Tears of Leyden

by Baysinger-Ott, Naomi

  He smiles. “That would be three things in common.”

  Now I can’t wait for Nadeje and his respect for quiet space to return.

  He is still watching me. “Do you miss them?”

  I stop.

  It is very quiet in the room.

  “Your family?”

  Even though I did not ask, I knew who he meant. It only hurts me more that he pronounced it aloud to me.

  “You must let it go.” The words sound hollow and cold, and they ring like church bells in my ears.

  I feel very chilled. This was one topic I did not accept to be discussed.

  “Excuse me…” I start to rise, but he stands as well.

  “You must move on from it Lyra…we all know how it feels...and your religion…” I look up at him as he stops not even a foot away from me. “Your religion has plastered the idea all over the walls of your mind that you have to remember them for what happened, to not sin, to not see the flaws in the people who did the wrong, to think of them until you are ill…but no…what you must do is let them go.”

  I hear it but I don’t listen; over the last two sentences he has come closer, and coincidently, he does not seem know to take his moves slowly about me. All I know is he is much too close for how long I have known him, towering over me like a giant with only breathing space between us. I feel too vulnerable. Much too close. I feel my face has blanched, and I slowly shrink back. His face slackens as he seems to realize his action’s result, and thankfully stays back. He says nothing. His face is silent in expression.

  I step back again and then turn to go into my room.

  The front door opens. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nadeje enter through the outer room. As much as I want him to see Arturo’s action, I regret that I had endured Arturo’s preaching and stayed long enough for him to get at me with his last comment. I turn to go and step through the door. I don’t turn around again, even as I close and lock Nadeje’s door and stand inside his room waiting and listening.

  Chapter 11

  Thump, thump…

  “Ms. Thimlet?”

  It is Nadeje.

  He knocks again, this time gentler and less loud.

  I wait a few more seconds, considering what I should do. Gradually, I uncurl from the bed. I step over to the door and stand still at the presence of his voice.

  “Lyra…I am sorry if Arturo…are you listening?”

  I lean against the door a bit and slowly turn the knob. I hear him back away as I open it. When I look, he is standing back from me. I look up at him.

  He overlooks me. “Are you alright?”

  I look past him to make sure my hearing Arturo leaving a few minutes ago was not a trick of the mind. It wasn’t. He is gone. Good riddance.

  I glance up at Nadeje again, and the calm nature in his eyes lulls something inside me. I let it, a little too shaken to try to battle my emotions right now. I look down a bit to his throat then up again. His eyes are soft but severe, almost worried.

  “Yes.” It is soft and broken and he seems to know the contrary.

  He does not say anything for a moment, but he observes me in my place. He massages his temples with his hand as though his head is paining him. I feel a little anxiety at the action spark inside. Was it because of me? What had I done wrong? Was he upset? Was he in pain and would take it out on me? No. I see the gesture as what it is as he releases his face and his eyes meet mine again. There is no violence in those peaceful eyes.

  I keep his gaze with mine and, even after my discovery, feel a little glad to be half behind the door.

  “Did he…” He pauses as though unsure of what to say after it.

  I don’t blame him. I would feel the same about a friend, sure you could trust them, and then they harm the person you are responsible for. Only, he didn’t hurt me, he frightened me. He showed me how to be frightened by myself without my consent.

  I faintly shake my head.

  He waits for a further reply.

  I do not give one.

  He sighs. “Did he speak in a manner that was offhand to you?”

  I play with the knob on the door and avoid his gaze, slightly ashamed to have caused his worry…but then why should I be? I look to the floor and command myself to stop fidgeting. “I don’t know.”

  He is quiet again, and then he breaks the silence. “He didn’t mean to cause harm…he just can’t hold his tongue and doesn’t know that there is a right time for everything.”

  I swallow hard. Can’t hold his tongue? I would argue, but when I look up into Nadeje’s eyes, their expression is more truthful than my own belief. I swallow again. “I don’t want to call him cruel, but I do want to call him insensitive to other’s opinions.”

  Though I look down, I think I glimpse Nadeje’s eyes smile. “He is thoughtless at times…that is all…and despite his love for religious philosophy…he finds his hobby in flirting with women…” I look up at him, and his eyes are all honesty. “I don’t know why I didn’t see that before I put you through with him.”

  I watch him a moment, and behind his serene calm, I find the same quality of consciousness as Arturo. It is hidden, yes, but it is there, almost stronger than Arturo’s. I liked his way of holding it more than Arturo’s too, with more reserve and patience. For some reason, a large pang inside me makes me feel winded. I want that. Something inside me desperately wants that same morality. The same peace of mind…but I can’t. I stop myself and look away. I stroke the knob with my finger, ashamed at my thoughts. Moeder would be cross.

  “I brought you a book.”

  It is quiet and gentle, but it does not catch my attention as well as it might have. I make myself look up to give him some recognition.

  He understands me. He turns away and steps over to the table where a package sits wrapped in brown paper. He lifts it up and turns back to me, ready to hand it over. When it is within reach, he is also within reach, but for some reason he does not intimidate me as Arturo had, he jitters me. He holds it out closer and I slowly take it.

  I want to say thank you, to tell him what it means to me, but something inside me feels tied back. I can’t open my mouth. Instead I look up at him to at least show him my appreciation. He turns away though, seeming to know my condition and seeming to know how I feel. I do not close the door right away. I instead watch his back as he steps out into the other side of the house. I respect him. The thought occurs without influence. I close the door. The shame returns, except this time, stronger.

  In the evening, I am rested. I managed a bath and read at least half of the book Nadeje brought me. I know I should savor it as much as possible, but I am hungry. Not for food, but for distraction, distraction from my life and from all the cruelty in it so clear to me.

  I step out of the room and let the smell of cooking enter and make my stomach churn. I do not want the food, for fear I might not be able to hold it down with the shame stirring about inside me, but I do want to smell it, to distract myself.

  When I emerge Nadeje is not to be seen. I almost go back in, but then the flicker of movement catches my eye beyond the open door way. I move towards it thinking that it is Nadeje. It is. He is shelving something from a basket lying on the floor. It looks like books or journals of some kind. I do not speak. I want him to start the conversation. When he sees me, he does not seem startled at my sudden appearance and his eyes are, as usual, warm like the hearth.

  “You are feeling better, I take it?”

  I look down at myself, my arms loosely hugging my waist, my crumpled dress. I do not look all that better, but perhaps he sees something I do not in my face. I mildly shake my head in response.

  “Worse?”

  I shift my arms a bit. “No, but not better either.”

  I can feel him watching me. “Rested?”

  I nod in agreement.

  He does not move. “Is the topic of Arturo still bothersome for you?”

  I look up. My expression seems to say all.

  “How is
the book?”

  For some reason, as dull as reading it seemed, talking about it appears to light something in me. I think it must be out of habit from reading with my vader and discussing the aspects of the story, from sharing it with someone.

  “I like it…it is not hard to read, but not easy to figure out either. I read half of it.”

  He looks to the shelf a moment then back to me, his eyes distant but present all at once, hearing for me, thinking for himself, and holding a smile for both.

  “Half way,” he says it gently. His eyes remain on mine for a while before he continues and shelves another book. “I suppose you need more then, to sustain yourself.”

  I had not expected this, and the comment takes me off guard. “I have half left…”

  He looks at me calmly. “Half is read.”

  I look back at him. “I am being optimistic.”

  He turns back. “If I went though, you would be here with Arturo again.”

  The silence in the room is dreadful. My head feels suddenly dreadful.

  It takes me a moment. “You don’t have other friends?”

  He looks to me, his eyes severe. “Not that I trust.”

  I look down at my feet. “I don’t want to decline your offer, but I also don’t want to be left alone…with him again.”

  He is still watching me, and somehow I feel his mood shift. “You are afraid?”

  I look up to him at this. He seems to read my gaze.

  “We can see what we can do about it…for now I will wait.”

  I look down again, and then up to find him still watching me. I respect him for his poise, and the way that he will not leave you unless gestured to do so, but I feel guilt rise for respecting a man who is in line with those who impaired my family. I wish he would stop. I cannot think of it right now.

  “What are you doing?”

  He looks at me still, gently. “Placing and organizing some new journals…for research.”

  I nod a little and then wait trying to find something else to request or say. I can’t find anything. I do not look at him again before I turn and go.

  Chapter 12

  Later, I sit reading poetry in Nadeje’s bedroom. It is quiet apart from the occasionally blowing wind outside and the faint sounds from the streets. It is, to my surprise, not too cold but drafty, even with the window cracked. My eyes run over the pages of the book Nadeje brought me. I wiggle my toes as they begin to tingle from the draft and force my eyes away from the page as I reposition myself from the chest at the foot of the bed and crawl under the covers.

  There is the light clopping of hooves on cobblestone outside, and I am diverted from the page. I hear a man shout and I am reminded suddenly of the night watchers, the guards who survey in the nighttime. I tense. I wait to hear the desolate screaming of Meleiya and moeder fill my ears until it is unbearable, for the memory of them to scorch my brain until it is branded there, ready to remind me at every turning point. I sit like this, frozen, until the party passes the house and all is quiet.

  When I break free from the tension I realize I am trembling. It is nothing to worry about, but it is there. I turn over and set aside my book, when I hear Nadeje out within the other rooms. For some reason I relax from the assurance of not being alone, and feeling defiant against him being the reason I feel quieted, I lay down and say grace and blow out my candle light. I lay here then, wishing I hadn’t blown it out, the dark my new thought occupation.

  I wake up to the soft beating of boots upon pebble stone ground. It is foggy outside, and my body feels warm only because I rest under many blankets and sheets. I turn over slowly, sitting up and tiredly looking out the window. A Dutch soldier passes, and then a few women and a young child pass, dressed out for working at the wall. I slouch weakly, rubbing my eyes with my hand and trying to waken the part of me which still is drowsy. I hear Nadeje somewhere in the kitchen and the sounds of pots and glass clanking. I sniffle from the cold and weakly murmur grace. With a thought of moeder and Meyleia, I begin to rise.

  When I step out, Nadeje is sitting reading through one of his new journals. He looks up to me, and closes the cover. “Did sleep help?”

  I nod faintly, not wanting to tell him how many times I tossed and turned.

  He sighs. “How are you with the book?”

  I glance down at the distance between us. I do not want to tell him I finished it, but it occurs to me that he already knows. “I read it.”

  He sits back at this and his eyes smile. “Hmm.”

  I feel my cheeks heat up as he watches me, but I manage not to avoid his gaze.

  He swallows. “I think I have a solution to our difficulty with getting out of prison.”

  I look at him a moment unsure if I had heard him right. I knew he said odd things but this, his admittance to it being a prison, was altogether another thing.

  “Do you wish to go to the market with me?”

  I feel my whole body tighten in response to the offer. I know this is most likely disallowed of me, not disallowed but prohibited of me. I am meant to remain here trapped, in solitude. He bringing me outside would be dangerous, risky, and could root conflict with his fellow people and the rest of the King’s society. Surely he must know this. He knew its risk and was taking it for…I stop.

  For me.

  I watch him in repentance to the pleasure I feel.

  He seems not to see the worst of my reaction. “I would need Arturo’s assistance…he would look out for us as we go…but not beyond that point.”

  I feel everything inside me break apart, like it is no longer one system anymore, but many systems, working out of rhythm and without a purpose.

  “I would like that…” I fight back the urge to cringe at my lie.

  I don’t want to be taken care of, especially by those who did the opposite to my family. I don’t show this.

  “Are you hungry?” The offer was kindly meant but I feel sick to my stomach.

  I look down and mildly shake my head.

  He does not say anything for a moment, but does seem to see something in my action. “Do you want anything?”

  I look up again, and this time, I hate it. I hate him. I hate my life. I hate everything that has made it to this point. How am I supposed to accept him? He is cruel to be kind. They were monstrous when mean. I want to yell at him to stop. Make him stop. All I do though is shake my head and turn away to his room.

  When I am safely inside, I let the tears come. I let the fear come. I let the anger come. I think of nothing and everything. I am alone. I am alone and there is nothing I can do about it. I can’t hear myself, or anyone else. I didn’t want this or any part of it. Why am I here? Why has it happened so fast? What am I asking myself? What is the point of this?

  I can’t calm myself for the next several minutes and remain standing, shaking, and unsure of what to do. I don’t know how time passes, but I wake up again the next morning. I wake up and feel hollow. I wake up and feel soulless. I wake up and feel like even individuality has left me.

  Chapter 13

  I make my way unhurriedly down the cobblestone street, bracing myself against the fog and trying to find something for distraction. I do not hurry. I know that before me lies time and behind me lies my past; neither of which I wish to be habituated with.

  I stop at a fruit stand and let my eyes wander over the pomegranates, bright red in the dreary environment. Feeling watched though, I keep walking on, towards a further stand without any intention.

  It seems that all grains are still out, and meat gone as well. The butcher is missing from his stand, and only a few small close-shore fish are at the sea stand. Nothing is precisely flourishing. This should not surprise me, but I suppose being in the household of a Spanish soldier, you are blocked from the truth for others.

  I see a few children with the fruit trader to my left, and don’t know how I could look on a child again without seeing Meyleia’s petrified face in my mind. I have stopped in the middle of the stands and have
no real want or need to move. If I was not obligated with being watched I wouldn’t. Nadeje follows me, keeping at a distance behind. I know of only one thing which I could strategize to lose him, but I am gripped with the guilt and anger at the guilt so that I couldn’t perform it on my own. I dreamed of it last night and I know it is possible. I could there pay debt to moeder and Meyleia, maybe I could end this for good.

  I know he thinks I need to be outside, maybe he thinks I want to just stay outside in the market to leave the house, but that is only half of the truth. I want to leave him too, leave the market, and leave the street. The one sanctuary, the one place I wish to go to is only one, one which I can barely bring to mind myself.

  I tighten my hands into fists and hesitate. Could I escape the market? Could I make it there? Was I ever fast at running? Not too well, but it could do. Would I know the way? Yes. I could sense my way after hearing so many unfortunate souls who were brought there from their homes. I feel like I am wronging too many. Would it be a sin? No. Dangerous? Yes. Could I succeed? I stand here, unconvinced of my own plan. Am I strong enough?

  I glance over my shoulder and find that Nadeje has been distracted with the children who are begging upset stands. I am thankful to the cause. I watch long enough to glance him drop several copper coins onto one of the stands and hear them still conversing. Before I can’t, I turn away. Did he just do what I believe he has? I think of the coins and the sound of them clinking through the market. Could I be in the wrong? Should I stop?

  I move on, quickening my steps as I get farther. I head straight and around a slight bend and sharply turn into a dark alley and hurry to the opposite end. I then go left, into a quiet empty street. Hoping I am not in private property I hurry past some homes and turn out of the street. I turn again into another alley which bends and meets up, farther off, against the eastern wall. I know here it is tricky if I encounter anybody, for there would be nowhere to run and no one to call too for help.

  I am circling the city the more steps I take. I turn left and find another darker street, and quickly make my way into the outskirts of the businesses. I walk on through the route and finally find another alleyway. This one leads me out into a small square, where I hesitate only a moment, then continue forward to a framed entryway leading to where I wish to be most.