Ch. 8
I woke to the smell of oranges. I scrubbed the 'sand' from my eyes with the palms of my hands, and blinked back the tears as the hard crust scratched my eyes and pulled at my eyelashes. With a grimace, I opened my eyes fully and saw a plate with cut oranges sat upon my nightstand. Next to it was a glass of water, which I gulped down gratefully, for my mouth was sticky with filth. The oranges I devoured hungrily, and I have to admit though the orange was now warm and turning, it tasted delightful.
I wiped the juice from my mouth and licked my fingers clean when I was finished. Though still hungry, what I had eaten would tie me over until I walked to the kitchen to return my plate. Whoever had brought me food had also taken my dirty clothes, and had placed my bag on my desk. I walked over and slung it over my shoulder, patting it to make sure my book and quill was still there. Walking to the bed I quickly wrapped my shawl around me and took my plate and cup in my hands.
I shut my door behind me and sang an old lullaby in my head as I headed for the kitchen. I am not quite sure where I know it from, and I do not know all the words, but the melody is calm and repetitive. If I had a voice, I think I would like to hum it over and over while I worked. I sighed as I entered the kitchen; I knew it was a waste of my time to wish for such a thing, but I could not help myself. It is almost the same as when you have a friend who has something you want. You always want to use it but never get the chance.
Usually when it is a case like that, as soon as you get what you desire, you find it not to be so great and it is rare you ever use it beyond the first day. It was the novelty that gripped you, but it could not hold you and it becomes a memory. Maybe voices were like that, I just want it, but if I ever got it, I would not care about it. Yes, that is exactly how it would be…
Another sigh, and I dropped the dishes on the counter harder than I meant to. The glass cracked along the top of the cup, but I did not realize it. Why was I now so concerned with not being able to talk? Why did I now care that I could not speak, when I have not cared since I was first learning my signs? What had changed? I shook my head fiercely, my body shaking. I was so disgusted with myself I could not stand it. I was jealous, wasn't I? I had never cared about being able to speak because I had always been able to with Captain and Ishmael and the crew. My signs had been my words, my voice. My signs did not work anymore; it was as if I had lost my voice again.
The glass shattered under my hand. It shocked me away from my depression as I quickly drew my bleeding hand back and stared at the glass in shock. Absently I reached out and picked up the glass barehanded, wincing as I was cut again. When had I become so weak? Did I really believe having a voice would make me a better person, or make things easier? Tears filled my eyes. If I could speak, things would be so much simpler for everyone. I could defend my own honor, no one would have to stop what they were doing to look at me just so they could see what I needed to tell them, I could warn people if something was wrong, I could tell them all how much I love them…
I disposed of the glass as the tears finally fell. It wasn't fair, it wasn't fair! What had I done that had been so horrible that I was not allowed a voice of my own?
Footsteps made me gasp and shock my tears to a stop. Without thinking, I swiped my tears away and scrubbed my nose to make sure they would not return. "Marina, there you are! What are you doing?" Maitreya's voice called from across the kitchen, I turned to him and smiled reassuringly, yet he still gasped. He rushed forward, "What have you done to yourself, Marina?" he asked in alarm as his hand reached up and his fingers brushed my cheek. He drew his hand back and I saw blood. Oh Kali, it must have smeared when I wiped my face! I quickly signed to him, "Don't worry! I accidentally broke a glass and cut my hand, I rubbed my face by accident, I'm fine!"
He gave me a look of disbelief before pulling me to a cabinet and pulling down spare rags. "You're lying to me Marina, there's too much blood on your face for it to have been an accident," he told me as he wet a rag and started dabbing at my hand. I breathed in through my teeth as he cleaned my hand, my jaw clenching as he pulled out pieces of glass. He rapped my hand in one of the spare rags and wet another before scrubbing at my face. Despite the fact that he was only five years older than me, he treated me like a child. I was glaring at him by the time he pulled away, seemingly satisfied with his handiwork. "Your face is red, but at least not with blood anymore," he told me, shutting the cabinets and disposing of the glass and rags, which were bloodier than I expected them to be.
"Thank you," I signed when he had turned back to me, and I could not meet his eyes as I did. I heard him sigh and looked up a bit, staring at his shoulders. "I won't ask, and you already know the crews behind you so…" I looked up and met his eyes, managing a smile. He returned it, "Captain Nemo needs you to help him prepare for something, he's waiting at the Helm for you. I'll see you later, okay?" he said, walking past me. I waved goodbye and waited until he had disappeared to frown again. That had been close, he had almost seen me crying, and he had probably already guessed too…
I sighed and headed for the helm, prepping myself for meeting Captain.
'Things will be fine, you'll get used to writing in the journal. They might be willing to learn some basic signs! They will learn my body language and they will be able to interpret from that. Things will be back to normal soon, they will leave and it will be just my family again, they understand me no matter what.'
I looked down sadly, walking with my eyes on the floor. If Skinner stayed on the ship after the League was over, I would be okay with that, he could be my new uncle. Tom could stay too, he was nice, he could be my brother. Even Mr. Q could come visit sometimes, maybe as a grandfather, as long as his visits were short. Mrs. Harker and Mr. Gray could go elope somewhere and live in his dreary house for the rest of their immortal lives.
That was mean, no matter how true, and I had to give a breath of giggles. I reached the helm in a better mood, and grinned softly as I saw Captain waiting there for me. Things would adjust, no matter what was to come. Life had a way of making things fall into place like that…