03-30-2019, 08:21 PM
Nina, weighed down by her pack, was supporting Bas as they went to the kitchen. She was in a foul mood. She wasn’t sure if it was in response to Bas’s tawdry fantasies around the Holy mother, or to the neglected plans of her day that had been usurped so unexpectedly by the self-same man. Oh, but this was such a glorious waste of her time. She came away with a few perks, but she doesn’t know this yet!
She disliked religion in principle; it might work for Bas, but it did not work for her, and from there it also caused many issues for her. Her family’s own religious practices defined her, after all. Life was hell on a stick; their belief in this cult was an old wound for her, and this matters to Nina more than she’d like to admit.
As the romani, they’ve walked through bad, and worse, and worse still. Case and point to the memories of the day that they were driven out of town of Nice in southern France for being romani scum. You’re called nice? Hello? Why do you believe in a power that allows death, destruction and mayhem? And what did the atharim do for them? Hmm? Nothing, that’s what they did. When the dust settled, her family got overlooked. Not even a pat on the back or a card for the holidays…
“And you would have beaten the ‘god’ too, in his place. Have you ever met a ‘god’?”
Nina's dad looked at her.
“Yes, god, one of the reborn monsters.”
“No.”
“No, never?”
“Never.”
“So, if you’ve never seen one, how do you know they exist? You weren’t there, how can you know for sure—,” Nina smiled.
“They’re real. I know they are.”
“Just asking,” Nina gave a sweeter smile this time.
“Don’t,” said Nina’s dad.
“For a moment or two there,” she said, turning to point at the book, “for a moment, I was on the verge of believing it was actually like that.”
“But I doubt the gods are real. It’d be different if we had personal experiences. But neither of us have, nor do I think we ever will. For us, that story’s just a story.” she laughed. “I mean, you guys have never even met an atharim!”
“Nina. Enough!”
She watched him. He stared at the floor for a moment, and then looked up into her eyes.
“Gods are real,” he repeated. “I applaud your skepticism, but it’s not like that. I believe in the atharim because it gives me hope and something to cling to when there is nothing else. Whether or not these I’ve met the atharim is not really important, it is that I chose to believe, albeit for selfish reasons, but I don’t think the atharim minds. And think how light favored us that we’ve only met these monsters with our imagination. Believe what you like, Nina, the only thing you really need to know is this: I would have never missed the chance of becoming your and Rena’s dad. We love you.”
They both looked around as mom cried out from the other room. “Stop yelling!” Mom was yelling.
Nina laughed again.
Not much say for Rena and herself. Two young women. Two young girls. Little choice between them. Sisters, fighting like furies for their parents’ love; inheriting. And in death, only in her parent’s death, would the two of them be free to practice as each one pleased. Yes, their parents read them stories. Nina memorized them, and when asked to pray, she grudgingly did so. But that was out of love, out of filial obligation. There was no real chance of Nina worshipping, not without meeting either one of the atharim or gods, or a real traumatic change of her personality. Besides, it’s like conversing, only to herself, which she did if the occasion arose, either out loud for others or in the silence of her mind, even if it made her stomach feel funny.
Motioning for Nina to join him, Bas began and quick and private interchange with his cabinets before pointing to a wrapped pasty and nodding, smiling at Nina. As he searched, Nina left her pack slump on one of the chairs and glanced around.
Up and away from the public eye, Bas’ premises were basic in layout, but warm and relatively clean. At least, the kitchen was astonishingly well organized. It felt almost sterile like the waiting rooms at the Guardian. But there was an underlying scruffiness. Nina noticed immediately the odd chip in the paint, the hasty way the drapery had been gathered and pinned, the faint smell of musty dampness that scents of cooking could not quite hide. She wondered what was through this kitchen area to other rooms. For all you know, Bas could be living in the back rooms like a slob.
Still, you make do and all.
The stew and pastry Bas found were welcome, though Nina had a suspicion that he was holding her in an attempt to give comfort, in the same way that her own hands were pressed to her stomach in an equally vain attempt to silence it.
Oh, ode to Nina’s stomach. I mean, it was no opera to listen to, but it had one hell of a growl. Ventre aflame n’a pas d’oreilles, Viva l’estomac!
“Sorry that was loud! I’m so sorry about that. Gosh, don’t you just hate it when that happens, I swe—,” She used her own will power to close her mouth before her tongue made her sound ever more the fool than her stomach.
Now, it occurred to her that she would be fed soon, if so, just be cool around Bas and don’t get too excited. Well done, congratulations, it’s not a huge thing; hot food was welcome and damn it, tummy, stop it before I cry! She could not decide if the butterflies were Bas hugging her, or the result of not eating for some time. Anyway, it made little difference; just smile and try not to feel awkward.
Bas and Nina ate their stew and bread sitting under the lights in front of the table with books and a great big vase of plastic flowers. She was so busy devouring her stew and bread that she didn’t even properly look at the decor. If Nina wore glasses they would have steamed up.
“Thanks,” replied Nina, spooning more stew into her mouth as if there was a race to finish first.
The growling of her stomach subsided somewhat. She wondered if Bas’s mom would teach her how to make this.
“Do you cook?” she asked, between mouthfuls.
Nina lowered her bowl, swallowing. She looked over at Bas, sitting on the nearby chair. He should manage a little more stew and bread before sleeping, she thought. Some rest would turn things around.
“What flowers are these?” she asked, mouth full, nodding at the vase. Maybe she’d buy Rena flowers with her first paycheck…
She sat back on her chair, and stared at the wrapped pastry for a long time. Her propriety warred with Nina’s sweet tooth. It was too rich, too precious a reward for the likes of her from Bas.
“No thank you, I’m already full,” she said at length. He’s lucky she was brought up to be polite! Admittedly it was hard for her to give up such a treat.
She disliked religion in principle; it might work for Bas, but it did not work for her, and from there it also caused many issues for her. Her family’s own religious practices defined her, after all. Life was hell on a stick; their belief in this cult was an old wound for her, and this matters to Nina more than she’d like to admit.
As the romani, they’ve walked through bad, and worse, and worse still. Case and point to the memories of the day that they were driven out of town of Nice in southern France for being romani scum. You’re called nice? Hello? Why do you believe in a power that allows death, destruction and mayhem? And what did the atharim do for them? Hmm? Nothing, that’s what they did. When the dust settled, her family got overlooked. Not even a pat on the back or a card for the holidays…
“And you would have beaten the ‘god’ too, in his place. Have you ever met a ‘god’?”
Nina's dad looked at her.
“Yes, god, one of the reborn monsters.”
“No.”
“No, never?”
“Never.”
“So, if you’ve never seen one, how do you know they exist? You weren’t there, how can you know for sure—,” Nina smiled.
“They’re real. I know they are.”
“Just asking,” Nina gave a sweeter smile this time.
“Don’t,” said Nina’s dad.
“For a moment or two there,” she said, turning to point at the book, “for a moment, I was on the verge of believing it was actually like that.”
“But I doubt the gods are real. It’d be different if we had personal experiences. But neither of us have, nor do I think we ever will. For us, that story’s just a story.” she laughed. “I mean, you guys have never even met an atharim!”
“Nina. Enough!”
She watched him. He stared at the floor for a moment, and then looked up into her eyes.
“Gods are real,” he repeated. “I applaud your skepticism, but it’s not like that. I believe in the atharim because it gives me hope and something to cling to when there is nothing else. Whether or not these I’ve met the atharim is not really important, it is that I chose to believe, albeit for selfish reasons, but I don’t think the atharim minds. And think how light favored us that we’ve only met these monsters with our imagination. Believe what you like, Nina, the only thing you really need to know is this: I would have never missed the chance of becoming your and Rena’s dad. We love you.”
They both looked around as mom cried out from the other room. “Stop yelling!” Mom was yelling.
Nina laughed again.
Not much say for Rena and herself. Two young women. Two young girls. Little choice between them. Sisters, fighting like furies for their parents’ love; inheriting. And in death, only in her parent’s death, would the two of them be free to practice as each one pleased. Yes, their parents read them stories. Nina memorized them, and when asked to pray, she grudgingly did so. But that was out of love, out of filial obligation. There was no real chance of Nina worshipping, not without meeting either one of the atharim or gods, or a real traumatic change of her personality. Besides, it’s like conversing, only to herself, which she did if the occasion arose, either out loud for others or in the silence of her mind, even if it made her stomach feel funny.
Motioning for Nina to join him, Bas began and quick and private interchange with his cabinets before pointing to a wrapped pasty and nodding, smiling at Nina. As he searched, Nina left her pack slump on one of the chairs and glanced around.
Up and away from the public eye, Bas’ premises were basic in layout, but warm and relatively clean. At least, the kitchen was astonishingly well organized. It felt almost sterile like the waiting rooms at the Guardian. But there was an underlying scruffiness. Nina noticed immediately the odd chip in the paint, the hasty way the drapery had been gathered and pinned, the faint smell of musty dampness that scents of cooking could not quite hide. She wondered what was through this kitchen area to other rooms. For all you know, Bas could be living in the back rooms like a slob.
Still, you make do and all.
The stew and pastry Bas found were welcome, though Nina had a suspicion that he was holding her in an attempt to give comfort, in the same way that her own hands were pressed to her stomach in an equally vain attempt to silence it.
Oh, ode to Nina’s stomach. I mean, it was no opera to listen to, but it had one hell of a growl. Ventre aflame n’a pas d’oreilles, Viva l’estomac!
“Sorry that was loud! I’m so sorry about that. Gosh, don’t you just hate it when that happens, I swe—,” She used her own will power to close her mouth before her tongue made her sound ever more the fool than her stomach.
Now, it occurred to her that she would be fed soon, if so, just be cool around Bas and don’t get too excited. Well done, congratulations, it’s not a huge thing; hot food was welcome and damn it, tummy, stop it before I cry! She could not decide if the butterflies were Bas hugging her, or the result of not eating for some time. Anyway, it made little difference; just smile and try not to feel awkward.
Bas and Nina ate their stew and bread sitting under the lights in front of the table with books and a great big vase of plastic flowers. She was so busy devouring her stew and bread that she didn’t even properly look at the decor. If Nina wore glasses they would have steamed up.
“Thanks,” replied Nina, spooning more stew into her mouth as if there was a race to finish first.
The growling of her stomach subsided somewhat. She wondered if Bas’s mom would teach her how to make this.
“Do you cook?” she asked, between mouthfuls.
Nina lowered her bowl, swallowing. She looked over at Bas, sitting on the nearby chair. He should manage a little more stew and bread before sleeping, she thought. Some rest would turn things around.
“What flowers are these?” she asked, mouth full, nodding at the vase. Maybe she’d buy Rena flowers with her first paycheck…
She sat back on her chair, and stared at the wrapped pastry for a long time. Her propriety warred with Nina’s sweet tooth. It was too rich, too precious a reward for the likes of her from Bas.
“No thank you, I’m already full,” she said at length. He’s lucky she was brought up to be polite! Admittedly it was hard for her to give up such a treat.
Nina