entering our home. I was too grateful to be leaving that evening anyway to really be bothered about the grain, and besides this, I didn’t want to offset her happiness – which might jeopardize my forthcoming freedom. Nearly reaching our steps, I stopped short in spying a small, tightly tied sack stashed snuggly against the backdoor. With eyes wide and heart beating fast I approached. It couldn’t have been there long as I’d left through the backdoor and would have seen it on my way out. Heavy as I lifted it, I knew it contained grain without checking.
Like a burglar caught stealing, my heart began to sink – varying degrees of shame and guilt waging war with one another over space in my crowded mind. Had Aeros left it? I couldn’t think who else would have done such a thing – in fact I knew there was no one else. The elderly woman next door would sometimes act gracious toward me, but she was poor, like us, and I could hardly see her being able to afford offering such a gift. Had Hesba instructed Aeros to do this, or had he thought to leave us grain on his own? My brow creased with mounting consternation.
It seemed I imagined our plight in life to be better disguised from others than it was. I could now see how delusional my thinking had become. Of course Aeros had thought to deliver it himself – it was in his nature to be generous, like his mother. Unlike myself, he was uninhibited by the thoughts of others. Alone, swaying in the sunlight beating down on my face, I squeezed the grain sack tight enough so that my knuckles became white – as if doing so would alleviate the surge of humiliation shaking my thin frame.
With all hopes of peacefully entering our home dissolved, my foot reached out and I kicked the door open. I could see my mother’s face all the way at the front of the house where she sat quietly filing her nails, grimace at the noise I made. It was her custom to sit motionless after her wardrobe and face were complete; she didn’t want anything to go awry before her guest had the opportunity to appreciate her beauty. During this time she expected me to move for both of us – to cook and clean and even rearrange her skirt around her as she sat waiting. Dropping the fruits and vegetables and sack of grain, my hands rested momentarily on my hips as I fought to remain calm. She must have sensed my frustration all the way in the front of the house, as she was quick to reference my evening trip to the temple at the end of her demand – as if to temper my anger.
“Thank all the gods alike you’ve finally returned and brought supplies. I’m beginning to hear my stomach growl. I hope you’ve left yourself enough time to bake before you go off to the temple for your nighttime fun and games.”
I paused before speaking only to be sure I didn’t start yelling beyond any control. I wanted more than anything to shout at her that there had been no grain left at the market because she had been selfish and made me wait too long to go – I wanted to yell that we would now be eating grain left mercifully on our doorstep like beggars receiving coins at the end of the street. There were many hateful things I wished to spew at her – though none came from my mouth. Clamping my teeth, I forced my hands to drop – knowing it was best to wait and vent alone – like so many times past – after the sun had set, and in the privacy of the night outside. Only the sky above was broad enough to swallow the fury churning shallow in my stomach. Kneeling to the ground in hushed warmth I pulled our grinding stone forward – my fingers working like tiny shears to tear open the grain sack and pour out a few handfuls.
In the end it was good for me to grind for a short while, as it was distracting and strenuous work. When I finished crushing the grain I swept it into a neat pile, sprinkled it with yeast and salt, and poured in some of the water left in our jar. By the time I placed the dough in the oven, which had lessened in heat since I’d set out for the market, I sensed I’d become more calm. With my thoughts now quieter I realized how hungry I was; it was easy for me to overlook my hunger whenever I was angry. After wiping the fruits, I cut them with a knife and arranged them in a small bowl – taking it to the front room to share with my mother. Though still agitated, I was at least able to appreciate the thought of her getting another payment from another lover that night. The hope of being able to purchase additional food was one thing at least to be grateful for. In setting down the bowl I was surprised to see how quickly she ate – though she disliked most fruits – and vegetables of any nature, instead preferring bread and meats. By the time I sat cross-legged in front of her there was scarce anything left.
Satisfied for the moment, she smiled back at me. “After tonight, we should be able to buy wine,” she murmured between licking her fingers.
As I seldom drank wine, I shrugged – uncaring.
“It might be more expensive to come by, with the upcoming festival.”
She nodded her head in consideration.
“Oh yes, I keep forgetting about the festival. I haven’t anything to sacrifice.” She pulled a loose scarf over her bare shoulders and stiffly cast back her hair. “Why don’t the gods bless me more generously and then I can contribute more lavishly to their demands?” she lamented, almost knocking over the bowl I’d set out as she stretched her round legs.
Rolling my eyes I looked away, quietly considering how thick she’d become. Her face and neck were noticeably swollen – her thighs and arms rounder than usual, more supple. My eyes strayed back toward the kitchen, remembering the small garland of dry silphium I’d found. Since I hadn’t seen it again I considered she must have taken it while I was out. Perhaps it would take a while for her body to regain its more youthful silhouette. Who could say when I had such little desire to know her ways?
“Are you going alone tonight?” she asked abruptly.
Unsure of what the best answer to give her was, I moved quickly to collect the now empty bowl – remembering how she could occasionally become jealous of Hesba. “I should hope I am not the only one going to worship at the temple tonight. What would that say about Arrapha – only one lone girl visiting the central temple to offer prayers of thanks – no priests even? If that is the case, we shouldn’t expect many blessings from the gods next year.” Rising, I swept both knees with my free hand and turned toward the kitchen – trying to look indifferent under the scrutiny of her narrow eyes.
After a pause she called after me, “I’m still hungry you know.”
Hidden from sight I moved anxiously to check the oven.
“Bread’s done,” I responded quickly, again wiping sweat from the back of my neck.
҉
Wishing to be gone well before my mother’s lover arrived, I was grateful in the end to have finished her hair and makeup so early. Amid her excitement to entertain this guest in particular, she had been unusually productive as well, having chosen her own garments, dressed herself, and picked out her own jewelry – hanging the pieces around her neck and from her ears as if she were a display case in the market. When she was finally both finished and fed, I could almost hear my mind sighing.
Because she would often check my expression to see if she looked the way she wanted, I had become practiced in appearing delighted – both with either my handiwork or hers. After checking my brief smile of enchantment, she bent clumsily to move her heavy floor cushion closer to the front door, where there she carefully lowered herself to sit unmoving – like a small dog waiting for its master. When fully settled, she at last nodded her head for me to go – insisting that I should also get us more water while I was out.
Further relieved, I moved quickly to open one of the window shutters and place a bowl of lit oil in it – so her caller could see she was at home.
“Don’t forget to take it down when he’s come,” I warned her.
She rolled her eyes and waved me away as if my speaking to her would cause her makeup to smear or her hair to fall out of place. Once, when I’d gone out during one of her guest’s visits, she had left the oil lit in the window. In seeing the light another of her callers had decided to drop in on her. Infuriated by what he saw, he never returned to our door again. My mother dismissed the incident with one part laughter and two parts annoyance, ref
erencing how hopelessly proud men were – especially when it came to her. Still, I knew it was a mistake neither of us wished to repeat.
With a single warning I dropped the subject and moved in another direction. At last I could slip on my dusty sandals by the backdoor, cover my head with my scarf, and escape. Though I wasn’t thrilled to see my mother so besotted by her caller – leaving me faintly reluctant to leave – as usual, my need for fresh air overcame my apprehensions. I was determined to feel only joy over my short-lived freedom, refusing to take any part of my mother out into the darkness with me – determined to leave any thoughts of her behind in our small, enclosed home – where she belonged.
Outside the blackness welcomed me with open arms – my shoulders dropping as if a heavy weight slid from them. I was most at ease when no one could see me – or at least when I imagined no one could see me. Without a second glance back I moved forward, my feet finding their way easily down our narrow, twisted alley. Blindness was seldom an obstacle for me as I knew the intricate streets of the lower district without falter – whether by day or by night. The lower district was the darkest place in the city as there were no street torches,