I look out the window and the sky comes to meet me.
I see the stars and in the stars are the heroes in my father's stories, twinkling and shining brightly for the entire world to see. All of them, granted by the gods to make their majestic mark and be immortal.
One day, I shall not join them. I will join them.
I used to tell myself that when I was a girl. My pride was to be feared. Of course, I could also blame my father for it. He told me the most amazing stories of heroes that walked this same earth. I wanted to be one of those heroes that my father talked of.
But I wasn't just interested in the wars and the battles. I was interested and amazed by the accomplishment of my fellow mortals.
Little was I to know, that on one of those stargazing nights, I was to meet a character from one of my legends.
"Ara!"
I could hear my father call. He didn't know that I was still awake but it sounded urgent. Before I could tear myself away from my window, my father came bustling into my room with my cousin, Cyril.
It was obviously urgent so I quickly lighted my lamp. They had with them a badly injured man. Before I could protest, they had put him on my bed. I shone the light on his face. From the corner of his forehead, blood was trickling down. I backed away and realized he was injured in a lot of places.
They told me to fetch the basin of water to clean his wounds and the box of medicine and bandages.
I left my lamp in the room and lighted some more around the house. I took one and filled a basin with water. I went to the shelf where our sheets, and cloths were to take one cloth for the basin. I quickly brought it to my room. Then, my father rushed me to get the medicine box. I came in quickly with it.
I took the task of cleaning the stranger's wounds. I didn't like doing this at all. True, I wanted to fight in wars and all but all of this blood was making me sick. I do not want to describe all the medical things that happened that night for fear that you may end up vomiting. Because I did.
All I can tell you is, the whole time was spent in haste. I was hoping Cyril and my father knew what they were doing. There were moments when I thought we'd already lost the injured man for he seemed to be dead. That night was one of the worse nights of my life.
I don't want to continue about this night.
All three of us woke up early that morning. We all sat at the table and fell asleep. We all wanted to be ready incase something was to happen to the injured man. Father had to go to the market to set up and Cyril would join him later. My father usually had breakfast at the market. Madame Aldara whom I would sometimes assist selling flowers with would give him food.
I baked bread for breakfast. While I waited for the bread to cook, I got Cyril to tell me what happened.
"Who is he, Cyril?" I asked. The sun shone through the windows and I could feel gentle warmth of it.
"I don't know, your father and I saw him in nearby the house." He replied. He and father went to help a neighbor nearby. My house was in an area on the outskirts of our town. It was a bit dangerous since foreigners would usually pass by here first.
When the bread was finished, I served it to him with wine. We prayed to Persephone first.
I decided to check on the injured man. I put a tray of wine and bread on the desk in my room. He was still asleep. I took the basin of bloody water and came back with clean water and a clean cloth.
Hoping to not wake him, I cleaned the remaining blood off. I started with the scar on his head. To my horror, he flinched and began to wake.
He groaned and mumbled. He tried to lift his arms but it looked too painful to do so for him. His head must've hurt. I continued to clean his blood.
I wanted to ask him questions but he was in too much pain. He had scars on his legs, arms and abdomen. He was a bloody mess last night.
Then his eyes opened. He started lifting one of his hands. He mumbled something that I cannot write down in understandable words. I figured the distorted words meant he needed a drink.
I quickly helped him sit up and he groaned in pain. Then I gave him the wine and then the bread. He wolfed it all down menacingly. I always thought that Cyril was a monster whenever he ate his food after a very very hard day at work. . .Cyril was no match for this man right now.
He handed me back the cup and he lay back down. Even though he was badly injured, his face still remained bearable. In fact, he was a beautiful man as far as the men I've seen are. I've never seen anyone quite like him. I'd never imagined that such a man of beauty would be in my room. Men never paid attention to me.
I managed to say, "I know your wounds hurt but they're on their way to healing."
He looked me in the eye. I looked back. Then he turned over and fell asleep.
From then on, I decided that I hated this man. I do not know why yet.
The next day, I awoke at Cyril's bed. No one but the man was in the house. I do not know what gave them the thought to leave me alone here with a stranger.
Anyway, It was raining outside. As if by some invisible force, I walked out into the rain. It felt refreshing and cool against my skin. As the rain seeped into my hair I felt like the waters of Mount Olympus were cleansing me.
I went back inside the house.
It was late in the morning. I cooked some picked vegetables from the garden Cyril and I tended to.
I left it one our stove. I wasn't really hungry; it was for the stranger. I took the empty pails and went out of the house and to the well to fetch some water. It was still raining and I must've looked foolish. But we were out of water.
I went back to the house.
I put the pails down and ladled out a drink for me. I went to the stranger's room to check on him again.
He was awake and surprisingly standing as if he wasn't injured. He had wrapped the new sheets used to replace the bloody ones around his waist. I had washed his clothes yesterday and he had nothing to wear. He was looking out from my window. A sudden feeling of violation surged into me. But I quickly waved it away. I was being foolish.
I quickly tried to creep slowly into Cyril's room and borrowed one of my cousin's robes. I crept back slowly into my room. He was still at MY window. I noticed that he almost had the same look in my eyes. The same look I had when I stared out. Only he looked like he'd seen much more than me. He was looking for something, alright. . .I guessed not really the same thing as me.
With a hint of pleasure, I interrupted his moment by tossing the robe to his head. He turned toward me. He didn't say a word.
"You can wear that." I said.
Still nothing.
"Are you hungry?" I asked.
He simply nodded.
I don't why but I smirked, "Yes, well, I'll prepare something for you after you've changed. I'll meet you at the table."
I left my room and prepared the food and drink.
I sat there and waited for him. He finally came and he made Cyril's ordinary robe seem extraordinary.
I hated him.
He sat down and ate, surprisingly more meticulous at it this time. It must've been rude for me to just watch him but he didn't seem to mind.
After he was done. He pushed away his plate and for the first time, I heard him actually speak.
"Thank you." He said. His voice was as soft and as gentle as the wind.
I hated him.
I forced a smile and cleared the dishes.
After I was done cleaning them. I sat back down in my spot across from him.
I shot my first and direct question. I tried my best to be kind.
"What is your name, stranger?" asked.
He looked down at his hands as if his name was the hardest thing to remember. Just as I was considering to walk to away, he finally uttered a word.
"Alexander. . .", he managed to mumble.
I nodded.
"But some address me as Paris." He finally added.
Just then, my attention was caught. Paris? Could it be? Could he be the Trojan prince who led survivors out of the great city of Troy during its downfall? Could he be the Trojan prince who fell in love with the Spartan Princess Helen? If he was, it seemed impossible; this was all just some legend; the Trojan War and all.
It couldn't be, maybe he was just a namesake.
Like some idiot I couldn't help asking, "Paris of Troy? Paris, prince of Troy?"
He looked at the ceiling, then into my eyes.
"Yes." he answered.
I hated him. Why, again? I do not know.
I see the stars and in the stars are the heroes in my father's stories, twinkling and shining brightly for the entire world to see. All of them, granted by the gods to make their majestic mark and be immortal.
One day, I shall not join them. I will join them.
I used to tell myself that when I was a girl. My pride was to be feared. Of course, I could also blame my father for it. He told me the most amazing stories of heroes that walked this same earth. I wanted to be one of those heroes that my father talked of.
But I wasn't just interested in the wars and the battles. I was interested and amazed by the accomplishment of my fellow mortals.
Little was I to know, that on one of those stargazing nights, I was to meet a character from one of my legends.
"Ara!"
I could hear my father call. He didn't know that I was still awake but it sounded urgent. Before I could tear myself away from my window, my father came bustling into my room with my cousin, Cyril.
It was obviously urgent so I quickly lighted my lamp. They had with them a badly injured man. Before I could protest, they had put him on my bed. I shone the light on his face. From the corner of his forehead, blood was trickling down. I backed away and realized he was injured in a lot of places.
They told me to fetch the basin of water to clean his wounds and the box of medicine and bandages.
I left my lamp in the room and lighted some more around the house. I took one and filled a basin with water. I went to the shelf where our sheets, and cloths were to take one cloth for the basin. I quickly brought it to my room. Then, my father rushed me to get the medicine box. I came in quickly with it.
I took the task of cleaning the stranger's wounds. I didn't like doing this at all. True, I wanted to fight in wars and all but all of this blood was making me sick. I do not want to describe all the medical things that happened that night for fear that you may end up vomiting. Because I did.
All I can tell you is, the whole time was spent in haste. I was hoping Cyril and my father knew what they were doing. There were moments when I thought we'd already lost the injured man for he seemed to be dead. That night was one of the worse nights of my life.
I don't want to continue about this night.
All three of us woke up early that morning. We all sat at the table and fell asleep. We all wanted to be ready incase something was to happen to the injured man. Father had to go to the market to set up and Cyril would join him later. My father usually had breakfast at the market. Madame Aldara whom I would sometimes assist selling flowers with would give him food.
I baked bread for breakfast. While I waited for the bread to cook, I got Cyril to tell me what happened.
"Who is he, Cyril?" I asked. The sun shone through the windows and I could feel gentle warmth of it.
"I don't know, your father and I saw him in nearby the house." He replied. He and father went to help a neighbor nearby. My house was in an area on the outskirts of our town. It was a bit dangerous since foreigners would usually pass by here first.
When the bread was finished, I served it to him with wine. We prayed to Persephone first.
I decided to check on the injured man. I put a tray of wine and bread on the desk in my room. He was still asleep. I took the basin of bloody water and came back with clean water and a clean cloth.
Hoping to not wake him, I cleaned the remaining blood off. I started with the scar on his head. To my horror, he flinched and began to wake.
He groaned and mumbled. He tried to lift his arms but it looked too painful to do so for him. His head must've hurt. I continued to clean his blood.
I wanted to ask him questions but he was in too much pain. He had scars on his legs, arms and abdomen. He was a bloody mess last night.
Then his eyes opened. He started lifting one of his hands. He mumbled something that I cannot write down in understandable words. I figured the distorted words meant he needed a drink.
I quickly helped him sit up and he groaned in pain. Then I gave him the wine and then the bread. He wolfed it all down menacingly. I always thought that Cyril was a monster whenever he ate his food after a very very hard day at work. . .Cyril was no match for this man right now.
He handed me back the cup and he lay back down. Even though he was badly injured, his face still remained bearable. In fact, he was a beautiful man as far as the men I've seen are. I've never seen anyone quite like him. I'd never imagined that such a man of beauty would be in my room. Men never paid attention to me.
I managed to say, "I know your wounds hurt but they're on their way to healing."
He looked me in the eye. I looked back. Then he turned over and fell asleep.
From then on, I decided that I hated this man. I do not know why yet.
The next day, I awoke at Cyril's bed. No one but the man was in the house. I do not know what gave them the thought to leave me alone here with a stranger.
Anyway, It was raining outside. As if by some invisible force, I walked out into the rain. It felt refreshing and cool against my skin. As the rain seeped into my hair I felt like the waters of Mount Olympus were cleansing me.
I went back inside the house.
It was late in the morning. I cooked some picked vegetables from the garden Cyril and I tended to.
I left it one our stove. I wasn't really hungry; it was for the stranger. I took the empty pails and went out of the house and to the well to fetch some water. It was still raining and I must've looked foolish. But we were out of water.
I went back to the house.
I put the pails down and ladled out a drink for me. I went to the stranger's room to check on him again.
He was awake and surprisingly standing as if he wasn't injured. He had wrapped the new sheets used to replace the bloody ones around his waist. I had washed his clothes yesterday and he had nothing to wear. He was looking out from my window. A sudden feeling of violation surged into me. But I quickly waved it away. I was being foolish.
I quickly tried to creep slowly into Cyril's room and borrowed one of my cousin's robes. I crept back slowly into my room. He was still at MY window. I noticed that he almost had the same look in my eyes. The same look I had when I stared out. Only he looked like he'd seen much more than me. He was looking for something, alright. . .I guessed not really the same thing as me.
With a hint of pleasure, I interrupted his moment by tossing the robe to his head. He turned toward me. He didn't say a word.
"You can wear that." I said.
Still nothing.
"Are you hungry?" I asked.
He simply nodded.
I don't why but I smirked, "Yes, well, I'll prepare something for you after you've changed. I'll meet you at the table."
I left my room and prepared the food and drink.
I sat there and waited for him. He finally came and he made Cyril's ordinary robe seem extraordinary.
I hated him.
He sat down and ate, surprisingly more meticulous at it this time. It must've been rude for me to just watch him but he didn't seem to mind.
After he was done. He pushed away his plate and for the first time, I heard him actually speak.
"Thank you." He said. His voice was as soft and as gentle as the wind.
I hated him.
I forced a smile and cleared the dishes.
After I was done cleaning them. I sat back down in my spot across from him.
I shot my first and direct question. I tried my best to be kind.
"What is your name, stranger?" asked.
He looked down at his hands as if his name was the hardest thing to remember. Just as I was considering to walk to away, he finally uttered a word.
"Alexander. . .", he managed to mumble.
I nodded.
"But some address me as Paris." He finally added.
Just then, my attention was caught. Paris? Could it be? Could he be the Trojan prince who led survivors out of the great city of Troy during its downfall? Could he be the Trojan prince who fell in love with the Spartan Princess Helen? If he was, it seemed impossible; this was all just some legend; the Trojan War and all.
It couldn't be, maybe he was just a namesake.
Like some idiot I couldn't help asking, "Paris of Troy? Paris, prince of Troy?"
He looked at the ceiling, then into my eyes.
"Yes." he answered.
I hated him. Why, again? I do not know.
