42 Stories (2/2)
”Ah,” she sighed, ”fine! Let's go sit down”
She made her way to the bench and I followed. There was a short, tense pause, before mother started speaking, ”I haven't told about how I met your father, but I think now's the time.”
”Oh!” the topic surprised me, ”Is it about last night?”
”In a way, yes.” Her tone was solemn, tinged with sadness. ”My family are nomadic merchants. When I was teenager, they moved from the east of the empire to the north.
”It was horrible there! It was freezing cold all the time, and the people were so poor we could barely sell anything. I had to work in a tavern, and I hated it!”
Mother laid back and stared at the sky. Despite what she was saying, her expression was wistful.
”But… that's where I met your father. At the time, he was a young soldier, fresh out of military school. He hung around the tavern a lot. So much, it started getting suspicious!
”It took him a whole month to finally pluck up the courage to ask me out - he said he only did it because he got promoted. And, what do you know, we hit it off!
”We spent a few months together, but by then, my family wanted to move. I begged him to come with us, but he somehow convinced me to stay with him.
”For years, we lived in that hellhole. And I was just waiting for the day we could go someplace warm. Somewhere we could raise a family in peace. And then, one day, I thought my chance had come.”
Mother laughed nervously, covering her mouth with her hand.
”It's terrible really! Dear me. Anyway, your father came home horribly injured, just like you were. His outpost was attacked by guerrilla forces, and most of his squad was wiped out.
”Of course, I was scared I would lose him, but somehow, I knew he'd recover. Your father's just like that. And once I got over the fear, all I could think about was, this was our chance!
”I thought that maybe we could leave that place! After seeing all those horrible things, and going through all that pain, I thought that he would be done.”
She looked down at her hands, rubbing dirt off her fingers. I could see the hint of a wry smile on her face.
”But no. Just like you, his first thought when he woke up was, ”how's my body? Can I still fight?””
All I could do was sit there sheepishly. Mother hadn't even seen me do that, but she still knew. It seemed strange to me that I acted just like father, even though I wasn't really his son.
”So anyway,” mother continued, ”leaving was the last thing on his mind. And, no matter how many times he came home battered, he got up and fought again.
”What I'm trying to say, Oscar,” she grabbed my hands and looked me in the eyes, ”is that I know how you feel, and I'm not going to stop you. I'm just not used to seeing my baby boy get hurt.”
Knowing what mother had been through hurt. Watching a loved one bring suffering on themself, unable to stop them, is a pain nobody should have to feel. But it hurt even more, knowing that I would inflict that pain.
”Stop it!” mother scolded me, ”I know that look! Don't pity me, you're much too young for that. Honestly, how did I raise such a precocious child. Besides, I've seen a lot more thank you think…”
Mother launched into darkly humorous tirades about her time in the north, lightening the heavy mood. Time flew by, and I was so enthralled by her stories, I barely noticed father's return.
”Ahem!” father cleared his throat suggestively, and both mother and I jumped in surprise.
”Ah, darling! I was just telling Oscar about the time when you… actually, nevermind.”
Crow stepped out from behind father, greeting mother with an open hug. She hurried off to make some tea, and Crow turned to address me.
”It appears the troublemaker has struck again.” He growled.