Tears of Leyden (8 page)

He chuckles and leans forward in his chair over the table, invading my space. It is excited.

I still mind.

“You enjoy thinking,” he observes.

“You enjoy reading,” I point back.

He raises his brows. “Not being the judge here, but someone seems a little snippy.”

I am about to argue who wouldn’t be cold after all I had been through, but then I remember his definition on my
power
in life, tending to his religion.

“Nadeje told me you rather enjoy reading too,” he says it leaning back again.

I nod slightly.

“Then we have two things in common, a) we both like books, and b) we both are players of this game that can never be won by ourselves alone.”

I look up into his eyes and let myself take him in. He is ordinary enough, and handsome, I’ll give him that much, but also there was something hidden behind his features that I had never seen elsewhere apart from Nadeje. There is a sense of purpose, of knowing his reason, of knowing his object behind every spoken word, despite his last few seeming to be absentminded.

He overlooks me a moment, giving me my time to process what he just said, I suppose.

“You understand, or no?”

I mildly shake my head, and see his face darken.

“Tenemos mucho trabajo que hacer.”

I don’t understand his meaning either, but I decide internally that whatever he said I do not want to hear in my tongue. I do not request translation.

He lightens again and leans back onto the back feet of his chair so that it creaks. I highly doubt Nadeje wants his furniture broken, but I also decide not to point that one out to him.

“Do you speak Spanish?”

I lace my fingers in my lap and glimpse down. “No. Only Dutch and a little bit of English.”

“Astonishing how your city does not have such high education.”

It strikes me in the head hard, like a lash of his tongue, and though it was not meant to be harmful, I resent it.

“Maybe if the King wasn’t so caught up in his own ideas about religion, we could actually attain such priorities as you get to in Spain so easily.”

I speak it lightly, but that I had rendered the King’s means in my speech, I could be in serious trouble despite the soft tone.

He does not sound angered when he speaks, and this only kindles me more. “You are right, apart from that the King is also caught up in his fear to accept
another
religion, not
all
religion.”

I look up at him and bite my tongue.
He is unbelievable.
He speaks against his own King, spits out, teases, and flirts with me, apologizes for my circumstance, and acts like an astute being.
What is he?

“Why do you speak about him so calmly, with no defense on his part?”

He frowns thoughtfully at this and takes a moment. He speaks softly. “Perhaps just because we are positioned in his army does not mean that we are for him as a ruler.”

This stops me and I am left hanging. I hesitate, and then let it out. “Who are you for then?”

He looks me in the eyes. “Me? I honestly am for William, but you know I cannot speak for Nadeje on that account, or my fellow comrades; they are often playing roles I cannot attest for.”

I feel like he just hit me.
William? Was that not the man every Dutch child, man, woman, family was counting on? The Spanish…no…the Spanish were meant to be for…

I swallow down my sour taste and look elsewhere than his face.

“You?”

Now this was a blow. Straight to the core.
I look up at him. “I am a woman.”

He narrows his eyes at me, and he agrees. “Yes, I know. That means nothing to my religion.”

I watch him, still uncertain, and then swallow. “I am for William…too.”

He smiles. “That would be three things in common.”

Now I can’t wait for Nadeje and his respect for quiet space to return.

He is still watching me. “Do you miss them?”

I stop.

It is very quiet in the room.

“Your family?”

Even though I did not ask, I knew who he meant. It only hurts me more that he pronounced it aloud to me.

“You must let it go.” The words sound hollow and cold, and they ring like church bells in my ears.

I feel very chilled. This was one topic I did not accept to be discussed.

“Excuse me…” I start to rise, but he stands as well.

“You must move on from it Lyra…we all know how it feels...and your religion…” I look up at him as he stops not even a foot away from me. “Your religion has plastered the idea all over the walls of your mind that you have to remember them for what happened, to not sin, to not see the flaws in the people who did the wrong, to think of them until you are ill…but no…what you must do is let them go.”

I hear it but I don’t listen; over the last two sentences he has come closer, and coincidently, he does not seem know to take his moves slowly about me. All I know is he is much too close for how long I have known him, towering over me like a giant with only breathing space between us. I feel too vulnerable.
Much too close
. I feel my face has blanched, and I slowly shrink back. His face slackens as he seems to realize his action’s result, and thankfully stays back. He says nothing. His face is silent in expression.

I step back again and then turn to go into my room.

The front door opens. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Nadeje enter through the outer room. As much as I want him to see Arturo’s action, I regret that I had endured Arturo’s preaching and stayed long enough for him to get at me with his last comment. I turn to go and step through the door. I don’t turn around again, even as I close and lock Nadeje’s door and stand inside his room waiting and listening.

Chapter 11

Thump, thump…

“Ms. Thimlet?”

It is Nadeje.

He knocks again, this time gentler and less loud.

I wait a few more seconds, considering what I should do. Gradually, I uncurl from the bed. I step over to the door and stand still at the presence of his voice.

“Lyra…I am sorry if Arturo…are you listening?”

I lean against the door a bit and slowly turn the knob. I hear him back away as I open it. When I look, he is standing back from me. I look up at him.

He overlooks me. “Are you alright?”

I look past him to make sure my hearing Arturo leaving a few minutes ago was not a trick of the mind. It wasn’t. He is gone.
Good riddance.

I glance up at Nadeje again, and the calm nature in his eyes lulls something inside me. I let it, a little too shaken to try to battle my emotions right now. I look down a bit to his throat then up again. His eyes are soft but severe, almost worried.

“Yes.” It is soft and broken and he seems to know the contrary.

He does not say anything for a moment, but he observes me in my place. He massages his temples with his hand as though his head is paining him. I feel a little anxiety at the action spark inside.
Was it because of me? What had I done wrong? Was he upset? Was he in pain and would take it out on me?
No.
I see the gesture as what it is as he releases his face and his eyes meet mine again. There is no violence in those peaceful eyes.

I keep his gaze with mine and, even after my discovery, feel a little glad to be half behind the door.

“Did he…” He pauses as though unsure of what to say after it.

I don’t blame him. I would feel the same about a friend, sure you could trust them, and then they harm the person you are responsible for. Only, he didn’t hurt me, he frightened me. He showed me how to be frightened by myself without my consent.

I faintly shake my head.

He waits for a further reply.

I do not give one.

He sighs. “Did he speak in a manner that was offhand to you?”

I play with the knob on the door and avoid his gaze, slightly ashamed to have caused his worry…
but then why should I be?
I look to the floor and command myself to stop fidgeting. “I don’t know.”

He is quiet again, and then he breaks the silence. “He didn’t mean to cause harm…he just can’t hold his tongue and doesn’t know that there is a right time for everything.”

I swallow hard.
Can’t hold his tongue?
I would argue, but when I look up into Nadeje’s eyes, their expression is more truthful than my own belief. I swallow again. “I don’t want to call him cruel, but I do want to call him insensitive to other’s opinions.”

Though I look down, I think I glimpse Nadeje’s eyes smile. “He is thoughtless at times…that is all…and despite his love for religious philosophy…he finds his hobby in flirting with women…” I look up at him, and his eyes are all honesty. “I don’t know why I didn’t see that before I put you through with him.”

I watch him a moment, and behind his serene calm, I find the same quality of consciousness as Arturo. It is hidden, yes, but it is there, almost stronger than Arturo’s. I liked his way of holding it more than Arturo’s too, with more reserve and patience. For some reason, a large pang inside me makes me feel winded.
I want that
. Something inside me desperately wants that same morality. The same peace of mind
…but I can’t.
I stop myself and look away. I stroke the knob with my finger, ashamed at my thoughts.
Moeder would be cross
.

“I brought you a book.”

It is quiet and gentle, but it does not catch my attention as well as it might have. I make myself look up to give him some recognition.

He understands me. He turns away and steps over to the table where a package sits wrapped in brown paper. He lifts it up and turns back to me, ready to hand it over. When it is within reach, he is also within reach, but for some reason he does not intimidate me as Arturo had, he jitters me. He holds it out closer and I slowly take it.

I want to say thank you, to tell him what it means to me, but something inside me feels tied back. I can’t open my mouth. Instead I look up at him to at least show him my appreciation. He turns away though, seeming to know my condition and seeming to know how I feel. I do not close the door right away. I instead watch his back as he steps out into the other side of the house.
I respect him.
The thought occurs without influence. I close the door. The shame returns, except this time, stronger.

In the evening, I am rested. I managed a bath and read at least half of the book Nadeje brought me. I know I should savor it as much as possible, but I am hungry. Not for food, but for distraction, distraction from my life and from all the cruelty in it so clear to me.

I step out of the room and let the smell of cooking enter and make my stomach churn. I do not want the food, for fear I might not be able to hold it down with the shame stirring about inside me, but I do want to smell it, to distract myself.

When I emerge Nadeje is not to be seen. I almost go back in, but then the flicker of movement catches my eye beyond the open door way. I move towards it thinking that it is Nadeje. It is. He is shelving something from a basket lying on the floor. It looks like books or journals of some kind. I do not speak. I want him to start the conversation. When he sees me, he does not seem startled at my sudden appearance and his eyes are, as usual, warm like the hearth.

“You are feeling better, I take it?”

I look down at myself, my arms loosely hugging my waist, my crumpled dress. I do not look all that better, but perhaps he sees something I do not in my face. I mildly shake my head in response.

“Worse?”

I shift my arms a bit. “No, but not better either.”

I can feel him watching me. “Rested?”

I nod in agreement.

He does not move. “Is the topic of Arturo still bothersome for you?”

I look up. My expression seems to say all.

“How is the book?”

For some reason, as dull as reading it seemed, talking about it appears to light something in me. I think it must be out of habit from reading with my vader and discussing the aspects of the story, from sharing it with someone.

“I like it…it is not hard to read, but not easy to figure out either. I read half of it.”

He looks to the shelf a moment then back to me, his eyes distant but present all at once, hearing for me, thinking for himself, and holding a smile for both.

“Half way,” he says it gently. His eyes remain on mine for a while before he continues and shelves another book. “I suppose you need more then, to sustain yourself.”

I had not expected this, and the comment takes me off guard. “I have half left…”

He looks at me calmly. “Half is read.”

I look back at him. “I am being optimistic.”

He turns back. “If I went though, you would be here with Arturo again.”

The silence in the room is dreadful. My head feels suddenly dreadful.

It takes me a moment. “You don’t have other friends?”

He looks to me, his eyes severe. “Not that I trust.”

I look down at my feet. “I don’t want to decline your offer, but I also don’t want to be left alone…with him again.”

He is still watching me, and somehow I feel his mood shift. “You are afraid?”

I look up to him at this. He seems to read my gaze.

“We can see what we can do about it…for now I will wait.”

I look down again, and then up to find him still watching me. I respect him for his poise, and the way that he will not leave you unless gestured to do so, but I feel guilt rise for respecting a man who is in line with those who impaired my family.
I wish he would stop.
I cannot think of it right now.

“What are you doing?”

He looks at me still, gently. “Placing and organizing some new journals…for research.”

I nod a little and then wait trying to find something else to request or say. I can’t find anything. I do not look at him again before I turn and go.