Cyril woke me up from my sleep. I had fallen asleep on our dining
table. Alexander (I prefer to call him that) was asleep in my room.
How rude, he just stood up and said that he needed some rest then he retired into MY room.
"You're getting lazy, Ara." Cyril said.
"Just because I rested a bit, doesn't mean I'm lazy." I shot back.
"Shame on you, Ara. Your father and I go out to work and yet all you do here is nap." He said, with that annoying smirk still on his face.
"For your information, Cyril," I said as-a-matter-of-factly, "I'm also up here babysitting and besides, I'm the only one who can take care of you and father. Knowing my mother is dead and you can't . . ."
I suddenly ceased talking. There were 'reasons' as to why Cyril cannot marry.
We stood in silence for a while. I looked up at him. Then, as if nothing happened, he patted my head playfully and went about his business. It was already late at night and I was too 'busy' to remember supper. Perhaps, Cyril was right about me getting lazy.
So we dealt with the leftovers from this morning . . .Cyril wasn't happy.
"Ara, you mentioned that the man came out from your room," my father said over his glass of honeyed wine, "Did he tell you anything about himself?" he asked.
Then, just as everything in the world came in perfect timing, Alexander came in.
"I told your daughter that my name was Alexander." He answered for me.
"Where are you from, son?" my father asked.
Alexander sat down, "I've forgotten . . ." he sighed as Alexander sat down with us, "But I would like to thank you all for your hospitality."
Forgotten? Who was this man kidding? Didn't he say yes when I asked him if he was the legendary Paris? Yet now he says that he has forgotten his homeland? I did not get his game.
My father poured him a cup of wine and said it was all not trouble at all.
I don't know what gave me the confidence but I asked Alexander, "And is Alexander the only name you are called by?"
He nodded. What was he doing? Was he mad? Maybe he was just fooling me when he said he was Paris.
After our grim (according to Cyril) supper, Cyril and I went outside to look at the stars. We talked for a while about unnecessary things. Until I couldn't help but mention the slightly bizarre situation, "Cyril, I think Alexander is mad." I said.
"Mad? Crazy? What makes you say this, Ara?"
"Well, for one, this morning he told me he was-"
Before I could say it the wind blew through me. The cloak I took with me to cover my shoulders fell to the ground. It was a 'private wind'. It was as if the gods had sent this wind just especially for me and I felt cold in it. It was whispering words of warning. I couldn't explain it but I knew I couldn't tell Cyril.
"He was what?" Cyril's voice said, at the same time snapping me back to reality.
I stood silent for a moment and made something up.
"Um, well, he told also told me that he didn't know where he was from." I quickly added. Cyril looked at me as if I was the insane one.
He picked my cloak up and put it back on my shoulders. "Let's go back inside, Ara." He said, as he took my cold hand into his warm ones. Cyril isn't really my cousin by blood.
We went back inside, father scolded us for being outside too long. Then, he sent us all to bed but before we parted for the night, he promised to never leave me alone at home with the stranger. Alexander had gone to bed early again.
I lay awake that night, still scared from the mysterious wind.
Lately, I have been doing things I wouldn't normally do. Well, tonight, I was doing something like that again. I crept out of bed and slowly into my room. There he was, in the dark. I moved closer. To my surprise his eyes were open. For a moment I thought that it was his corpse before me but he blinked.
"You're not asleep." I whispered as I sat down on the floor next to my (let me remind you it was my room) bed. "All this time I bet you've never really slept." I added. I sounded like some upset child talking to her parent about a broken promise.
"I never sleep." He simply said. Then he shifted away, facing away from me. I knew this was some stupid idea; in fact I wasn't even sure what my idea was. I stood up to leave but before I could he had shot me a question, his back still facing me,
"What is your name?"
"Ara. Ara daughter of Adolphos."
"Sit down, Ara."
I obeyed and sat back down to where I formerly was.
"Why didn't you tell my father your real name?" I asked.
"Ara, I couldn't. Nobody must know who I really am."
"And why not? You are a great hero. Your story is heard even from here."
"That's the problem. They tell these stories. These false stories."
My full attention was caught.
"False stories?" I asked.
He turned to face to me this time. "Yes, false, a lot of the story that people tell each other is false. Especially the part about Helen and I."
I grimaced. I came to a conclusion that he was simply a mad man who thought he was the epic hero. I decided to humour him.
"Tell me the true story, Alexander.'
He sighed, as if thinking whether he should tell me or not. Then, finally, an answer. "Maybe some other time, child." He said.
Now I was a child. Too young to hear it all. I stood up disappointingly.
Before I had actually left the room I heard him say, "All I can tell you is that, love is not real. It is an illusion. Don't believe in it."
I turned back to face him. "I've never believed in love." I whispered. Maybe he didn't hear me but I'm sure Aphrodite did. But what would she care, she knew it already. Perhaps she even saw why.
How rude, he just stood up and said that he needed some rest then he retired into MY room.
"You're getting lazy, Ara." Cyril said.
"Just because I rested a bit, doesn't mean I'm lazy." I shot back.
"Shame on you, Ara. Your father and I go out to work and yet all you do here is nap." He said, with that annoying smirk still on his face.
"For your information, Cyril," I said as-a-matter-of-factly, "I'm also up here babysitting and besides, I'm the only one who can take care of you and father. Knowing my mother is dead and you can't . . ."
I suddenly ceased talking. There were 'reasons' as to why Cyril cannot marry.
We stood in silence for a while. I looked up at him. Then, as if nothing happened, he patted my head playfully and went about his business. It was already late at night and I was too 'busy' to remember supper. Perhaps, Cyril was right about me getting lazy.
So we dealt with the leftovers from this morning . . .Cyril wasn't happy.
"Ara, you mentioned that the man came out from your room," my father said over his glass of honeyed wine, "Did he tell you anything about himself?" he asked.
Then, just as everything in the world came in perfect timing, Alexander came in.
"I told your daughter that my name was Alexander." He answered for me.
"Where are you from, son?" my father asked.
Alexander sat down, "I've forgotten . . ." he sighed as Alexander sat down with us, "But I would like to thank you all for your hospitality."
Forgotten? Who was this man kidding? Didn't he say yes when I asked him if he was the legendary Paris? Yet now he says that he has forgotten his homeland? I did not get his game.
My father poured him a cup of wine and said it was all not trouble at all.
I don't know what gave me the confidence but I asked Alexander, "And is Alexander the only name you are called by?"
He nodded. What was he doing? Was he mad? Maybe he was just fooling me when he said he was Paris.
After our grim (according to Cyril) supper, Cyril and I went outside to look at the stars. We talked for a while about unnecessary things. Until I couldn't help but mention the slightly bizarre situation, "Cyril, I think Alexander is mad." I said.
"Mad? Crazy? What makes you say this, Ara?"
"Well, for one, this morning he told me he was-"
Before I could say it the wind blew through me. The cloak I took with me to cover my shoulders fell to the ground. It was a 'private wind'. It was as if the gods had sent this wind just especially for me and I felt cold in it. It was whispering words of warning. I couldn't explain it but I knew I couldn't tell Cyril.
"He was what?" Cyril's voice said, at the same time snapping me back to reality.
I stood silent for a moment and made something up.
"Um, well, he told also told me that he didn't know where he was from." I quickly added. Cyril looked at me as if I was the insane one.
He picked my cloak up and put it back on my shoulders. "Let's go back inside, Ara." He said, as he took my cold hand into his warm ones. Cyril isn't really my cousin by blood.
We went back inside, father scolded us for being outside too long. Then, he sent us all to bed but before we parted for the night, he promised to never leave me alone at home with the stranger. Alexander had gone to bed early again.
I lay awake that night, still scared from the mysterious wind.
Lately, I have been doing things I wouldn't normally do. Well, tonight, I was doing something like that again. I crept out of bed and slowly into my room. There he was, in the dark. I moved closer. To my surprise his eyes were open. For a moment I thought that it was his corpse before me but he blinked.
"You're not asleep." I whispered as I sat down on the floor next to my (let me remind you it was my room) bed. "All this time I bet you've never really slept." I added. I sounded like some upset child talking to her parent about a broken promise.
"I never sleep." He simply said. Then he shifted away, facing away from me. I knew this was some stupid idea; in fact I wasn't even sure what my idea was. I stood up to leave but before I could he had shot me a question, his back still facing me,
"What is your name?"
"Ara. Ara daughter of Adolphos."
"Sit down, Ara."
I obeyed and sat back down to where I formerly was.
"Why didn't you tell my father your real name?" I asked.
"Ara, I couldn't. Nobody must know who I really am."
"And why not? You are a great hero. Your story is heard even from here."
"That's the problem. They tell these stories. These false stories."
My full attention was caught.
"False stories?" I asked.
He turned to face to me this time. "Yes, false, a lot of the story that people tell each other is false. Especially the part about Helen and I."
I grimaced. I came to a conclusion that he was simply a mad man who thought he was the epic hero. I decided to humour him.
"Tell me the true story, Alexander.'
He sighed, as if thinking whether he should tell me or not. Then, finally, an answer. "Maybe some other time, child." He said.
Now I was a child. Too young to hear it all. I stood up disappointingly.
Before I had actually left the room I heard him say, "All I can tell you is that, love is not real. It is an illusion. Don't believe in it."
I turned back to face him. "I've never believed in love." I whispered. Maybe he didn't hear me but I'm sure Aphrodite did. But what would she care, she knew it already. Perhaps she even saw why.