I sling the canvas bag over my shoulder and leave the classroom. I am not in a hurry, though I am sort of late for an appointment. By now, I’m pretty sure most of the Hospital has gotten used to my chronic tardiness, and I’m sure he won’t mind. I’ll have no difficulties, finding a way to make him forgive me.
It’s almost lunchtime, and most of the staff is leaving their offices and assigned post, making their way to the cafeteria on the ground floor. I concentrate, trying to recall what’s for lunch today. Not because it’d make any difference; rather, because one of the ‘healthy habits’ – at least according to Ozyas – I have developed is to take advantage of any chance I get to train my memory. Long term recollecting, I have sort of given up on it, but even its short term sister sometimes fails me. According to the physicians who monitor me like I am some sort of rare creature, it’s one of the many, minor symptoms of Hole crossing that should eventually disappear.
I was simply hoping that six months would be enough. Tough luck.
This is the peak hour of bustling movement between rooms and floors, and sometimes I have to push forward, shoulder first, in order to navigate across the mass of Hospital employees and guests. It’s not easy at all, considering the top of my head barely grazes the shoulders of most male workers, and most women stand taller than me as well. Six months of a special diet have done wonders returning that graveyard that was my body to an acceptable state; maybe even too much, as I have soon found out that, with the appropriate amount of muscle and substance around them, I have what nurse Isala mercifully calls ‘birthing hips’. I try to balance my curviness with an appropriate amount of hours at the gymnasium. Knowing the future ahead of me in just a few months, the last thing I want is to turn into a helpless damsel in distress.
I finally make my way out of the crowd as, instead of taking one of the elevators to the ground floor, I take a turn and climb a narrow set of stone stairs, leading to a covered terrace nested in the back of the Hospital, between the building itself and the rocky hillside it rests against – the Hospital’s rookery. There, I find Xaver, who is busy grooming Doa’s feathers. They are both silent, lost in the concentration of the task, but they both turn in my direction as soon as they hear my footsteps approaching them, and the sound of my bag dropping to the floor.
Doa shifts its huge mass and ruffles its black, feathered wings, then takes a few steps in my direction. Though I know it means no harm, I find myself taking a couple steps back, if only for paying respect to its gigantic size. Once that ground is established, however, I let its long, feathering neck extend until its face is mere inches from mine. A perfect oval, with beady black eyes and a mouth remarkably similar to that of a human – if it wasn’t for the serrated rows of needle-like teeth.
?Hyoooossss? the creature creaks. I extend a hand and caress its leathery cheek, its face being the only part of it not covered in jet black feathers.
?Oh, poor thing. You seem a bit worn out. Xaver still keeping you on a diet?? I say, puckering my lips and scratching Doa’s chin. The creature hisses in appreciation.
?A bit worn out compared to yesterday?? asks Xaver, approaching us, a small bag in his hand. He pulls out of it a shimmering, dark blue marble, which tosses with a flick of a thumb in the direction of Doa. The creature curls its neck and snaps the marble with its fangs so fast, my hand is still hanging where its chin was.
?Maybe we should loosen the diet a bit? Xaver says, tossing the creature another sphere. ?I’ll have to ask Ozyas to budget us more mana. After all, we deserve it.?
I move a step towards him. Xaver is not particularly tall as a man, though he still overtakes me by at least a span. Shaped, however, by hours of daily mandatory exercising, even the somewhat baggy work clothes he wears can’t hide his more than acceptable form.
?You deserve it? and why would that be??
?Well, for starters, we saved you.?
I don’t even bother checking our surroundings, before I let myself fall against him. He catches me and, wrapping a hand around the side of my face, pushes our mouths against each other. My hand pushes through his clothes, searching for his skin; while his fingers, having to work through the single layer of a light shirt, are already wrapped around my left breast.
Doa, faced with these expressions of human affection, has already lost all interest, and I see from the corner of my eye that it’s sitting, like an oversized chicken, on a soft pallet of hay in a corner of the covered terrace. It’s facing the door, which is good – we’ll be able to tell immediately, in the remote case someone blunders up here and threatens to spoil our fun.
There is nowhere comfortable to lay down, so the only option is standing up. Xaver’s hands guide me as I turn around, pressing my arms and chest against the stony wall. He’s already working to push aside my underwear, when a shrill noise startles me, him, and Doa along with us – the creature stirs its neck and peers, curious, in the direction of a jacket, left hanging from a large nail hammered into the wall.
?… oh please, not again? I mutter. I turn around, hands still pressed against the wall. Xaver’s brow is furrowed, he’s biting his lower lip. For a moment I hope he’ll be able to ignore that shrill siren and keep going; but, unlike me, he makes it a sticking point to be on time everywhere. Leaving me with a gentle pat on my ass, he reaches for the jacket and turns off the alarm – a blasted, mana-powered gadget from Goerith that Ozyas requires ‘essential workers’ to carry with them at all times.
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?You’re not getting out of it this easily? I say, adjusting my pants and shirt. ?Dinnertime, and I don’t want to hear shit. You better have the whole evening free for us.?
Xaver smiles, sliding out of his work clothes and refreshing his half naked body – what an asshole – with the hose he was using to wash Doa’s feathers. ?No worries, I’ll be there, there is another meeting later this afternoon but I’ll be long done by dinnertime. I wonder why the old man has become so obsessed with staff meetings.?
?Think it has something to do with those visitors from the West we had??
He shrugs, as he tosses the towel aside and slides on a shirt and pants. ?Who knows. Hopefully this will be the time we find out for good. Ozyas likes to play mysterious sometimes, but I’m sort of getting tired of it. It’s my future too, after all.?
I approach him, and put a finger on his chest as I smirk. ?And what if he decides to send you far, far away, on some mission, to some land filled with pretty women?? Playful as I try to be, I can’t deny that, even to my ears, there is a bit of a hollow ring to these words – a hint of hopelessness that, just like that dumb alarm, more and more often rears its head between me and him, when we are together.
A hint which he, just like always, doesn’t get. ?Oh, you’ll be just fine without me? he says, kissing me again. But I’m rigid, and barely reciprocate. It doesn’t matter if his words are just a blatant jest; those are not the words I want to hear. Would it cost him so much to just say ‘you’d come with me’, whether it’s true or not?
Unfortunately for both of us, I’m as much of a lumbering oaf as he is, and once again I say nothing. I force a smile – a convincing smile, I read from his face – as I move towards the stairs.
?Tonight, dinner. No weaseling? I say, as I take the stairs and hold back a single, stupid tear. Ozyas’ words, from when he found out about us, ring once again in my mind.
“I don’t know, Hyos; just… try not to get hurt. He was born here, he’s not from the other side; are you sure he can really understand you?”
No, old man, I’m not sure. I’m not fucking sure at all.
As I walk mechanically down the stairs, I can feel it welling again within me. One of those sudden, mercurial mood swings that, doctors told me, are another symptom of my situation - a ‘response to trauma’ they called it, scheduled to disappear along with the headaches and short term memory difficulties. And yet, six months later, they are still there, stronger than ever.
I’ll need to talk to Ozyas about it, I admit to myself, and soon. I can’t wait for it to get worse. I’ll tell him everything – the moods, the fear and apprehension for my future, the confusion, the distant echo that sometimes accompanies my mood swings and headaches. He’s not like Xaver; he’ll understand.
For the moment, the only item I can unleash my righteous anger on is a plate full of food. The crowd on the way to the food hall has almost entirely settled down, switching the challenge from getting to the squat, wide room with a window sight on the grassy plains in the distance, to actually finding a place to sit down. Not for me, fortunately – as soon as I enter the space, I see arms waving in my direction. I am currently the only non native of Zenobia residing at the Hospital, which I guess makes me sort of a mascot. Six months later, I’m still not sure how I feel about it: in some of my worst moments, shut in my room bawling my eyes out, I have hoped for even just one person who is like me, who can truly understand the kind of isolation that even lovers like Xaver or mentors like Ozyas cannot fully grasp.
But I’m getting better, when it comes to living in the moment. I sit down next to the waving people, a trio of young women doing their medical training under Ozyas’ supervision. I set my tray on the table: I filled it to the brim with as many readwave noodles in sauce as I could fit, accompanying them with white bread and a slice of cake large enough to count as a cake on its own. The three trainees eye me suspiciously as I attack the noodles with my fork.
?Is there something you and Xaver need to tell us?? says one of them, giggling.
I refuse to retort, and spend the rest of my lunch stuffing my face and providing polite, occasional input into the three’s conversation. They don’t seem to mind, wrapped as they are with the end of their training and their imminent return to… wherever they are from. Not the big city, maybe Etruria or something? whatever. I appreciate them wanting to make me feel included, but at the end of the day it’s just another marker of how cut off I am from the rest of this new, strange world I happened into.
Since I have no more classes for the day, maybe some exercise will clear my mind. I leave the trio to their yapping and make my way to the gymnasium. I fully realize it’s not the best idea to exert one’s body right after having eaten enough food for two but, hey, we are all allowed one poor choice here and there, right?
I’ve been told that the elevators used to work at full regimen for the whole day but that, since mana has become a precious commodity, starting last year Hospital staff is ‘strongly encouraged’ to use the stairs instead. I don’t mind. I hop down the spiral and almost crash against a tall, well built man with a short, gray beard and spectacles.
?Oh, hey, Ozyas. Is the meeting over already??
?Has been for a while. If you were looking for Xaver, he’s up at the rookery again.?
?Not now? I say, rougher than I meant it to be. ?I need to put some exercise in.?
Ozyas raises a brow, behind the wiry metal frame. ?Weren’t you coming from the mess hall? I hope you’re not thinking of exercising with a full stomach??
?I’m afraid I was, mommy.?
He puts a gentle hand on my shoulder, moving me aside to make room for busybodies descending the stairs in a hurry. ?Well, I have an even better idea. Why don’t you come to my office, so we can have a little, long overdue talk? I also have some juicy news…assuming you’re interested, of course.?
I don’t even try and resist, when he politely uses that single hand on my shoulder to turn me around and direct me out of the stairwell, as if I were a little kid. I must admit it’s nice, to have at least one person who can see right through me.