Read Online The Winged Histories by Sofia Samatar - Free Book Online
Authors: Sofia Samatar
Ads: Link
it still, in this chilly camp where we wait to make our move. Surely it no longer possesses any virtue. Its letters smudged, its creases near-transparent. Still I carry it and sometimes I unfold it by the lamp.
My own dear Taviye,
If you knew how dull we are without you, you would come back at once. Even the horses are pining for you! Poor Ustia will hardly eat his mash, and when I took him across the Oun this morning he wouldn’t gallop, but ambled like an old workhorse. All of the dogs are terribly jealous of Farus. Noni told me that she will not speak to you when you come unless you bring her an emerald collar. You know how she is, so you had better comply. As for Fotla, when I mention your name he acts as if he’s never heard of you!
To speak from my heart dear Taviye, come back for the feast if you can. It will be so wonderful for Mother. I’ve told her to try not to think of it but she says she dreams of you in those wild mountains surrounded by criminals disfigured by the black needle! So you see how it is. Father is the same as ever, exactly the same, only more so if possible, taking most of his meals alone in the porch. One never knows what mood will take possession of him from one moment to the next. I hate to leave them alone together.
As for me, I’m bored almost into the grave. Kethina has gone back to Nauve and never writes, as she says she is “caught up with life.” I suppose she means new gowns. I have given up on all that myself and go about in a blue dress like a peasant. What is the point? Mother and Nenya force me to dress in the afternoons, as we have not, apparently, sunk so low as to appear at the table in slippers. How stupid everything seems! Even my shell combs have grown heavy; when I put up my hair, I swear to you, my arms ache.
Taviye, how has it happened that we are scattered all over the country?
Well, they are calling me to dress. It’s already cold in the mountains and all my gowns are Valley ones, thin silks with open backs. I freeze nightly. Taviye, dear Taviye, do you remember when we were children, how we used to slide across the floor of the avla? Suddenly I remembered that. I think of those days so often and have so much pleasure from it that sometimes I actually burst out laughing. I remember even the terrible things with nothing but fondness now, like Grandmother’s burial day and how we fell into the gorge. Do you remember that? Nenya tells me I’m too old now to be giggling or sighing to myself over my embroidery. “Alas my heart, sudaidi,” she says (for she is a true Kestenyi though she will never lose her pride in calling herself a “daughter of Nain,” and if a new tradesman comes to the door she still looks at the ceiling and snaps her fingers as if she can’t recall Kestenyi words—what nonsense!)—“Alas my heart, sudaidi,” she says, “be sensible and break this habit of laughing and crying all the time, it’s not right for a lady!” As if one’s rank should prevent one from feeling anything in life! But it’s only the memory of those days that makes me feel anything. So come back soon, and let’s go riding over the Oun like we used to, and have wine and raush under the trees by the bridge. You know it was funny when Kethina was here, she said you’d always seemed so stiff and proud to her and without any lightheartedness at all. She said she used to be afraid of you, you were so serious, and I said you were the merriest person I knew. Vai, here I am with nothing but memories, like an old woman. Come soon and make us all cheerful.
Love, Siski
On her last night, the night they all left for Nauve, she came upstairs and stood by my bed in her dark gray traveling clothes and a cherry-colored scarf. Her face severe above the brilliant silk bunched at her throat. She held a little round case in front of her with both hands. When she shrugged, it tapped against her knees and stirred her long dark skirt. She looked at me and smiled and then looked at
My own dear Taviye,
If you knew how dull we are without you, you would come back at once. Even the horses are pining for you! Poor Ustia will hardly eat his mash, and when I took him across the Oun this morning he wouldn’t gallop, but ambled like an old workhorse. All of the dogs are terribly jealous of Farus. Noni told me that she will not speak to you when you come unless you bring her an emerald collar. You know how she is, so you had better comply. As for Fotla, when I mention your name he acts as if he’s never heard of you!
To speak from my heart dear Taviye, come back for the feast if you can. It will be so wonderful for Mother. I’ve told her to try not to think of it but she says she dreams of you in those wild mountains surrounded by criminals disfigured by the black needle! So you see how it is. Father is the same as ever, exactly the same, only more so if possible, taking most of his meals alone in the porch. One never knows what mood will take possession of him from one moment to the next. I hate to leave them alone together.
As for me, I’m bored almost into the grave. Kethina has gone back to Nauve and never writes, as she says she is “caught up with life.” I suppose she means new gowns. I have given up on all that myself and go about in a blue dress like a peasant. What is the point? Mother and Nenya force me to dress in the afternoons, as we have not, apparently, sunk so low as to appear at the table in slippers. How stupid everything seems! Even my shell combs have grown heavy; when I put up my hair, I swear to you, my arms ache.
Taviye, how has it happened that we are scattered all over the country?
Well, they are calling me to dress. It’s already cold in the mountains and all my gowns are Valley ones, thin silks with open backs. I freeze nightly. Taviye, dear Taviye, do you remember when we were children, how we used to slide across the floor of the avla? Suddenly I remembered that. I think of those days so often and have so much pleasure from it that sometimes I actually burst out laughing. I remember even the terrible things with nothing but fondness now, like Grandmother’s burial day and how we fell into the gorge. Do you remember that? Nenya tells me I’m too old now to be giggling or sighing to myself over my embroidery. “Alas my heart, sudaidi,” she says (for she is a true Kestenyi though she will never lose her pride in calling herself a “daughter of Nain,” and if a new tradesman comes to the door she still looks at the ceiling and snaps her fingers as if she can’t recall Kestenyi words—what nonsense!)—“Alas my heart, sudaidi,” she says, “be sensible and break this habit of laughing and crying all the time, it’s not right for a lady!” As if one’s rank should prevent one from feeling anything in life! But it’s only the memory of those days that makes me feel anything. So come back soon, and let’s go riding over the Oun like we used to, and have wine and raush under the trees by the bridge. You know it was funny when Kethina was here, she said you’d always seemed so stiff and proud to her and without any lightheartedness at all. She said she used to be afraid of you, you were so serious, and I said you were the merriest person I knew. Vai, here I am with nothing but memories, like an old woman. Come soon and make us all cheerful.
Love, Siski
On her last night, the night they all left for Nauve, she came upstairs and stood by my bed in her dark gray traveling clothes and a cherry-colored scarf. Her face severe above the brilliant silk bunched at her throat. She held a little round case in front of her with both hands. When she shrugged, it tapped against her knees and stirred her long dark skirt. She looked at me and smiled and then looked at
Similar Books
