Amber and Clay Laura Schlitz (if you liked this book TXT) 📖

But for my part,

I think it’s better when pots don’t leak.

You’re young. You’re thoughtful for your age,

so I forget how young you are.

You still have time to strive and learn.

Be your own master, Rhaskos.”

With that he turned away.

I glared after him.

We’d been having a fight, and suddenly it was over.

4. RHASKOS LISTENS

“Phaistus?”

“Zosima.”

“Are you asleep?”

“I wish I were. It’s so hot . . .

You think it’s any cooler in the courtyard?

We could carry the mats outside.”

“If we sleep outside, I’ll have to be modest

and lie under a blanket. I’d rather stay here.

There’s a breeze coming in the window . . .”

“I don’t feel it. There’s not a breath of air.”

“Phaistus, what’s the matter?”

“Nothing.”

“You’ve been silent and grim all evening,

and Pyrrhos, too.

Both of you scowling

and picking at your food!

What’s gone wrong between you?”

“It’s nothing to do with the boy.

I saw Markos in the marketplace today.”

“What did he want?”

“Nothing. We didn’t speak.

He’s lost weight. He’s a sick old man.

When he dies, I’ll need a new protector.”

“Is that what’s worrying you?

You’ve never liked him.”

“No, but he doesn’t rob me blind. He’s a just man.

The rent he charges for the shop is fair.

If he dies, and I can’t find another protector,

I could be sued; I could lose everything.

If worse comes to worst, I could be sold.

I think I’d rather die than go through that.”

“Phaistus. Stop.

That’s not going to happen.”

“How do you know it won’t?

What does a woman know about the law?”

“If Markos dies, you’ll find a new protector.

You’re respected. Any man of sense would be proud to help you.

You won’t lose your freedom.”

“I’ve come so far.”

“I know.”

“It’s not just me. If I lose the business,

what becomes of you?

And Kranaos? Even the boy — ”

“Phaistus, what’s happened to Pyrrhos?

He’s scarcely spoken for a week,

and tonight —

I never saw him look so wretched.”

“Don’t know. He was hauling brushwood all day.

Ask the donkey what’s wrong with him.”

“You’re not teaching him anymore.”

“Listen, Zosima. Last week —

I didn’t want to tell you. I knew you’d take his side —

the boy threw a scorpion at Kranaos,

hoping it would sting him. An ugly thing.

A child should treat an old man with respect. Zosima!

It wasn’t funny.”

“Was Kranaos hurt?”

“No.”

“Then it’s a little bit funny. Oh, come on, Phaistus!

All boys are mischievous,

and Kranaos is an old misery!”

“Listen, it wasn’t a boyish prank.

And it wasn’t mischief, it was malice.

A scorpion could kill an old man like Kranaos. He’s not strong.

The boy broke two good pots

and knocked over a jar of slip.

Kranaos went after him, and Pyrrhos deserved it.”

“That’s where he got those bruises!

Kranaos is always finding fault with Pyrrhos.

He nags.”

“He’s trying to teach him. The boy should pay attention.

He could learn something. There’s no man in Athens — ”

“ — who knows more about the kiln! I know.

Blessed be the gods who gave us Kranaos!

All the same, he hawks up phlegm every morning

and spits on my clean-swept floor.

Can’t he spit outside?

I stepped in it yesterday, in my bare feet!”

“I’ll talk to him — Shhh!”

“Why are you hushing me?”

“I thought I heard something. Right outside the window —

He could be listening.”

“Who, Kranaos? He’s as deaf as any stone.”

“No, the boy. I wouldn’t put it past him.”

“I wish you’d stop calling him the boy.

He’s our son. He has a name.”

“He’s not our son. I know you’ve grown attached to him;

I haven’t. I’m doing my best.

I’m not going to sell him if I don’t have to — ”

“Phaistus, you can’t sell him! We agreed!

You promised me you’d buy a child,

and that we’d raise him as our son!”

“I said, if we have no children of our own.

We may still have children.”

“Don’t.”

“Older women than you — ”

“Don’t. It’s been eight years.

Eight years married, and I’m still not a woman.

I’m a freak, a failure, unfinished.

I wouldn’t blame you if you divorced me.”

“Zosima, you were kind to me when I was still a slave.

I remember our wedding night, when I lifted your veil,

and looked into your eyes, and saw you loved me.

I will never divorce you.

I just wish I’d waited before I bought the boy.

I wanted a Syrian, or an Egyptian boy.

A Thracian’s trouble. It’s the strangest thing . . .

The day I bought him, I’d made up my mind not to.

I’d turned my back on him. I was headed home

and then — it was as if some god

seized me by the arm and towed me back.”

“What if it were a god?”

“What?”

“What if he’s meant to be our son?

You said yourself: you’ve never known a boy who can draw like that.

I wish you’d go back to teaching him

He was happier when you taught him.”

“You’re a fool about that boy, Zosima.

He doesn’t care two figs for you. He’s ungrateful.”

“He’s not. He doesn’t show it,

but he’s aware of every kindness.

No matter what happens, you can’t sell him.

I forbid it.”

“What kind of wife says I forbid to her husband?”

“You know what kind of wife I am.

You knew when you married me.”

“I suspected — ”

“A vixen! A she-wolf!

With a squint, too! Don’t forget the squint.”

“You only squint when you smile,

and I’m happy when you smile, Zosima.

. . . your lips are sweet,

but it’s too hot to kiss.

“Pyrrhos is our son.

In time, he’ll understand that.

And so will you.”

“He’s a Thracian barbarian.

And even if he were Greek —

I wish I felt like his father, but I don’t.”

“Phaistus, you need to sleep.

Change places with me. It’s cooler near the window.

You’ll rest easier there. Just try to go to sleep.

We have one another, and we have enough.

I’ll stop talking now. Sleep.”

EXHIBIT 14

Clay figurines, terra-cotta, Athens, fourth and fifth century BCE.

These charming miniature figures were probably playthings. Though rattles were used for music and religious rituals, this pig was probably created to entertain an Athenian baby. Both horses have pierced legs, which suggest that they were mounted on wheels and used as pull-toys. Traces of pigment show that the figurines were once painted with bright colors.

That night I couldn’t sleep. It was too hot:

the grating of cicadas,

the airless shed, and the smell of sweaty donkey.

I got up, left the shed,

and went out in