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Authors: Louise Marley
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you’ve grown another inch!” she grumbled. She tugged at the drape, trying to get it to reach Ishi’s waist.
“I’ll be ten and a half next week,” Ishi said proudly. “I’ve been an apprentice almost three whole years.”
“Well, you need new clothes,” Lili said.
Asa tapped on the door. Ishi and Zahra followed Lili and Asa down the corridor to the front stairs. Ishi skipped ahead, doing pirouettes on the cool tiles, reaching with her palms to pat the sculptures set in niches in the plastered walls.
“Be careful, now!” Lili warned, but Ishi went on dancing until they reached the top of the curving staircase. There they heard Qadir’s voice rising from the foyer below. Ishi abruptly ceased her dance, and stood very still, waiting for Zahra. In silence, side by side, they walked down the stairs.
Qadir looked up and saw them, the three women shrouded in pastel silks, Asa in tunic and trousers, leaning on his cane.
“Ah, good,” Qadir said. “We’re off to the Doma now. I’ll see you at dinner. You’re going to Kalen’s?”
Asa answered for them. “Yes, Director.”
“Good, good,” Qadir said absently. Diya was holding the double doors open. In the wide drive, two cars waited in the glare of the star, one gleaming a metallic bronze, the other larger, a dull unglazed black. Diya bent to the window of one, the larger one, to give instructions to its driver. The hired drivers hated speaking with Asa. There had been some awkward moments, Asa trying to give directions, the driver ignoring him, Zahra helpless and furious behind her veil.
The heat hit them like an openhanded blow as they left the coolness of the foyer and crossed to the hired car. The driver stood with the doors open and ready, nodding respectfully and silently to Zahra. They stepped out of the furnace of the morning into the cooled and roomy passenger compartment. They took places facing one another, Lili fanning herself with her hand as if even the brief walk through the heat had tired her. Asa leaned in to put his cane against the seat, and then maneuvered his body into the car with a lurch of the muscle of his good leg. The driver turned his head away from the sight.
Qadir stood watching until the women and Asa were safely enclosed, and then he took the driver’s seat of his own car. His vehicle was low and streamlined, sparkling in the brilliant light. It was one of only very few private cars on Irustan, and it was fast and agile. Its door shut with a deep-throated click of plastic and metal alloy that no hired car could emulate.
Zahra watched with her arms folded as it spun away. She envied Qadir only this, only this one great thing. If he wanted, Qadir could set out in the morning in his fast car and go to the mines. He could tour the outside of the city on any day he liked, see the glittering blue reservoir dotted with the fishing boats of the Port Forcemen on holiday, or stop at the met-olive groves and stroll in their dappled shadows. He could drop in at the marketplace on impulse, and haggle with a merchant over silk or oil or fish. At will, and without a reason, he could drive to the port, meet the arriving shuttle, or watch the rhodium being loaded into its gaping belly. It was not that he did such things, but that he could do such things, that he possessed such glorious freedom—she envied him that.
In Zahra’s wildest imaginings, she could not dream of a way to have such liberty. She could go out, but never alone. She could go about the city with her husband, if he wanted to take her. She could attend a patient, with Asa or Diya as escort. She could go out on Doma Day to visit with her circle offriends, or to the market, if Qadir allowed it, and if an escort was available. She could attend funerals and cessions, with the permission and the escort of her husband. A rich life, she supposed. But not a free one.
The hired car drove deliberately and cautiously down the avenue to the house of Gadil IhMullah, director of
“I’ll be ten and a half next week,” Ishi said proudly. “I’ve been an apprentice almost three whole years.”
“Well, you need new clothes,” Lili said.
Asa tapped on the door. Ishi and Zahra followed Lili and Asa down the corridor to the front stairs. Ishi skipped ahead, doing pirouettes on the cool tiles, reaching with her palms to pat the sculptures set in niches in the plastered walls.
“Be careful, now!” Lili warned, but Ishi went on dancing until they reached the top of the curving staircase. There they heard Qadir’s voice rising from the foyer below. Ishi abruptly ceased her dance, and stood very still, waiting for Zahra. In silence, side by side, they walked down the stairs.
Qadir looked up and saw them, the three women shrouded in pastel silks, Asa in tunic and trousers, leaning on his cane.
“Ah, good,” Qadir said. “We’re off to the Doma now. I’ll see you at dinner. You’re going to Kalen’s?”
Asa answered for them. “Yes, Director.”
“Good, good,” Qadir said absently. Diya was holding the double doors open. In the wide drive, two cars waited in the glare of the star, one gleaming a metallic bronze, the other larger, a dull unglazed black. Diya bent to the window of one, the larger one, to give instructions to its driver. The hired drivers hated speaking with Asa. There had been some awkward moments, Asa trying to give directions, the driver ignoring him, Zahra helpless and furious behind her veil.
The heat hit them like an openhanded blow as they left the coolness of the foyer and crossed to the hired car. The driver stood with the doors open and ready, nodding respectfully and silently to Zahra. They stepped out of the furnace of the morning into the cooled and roomy passenger compartment. They took places facing one another, Lili fanning herself with her hand as if even the brief walk through the heat had tired her. Asa leaned in to put his cane against the seat, and then maneuvered his body into the car with a lurch of the muscle of his good leg. The driver turned his head away from the sight.
Qadir stood watching until the women and Asa were safely enclosed, and then he took the driver’s seat of his own car. His vehicle was low and streamlined, sparkling in the brilliant light. It was one of only very few private cars on Irustan, and it was fast and agile. Its door shut with a deep-throated click of plastic and metal alloy that no hired car could emulate.
Zahra watched with her arms folded as it spun away. She envied Qadir only this, only this one great thing. If he wanted, Qadir could set out in the morning in his fast car and go to the mines. He could tour the outside of the city on any day he liked, see the glittering blue reservoir dotted with the fishing boats of the Port Forcemen on holiday, or stop at the met-olive groves and stroll in their dappled shadows. He could drop in at the marketplace on impulse, and haggle with a merchant over silk or oil or fish. At will, and without a reason, he could drive to the port, meet the arriving shuttle, or watch the rhodium being loaded into its gaping belly. It was not that he did such things, but that he could do such things, that he possessed such glorious freedom—she envied him that.
In Zahra’s wildest imaginings, she could not dream of a way to have such liberty. She could go out, but never alone. She could go about the city with her husband, if he wanted to take her. She could attend a patient, with Asa or Diya as escort. She could go out on Doma Day to visit with her circle offriends, or to the market, if Qadir allowed it, and if an escort was available. She could attend funerals and cessions, with the permission and the escort of her husband. A rich life, she supposed. But not a free one.
The hired car drove deliberately and cautiously down the avenue to the house of Gadil IhMullah, director of
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