My Name Is Memory by Ann Brashares Page B

with sand and grit bound to us by sticky sweat, and I stank worse than our horse. Late in the afternoon I saw something half buried in the sand, and I stopped the horse and got off.
    It turned out to be a giant piece of hammered brass, heavy and well wrought. I flipped it over and discovered it was a basin of some sort. It probably belonged to a merchant who’d found himself under attack and left in a hurry. It was too heavy to carry quickly, but it gave me an idea. We rode a mile or so out of the way to where I’d last seen evidence of water. We filled all of our containers and two wineskins and returned to the basin. I made a fire to heat the water and set the basin atop a little rise that offered the loveliest view of the sun as it showed off its ecstatic orange and purple streaks. The air turned cool and dim as Sophia watched my labors with a bemused look, but I kept at it until the basin was full of clean, steaming water.
    We’ve become so used to modern plumbing we practically consider it a right to have a hot bath at the turn of the wrist, and it’s easy to forget what a luxury it once was, but it was. I found a piece of soap in my saddlebag and handed it to her with some ceremony. It wasn’t much of a gift, but it felt like the right way to send her on to her new life.
    I was going to leave her in privacy, but I hated to miss her pleasure. “Should I go?” I asked her.
    She shook her head. “You should stay.” She took off her dress and underclothes without shame or shyness but without any coyness, either. I watched her set one foot, then two into the basin and shiver with delight.
    I can make you happy, I thought.
    I realized I was watching her with the knowledge of what was coming. I wanted to commit her to my memory more deeply and concretely than any other thing. I wanted to take in every bit of her so I could keep her with me for the long haul and so I could find her again. I studied her feet, slightly turned in, the pretty design of her rib cage, and the way she held her head forward. I knew her hair and her coloring and her shapes would be different next time, but the way she wore her body would keep on.
    She slipped all the way in and dunked her head under. She came up smiling, and her skin was a lighter shade. She lay back in the tub and let the water settle and smooth around her, reflecting the colors of the sky.
    “Come sit with me,” she said, and I sat on a flat rock on the rise just above her. It was a beautiful view.
    After she finished she ordered me into the bath. She watched me undress with proprietary boldness and scrubbed my back with deft fingers. I dunked my head under and felt only the silence and her hands. Each of these moments was a pearl on a string, one prettier and more perfect than the next.
    “I wish you were in here with me,” I said.
    She gave me a long, full look. “There are many things I wish.”
    “We’ll bathe together someday,” I told her with a heave of contentment.
    “Will we?”
    “Yes. Someday you’ll be free. Then I will find you and we’ll be as happy as this.”
    She had tears in her eyes and suds on her fingers. “How can that be true?”
    “It might take a long time, longer than you imagine, but someday we will.”
    “Do you promise me?”
    I looked at her and made another fateful choice. “I do.”
    When I was clean she washed our clothes and laid them out to dry. We had no choice but to huddle under the blankets and cling to each other bare-bodied and -souled until the sun came up and our clothes were dry.
    We ate the last of our food and rode out of our reverie and on into the village where she would begin her new life.
    I didn’t dare kiss her when we were naked under the blankets and burning with lust. I waited until we could read the shapes of the dusty village on the horizon before I stopped the horse and pulled her off. I held her for a long time. Even then I didn’t mean to kiss her. I was too committed to preserving her lawful