HAYTHAM
Clearly I didn't know my staff very well.
Of course, I new the basics: their names, ages and various other useless facts. Facts like their birthdays, the names of Henry's children and that his son was a renowned painter in Boston...yet I knew nothing of their personal lives. Not that I needed to, of course...but it seemed so ironic that the man and woman that I saw the most in my daily life were no more than acquaintances to me.
I discovered this when I walked in on something quite peculiar.
Henry had gone upstairs to see to Ziio: to give her breakfast, see to her chamber pot and such. He'd been up there for a while, so I ventured after him to investigate. On entering, I found him kneeling by Ziio's bed with a tray balanced on his knee. On top of it lay a piece of parchment, and he held a pencil in his right hand. Ziio was sitting cross-legged; her hair was loose. It took me a while to captivate the magnificence of her appearance. Her mane of glossy locks (and curled from being in plaits) was fiery, yet pure at the same time. Women in my society always pinned their hair upwards. It looked ridiculous.
Both of them looked up in surprise.
"Haytham! Why must you always enter at the wrong time?" she whined humorously.
"Wha – what are you doing?"
Henry stood up, the tray clattering to the floor as he did so. "Pardon me, Mister Kenway. It was my idea. I'm sorry to have kept you waiting."
"N-no, I – that...that doesn't matter. I'm just curious. What is all this?"
He seemed to shrink back in shame, standing in front of the tray. Ziio rolled her eyes.
"We were talking about his son, and how he is gifted with art. That led us into speaking about art itself...and then, Henry offered to draw me."
I blinked. Henry was redder than an embarrassed tomato; his eyes dropped to the floor. That was odd. Why be humiliated by such a thing?
"May I see?"
Ziio scooped the parchment off the floor and handed it to me. I held it to the light...and saw the exact image of Ziio. thought that my butler had transferred her real face onto the paper. Every single detail – down to the contour of her cheekbones – was perfect. Freckle from freckle, line from line, perfect.
"Wow. I never knew you had such a talent, Henry," I said, taken aback.
"One does one's best," he mumbled.
"I apologize for never inquiring. How fascinating!" I handed the paper back to him. "Now we know where your son gets his gift from."
At this, he smiled. I should've known that my staff were good for more than care-taking. How ignorant was I?
In the awkward silence, Henry turned back to Ziio. "Have you ever tried your hand at any artistic projects?" he asked her.
"No...my people make braids and bracelets from thread. I liked to weave them myself as a child...but I lost my hand for crafting."
Bracelets. I thought bitterly of Johnson's trickery, before turning to Ziio. "Out of thread, you say?"
She nodded.
"There is some thread in the chest of drawers beside you...should you find yourself bored."
"I doubt that I will be for much longer," she smirked. "Soon, I will walk."
I grinned. It was not wrong that I despised the doctor. I cursed his grouchy attitude and judgemental approach on this remarkable woman. But his words – about Ziio possibly walking – gave me more determination to help her than ever. I could hardly imagine being trapped in a bed for two weeks. For Ziio, it was bound to be agonising. She lived in the open; breathed the fresh forest air; leapt from tree to tree like a squirrel. Sitting in the same place was enough to drive her insane – yet she seemed so calm. So resilient. So strong.
After three days, Ziio felt that she was ready. Unfortunately for me, this burst of ambition came to her early in the morning. My staff were yet to arrive: the sun was barely peaking across the allotments. I so happened to be awake. Ziio must've heard me walk past her room in the hallway. She called my name.
Hastily buttoning my shirt, I entered to find Ziio already sat on the edge of her bed. Her legs were bouncing like she'd been waiting to do this all night.
"I – I know it's early," she murmured, brushing her hair with her fingers, "but...may I try? Briefly?"
The determination in her eyes seared through my own; they pierced my throat and flipped my stomach. I blinked furiously, but the power was still there.
Nostalgia again? For the passion she held by the storehouse?
No. That passion was a romantic kind. This is a determination to walk.
"If...if you wish," I replied, baffled. "Although, would it not be safer to wait until the staff are here to help?"
"I would prefer it if it was you."
Why did she look so coy when she said that? I shook my head to shake the feelings seeping in.
No, no, no, no. It is not what you think. She simply wants a friendly face to do it.
Rose and Henry are her friends. And I more so.
"Haytham?"
"Hm? Oh, I – of course," I stammered. I walked further into the room, where Ziio was sat down. Blowing out the candle on the bedside table, I turned to her. "Ready?"
She nodded, holding out both of her hands. I took them...only to find that she was shaking. Bless. Her whole body tensed; she tightened her grip; her toes were rising. I momentarily bore her weight...and she was standing. Her legs were trembling like dormice with the effort, but she was standing. She'd done it!
Ziio gave a breathless laugh – a nervous one – before an unstoppable grin illumined the entire room. I felt a rush of pride for her, quickly stifled behind an amicable smile.
"You did it, Ziio!" I cried nonetheless. "You're on your feet!"
Her laughter was acknowledgement enough. Ziio took deep, shaky breaths, staring at her feet in amazement. "I will try and walk across the room! Here, stand by the door!"
I stepped backwards and let go of her hands. She ambled awkwardly, like she was balancing on a pole. Her steps became smaller and smaller; her arms flailed with the effort to balance...she'd trip at any moment, surely?
I was right. Her foot caught her nightgown; it thumped onto the floorboard. She gasped in pain and shock as her body tumbled towards the ground. I lunged forward and seized her just in time. My arm was aggressive whilst grasping hers; Ziio tumbled backwards. Luckily, I swung my other arm round and caught her shoulder. Draped almost on the floor, she gasped. Her eyes met mine again...this time full of a different kind of passion: a softer, more enchanted kind. Wonder. That – for the first time in years – set my heart beating at double speed. Quite by accident, here she lay, in my arms.
This is ridiculous! Stand her up now!
No...I like it this way.
We both stared at one another, catching our breath. Maybe even both of us were baffled by the power of how we stood. A power of which we once possessed; of which we could no longer possessed, and never should have done. It was against all nature, having this woman in my grasp – yet the odds of fate were allowing it. Plus, Ziio's wide, shimmering eyes made it seem more real by the second.
I thought that fate and nature are the same...
They are.
This cannot be what nature intended.
Realising how analytical I was becoming, I stood her up. "Sorry. I forgot that you are not used to walking in such a garment."
"No, it is fine." She lifted the skirt and placed her foot on the ground. "I won't try that again."
"You know," I said, remembering suddenly, "this reminds me of the first dance I ever attended."
Ziio half-sniggered. "You? At a dance?"
I nodded. "The girl I was dancing with tripped on the hem of her skirts and fell forwards. I daresay the waltz itself was...awkward as a result."
"What is a waltz?"
"A type of dance," I replied with disinterest (for music was not my cup of tea).
Ziio paused as she savoured the idea of me dancing. I couldn't blame her: it did take some imagination. Eventually, she looked up, the devil twinkling in her eyes. "Teach me."
"Wh-what?" I spluttered.
"The dance," she smirked. "It will help my legs gain strength."
The impact of her request hadn't quite hit me. How could I teach anyone to waltz, in a tiny bedroom, no music and absolute zero skill? It was incredulous. Particularly coming from Ziio.
"What? You mean, now? Right now?"
Her hands slipped playfully to my waist, taking my breath with them. If that wasn't seductive enough, she laughed coyly and gazed into my struggling eyes. "Please, Haytham?
How on earth could I refuse after all that? "All right. It will be difficult with no music, though!" I broke from her gaze; it was beginning to burn through me. "Well, erm...first, you put your right hand...on my shoulder."
Ziio did as she was bade.
"Your left had stays holding mine." Next, awkwardly placing my hand on her waist, I said: "My hand goes here."
"Really?" Ziio sounded unconvinced. I could hardly blame her: it must've seemed a slightly passionate pose for a first-timer.
"You asked to learn!"
"Sorry."
"Now, take one step back with the left foot, then two side steps." I began moving around the room in little strides; Ziio soon copied. "That's it!"
"It's that simple?" she laughed, now thoroughly enjoying herself. "I was expecting something more sophisticated!"
"Oh, it is simple..." I smirked, "until you add a twirl!"
Before she could protest, I let go of her hand and flung her round in a circle. She shrieked in surprise, then delight as her hair whipped in a dramatic circle. When it passed her face, a wide smile appeared. A different kind of smile. Not a smirk; not a coy grin; not a happy or humorous beam. It was all of them and none. It was one of purity. The sort a bridegroom alone would see, dancing at his wedding. The sort of smile that was saved for the most cherished only.
I re-gripped her waist as we continued to waltz around the bedroom. Ziio's feet were like a frolicking foal; mine like a plodding stallion. She slipped over again – I caught her gracefully and cradled her almost to the floor, like a dancer normally would. She did not realise the norm of this. She (again) was baffled by the romantic nature of the waltz. However, she did not protest, but kept her pure smile as I held her far too passionately.
"Women are supposed to fall like that! I did not even have to tell you. You must be a natural."
"I doubt that," she whispered.
I stood her up carefully, like she was a china doll. "I do not doubt it. You're a natural at most things."
We continued in this way, becoming closer and closer. As our steps slowed down, our grips grew tighter – like we didn't want this to end. A suspense between the past and present; of her culture and mine; of a proximity we both longed for now more than ever. Her lips were closer; my heart howling. A devil inside me wanted to break the rules: to bring back that bond between this beautiful woman and I. Just this once. Never again.
No. You cannot. This isn't natural.
It feels simple.
Haytham, what is wrong with you?
Rose entered the room, bringing an abrupt end to the fun. I jumped like a startled stag and almost dropped Ziio. She helped herself upright again with little help. Oh god, I thought, I hope Rose didn't witness any of that!
"Am – am I interrupting something?" she asked, seemingly startled.
"No, no, no, no!" Ziio and I squeaked in unison. I could already feel blood flushing me through like a water channel. "I was...helping Ziio walk. I will...leave you ladies alone." With that I made a hasty bound for the door and closed it. The humiliation was unbearable...especially when I could swear I heard girlish giggling behind me. I dodged the laughter, dashing down the corridor.
The shock of the moment hadn't hit me, but I remember my first thought.
Women are confusing...yet transfixing.
Happy new year! JEEEEEEEZ this is a long (and cheesy!) update...but I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it! This was inspired by a piece I'm playing with my orchestra (yup I'm a cellist hehe!) and it really reminded me of this pair. Classical music can have as much (as if more!) meaning than pop music sometimes. It does take some appreciation, though.
I digress! Wishing you all a peaceful 2014! Don't forget to review!