Stolen Glances
I
She likes to watch him while he works. That stupid hairstyle she's surprised he's kept over the years; that muscular tone to his body; that dopey smile he gets on his face after he's done something right.
It's the only time she can watch him without arousing suspicion.
She never strikes up conversation. She's been taught in a certain way and this certain way has taught her that she's not to talk to his kind.
Boys? No.
Men? No.
Jews? Yes.
Never mind the fact that she's the general's baby daughter and he's the Jewish servant boy. Things like talking to them aren't allowed.
So she settles for watching him work. He can never glance back. All she's ever wanted was that glance.
He came in a bundled pack. A mother, a sister, a cousin, two uncles, and him.
He recalled the day when he arrived into the household. His mother had assured him that this was all for the best.
"I don't want to lose you like Ishmaela lost Mordecai," she whispered in his ear on the ride there.
He nodded. That's all he could do. He wasn't too young to understand what was going on. He had already had his bar mitzvah, already had his first kiss (toda, Tabitha), already had his first experience. He was a man, in the Jewish standing.
Apparently being a man wasn't enough to get him and his family out of this situation.
So they arrived. The place was like his house and Mordecai's house and Ezekiel's house all together, times three hundred (perhaps less, math was never his strong suit).
But he was a man, just like Steven and David, so he helped with the bags. One per person, that's all they were allowed to bring.
"Dod, I'm scared," he whispered, unloading the bags from the train.
"Don't be, my son. We'll be safer here than anywhere else."
He nodded. All he could do was nod.
Any kind of hard labor his body could handle, he was put to do. Steven and David both had high educations, so they got away with doing any work that required reading, crunching numbers. His mother was to tend to Sarah. No one wanted a five year old running around causing havoc. That left Rachel to do all the work May was meant to do.
"It's better in here than out there," Rachel told him.
They were allowed a lunch break just after the general and his family were fed. He could only glance up at her in response as he took a bite of his bread. Bread and soup and chicken. God how he loved this food so much.
"It's the truth, Noah," she assured him. "The Lord only knows what is happening to the others out there."
(In time, he would come to find out that for most, bread and soup would be the only meal during the day.)
Once lunch was over, however, they went straight back to work. He was back outside doing the hard labor his body could handle (it increased a bit more each day, for he was a man after all) while Rachel and May were put to clean.
Days passed just like that. Over the years, as the news from outside the walls seep inside, he's even more grateful for their daily routine.
He knew the rules well. The general had rounded up Steven and David one day and explained them all, and then those two men passed it down to all of them.
He had no intention on breaking the rules. He very much valued the salvation he and his family were receiving while here.
He hadn't factored in the fact that someone would be around who would make him want to break the rules.
"What are you doing?" a voice asked from behind, almost making him dig a bit too deep with the small hand shovel.
He kept his eyes on the hole in front of him.
"You can to talk to me, you know," she said. "My mother always said it's rude not to talk to a person when they talk to you."
So he caved a bit. Talked but didn't look.
"If you need anything in the kitchen, Rachel is there and willing to help," he told her, digging even more.
"We just had lunch," she reminded him. "I'm utterly stuffed."
He continued to dig. It was all he could do to keep himself from looking.
"What are you doing, exactly?" she asked him, walking around him.
"Planting. Making a garden," he told her. Short answer. Just like he was instructed to do.
She fell to her knees across from him, the hole he's dug maintaining the distance between them.
"What's your name?" she asked him, resting her elbows on her knees.
Answer questions you are asked, he remembered. Steven had taught him to do that.
"Noah," he replied.
"I'm Lucy," she immediately replied in return.
"You don't sound like a Lucy," he muttered.
"I don't look like one either." He heard her sigh. "Can you look at me?"
"No." Always be truthful with your answers.
"Look at me."
And so he does, because he was taught to do as he was told.
"You have pretty eyes," she whispered.
"You're beautiful," he whispered in return.
She averted her eyes to the ground then as her cheeks had turned the same color of the rose bush he was about to plant.
"You don't look like a Noah," she admitted to him. "What else can I call you?"
"Puck."
She nodded, biting her bottom lip.
"Will you call me Quinn, instead?" she asked him, piercing eyes back on him. "No one ever calls me Quinn."
"I'll call you anything you wish."
"Lucy!" a voice called from beyond the bushes. Just then, a much taller blonde appeared. She waited for no explanation, just reached over and grabbed the younger girl's hand and pulled her away.
"Lucy, you leave the servants to do their work," she scolded.
"Francis, you're hurting me!" Quinn yelled.
"You are never to socialize with them, you hear me?"
"Frannie, please, we're friends!"
The walking stopped at that moment. So did the digging. The echo of the slap Quinn received just then was enough to be heard back in Puck's village.
"I am never to hear those words come out of your mouth, understood?"
Quinn only stood there, holding her cheek as she cried.
"They are nothing to us and will never be anything to us."
That was the first time he stole a glance.
He had gotten accustomed to avoiding her glance every time she was around. He was a man. He had to handle the situation like a man. Each week he'd work on that garden, and each week she'd be somewhere around, watching him with her eyes.
An entire year passed by like that. His work load increased as his strength increased. He was becoming the man his uncles had told him he would be.
His fourteenth birthday came and went just as quickly. Nothing too grand happened, except for the general giving them the rest of the night off so that they may practice their customs as planned. Just a slew of hugs passed around, and a quick thanks be to God that we all have survived another year together.
He had done so well in avoiding her that when she snuck up on him one day down by the same garden he tended each week, he was kicking himself in the head for letting it happen.
"I know the rules now," she told him, hands behind her back.
He nodded but didn't look. He never looked.
"Yom Huledet Same'ach!" she said, bringing a box forward.
"Excuse me?" he asked. His head turned slightly but he didn't look.
"It's 'happy birthday'," she told him. "I heard it was your birthday the other day from my father, who gave you all the rest of the night off."
"How did you learn how to say that?"
She walked over to him, taking a seat next to him instead of across from him this time around. "I know the rules now," she explained. "If I ask you questions or request anything, you guys have to do what I say. I asked your mother and she told me."
He nodded. Back to digging he returned.
"I got you a gift. Will you accept it?"
"No," he responded. He couldn't. He just knew he couldn't.
"Accept my gift," she restated, placing the gift into his hands. "Open it."
He opens the gift: a new pair of gloves.
"You do a lot of work without gloves. I've noticed the blisters on your hands." She went silent then, waiting for some kind of response from him. "Say something."
"Thank you."
She got up from her spot next to him, walking off before her sister would arrive and they'd have a repeat of what happened last time after they were caught talking.
He stole a glance as she walked away.
That same year, he got a shana tova during Rosh Hashanah and a chag chanuka same'ach during Hanukkah.
She left him a present for each day of the festival of the lights. They were letters. They spelled out a word.
F-R-I-E-N-D-S-?
On Christmas, he left her a present outside her door.
Yes.
He's given more work as his muscles grow. He became a man with the passing time, and like his uncle assured him, men are meant to do work.
He always worked on that garden. Especially during the spring when he knew he could put those gloves to good use and make it all pretty.
"It's my birthday today," she told him, walking up behind him in that garden. She was standing this time, twirling in place in that new skirt of hers. "I'm now fourteen. Did you get me a present?"
He shook his head but didn't look. He's not supposed to look.
She fell down to sit next to him. Then, she reached over and grabbed his hand and removed his glove. She wasn't ashamed to run her fingers against his palm, feeling the scars of what were blisters now gone.
"You were my first friend," she admitted to him. "I've never had a friend before, until you came along. Will you be my first kiss?"
His eyes widened at that. "No," he immediately told her.
"Why?" she asked him.
"Because I'm a man. You're still a girl."
She shook her head adamantly. "I've done both my Eucharist and Confirmation. I'm a woman, now!"
"I can't," he stressed.
"Kiss me."
So he did, because he's always been taught to do what he's told.
She left shortly after that. He couldn't help but steal another glance.
That year, for his fifteenth birthday, she got him a new pair of gloves. Her reasoning for all of that was that every man needed a decent pair of gloves in his life, and with all the hard work he's done he needed something else, something better.
She asked for a kiss in return.
He gladly obliged.
That night, he stole a glance and a kiss.
His sister was old enough to tend to the garden now. So they gave that job to Sarah and Rachel and made him tend to all of the cars inside of the garage. A fix up here, oil change there, wash somewhere else.
It passed the time. He wasn't too sure if he wanted it to help pass the time like it did.
She found him inside of the garage on his sixteenth birthday. She was empty handed and he was busy detailing the inside of one of the general's cars.
"You said we were friends," she said to him, taking a seat on the passenger's seat.
He nodded but didn't look. He never looked.
"Can you look at me?" she asked.
"No."
"Will you look at me?" she asked again.
"Why?" Questioning them back: the only rule he broke with her.
"Because we're friends! Friends look at each other!"
He sighed but continued what he was doing.
A tear slipped from her eye then. She leaned over and placed a kiss on his lips, lingering just a bit longer than they had ever done so.
"Happy Birthday," she whispered before running away.
That night, he didn't steal his usual glance.
He didn't see her next until her birthday. He was busy inside of another of the general's cars, examining it to see what was wrong with the clutch before he actually took the car out tomorrow. She stomped into the garage again and snuck up on him like last time.
"It's my birthday," she told him, flattening out the creases on her skirt. "I'm sixteen now. Did you get me anything?"
He wanted to give her his usual answer but he doesn't. So he leaned over and kissed her.
"Happy birthday," he whispered before grabbing his stuff and walking away.
She was the one who stole a glance this time.
He turned seventeen when they next saw each other alone. The house was in disarray since the general had been called out to France.
He was busy fixing the general's car when she ran into the garage, pulled him inside of a car and kissed him. This kiss wasn't like their other kisses. No, it was far from it. She was on his lap and his tongue had pushed past her lips to find her own.
He pulled away before anything further could happen. He'd start something in this car if he didn't.
"What's wrong?" he asked when he saw a tear slip from her eyes.
"I managed to get you and your family tickets for tomorrow at six. You've all got papers and a flight after. Casablanca then America."
"I don't understand…"
"You're getting out of here. France is going to be worse for you guys and I can't leave you all behind. I can't let them leave you behind."
He looked down, unable to look up at her anymore.
She leaned over and kissed him again.
"Happy birthday," she whispered before running off.
Those were the last glances they stole. He wasn't sure if they'd see each other again after that.
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