by E J Pay
“Pearl. Pearl, darling.” Her concern is there again. I offer another smile. I am able to straighten up as well and sit without the help of her support. She rubs my back before pulling her hand away again. “Darling, I don’t think you are going to be able to participate in the Celebrations of Zeus today.” I’m not sure what she is talking about, but Dom’s reaction gives me a clue.
“Mama! No! She can’t miss the Celebrations of Zeus!” Dom yells, “It’s the opening day of the festival! She’ll be fine, Mom. See? She ate almost the entire pita bread, and you know how healing Acacia’s cheese is.” His eyes are pleading now and his voice goes up an entire octave. But his pleas have fallen on deaf ears. His Mama gives him “the look.”
“Dom, you ate most of the bread,” she responds. “Your sister is still unwell and needs more time to rest and recover. We don’t even know what brought on her spell yet.”
It’s my turn to act. “But Mama,” I whine weakly, “Dom and I have been talking about the festival all week. I just have to go.” I give my best sad eyes, but I can already see that this mother isn’t going to budge. I pull a sad face and slink, dejected, back onto the feather pillows. Dom’s entire countenance falls. There will be no winning here.
“You can go next year, Pearl. This is for the best. And, Dom, you can go with your cousins and Theodis.” I see frustration and mischief both mingling on Dom’s face.
“Okay,” he sighs, “but it won’t be as much fun.”
“Yes, I know,” their mother replies. She puts her hand on her son’s shoulder. “Now, go get cleaned up and ready for the festival. Your sister needs to rest and regain her strength.”
Dom walks out of the room, shoulders bowed, head turned toward me, eyes wishing he wasn’t going without me. He pauses and his face lights up as he turns to his mother. “Mama! Can I bring home some festival treats for Pearl?” No doubt, he will be getting treats for his sister, but he will also get an item or two for himself. Their mother sighs as she answers her son.
“Of course you can, Dom. Now off with you. Your sister needs some quiet.”
“Don’t worry, Pearl! I won’t eat all of your sweets!” And with a giggle, he is gone. Their mother puts her hand against my head, checking for a fever that isn’t there. She smiles contentedly and kisses the curly locks that brush against my cheek.
“Rest well, my love,” she whispers, “I’m glad you are doing better.”
“Me too, Mama,” I reply, Pearl’s favorite name for her mother coming easily from my lips. “Thank you.” She gives me a gentle smile and sits in the chair by the bed. She hums a tune that feels familiar to me. I feel a wave of warmth and comfort. My stomach is content, my body is tired. My mind is being lulled to sleep. I close my eyes, knowing that I will be safe, wishing this all to be a dream, hoping that I will awaken in my own bed to the face of my own Mama. Yet, I somehow understand that my time in Pearl’s body isn’t over.
Chapter 3
After several days, I feel more like myself (or at least like Pearl’s self). I have strength back and my mind is clear, giving me the brain power to think about my situation and how to find my way out of it. I yearn for my family, hoping and praying that they are safe in Atlantis, that they were able to defeat Ceto. The sooner I get home to them, the sooner I will feel peace.
Dom enjoyed his time at the festival and spent several hours telling me about the magicians, actors, and street vendors. As promised, he brought back several treats for me: fish, which I couldn’t bring myself to eat, Greece’s traditional spanakotropita - its fragrant odor of spinach and cheese making my mouth water, and stafidopsomo bread (a few of its sweet, raisin-filled slices missing). We ate the treats together, Dom always out-eating what I could handle in a sitting, and we talked.
Today, I am up and doing some of Pearl’s chores. I’ve just finished cleaning up after our morning meal and am sweeping the kitchen when Dom comes bounding in from outside.
“Pearl!” he says, face flushed from his run in the warm, Grecian air. “Are you finished with your chores yet? I want to play in the olive orchard.”
“She hasn’t milked Acacia yet,” Cook says. Milk Acacia? I didn’t know that was one of my chores. Not to mention, I have no idea how on earth to milk a goat. I’ve seen people milk cows in old movies, but the only milking I’ve seen first-hand was done by machine.
I’m standing still with my mouth hanging open when Cook gives me a glowering stare. “What’s this, girl? You still too sick to milk a goat?” Her tone is patronizing and she is annoyed. “I’ve had Theodis milking your precious goat for you while you’ve been cooped up, and he’s nowhere near as good or as fast at it as you are. I suggest that you make yourself feel well enough and go milk that goat if you’d like to see any cheese or butter on your table.”
I nod and set the broom against the wall. Dom takes me by the hand and we head out the door to the goat pen. I’m hoping that Pearl’s brother can milk the goat. But how do I get him to help without letting on what is happening to me?
“So… do you want to milk Acacia for me today?” I use my best begging eyes, but I didn’t grow up with a brother. I have made the wrong move. He looks at me like I have gone mad, which maybe I have.
“Um, no way. She’s your goat. I don’t milk her.” Then he gets a huge grin. “I just eat her cheese. Now, hurry up so we can go play. I want to get back to our game.”
Pearl’s goat, Acacia, trots up to me and nibbles my clothing. I gently push her face away and grab the rope around her neck. I look around the pen until I see a stool and bucket. They are near a wooden framework that looks like it is meant to hold Acacia. I take the goat by the rope and pull her over to the milking stand. Dom watches while I try to force Acacia into the stall. I pull her to the framework and tie her to it.
Dom walks over and says, “Did you forget how to tie her up, Pearl?” He takes the goat’s rope, untying what I have done.
“Sorry,” I say. “I guess I’m not myself yet.” Dom looks at me with a single raised eyebrow and a small frown. He brings Acacia up to the top of the framework, forcing her head between the slats I tied her to. He ties her rope to a small hook, puts the bucket under her swollen belly, and steps aside. It’s my turn now.
I bring the stool next to Acacia and sit down. Acacia is bleating and sounds cranky. She is restless and eager to get this over with. I grip her warm teat and pull down. It is fleshy and squishy, warm and weird. And it doesn’t work. Acacia stomps her hind leg and bleats at me again. Dom is still looking over my shoulder, watching my milking attempts. I try again so I won’t give away that I have no idea what I am doing.
Again and again, I grab Acacia and pull. Again and again, she bleats at me but doesn’t give me any milk. My hands are getting wet and Acacia is getting red from my pulling. Once or twice a random squirt of milk escapes into the bucket, but I have no idea why it happens or how to repeat it. Finally, Acacia has had enough. She stomps angrily, kicking the bucket away and bleating louder than before. Her hooves keep stomping and I have to move out of the way to keep from being kicked. I am frustrated and for the first time in my life, I wish I knew how to milk a goat.
I turn to face Dom, his eyes are narrowed and his arms are folded. He is staring me down.
“Pearl, what’s going on?” he asks. “What are you doing to your poor goat?” I blink to keep myself from letting a tear fall, but I can’t keep the tears out of my voice. So, I do the next best thing and stand there silently, willing this boy to understand what is going on and why I cannot do what he thinks his sister should be able to do. I cannot hold the tears in any longer. I start to cry. Not just cry the quiet tears of a teenager trying to save face, but the heaving sobs of a ten-year-old girl who messed up in front of her brother. A few of the workers in the fields turn their heads my way when they hear me. All they see is a ten-year-old girl crying by her goat. But Dom is with me. I am fine, so they turn back to their pruning.
Dom sighs and sits on the ground, looking up into
my face. “What is it, Pearl?” I shake my head, determined to not tell him what is going on. He puts his hand on my arm and I am unable to keep my struggle to myself. I let it all pour out of me, sure that he will tell his Mama and I will be sent to bed for more rest.
“I…I…I’m not really Pearl,” I manage to stammer out between runny nose sniffs. “I…I’m stuck in her body.” Dom busts out with laughter. He doesn’t believe me. I start crying even harder. My shoulders are shaking now with the force of my tears. I cannot stand what is happening to me. I am stuck with the emotional capabilities of a ten-year-old girl and I feel all of it keenly.
After a few moments of laughter, Dom takes a deep breath and lets out a sigh as he puts his hand on my shoulder. I am still shaking and sniffing.
“Oh, Evelyn,” he says. The sound of my own name for the first time in days silences me. Hiccups are the only sound I make. “I know you aren’t Pearl.”
I hiccup and sniff again. “How did you know?” I ask.
Dom lets a smirk creep onto his face. “Well, there’s a lot about Pearl that you don’t know. Or at least you don’t know it yet. I’ve been reading your mind for days. Pearl would never let me do that. She also wouldn’t let me manipulate her into telling me a secret.”
My breathing slows and I let a smile creep onto my face. It’s my first genuine smile since I arrived here in Pearl’s body. Dom used his mind control on me, something his sister would never let him get away with. I shake my head, trying to clear it. “What else do you know about me?” I ask.
Dom lets out a chuckle. “I know you’re super old. Not like mom or anything, but way older than me.” I almost protest. After all, he was born a llloooooooonnnnnnggggg time before I was. Who’s really older? But rather than argue, I listen, wondering what all he has seen. “I know you saved my sister from something terrible. That’s why I haven’t told mama. That, and she’s been sad since Papa died.”
“I’m sorry, Dom. I didn’t know about your Papa,” I say.
“Well, how would you know? You’ve only been Pearl for a couple of days.” His voice grows softer. “My Papa was robbed and killed during a trade expedition over a year ago. I’m okay now, but Mom is sad a lot. She still has to deal with Grandpa, and he can be a little cranky.” Dom gives me a rueful smile and wipes at my teary face with the edge of his sleeve. “Let me teach you how to milk Pearl’s poor goat before she refuses to give us any more milk. I need some cheese!”
I follow Dom back to the goat whose stomping has slowed. Dom grabs another bucket near the stall and fills it with feed. He places the bucket on the platform in front of Acacia.
“Giving her food helps her stay steady while you milk her. She would rather focus on food than on you.”
“Okay,” I say.
Dom pulls the stool and milking bucket back into place and sits down. I move nearer and watch what he is doing.
“You were pulling on her like that would make something happen. That’s a mistake that only street urchins make.” I flush with embarrassment. Dom wets a cloth in Acacia’s water and wipes her udder and teat, cleaning away the dust that covers her. He rubs his hands together rapidly, warming them up. Then he wets his hands on the cloth and places his warm, wet hands on Acacia. “It’s warm and wet like a baby goat’s mouth,” he explains. “Then her milk will let down for you.” He shows me what he is doing as he continues.
“You gotta start by wrapping your hand around her udder and teat. Grab a little milk from the udder with your top finger. Then all you have to do is squeeze one finger at a time all the way down.” I watch closely as Dom works. Acacia’s udder is large and full. Dom uses his pointer finger to grab at the fullness and squeezes it down, one finger at a time. A powerful stream of milk hits the side and bottom of the milk bucket and Dom does the same maneuver again, more milk shooting out of the goat.
Dom works for several minutes, giving me little tips as he goes. He wipes Acacia’s udder with a damp cloth periodically to keep her clean and comfortable. He is careful with her and she is much happier. But I can’t watch him forever. This is Pearl’s goat and I am living in Pearl’s body. I have to be the one to take care of Acacia.
Dom gets up from the stool and I take his place. Acacia is still chomping on her food and doesn’t notice that Dom and I have switched places. She shuffles her hooves from side to side, finding a more comfortable position. Sweat beads on my forehead. For a moment, I imagine myself back in Atlantis, hoping the will and image are enough to transport me home to my own place and time. It doesn’t work any better than it has the last dozen times I’ve tried. I am stuck in this body and I have to learn how to use it as Pearl would.
I warm and wet my hands like Dom. I reach up and grab Acacia’s teat again, this time starting much higher and grabbing the swollen udder in my top two fingers. Her udder is warm and soft and squishy. The portion of milk I grabb creates a small pocket in my fingers. I work the pocket of milk down, one finger at a time, making a long and satisfying stream of milk shoot out of Acacia.
I let out a laugh. This is unlike anything I’ve ever done and the ten-year-old girl I’m living inside of is proud and happy. I’m excited to keep going and rewet and rewarm my hands. Acacia continues to chomp her food, and Dom teaches me more about Pearl while I work. Acacia’s udder grows smaller and smaller until there is nothing left for me to milk. Together, Dom and I clean up the area and put Acacia back in her pen with more food and water.
Dom takes me to the kitchen and helps me strain Acacia’s milk and prepare it for cheese. Cook is watching us through narrowed eyes, accusing me of pretending illness so my brother will do my work. She huffs and bustles around, constantly complaining. Dom and I do all we can to avoid having to talk to her as we finish the chore. It is a pleasant thing to work with Pearl’s brother – my new brother. I feel the warmth and affection Pearl has for her twin. With him as my companion, I know I’ll be able to find my way through this new place.
Chapter 4
For several days, Dom and I spend time talking to each other. He tells me about Pearl – I learn about the limited schooling she receives with other daughters of wealthy landowners. I learn who her friends are, which chores are her least favorite, and how to turn Acacia’s milk into butter and cheese. We are living in Ancient Greece on an estate outside the city of Argos. Pearl’s and Dom’s family have lived here for generations. When their father passed away, they went with their mother, Helena, to live with their grandfather. Their grandfather, Vasilios, is one of the most prominent figures in the area. He is a wealthy landowner and aristocrat. His olive orchards provide some of the best oil in the region. Dom will soon begin training to take over the business. Oh, and he can manipulate the minds of people just by touching their skin.
Dom tells me Pearl has powers too, even more powerful than his. But he and Pearl made a pact – Dom protects his sister. Pearl’s powers stay hidden. Their own mother doesn’t even know about their powers. Their father did and he taught them to keep the powers hidden for their own safety. Dom tries to hide his abilities, but sometimes he can’t help himself. He promises to teach me some of the things Pearl can do. He starts by teaching me how to block him from reading my mind.
I tell Dom about my life. It is all fantastical to him. I’m from the future, and as far as he can tell, most of what I tell him isn’t possible. Since he has magical powers of his own, when I tell him about the two-worlders who inhabit Atlantis, it doesn’t seem strange to him. But the idea of movies and cell phones is completely out of his ability to understand.
“Metal and glass, smooth enough to see into, and you can use it to talk to people anywhere?”
“Yep.”
“And you’re sure it isn’t magic?”
“No magic. No one really believes in magic where I am from.”
“They don’t believe in magic, but they know Atlantis is underwater. Morons.” He shakes his head.
We are eating grapes and bread under an olive tree in their grandfather’s f
ields. I tell Dom almost everything that might be useful in getting me out of Pearl’s body. I tell him how, as I reached out for the floating pearl, I first realized that Pearl was – is – a real person. I leave out her life story that I saw, especially the part where Dom dies, and I just say that I saw his face somehow.
Even with all of his help and teaching, there are still some things I don’t understand.
“Dom?” I ask, “How did you and Pearl get these powers in the first place? Do they run in your family or something?”
After a moment of contemplation, Dom’s mood shifts to something more serious. “Evelyn, there are things I haven’t told you. Things you need to know.”
I sit up and turn to face him, piqued by this revelation that he has been hiding things from me.
“Mama and Papa were so happy together,” Dom begins, “Papa always talked about how Mama saved his life. He was sad and making bad choices. Mama came along, saw the good in Papa and rescued him.”
“What choices was he making?” I ask. “What did she rescue him from?”
“Not what,” Dom says, “Who.”
“Was he a slave or something? Was he being held captive? Who did she rescue him from?”
“He was a slave, but not like the ones from the north,” Dom says, “He was under a spell, a love spell, placed on him by Queen Nyobi Kadul.”
“Who?” I ask.
Dom rolls his eyes. “Don’t they teach you anything in your time? Nyobi Kadul was a princess living off the coast of Jaffa a hundred years ago. She was the most beautiful woman on the coast. You can find murals about her life when you travel the coast during the trade season.” Dom’s eyes are hooded as he adds, “Well, I can see them anyway. You…well, Pearl can’t go with the caravans.”