shoulders.
Â
The woman resting on his shoulder moves. His collarbone must be digging into her cheek.
Andrejs quickly reaches his free hand behind his back to grab a cushion, and tosses it in the corner of the couch. Then he puts his arms around the woman and draws her down with him. Thereâs a tickle in his chest, and even though this movement lasts maybe a second, he feels like heâs caught a giant fish and is sinking into the depths of the ocean.
The woman mumbles and doesnât want to lie down, and struggles a bit, the idiot, she probably thinks heâs going to start groping her, but he doesnât intend to. Alright fine, maybe he thought about it a little, but heâs only human, he can see sheâs tired from work, and also from preparing the roast, so let her just sleep. Her cheek presses against his shoulder, a string of drool hangs from the corner of her mouth onto his shirt like a silvery thread.
âSleep!â he strokes her hair. And sniffs it. Strange. Her scent isnât really something that would make him want her right now. He sensed that from the start. But he canât exactly push her away, either. Like thereâs a secret flowing through her. Thatâs a good thing. He likes a woman with a secret.
She makes a noise like a content cat when he strokes her hair, then drifts off again. Makes senseâitâs nice with the two of them together. Close, cozy.
And itâs nice here in the warmth, nice for Andrejs to think about Ieva without interruption. These thoughts always drag him away from wherever he is, carry him through the air and to a strange and enormous house, where it takes a long time to inspect and check all the cellars, intersecting hallways, antechambers, rooms, mansards, stairwells, pantries, attics, guest rooms and hidden passageways, and then clean and catalog them until next time. Tonight heâs just getting started. Until heâs made it through it all. Let this Demeter sleep. Thereâs nothing left to miss out on. Thatâs how time works.
Â
Ievaâs visits were beautiful in their slow pace. There was no rush. âWeâll be back tomorrow at ten!â the guards would remind them as they left. And then time would suddenly start back up for Andrejs, whose life orbited a bewitched circle, where the same actions took place every morning, every night, and every year, forever winding up back at the beginning; a life where the mirrors are frozen and always reflect the same image. He had been shunned from time both physicallyâin prisonâand spirituallyâwithin himself.
But then one morning Ieva would show up and time would start again.
Even the guards noticed it because they said theyâd be back in the morning to separate them. Andrejs suddenly became worthy of keeping track of timeâthis body the court had sentenced to age hidden from sight. Something overflowed and pushed out, the floodgates burst openâa powerful torrent rushed forward from 10Â am through 10Â am the next day, and it took his breath away to see how elastic and shifting time was, how material and flowing it was.
On those days he hated the clock. On those days the clock once more had meaning, and it mocked him as much as it could, like someone born to be a prison guardâsomeone with tormenting in their blood, someone who makes sure youâll never forget them.
He and Ieva would sit and exchange unhurried words, they could see the prison wall from the window and watch inmates wander around the yard like livestock, like a dazed flock in bluish parkas or white shirts, depending on what season it was. Sunspots moved across the floor. They talked about neighbors, Ievaâs job, his friends and prison life, their parents, money, and Monta. Andrejs would look at photographs of his daughter, if Ieva had been able to conceal them well enough in her clothes, and say heâd put them in a plastic binder. He had an entire
Â
The woman resting on his shoulder moves. His collarbone must be digging into her cheek.
Andrejs quickly reaches his free hand behind his back to grab a cushion, and tosses it in the corner of the couch. Then he puts his arms around the woman and draws her down with him. Thereâs a tickle in his chest, and even though this movement lasts maybe a second, he feels like heâs caught a giant fish and is sinking into the depths of the ocean.
The woman mumbles and doesnât want to lie down, and struggles a bit, the idiot, she probably thinks heâs going to start groping her, but he doesnât intend to. Alright fine, maybe he thought about it a little, but heâs only human, he can see sheâs tired from work, and also from preparing the roast, so let her just sleep. Her cheek presses against his shoulder, a string of drool hangs from the corner of her mouth onto his shirt like a silvery thread.
âSleep!â he strokes her hair. And sniffs it. Strange. Her scent isnât really something that would make him want her right now. He sensed that from the start. But he canât exactly push her away, either. Like thereâs a secret flowing through her. Thatâs a good thing. He likes a woman with a secret.
She makes a noise like a content cat when he strokes her hair, then drifts off again. Makes senseâitâs nice with the two of them together. Close, cozy.
And itâs nice here in the warmth, nice for Andrejs to think about Ieva without interruption. These thoughts always drag him away from wherever he is, carry him through the air and to a strange and enormous house, where it takes a long time to inspect and check all the cellars, intersecting hallways, antechambers, rooms, mansards, stairwells, pantries, attics, guest rooms and hidden passageways, and then clean and catalog them until next time. Tonight heâs just getting started. Until heâs made it through it all. Let this Demeter sleep. Thereâs nothing left to miss out on. Thatâs how time works.
Â
Ievaâs visits were beautiful in their slow pace. There was no rush. âWeâll be back tomorrow at ten!â the guards would remind them as they left. And then time would suddenly start back up for Andrejs, whose life orbited a bewitched circle, where the same actions took place every morning, every night, and every year, forever winding up back at the beginning; a life where the mirrors are frozen and always reflect the same image. He had been shunned from time both physicallyâin prisonâand spirituallyâwithin himself.
But then one morning Ieva would show up and time would start again.
Even the guards noticed it because they said theyâd be back in the morning to separate them. Andrejs suddenly became worthy of keeping track of timeâthis body the court had sentenced to age hidden from sight. Something overflowed and pushed out, the floodgates burst openâa powerful torrent rushed forward from 10Â am through 10Â am the next day, and it took his breath away to see how elastic and shifting time was, how material and flowing it was.
On those days he hated the clock. On those days the clock once more had meaning, and it mocked him as much as it could, like someone born to be a prison guardâsomeone with tormenting in their blood, someone who makes sure youâll never forget them.
He and Ieva would sit and exchange unhurried words, they could see the prison wall from the window and watch inmates wander around the yard like livestock, like a dazed flock in bluish parkas or white shirts, depending on what season it was. Sunspots moved across the floor. They talked about neighbors, Ievaâs job, his friends and prison life, their parents, money, and Monta. Andrejs would look at photographs of his daughter, if Ieva had been able to conceal them well enough in her clothes, and say heâd put them in a plastic binder. He had an entire
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