or your brothers, whether they are alive or dead. In that moment I am purely myself. I belong to no one."
I was too shocked and amazed to say anything. But again this was terribly, terribly amusing. When I thought of my father and brothers and the pompous shopkeepers of the village and how they would respond to such a thing, I found it damn near hilarious.
If I didn't laugh aloud it was probably because the image of my mother naked made me think I shouldn't. But I couldn't keep altogether quiet. I laughed a little, and she nodded, half smiling. She raised her eyebrows, as if to say, 'We understand each other'.
Finally I roared laughing. I pounded my knee with my fist and hit my head on the wood of the bed behind me. And she almost laughed herself. Maybe in her own quiet way she was laughing.
Curious moment. Some almost brutal sense of her as a human being quite removed from all that surrounded her. We did understand each other, and all my resentment of her didn't matter too much.
She pulled the pin out of her hair and let it tumble down to her shoulders.
We sat quiet for perhaps an hour after that. No more laughter or talk, just the fire blazing, and her near to me.
She had turned so she could see the fire. Her profile, the delicacy of her nose and lips, were beautiful to look at. Then she looked back at me and in the same steady voice without undue emotion she said:
"I'll never leave here. I am dying now."
I was stunned. The little shock before was nothing to this.
"I'll live through this spring," she continued, "and possibly the summer as well. But I won't survive another winter. I know. The pain in my lungs is too bad."
I made some little anguished sound. I think I leaned forward and said, "Mother!"
"Don't say any more," she answered.
I think she hated to be called mother, but I hadn't been able to help it.
"I just wanted to speak it to another soul," she said. "To hear it out loud. I'm perfectly horrified by it. I'm afraid of it."
I wanted to take her hands, but I knew she'd never allow it. She disliked to be touched. She never put her arms around anyone. And so it was in our glances that we held each other. My eyes filled with tears looking at her.
She patted my hand.
"Don't think on it much," she said. "I don't. Just only now and then. But you must be ready to live on without me when the time comes. That may be harder for you than you realize."
I tried to say something; I couldn't make the words come.
She left me just as she'd come in, silently.
And though she'd never said anything about my clothes or my beard or how dreadful I looked, she sent the servants in with clean clothes for me, and the razor and warm water, and silently I let myself be taken care of by them.
Part I Lelio Rising Chapter 3
3
I began to feel a little stronger. I stopped thinking about what happened with the wolves and I thought about her.
I thought about the words "perfectly horrified," and I didn't know what to make of them except they sounded exactly true. I'd feel that way if I were dying slowly. It would have been better on the mountain with the wolves.
But there was more to it than that. She had always been silently unhappy. She hated the inertia and the hopelessness of our life here as much as I did. And now, after eight children, three living, five dead, she was dying. This was the end for her.
I determined to get up if it would make her feel better, but when I tried I couldn't. The thought of her dying was unbearable. I paced the floor of my room a lot, ate the food brought to me, but still I wouldn't go to her.
But by the end of the month, visitors came to draw me out.
My mother came in and said I must receive the merchants from the village who wanted to honor me for killing the wolves.
"Oh, hell with it," I answered.
"No, you must come down," she said. "They have gifts for you. Now do your duty."
I hated all this.
When I reached the hall, I found the rich shopkeepers there, all men I knew well, and all dressed for the occasion.
But there was one startling young man among them I didn't recognize