Read Online The Child Goddess by Louise Marley - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Louise Marley
Ads: Link
obvious. But she wouldn’t answer the simplest personal question, and Isabel couldn’t think how to gain her trust.
Oa at least accepted the Italian sweater, so much softer and warmer than the one she had been wearing. She allowed Isabel to help her with her other clothes, too. There was a box of things, dresses, pants, a jumpsuit, a pair of soft pajamas. It seemed she had been sleeping in her clothes. Isabel persuaded her to exchange her too-short dress for a pair of fleecy trousers and shirt. She encouraged her to put aside the ill-fitting shoes for a pair of thick socks. When she gave her the sweater, she said, “This sweater was made in Italy, where my home is, Oa. It makes me think of my home, and my friends.”
She watched Oa pull the sweater over her arms, hiding the ragged rows of tattoos. The girl lifted the hem of the sweater to her nose and inhaled.
Isabel watched her, smiling. “What does the sweater smell like?”
Oa tipped her head to one side, considering for a moment. Finally she said, “Sweater is smelling like Isabel.”
Isabel laughed. “I suppose it must. I’ve worn it many times.”
Oa wrapped her arms around herself, hugging the black wool close to her body. With her eyes on the floor, she said, “Oa likes it. Is it—” Her eyes came up cautiously. “A gift?”
“Yes,” Isabel said, feeling a quiet triumph at this small sign of progress. “It certainly is. It’s a gift. A gift to Oa from Isabel.”
The white grin flashed. Oa’s fearful mood seemed to have fled. She made a little dancing circle of the room, fluid and graceful on her slender legs. When she twirled back to her bed, Isabel was glad to see she didn’t put her back to the corner, but sat on the edge, her legs dangling over the side, her long-toed feet just touching the floor. It was a small thing, but Isabel took it as an encouraging sign. She pulled her chair close, and leaned back in it, crossing her legs at the ankle.
“I have an idea, Oa. Suppose I tell you some things about myself.”
The girl’s eyes brightened. “Stories?”
Isabel chuckled. “I guess you could call them stories. True ones, though, not like in your books.” She paused, raising her eyebrows. “Is it all right for me to tell you how old I am?”
The child nodded. Isabel linked her hands together. Apparently there was nothing wrong with mentioning age if it was her own. “Well. I’m thirty-six years old. My mother and father lived in a lot of different places when I was young, so I grew up all over the world—France, and North America, and Egypt, and Italy. My father was a diplomat. He died a few years ago, and now my mother lives in a city called Rome. I have one brother and one sister.”
None of this seemed to bother the girl. “I’m a priest. Oa, do you know what that is?” Oa pointed at Isabel’s cross. “Yes, that’s the symbol of my priesthood. I took the vows of the Priestly Order of Mary Magdalene fourteen years ago.” She gave a short laugh. “My parents weren’t too happy about that. They didn’t think women should be priests.”
Still Oa watched her, head tilted to one side, tugging on strands of her hair. She didn’t appear to be disturbed by any of these confidences. Isabel ventured further, “I’m also a medical anthropologist. That means I ask a lot of questions. I study how people live.”
Oa dropped her hands. She went very still.
Isabel stopped talking. She barely breathed. Something had changed. She watched the child struggling with something, and wished with all her heart she knew what it was.
At last the girl said, her voice very faint, “Isabel is studying Oa?”
Isabel took her cross in her fingers before she answered. She looked directly into the girl’s liquid dark eyes. “Only,” she answered firmly, “only if it’s all right with Oa. Only if Oa gives her permission.”
*
ISABEL WOKE LATE that night when her door slid open, its rubber seal whispering on the tiles. She turned her head
Oa at least accepted the Italian sweater, so much softer and warmer than the one she had been wearing. She allowed Isabel to help her with her other clothes, too. There was a box of things, dresses, pants, a jumpsuit, a pair of soft pajamas. It seemed she had been sleeping in her clothes. Isabel persuaded her to exchange her too-short dress for a pair of fleecy trousers and shirt. She encouraged her to put aside the ill-fitting shoes for a pair of thick socks. When she gave her the sweater, she said, “This sweater was made in Italy, where my home is, Oa. It makes me think of my home, and my friends.”
She watched Oa pull the sweater over her arms, hiding the ragged rows of tattoos. The girl lifted the hem of the sweater to her nose and inhaled.
Isabel watched her, smiling. “What does the sweater smell like?”
Oa tipped her head to one side, considering for a moment. Finally she said, “Sweater is smelling like Isabel.”
Isabel laughed. “I suppose it must. I’ve worn it many times.”
Oa wrapped her arms around herself, hugging the black wool close to her body. With her eyes on the floor, she said, “Oa likes it. Is it—” Her eyes came up cautiously. “A gift?”
“Yes,” Isabel said, feeling a quiet triumph at this small sign of progress. “It certainly is. It’s a gift. A gift to Oa from Isabel.”
The white grin flashed. Oa’s fearful mood seemed to have fled. She made a little dancing circle of the room, fluid and graceful on her slender legs. When she twirled back to her bed, Isabel was glad to see she didn’t put her back to the corner, but sat on the edge, her legs dangling over the side, her long-toed feet just touching the floor. It was a small thing, but Isabel took it as an encouraging sign. She pulled her chair close, and leaned back in it, crossing her legs at the ankle.
“I have an idea, Oa. Suppose I tell you some things about myself.”
The girl’s eyes brightened. “Stories?”
Isabel chuckled. “I guess you could call them stories. True ones, though, not like in your books.” She paused, raising her eyebrows. “Is it all right for me to tell you how old I am?”
The child nodded. Isabel linked her hands together. Apparently there was nothing wrong with mentioning age if it was her own. “Well. I’m thirty-six years old. My mother and father lived in a lot of different places when I was young, so I grew up all over the world—France, and North America, and Egypt, and Italy. My father was a diplomat. He died a few years ago, and now my mother lives in a city called Rome. I have one brother and one sister.”
None of this seemed to bother the girl. “I’m a priest. Oa, do you know what that is?” Oa pointed at Isabel’s cross. “Yes, that’s the symbol of my priesthood. I took the vows of the Priestly Order of Mary Magdalene fourteen years ago.” She gave a short laugh. “My parents weren’t too happy about that. They didn’t think women should be priests.”
Still Oa watched her, head tilted to one side, tugging on strands of her hair. She didn’t appear to be disturbed by any of these confidences. Isabel ventured further, “I’m also a medical anthropologist. That means I ask a lot of questions. I study how people live.”
Oa dropped her hands. She went very still.
Isabel stopped talking. She barely breathed. Something had changed. She watched the child struggling with something, and wished with all her heart she knew what it was.
At last the girl said, her voice very faint, “Isabel is studying Oa?”
Isabel took her cross in her fingers before she answered. She looked directly into the girl’s liquid dark eyes. “Only,” she answered firmly, “only if it’s all right with Oa. Only if Oa gives her permission.”
*
ISABEL WOKE LATE that night when her door slid open, its rubber seal whispering on the tiles. She turned her head
Similar Books
