She closed her eyes again.
“I guess that isn’t what you wanted to hear.” He paused, searching for another path. “You said something that really got me going. All that stuff about me being disrespectful. About me doing it even if I didn’t intend it. If I did something that made you think I don’t respect you, then I’m sorry.”
He thought he saw her head incline a bit.
“And do you really believe I’m that selfish, that I think only about myself? I mean, how could I love Lilla so much if I didn’t think about her? And Ma? And yeah, you, too.”
Was that the beginning of a smile? No, it must be just the play of the candlelight.
“I wonder though, what love really is,” he said. “I know what it feels like to love Lilla… like I can’t breathe. And you make my mind and my body feel things I never knew existed. But what about you? Damn! Is that what you meant?”
She opened her eyes and leaned toward him. “Yes?”
He was startled to hear her voice again, so soft a whisper that he could almost believe he had imagined it.
“I mean, about smelling you. It’s always been about what I’m feeling, hasn’t it?”
“Tell me.”
“When I went for that walk, I was angry. All I could think about was how I felt. I didn’t think about you or Le’a. And last night, when you wanted me to smell you, all I could think about was how good I would feel if I were inside you. They’re connected somehow, aren’t they?”
“Are they?”
“Please don’t do that. Not now. I need to know….”
“You need.”
“Okay, it doesn’t really matter what I need, does it? But wouldn’t it help us get back to where we were if you helped me understand?”
“Yes, it would, Dov.”
“You called me Dov.”
“That’s the name I gave you.”
“Does that mean we can go back?”
“Oh, no, we’ll never go backwards. We’ve climbed a difficult hill, with mountains ahead.”
He stared at her, not sure what to do or say.
“Come up here; sit beside me,” She patted the carpet next to her. “We have so much to discuss, and this separation makes it more difficult.”
He stood, but didn’t move toward her.
“Dov, I believe you still have something to say.”
He knew he needed to find the right words — now — before he lost this one chance, perhaps his last, to fix everything. But the more he tried to unravel the jumble of thoughts, the foggier everything became. The distance to Tayar, who sat just a few steps away, stretched until he wondered if he’d ever bridge it again.
He sighed deeply. That’s when he remembered what Le’a had taught him about clearing his mind. He closed his eyes and took a slow deep breath. Focusing on the air slipping through his mouth, down his throat, easing into his heart, he took another breath, and another.
When he opened his eyes again, he looked at Tayar, and saw her fully, the woman who waited for him patiently because she knew he had it in him to bridge the distance that had always existed between them. She patted the platform again, and he climbed up to sit near her, though not even their thighs grazed.
“Tayar, I’m really very sorry that I thought about my anger before I thought about you. I didn’t mean to hurt anyone or show disrespect. But I did. I would like to learn how to not do that.”
“So you shall.” She leaned toward him and brushed her lips across his cheek.
“Tayar, may I ask you a question? What do I do now? I mean, I’ve apologized, and I think you’ve accepted my apology.”
“Yes.”
“Well, we are in the inner room. So, would you… I mean, may I? Skies! Why don’t you take off that damn dress? I’d really like to smell you right now. When I thought you were going to send me away, I was very sorry I hadn’t done that. Not just because you had asked me, but because I couldn’t remember what you smelled like. And because of how you made me feel when you did it to me. Wouldn’t you like me to make you feel that way?”
“I look forward to it, Dov. But not now. This afternoon’s turmoil has taken a great deal out of both of us. We need some quiet time together, before we can fully enjoy each other’s bodies. Dov, don’t look so dejected. Pleasure is outside this room, too, in our daily lives together.”
“Uh huh.”
She stood to leave. “I’ll meet you in the kitchen.”
“After dinner, we’ll come back here, right?”
“After dinner, I would like to read to you.”
“And after reading?”
“Yes, Dov, after reading.”
“I will smell you.”
“If you wish.”
“No, Tayar, if you wish.”
Chapter 39
Tayar was relieved when she was able to shed the ugly black dress. However, she knew that she mustn’t diminish the effect of her earlier severity by now appearing soft and yielding. She chose a no-nonsense costume for the evening — grey wool trousers with a white high-neck sweater — and gathered her hair at the nape of her neck with a silver clasp.
The boy was subdued throughout their meal, but with mischievous undercurrents that his Allesha found appealing. More than that, Tayar was relieved she hadn’t broken his spirit. He had found his way through the day’s confusion, coming out at the other end still whole. She was astonished at her sense of pride in him.
I wonder what surprises he’s cooking up behind that mysterious smile.
As they washed the dishes, he brushed his body against hers more than was his norm.
Good. He’s learning the art of tension. A bit awkward, but it’s a beginning.
Dov’s smile grew wider and more open as they moved into the greeting room. “What will you read to me, tonight, Tayar?” He asked as he settled into one corner of the sofa and gestured to her to sit in the other.
As she sat down onto the sofa, she picked up two thin books from a side table and handed one to him. “Dov, you know that before our stories were written down, people kept the tales in their hearts and minds. Imagine now that two men are speaking at the village fire. The booklet you hold contains the words of one man.” She held up the companion book in her hand. “This has those of the other. Shall we read them to each other?”
“No, that’s not the way it’s supposed to be. You’re reading to me tonight. Come, settle back and put up your feet.”
“Dov, this is very special, but for it to work, it requires the two of us.”
“But…”
“Please, Dov, this is part of what we were discussing earlier. Think beyond yourself.”
“I was. I am. Damn!” Exasperated, but resigned, he huffed. “Okay, what do I do?”
“Thank you. I’ll read a line, then you read a line. We’ll go back and forth like that.”
“Who starts?”
“I will.”
The battle is over, and we have won,
she read.
The battle is over, and we have lost,
he responded.
But victory tastes foul in my mouth,
as I call out the names of the dead
to our village fire.
No family is untouched.
Many hearths will never again burn warm.
All my sons, both my daughters,
butchered by those animals.
My wife collapsed to her death bed
when she heard our line was no more,
butchered by those animals.
As in our fathers’ time.
As in our fathers’ fathers’ time.
They came to the walls of our village,
bloodying our fields,
destroying our generations.
They cut down our trees,
burned our homes,
destroying our generations.
Until we pushed them back
to their own walls.
Until they burst into our village,
trampling even
into our spirit house.
We saw the truth of them,
We stood face to face,
And knew them to be animals.
And knew them to be animals.
We saw how they cage their women
away from the world.
We saw how they force their women
into the world.
So little do they respect
their wives and sisters
That they send them to do battle
beside their sons and brothers.
And their gods are so fierce
they hide their faces when they pray, in fear.
They insult even the gods,
trying to look them in the face.
No respect for their own.
No respect for their gods.
When two peoples are
so different from each other,
When a people is so uncivilized,
Can there be anything other than war
Generation after destroyed generation?
The battle is over. So much have we lost.
The battle is over. All we were is gone.
No crops to be harvested,
we steal from the gods’ storehouse.
Hunger-driven sacrilege.
What few children remain
beg morsels of the enemy.
I gag on their bounty.
Is this what it is to be victorious?
Why was I spared for this shame?
To see my people ruined.
To witness my people’s end.
I cannot fathom the gods’ purpose in all this.
I cannot allow them to occupy my village,
my home.
And yet I live,
can that not be my hope?
And yet I live,
to plan our revenge.
To see my son’s wife
delivered of her burden.
A son it shall be.
I shall destroy the destroyers.
For that alone,
I will tomorrow’s heartbeats.
I shall hold him at the village fire,
and call his name,
standing for his father.
My plan must be sure, strong.
His life must be rich, good.
For that I will live.
For that I shall live.
Their end.
His future.
Their atrocities will be repaid tenfold;
such animals require slaughter.
I must find new paths to end this cycle,
to give my grandson a new peace.
When an enemy is so uncivilized,
Can we not find any way other than war?
Generation after destroyed generation.
The battle is over, let it be for all time.
The battle is over, I await my moment.
I shall go to their spirit house
and speak my heart.
He comes, their leader,
to gloat and demand.
Be my enemy no more,
son after father.
Let us join to rebuild.
Come, my enemy,
be no more.
Die on my knife.
My grandson calls from the womb.
I can do no less.
My children cry from their graves.
They must be avenged.
I must now be braver than before battle,
standing before them,
stripped of all weapons.
I must now gird my heart, as before battle.
There he stands,
an animal awaiting slaughter.
Though my men surround us,
what I ask they, too, fear.
“Peace,” he says. Ha!
So the victor masks his unsheathed whip.
Must we kill,
as in our fathers’ time?
He comes with lies,
as in our fathers’ fathers’ time.
Our generations have died,
hate filling their short lives.
My children are gone,
and yet you, old man, live.
I say “No more!”
I give you my knife!
I say “No more!”
“You have killed me. Why?”
“You would destroy us.”
“No, I said peace.”
“On victor’s terms.”
Too late, I see.
When two peoples are so different.
When a people is so uncivilized,
There can be nothing but war,
Generation after destroyed generation.
Tayar’s eyes were hooded with sorrow. “So many wasted lives, all that hate, the lost, destroyed hopes and dreams.” Her words were a sigh.
“You’re acting like you’re mourning people you knew. It’s only a story,” Dov said with a dismissive shrug, “from way back in the past.”
“Does that make the people any less real?”
“No, but it happened so long ago that even if it had ended differently, they wouldn’t be any less dead.”
“How people die shapes our world.” Tayar paused, wondering how she could teach a boy to care, when strangers may always be just that — unknown, perhaps unknowable.
She touched the book on her lap. “These two men died long ago, but they live today, because of us, because of our connection to them, through these words. As we read, they became as real to me as any people alive today. Their villages became my village. I’m saddened, because two of my people, two villages of my world, lived generation after generation in hate and fear, not knowing how to end the cycle of war.”
“I guess I don’t take it as personally as you do.”
“I hope someday you will, because that’s an essential part of what it is to be an Alleman. When you care deeply about other people, even those long dead, you’ll be driven by something more potent than any pledge or promise. And you’ll not rest until you can make this life better for the living — and for future generations.”
“If you say so. Now, come give me your feet.”
“What?” she asked, surprised at the turn of subject.
“Put your feet up here on my lap.”
She saw that it was important to him, so she complied. He removed her slippers and socks, and bent toward her feet. Unfortunately, he was sitting in such a way that his face overshot them.
Was that what all those hints were about throughout the evening? Does he want to smell me, now, rather than wait for the inner room?
Bend as he would, this way and that, he couldn’t get his nose close to her toes, without contorting into an awkward position. Seeing his frustration, she stretched sensually, to try to be more accessible. It didn’t help.
“Dov, you know what I would enjoy?”
“What?”
“I really love having my feet rubbed.”
No doubt, he was trying to enact some fantasy he had concocted, and didn’t quite know how to extract himself without feeling foolish. When Dov straightened his back, she knew he had resolved the moment and was ready to proceed.
He cupped his hands around one foot and began rubbing it. “Like this?” he asked.
“Mmm, yes. Your hands are deliciously warm. I’d like to show you how wonderful it feels. Please give me your feet, too.”
“But I wanted to do this for you.”
“So you shall, but wouldn’t it be more fun to do it to each other, at the same time? I’d enjoy it.”
Reluctantly, he said, “Okay.”
Tayar repositioned his left leg between her legs and after removing his slipper and sock, settled his foot between her breasts. Then she did nothing, waiting for him to take the lead. When he resumed massaging, she initially mimicked his movements. Little by little, she built on the motions, altering them only slightly, so he didn’t quite recognize the lesson for what it was. Soon, his fingers discovered the curves they were meant to follow, the nooks where a circle motion fit, the open stretches that pu
lled his palms inward and along a tendon.
Tayar rode the rhythms of their hands and their breaths, gauging when it would be safe to go forward with the planned lesson without diminishing the one he was already learning.
“Dov, you didn’t tell me what you thought of The Battle Is Over.” She pushed his left foot away, repositioning her legs around his right leg and removing the slipper and sock from the foot resting on her chest, so each had a new foot to massage.
Tayar watched his face while Dov considered his response. So it was that her fingers unconsciously played with the ridges on his sole before she actually noticed them. When she did look to see what it was that had pulled her hands into an unfamiliar pattern, she saw prominent scars that appeared to be a purposeful design. “Dov, what is this?” She stroked the jagged lines and lopsided circle of the scar.
“I burned myself when I was a kid. Pa says I stepped on some fire-hot medallion when I was just learning to walk. I don’t remember doing it, so I must have been really young.”
“How dreadful. Did it inhibit your ability to walk as a child?”
“I don’t know much about it. Whatever happened then, I can outrun anyone I know now, so it doesn’t matter.”
Determined not to be distracted from what she had planned for this evening, the Allesha waited the few moments it took for them to return to their mutual massage, then asked once more, “Dov, tell me what you thought about The Battle is Over.”
“Well, it’s sort of like the story you read to me before, Death to the Enemy,” he said. “You know, the one about the kid who went to war and then grew up and sent other kids to war. I guess it’s the cycle thing, each generation going to war, killing off the boys and piling up anger. The way the stories tell it, it sounds really stupid.”
“Yes. That’s true. But the cycle of hate is hard to break. How would you do it? If you had walked into that spirit house, just before the one man stabbed the other, what would you have done to try to prevent the murder?”
“I don’t know. I mean, wouldn’t it be too late at that point, with the knife already unsheathed?”
“True.”
“So how do Alleman do it? How do they break the cycle?”
“In the past, whenever we’ve encountered villages that would rather fight than seek common ground, we have stood away for a time and watched, trying to find what the people wanted or needed most. Quietly, we seed small influences. The right teaching tales introduced into a community can create powerful tensions for change. As they become more amenable to our presence, our Alleman may help the villages develop a trade that’s too profitable to take a chance on war destroying it.
The Winter Boy Page 23