Blue Window

by Adina Rishe Gewirtz

  Blankly, she nodded.

  Max heaved a sigh and stopped talking at last. In the silence, Nell looked at Jean and Kate, who were regarding all of them with round eyes. She looked at Susan, who stared back at her, something desperate in her face. And finally at Max, who was breathing heavily, eyes fixed on her.

  “Just don’t break their rules,” he said in a low voice. “Just for now. They’re so strict about it. It would ruin everything.”

  She had thought they were afraid the way she was afraid — of something real. But they were only afraid she would cause trouble, mess things up, step over silly lines that someone had drawn and pretended meant something.

  The familiar urge to say no, she’d break whatever rules she wanted, rose up in her, and she almost shook her head. But the old man wasn’t the Genius. And this wasn’t the city. She really didn’t know. Slowly, she nodded.

  “Good,” Max breathed. “Good.”

  Nell sincerely hoped it was.

  Ahush enveloped the sanctuary the rest of that day, and long after Max had returned to his own room, the silence gathered in the hallways, oppressing Nell. She was not used to questioning her own memory, to doubting the evidence of her senses. And yet maybe here, in Ganbihar, where buildings wavered and faces changed, what you saw, what you heard, was less solid than it was at home. Hadn’t she herself said real was different here? Maybe in a place like this, you could be fooled into seeing things that weren’t true.

  She drove herself nearly mad with doubt after that. At last, when Susan and the younger girls had fallen asleep out of sheer boredom, she crept across the hall to the oak doors that led into the great library.

  She looked down into the canyon of books and at the volumes that ran behind her on this level, the third. Max had said this place had saved knowledge, that here they wanted people to know things. She remembered the Guide’s warm voice, his saying that all who came here brought with them a question. Mistress Meva had said these were the books gathered from all of Ganbihar, from ancient times before the Genius, before the change. Books were solid. Books would help her.

  She walked among the stacks, wondering in which of the thick, weathered volumes she would find an answer. She pulled out one and then another, but their titles confounded her: Seeding in Early Spring: A Planner, The Art and Mystery of the Tapestry, Foot Rot and Other Contagious Diseases in Goats. Not one of them seemed to promise anything but hours of tedium.

  “Looking for something in particular?”

  She turned to find a thin silver-haired woman with close-set, kindly eyes, brown except for a fleck of yellow in one of them. Everything about her was thin — nose, eyebrows, lips, jaw. And yet she gave an impression of contented fullness when she smiled. She wore a loose rose-colored top that flowed over a long, narrow black skirt. It made her fair skin seem pink, too, and the flowing, bright fabric stood out against the brown and gray and black of faded books and polished wood, a vivid surprise.

  “I’ve been watching you wander the shelves awhile now. Maybe I can help you. I’m Mistress Bianna. I tend the books.”

  Tender of books seemed a good name for her. She held one now, one long hand resting flat on its cover, like a person gentling a horse. Nell wished she’d given better thought to what she wanted. “I — I’m new here, and I wanted to understand . . .” She trailed off, not sure how to put it.

  But the woman nodded brightly. “Ah. I see. You’re newer than you look. I wondered who would be out of rooms on such a day. But don’t worry.” She winked. “I never tell on those who love to read.”

  Nell waited as the woman thought, her fingers running absently over the cover of her book. “So what to give you? Hmm.” Nell watched her eyes sweep the wall. She turned to lean against the wooden railing, surveying the acres of books below.

  “I think I know,” she said after a moment. “It won’t be in this section, with the technical books. These are mostly tips on gardening.” She looked over her shoulder to grin at Nell and said, “The boring section, I call it.”

  Nell smiled back.

  “What you want is a little bit of a walk from here. Come, I’ll show you.”

  Nell followed her across one of the bridges. She looked overhead as they crossed, to the distant skylights, white in the afternoon sun, and then down over the railings, to the tiles illuminated in squares that mimicked the pattern above. Mistress Bianna reached the twisted staircase and jogged down it, nimble as a child. She must not be too old, Nell thought, following her. And then again, despite her speed, she moved silently, reaching the ground without clattering on the stairs or slapping the tile. Nell raced after her as she set off across the floor, following the wall. She tried to muffle her own steps and glide, as the woman seemed to, but she could hear the squeak of her sneakers as they hit the marble, a squeegee, irritating sound she wished she could mute.

  At last they reached a set of thick volumes with well-worn spines that showed signs of having once been richly colored. Strands of green or blue or red stood out in the cloth, which was worn or rubbed away in places so they now mostly hinted of long-ago dye. Some of the books were leather, and on these, glimmers of gold marked the dark spines, tracing the faded imprint of letters that must have once been bright.

  “This one,” Mistress Bianna said, choosing a thin leather volume. “Always a favorite. Take it along to your room. I think you’ll find it explains things quite nicely.”

  Nell studied the title in her hands. Legends of the Ancients. Her heart sank. She’d been seeking more than fairy tales and bedtime stories. But the woman looked so pleased, she didn’t want to disappoint her. She’d come back another day and keep looking.

  “Thank you,” she said to Mistress Bianna. “I appreciate it.”

  She slipped back into the girls’ hall and was nearly at her own door when she heard her name.

  Heart sinking, she turned to find Wista peeking from one of the rooms. The girl looked guiltily behind her, then quietly slipped out the door and joined her.

  “Zirri said you were out. I didn’t believe it. Where’d you go? Weren’t you scared?”

  Nell felt a tick of annoyance. Zirri certainly had sharp eyes, she thought. Wista glanced back at the door.

  “Don’t worry about Zirri,” she said. “She doesn’t mean too bad. It’s just hard, you know, being halfway. Anyway, she’s asleep now.”

  Nell looked up and down the hall. Nobody was in sight. She showed Wista the book. “Just went to try to see what this place is about,” she said. “Mistress Bianna gave me this.”

  Wista looked at it and flushed. “I don’t read as well as I should yet. What exactly does it say?”

  Nell’s face grew hot. Another mistake. She seemed to keep making them here. But Wista was nice about it.

  “It’s all right; I don’t feel bad about it. My ma couldn’t read, either. She said she’d have liked to. She’d have taught me if she could. I know those small words anyway — of and the. Right? It takes a while, but I’m getting it!” She smiled, and Nell, still blushing, smiled back.

  “Is your mother here?”

  It hadn’t occurred to her that whole families would come.

  Wista’s smile faded a little, and Nell saw her call it back with effort. Her hand had strayed to the copper pendant, and she fiddled with it. “Oh, no,” she said. “She couldn’t come. But she told me about this place. She’d have liked it. Especially all the stories. Here even the pictures are stories!”

  She motioned to the nearest tapestry, a wide scene of an old man standing on a rock, hordes of people below him, raising their faces as he lifted his hands to a stormy sky of yellow and gray wool.

  “They’re probably more interesting than this one,” Nell said, hefting the book. “It’s called Legends of the Ancients, which I think is probably Mistress Bianna’s way of telling me to go to bed.”

  Wista laughed at that, then caught herself and lowered her voice. “Well, if they’re good, maybe you could tell me some,” she said. “Maybe
at lunch? I like stories. Every time I learn one, I feel like I fit here a little better.”

  She waved and then slipped back down the hall, to be in the room before Zirri woke up. Nell watched her go. She doubted the stories in this book would make her fit here any better, but that was okay. She didn’t need them to help her feel better about staying. She needed them to help her get home.

  Back in the room, she found Jean and Kate awake again and playing with the weathered Barbie, which had lately been given a bath and a hair wash. Its feet were grass stained, its hair a knotty mess, but now Nell could see once more its bright painted eyes and the perpetual mild grin it wore. The girls glanced every so often at Susan, frowning. Their older sister had moved from the bed to the window. Bleary-eyed, she sat there looking out at the valley and the hill beyond as if she’d left something up among the trees. Nell had thought to keep the book to herself awhile, but she changed her mind abruptly and handed it to Susan.

  “I went looking for something to explain this place,” she said. “It’s not the greatest, but here’s what I found.” She pressed the volume into Susan’s hands.

  Susan looked down at the worn leather, and Nell noted with pleasure the way her expression sharpened. The look of distraction evaporated, and Susan brought the book up near her face.

  “Smells like an old library,” she said. “Like everything here, but more.”

  Susan smiled, and some of the tightness that had gripped Nell’s chest for hours seeped away. She watched her sister study the title.

  “Legends,” Susan said. “This was a good choice. You can tell a lot about a place from its stories. Let’s see. . . .”

  She flipped the book open on her lap. Jean and Kate left off their playing and came to join them.

  “A book!” Jean exclaimed happily. She reached over Susan’s shoulder, her Barbie a pointer now. She poked its blond head at the inscription on the first page. “Hey, that’s the song they taught us today — in the class!”

  Nell pushed the doll’s hair out of the way and read the words: “‘Take hope, for the smallest candle will light a torch, to make the end, beginning.’”

  “It’s a song?” she asked. “How does it go?”

  Jean immediately launched into the tune, and Kate joined her, two high-pitched little-girl voices, giddily singing. Nell glanced over to make sure she’d closed the door.

  “That was the way they started the day in my class, too,” Kate said. “A girl told me it’s her favorite.”

  As Nell had suspected, Mistress Bianna had seen a child and given her a child’s book. Her smile had been as pleasant as the doll’s, and as meaningless. She sighed and made a sound of disgust. But when she tried to turn away, Susan laid a hand on her arm.

  “Wait,” she said. “Let’s see.”

  She turned the pages of the book. The late-afternoon light blushed through the window, and the west-falling sun sparked and reddened as it dropped toward the trees. The book’s creamy old pages turned faintly pink, under-laced with gold.

  Susan stopped at a title printed in large letters: “The Tragedy of Rebellion.” Most of the gilt on the words had flaked away, but a few smudges of shine remained.

  “Rebellion,” she said. “That’s something we might want to know more about, after today.”

  They began to read and didn’t stop even as evening came, and the light from the window darkened to orange shafts that fell across the beds. A girl entered, holding a taper, and lit the lamps in the sconces. “If you want dinner, it’s downstairs now,” she said. “The hours of mourning are over.”

  But they didn’t want dinner. The glow from the window darkened to purple and then a deep blue, and finally was gone, replaced by flickering yellow as they sat listening to Susan read aloud. The story told of a young farmer’s boy who came to be a scholar. He was quick and clever and eager to win praise.

  “‘At first, he did,’” Susan read. The beat of the words was different from anything Nell knew, and Susan’s voice embraced the rhythm of it. “‘For cleverness is the first of skills, and the lowest, and there are many who can take in words and rules as a mirror does, reflecting back to perfection while absorbing nothing of the essence of a thing.’”

  Susan laughed. “They have a way with insults, don’t they?” She grinned over at Nell. “I think we’re going to like this book.”

  Where Susan had been distracted, she was now focused, and Nell settled down, glad that the feeling of wrongness that had clung to Susan since they’d come into the valley was lifting.

  Suddenly Nell felt less alone.

  Go on,” Jean prompted. “Keep reading!” They sat close together on the bed, leaning over Susan’s shoulder, eyes on the old pages. Susan took up the story again:

  “Then the time came for depth, and the quiet, patient climb to wisdom. In this, the farmer’s boy stumbled, and the seed of his arrogance and pride flowered to rage. He brought the elders demands instead of questions, called the old ways foolish, and among the weak willed and the bitter found his disciples. In time his mind grew twisted, and he said the only true genius was to be found in nature, in the unleashing of passions, in the strength of the body and the embrace of the wildness of the world. For he was passionate, and strong, and wild. But unleashed, passion turns to violence, and so he burnt the first house of learning and chased the scholars from its halls. War came.”

  Susan paused. The flames writhed in the lamps, making light leap here and there across the paper.

  “Well,” Nell said, “we knew there was a war. Even Liyla said something like that. Do you think the rest of it’s true? Is that the Genius they’re talking about?”

  Susan shrugged. “Can’t be this one, but maybe a long time ago. Maybe a great-great-grandfather or something.”

  “He looked like he was a thousand years old,” Jean said. “Maybe it was him.”

  Nell rolled her eyes, but Susan let that pass. She turned the page and continued reading:

  “The rebel called instinct wisdom and made virtue of urges, and so with joy the vengeful and the sullied rallied to him and fought, seeking the mindless ease of the animal. And, having called to it, the animal came into them. With animal strength, they fought; with animal fury, they conquered. Unseen within them, the change had begun, and, blind, they called it boon and victory as, unaware and unprepared, the academies fell.”

  “They were stronger?” Kate asked.

  Susan nodded. “Because they were so angry. At first it just made them strong.”

  Jean had moved to the head of her bed. Mention of the Genius had dampened them all a little, and Nell saw Jean look out at the dark fields. The light of the flickering lamps was softer than lights back home, yellow as old paper and smelling of warm oil. The flames behind the glass were reflected in Jean’s eyes when she turned.

  “But nobody wants to be angry, do they?” she asked. “That’s no good.”

  Nell thought of Zirri, so quick to lash out, and then of the people in the square, turning on the sleepers as the Genius spoke. She wasn’t sure how to answer. But Susan said, “Sometimes they don’t know any other way to be strong.”

  Talk like this made Nell jumpy. She tapped the book. “And then?” she prompted.

  Susan read: “‘Like sheep, the weak followed the powerful.’”

  “You mean they liked the change?” Kate interrupted. Jean pulled her knees to her chest and took up her Barbie again. She half turned away from them, bending her head to the doll, her face hidden.

  “No,” Susan said. “Don’t you see? They didn’t know they were changing. It was all on the inside, like the story says.”

  She continued: “‘And death emptied the great places, the sacred halls. The rebel had tasted blood; feasted on it; and he hungered for more. He was not sated until the thinkers lay torn on the mountains and the rivers ran red.’”

  Jean lifted her head. She was frowning now, all her delight in the story gone.

  “You mean he killed them?”


  Susan nodded, barely pausing. It had happened a long time ago, after all. And still, they had seen the Genius — this one, anyway — and the story didn’t feel easy, or far away.

  Susan read: “‘Then came the just wrath of the universe, when the beast within became the beast without, and the life of man was cursed on the face of the earth.’”

  The beast without, Nell thought, shuddering. She moved up to the head of the bed, beside Jean and her doll, and lay back to stare at the ceiling.

  “But what about this place?” she asked. “How did this place survive?”

  She heard the sound of pages turning.

  “That’s another story,” Susan said. “There’s plenty here. I think I could spend all night reading this thing.”

  She very nearly did. Long past midnight, she roused Nell.

  “I finished it,” Susan said. “And it’s all here. In stories, in legends, but here.”

  Nell sat up in bed. The room was dark but for one lamp, flickering near Susan’s bed. Jean and Kate slept curled together in the bed by the window, fully clothed.

  “You mean how to open the window? That’s in there?” Nell’s heart began to hammer in her chest.

  “No,” Susan said. “Sorry. I didn’t mean that. I just meant that the history of this place — what made the people the way they are — it’s in here.”

  “Oh.”

  Nell felt deflated, half drunk with sleep and the feeling that she had woken from a bad dream. But Susan was still wide awake, more alert than she’d been since they’d come down the mountain. So Nell asked, half-heartedly, what she’d learned.

  “It’s a great story, really,” her sister said. “Even in the one book, not all the stories agree with each other exactly. Legends are like that. But in one of them, it said that when the change came, the Genius really went nuts. He thought the surviving scholars had done it to him — some sort of revenge. So he hunted them down. He wanted to kill every one.”