endless flying. God. I just want to stop flying.” She reaches out and touches Katherine’s hand.
Of course, Katherine observes in the midst of her panic, it’s the perfect hand for a stewardess. It’s soft but not too soft, warm and professionally smooth.
“Could you help me?” the stewardess beseeches her. “Please help me?”
“I-I-I have to use the bathroom, I’m sorry,” Katherine stammers, and miraculously the handle clicks and she opens the door, gets inside, and locks it. She stares at herself in the tiny mirror.
“Now what?” she asks aloud.
She had thought it would end. That was the main reason for saying yes, for leaving. She had thought it would stop. It hasn’t, and it’s getting worse.
Katherine rummages around in her purse for her eye drops, for some lipstick. She’ll straighten herself out and then she’ll go back. She’ll have to go back. The bathroom is tiny. First class or no first class.
Something pricks her thumb and she draws back. Shit! What was that? She reaches into her purse again, cautiously, and her fingers close around a metal brooch. The ring brooch that Sael had given her when he knelt in the moonlight those endless months ago.
Katherine, will you wear this, now and forever?
She had said yes.
And now she stands in a tiny bathroom stall, thousands of feet above the ground, staring at the ring brooch in her palm, at the delicately coiled silver snake, its mouth forever fastened on the tip of its own tail.
She had said yes to Sael and she had worn it. But she had taken it off after what happened. The memories were too sad. The weight of it dragged her down. She wonders how it got here, loose in her purse. She had agonized over whether to return it, had lost count of the times she had opened her rosewood box where it lay gleaming, and steeled herself to do so. But then there had been no need.
Still, she could have sworn she had zipped it up safely in her jewelry traveling case when she was packing, but here it is, round and solid within her hand.
Will you wear this, now and forever?
Perhaps it could serve as a reminder of how once he loved her and wanted to spend his life with her. Or perhaps this is a sign, a sign that we’re meant to be together and that all is not lost. She is almost dismayed by the way her heart lifts at this sudden thought. He won’t see it if she wears it underneath her shirt. No one will. It’s the most beautiful, most precious piece of jewelry she owns, and yet she pauses for a moment longer. Then she lifts its chain and hangs it around her neck.
The ring brooch gleams. It is light, but she’s aware of its presence on the slinky, silky chain, its cool weight between her breasts. It feels like she found something precious she didn’t know she’d lost. It feels right.
Katherine finds herself staring at her own reflection. She laughs, shakes her head. She must have zoned out there for a moment. As she opens the door, she braces herself for the stewardess, sure that she’ll be standing there still. I can’t do this, she thinks, but then the infinitesimal pressure of the ring brooch upon her skin somehow gives her comfort. A miniscule anchor holding her steady, or a compass guiding her true. I won’t listen to anything that comes out of her mouth, she decides. I’ll say, “Excuse me, I don’t want to hear this.”
Except the flight attendant isn’t there.
Relieved but puzzled, Katherine makes her way back to her seat.
Sael looks up as she returns.
“Hey.” He’s put away the laptop and is going through some papers. “Everything okay?”
She nods. “It’s fine.”
“Good.” He returns to his papers.
Lucas is engrossed in his movie. Katherine turns one page of her trashy novel, and then another. All is well.
“Excuse me?”
It’s the flight attendant again. Here we go. Katherine shudders and resigns herself to whatever may follow: more confidences, more pleadings, more tears. But although only moments ago, cornered in the bathroom, she had felt terrified, after discovering the ring brooch she knows she can handle it. Somehow she feels stronger, more sure of herself.
“I know that you asked for a ginger ale, but are you sure I can’t offer you another complimentary beverage?” the flight attendant asks. “We have wine, red and white, or a cocktail, a glass of Prosecco?”
“But . . . but . . . you said . . .” Katherine is totally thrown. The woman who was just warning her about the dangers of eating salmon while pregnant, who just told her she couldn’t have wine, is now back to offer her a choice of alcohol. Katherine scans the flight attendant’s face, her professional “I’m doing my job, and you’re taking far too long to answer the question, but I’ll stand here smiling until you do” demeanor.
“Is it possible to have a Bloody Mary?” she asks at last.
The flight attendant doesn’t blink. “Absolutely.”
“Actually—” Katherine smiles. “Sorry, I’ll make that a Virgin Mary. Drinking can be dehydrating on a flight.”
“Of course,” the flight attendant replies, pleasant and detached as if she has no memory of what happened. “I’ll be right back.”
“Are you sure you’re feeling okay?”
Sael is staring at her. He’s not as absorbed in his work as she’d thought.
“Yeah. You?”
“I’m all right.”
“Big changes.”
“You could say that.”
She wonders what it’s like to be in his shoes. Two months ago, he was off to England for a fresh start. Now he has a pregnant woman—a woman he wanted to leave behind—and her five-year-old adopted child in tow. Katherine knows he’s not sure how he feels about any of it. She wants to say something comforting. She wants to say, It’s cool. We’ll be okay. She wants to say, Thank you. But she can’t seem to say any of these things.
Instead, she reaches out and touches his hand. He looks up. Looks at her. Really at her, as if suddenly seeing her, Katherine, not as a woman he wants to forget, but as a woman he wants to remember.
Please, she prays, please. You once reached out to me and I reached back. I need you.
He gazes at her for a long while; then he takes her hand in his own warm dry one. Then looks down again at his papers but his face has relaxed a little, almost into a smile. After a long moment he releases her hand, but the small smile remains.
“Happy Thanksgiving, Katherine.”
“Happy Thanksgiving, Sael.”
It is enough. They don’t say anything more for now.
She stares out at the gathering darkness. They are now well above the clouds. Good-bye, New York. Good-bye to the streets and the traffic, the buses and the subways, the endless mass of people walking, talking, laughing, shouting, shoving past. Pushing strollers and begging on corners and chatting on cell phones, walking their dogs and walking other people’s dogs and lining up for brunch, waiting in pharmacies and delis and coffee shops and bars, at restaurants or at the Met or at concerts. Running along the river, in Central Park. Good-bye, good-bye, good-bye. I loved you. She thinks. My heart is breaking, yet I am thankful.
She is thankful and she also gives thanks that with every moment they are flying farther and farther away.
Thousands of feet below, other people are traveling, are arriving home on trains and buses and planes, winding, steering, flying to boyfriends or girlfriends or in-laws or friends. They will be greeted with hugs, with recriminations, the scent of turkey, and that warm, welcoming smell of mashed potato. Dogs, small and big, barking, leaping up. All these things are happening, but they seem to Katherine not just far away, but also in the past, as if distance equales time. They cannot hurt her now.
Second Trimester
13
&nb
sp; Margaret
I wake before the dawn. It is dark, still, and I lie for a moment staring up at the underside of the thatch. He will be here by tonight, and the ale, the ale is not yet ready.
Thomas is usually the first to wake, but today it is I, for I have things to do. I rise, as quietly as I am able. I glance around, shivering, for the mornings are still a little cool. Our cottage is simple enough, with no more than two rooms, but it is ours. No Cecily watching and waiting, her small blue eyes scheming with new lies; no Old Warren stumbling through the door, his fists ready to swing. Here, at least, we are safe. I pull on my new dark brown woolen dress. Soon I shall have enough to buy material for another new one, if the lord is pleased with my ale.
I close the front door behind me, and walk to the smaller stone arch by the main castle gate. The armored guards know the sight of me by now and merely nod sleepily. It is early still and they are waiting to be relieved of their night duty. I cross the cobbles of the inner courtyard. It is strange to think that we only arrived here two weeks ago. I remember staring at the rough stone walls climbing up to the heavens. Now, if I lean back far enough, I can just make out the parapets where the archers and long bowmen stand guarding us.
I do not know if I will ever become accustomed to the size of this place: the dim, cool, never-ending corridors that lead into dim, cool solars; the staircases that wind, up to the lord’s private chambers. When we first arrived the steward hurried me past the Great Hall. I would have little business there, keeping mostly to the kitchens and the buttery, but I caught a glimpse of the bright silk standards fluttering in the rafters, of the vivid wool tapestries lining its walls.
