look.
“Quite the contrary,” he replied after a moment. “My father...he meant the world to me.”
Salam nodded then turned to look at the fire. He preferred to support his friend in respectful silence. Kalaan let out a low moan and began to wobble slightly on his bare feet.
“You should lie down and wait for the transformation,” Salam was almost pleading.
“No! I will face this standing up! The change is becoming less and less painful anyway.”
“Braggart!” Salam, mocked him gently, which brought a smile to Kalaan’s lips.
“I would like to see you go through this!”
“ La, shoukran!” [47]
“Nothing obliges you to stay in this room and witness yet another humiliation.” Kalaan gave Salam a friendly tap on the shoulder. The squishy wet sound of that tap on the soaking fabric made them both break out into hearty laughter.
“There is a well-heated guest room with all the amenities just down the hall. Go change your clothes and rest there, my friend.”
“I will go dry myself...but then I will return.” Salam picked up his pack and followed his friend’s directions.
Once alone, Kalaan went back to the wardrobe and took out a bottle of whisky. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth and drank at length from the bottle. The alcohol warmed his throat and loins, temporarily relieving the pain contracting his muscles. He went over to the fire and sighed in contentment.
“Finally,” he murmured, “I am at home and at peace.”
Kalaan took another swig of the amber liquid and kept it on his tongue to savor its rich biting flavor. He was so absorbed by this instant of pleasure that he didn’t hear the door open behind him.
“Kalaan!” sang out two feminine voices in unison.
Caught by surprise, the young man almost choked on his whisky. He spluttered, spitting it into the hearth where it caught fire. The heat from the flames rose up to his face bringing a burning smell to his nostrils.
He shot around, drops of the alcohol running down his chin and a look of astonishment in his eyes when he saw Amélie and Isabelle in their nightgowns and little boots, barely protected against the elements.
“What a nightmare,” he moaned. “I must wake up.”
Indignant, both mother and daughter dropped their smiles.
“I’m pleased to see you too my son,” Amélie said stiffly, holding her head high.
“What a clod!” Isabelle’s feelings were hurt by her brother’s thoughtless comment. Would he ever learn proper manners?
This was not what he had planned, and yes, Kalaan was in a nightmare, but it was really happening.
“Mother… Isabelle,” Kalaan went up to them, wiping the whisky from his chin. He stopped and slammed the bottle down on the table.
Almost snarling at them he said, “You are supposed to be in Paris! But no you are here on Croz, and in your nightwear to boot!”
At first stupefied by Kalaan’s reaction, Amélie and Isabelle were slowly getting angry.
“You’re spoiling everything!” Isabelle did not have her mother’s sense of self-control. “We were so happy at the idea of seeing you again after such a long separation. So yes, we are ‘in our nightwear’ as you so aptly put it. We were so impatient to greet you and hold you in our arms. We looked everywhere for you, but finally found you here. And you, you dare rebuff us? You… you…”
“That will do, Isabelle,” Amélie calmly interrupted her daughter. “I am pleased to see you again, my son. You don’t look well, however.”
Isabelle opened her mouth to say something, and stopped when the door to the next room opened. Salam appeared dressed from head to foot in his dry ‘blue man’ clothing. He was returning to join Kalaan when he heard voices arguing.
“Close your mouth Isabelle,” Amélie ordered, placing her fingers on her daughter’s chin. “Are you going to introduce us, Kalaan?”
Scowling, the young man decided to comply with the rules of propriety. “Mother, Isabelle, I would like to
“Quite the contrary,” he replied after a moment. “My father...he meant the world to me.”
Salam nodded then turned to look at the fire. He preferred to support his friend in respectful silence. Kalaan let out a low moan and began to wobble slightly on his bare feet.
“You should lie down and wait for the transformation,” Salam was almost pleading.
“No! I will face this standing up! The change is becoming less and less painful anyway.”
“Braggart!” Salam, mocked him gently, which brought a smile to Kalaan’s lips.
“I would like to see you go through this!”
“ La, shoukran!” [47]
“Nothing obliges you to stay in this room and witness yet another humiliation.” Kalaan gave Salam a friendly tap on the shoulder. The squishy wet sound of that tap on the soaking fabric made them both break out into hearty laughter.
“There is a well-heated guest room with all the amenities just down the hall. Go change your clothes and rest there, my friend.”
“I will go dry myself...but then I will return.” Salam picked up his pack and followed his friend’s directions.
Once alone, Kalaan went back to the wardrobe and took out a bottle of whisky. He uncorked the bottle with his teeth and drank at length from the bottle. The alcohol warmed his throat and loins, temporarily relieving the pain contracting his muscles. He went over to the fire and sighed in contentment.
“Finally,” he murmured, “I am at home and at peace.”
Kalaan took another swig of the amber liquid and kept it on his tongue to savor its rich biting flavor. He was so absorbed by this instant of pleasure that he didn’t hear the door open behind him.
“Kalaan!” sang out two feminine voices in unison.
Caught by surprise, the young man almost choked on his whisky. He spluttered, spitting it into the hearth where it caught fire. The heat from the flames rose up to his face bringing a burning smell to his nostrils.
He shot around, drops of the alcohol running down his chin and a look of astonishment in his eyes when he saw Amélie and Isabelle in their nightgowns and little boots, barely protected against the elements.
“What a nightmare,” he moaned. “I must wake up.”
Indignant, both mother and daughter dropped their smiles.
“I’m pleased to see you too my son,” Amélie said stiffly, holding her head high.
“What a clod!” Isabelle’s feelings were hurt by her brother’s thoughtless comment. Would he ever learn proper manners?
This was not what he had planned, and yes, Kalaan was in a nightmare, but it was really happening.
“Mother… Isabelle,” Kalaan went up to them, wiping the whisky from his chin. He stopped and slammed the bottle down on the table.
Almost snarling at them he said, “You are supposed to be in Paris! But no you are here on Croz, and in your nightwear to boot!”
At first stupefied by Kalaan’s reaction, Amélie and Isabelle were slowly getting angry.
“You’re spoiling everything!” Isabelle did not have her mother’s sense of self-control. “We were so happy at the idea of seeing you again after such a long separation. So yes, we are ‘in our nightwear’ as you so aptly put it. We were so impatient to greet you and hold you in our arms. We looked everywhere for you, but finally found you here. And you, you dare rebuff us? You… you…”
“That will do, Isabelle,” Amélie calmly interrupted her daughter. “I am pleased to see you again, my son. You don’t look well, however.”
Isabelle opened her mouth to say something, and stopped when the door to the next room opened. Salam appeared dressed from head to foot in his dry ‘blue man’ clothing. He was returning to join Kalaan when he heard voices arguing.
“Close your mouth Isabelle,” Amélie ordered, placing her fingers on her daughter’s chin. “Are you going to introduce us, Kalaan?”
Scowling, the young man decided to comply with the rules of propriety. “Mother, Isabelle, I would like to
Similar Books
