confessed nothing. I stood by my mother and Luma, continuing to watch, feeling like a small child again. “What should we do?” I asked, not because I wanted advice, but because I wanted mother to know that I thought she was worth asking.
But when she turned to look at me, the entire picture crumpled. My dragonka was one thing, and I was quite another. Her eyes steeled as they pierced me. I shrank back to the door, but mother called me back.
“Petra K,” she began. I knew she was angry, because she was whispering. “What have you gotten us into?”
“I had no choice,” I began.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses!” she spat. I could talk back to anybody, except my mother. Even when I was right, my words just got trapped in my throat, my lips unable to form them, as though I was speaking a foreign language.
“Tell me who you stole it from,” she said. “Tell me now.”
“I didn’t steal it,” I said. But the words just fell flat from my mouth. This was one of those times when no matter how true the response, it sounds like a lie, even to your own ears.
“Speak up,” Mother said, even though I knew she could hear me well enough.
“I didn’t steal it,” I said louder.
“You are turning into your father,” she shouted.
It was then that my mother grabbed a broom. She struck out at me with it, as though I was a rodent that had gotten indoors. She was not used to moving quickly, so I dodged the bristles easily. I almost wanted to let one blow land, just so she wouldn’t feel like such a failure. Instead she took a few more futile swings, then crumpled onto the floor. I approached her silently. I took the broom into my hands, then gently pried it from her grip. She let it go easily. Her hands were so old looking. My heart, as always, filled with pity and love for my mother.
“Come on, it’s OK,” I said.
“I tried so hard,” she said. “I tried so hard to keep you from turning into a deviant. But I failed. I failed terribly.”
In such a situation, I knew it was my turn to care for her. That was what both of us expected of me.
“Let’s go outside today,” I said, forcing a bright smile.
“But I haven’t been out in such along time,” Mother said.
“I know. That’s why it will be great,” I answered.
Her demeanor changed in an instant. Anger took too much energy from her. I watched her tense expression relax. From that point on, my mother was like a huge doll I could take charge of. I escorted her into her room, helped her out of her night things, and selected a perfect winter outfit for her. It was perhaps too dressy for just going out to walk around Jozseftown, but that was alright. For me, at least, it was a celebration. She let me comb her hair and put some rouge on her cheeks. There was nothing to be done about the tea-stained teeth, but at least I could count on her not smiling.
When we were done, she looked like I remembered her from before she began locking herself in her bedroom. Which means, great: my mother all over again. I locked Luma in his cage with some water and food, then took Mother by the hand andguided her to the front door. I opened it, and a blast of cold air invaded the hall. We pushed forward and stepped outside. Her head perked up like a flower leaning to sunlight.
I was in no mood for Jozseftown. My mother deserved to see the best of Pava on a day like today. We made our way past the vendors and through the narrow streets, and walked past the guards that stood posted at the neighborhood gates. We strolled across the Karlow Bridge to parade ourselves in our old neighborhood under the Palace.
“Look,” Mother said. “The Palace Gardens are open. Let’s go see!”
At the gardens we saw rare flowers: kissing tulipan that made a slurping sound as their petals sought each other; orgona from the high Nepyls, which gave off the odor of bitter chocolate and whose petals were prized by top pastry chefs; and the dark violet
lavendula
, the touch of which
But when she turned to look at me, the entire picture crumpled. My dragonka was one thing, and I was quite another. Her eyes steeled as they pierced me. I shrank back to the door, but mother called me back.
“Petra K,” she began. I knew she was angry, because she was whispering. “What have you gotten us into?”
“I had no choice,” I began.
“I don’t want to hear your excuses!” she spat. I could talk back to anybody, except my mother. Even when I was right, my words just got trapped in my throat, my lips unable to form them, as though I was speaking a foreign language.
“Tell me who you stole it from,” she said. “Tell me now.”
“I didn’t steal it,” I said. But the words just fell flat from my mouth. This was one of those times when no matter how true the response, it sounds like a lie, even to your own ears.
“Speak up,” Mother said, even though I knew she could hear me well enough.
“I didn’t steal it,” I said louder.
“You are turning into your father,” she shouted.
It was then that my mother grabbed a broom. She struck out at me with it, as though I was a rodent that had gotten indoors. She was not used to moving quickly, so I dodged the bristles easily. I almost wanted to let one blow land, just so she wouldn’t feel like such a failure. Instead she took a few more futile swings, then crumpled onto the floor. I approached her silently. I took the broom into my hands, then gently pried it from her grip. She let it go easily. Her hands were so old looking. My heart, as always, filled with pity and love for my mother.
“Come on, it’s OK,” I said.
“I tried so hard,” she said. “I tried so hard to keep you from turning into a deviant. But I failed. I failed terribly.”
In such a situation, I knew it was my turn to care for her. That was what both of us expected of me.
“Let’s go outside today,” I said, forcing a bright smile.
“But I haven’t been out in such along time,” Mother said.
“I know. That’s why it will be great,” I answered.
Her demeanor changed in an instant. Anger took too much energy from her. I watched her tense expression relax. From that point on, my mother was like a huge doll I could take charge of. I escorted her into her room, helped her out of her night things, and selected a perfect winter outfit for her. It was perhaps too dressy for just going out to walk around Jozseftown, but that was alright. For me, at least, it was a celebration. She let me comb her hair and put some rouge on her cheeks. There was nothing to be done about the tea-stained teeth, but at least I could count on her not smiling.
When we were done, she looked like I remembered her from before she began locking herself in her bedroom. Which means, great: my mother all over again. I locked Luma in his cage with some water and food, then took Mother by the hand andguided her to the front door. I opened it, and a blast of cold air invaded the hall. We pushed forward and stepped outside. Her head perked up like a flower leaning to sunlight.
I was in no mood for Jozseftown. My mother deserved to see the best of Pava on a day like today. We made our way past the vendors and through the narrow streets, and walked past the guards that stood posted at the neighborhood gates. We strolled across the Karlow Bridge to parade ourselves in our old neighborhood under the Palace.
“Look,” Mother said. “The Palace Gardens are open. Let’s go see!”
At the gardens we saw rare flowers: kissing tulipan that made a slurping sound as their petals sought each other; orgona from the high Nepyls, which gave off the odor of bitter chocolate and whose petals were prized by top pastry chefs; and the dark violet
lavendula
, the touch of which
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