The memory of a happier time was fading. It is only reality as long as wished it to be. Years have chipped away little by little the details of what she can remember. Yet, when it gets quiet and Sal is lost on the misery of her situation, it comes back.
That world was, a far away place. There, A large, towering mango tree grew in the middle of a wide grassfield which overlooked the hills. From atop those hills, you could see the sea and a city stretched like a white, slivering line against the blue sea. The wind would fan her face as her puny legs ran barefoot across the grass. The feeling of being weightless for a second visited her.
On the end of that long run, she’d hear an almost unfamiliar voice of a man who warned her against injuring her foot. This man would engage her in a long lecture about infections and diseases her little mind could not yet understand. But she was curious, asking dozens and dozens of questions. Each answer followed by a question from that answer. The man would answer with obscure and high terminology she could barely understand but she listened to anyway.
“It looks like a rope.” little Sal had remarked then at a gold chain with a pendant in the end. She’d tied it to her hands an played with it.
The man had clucked his tongue. “Ornaments like these are costly.”
“Like, really costly? A ton of gold costly?”
“Not in that way, child. But it is costly in a way more than gold can be.”
The man wrapped the necklace around her neck. Little Sal had then felt happy as she took off running into the grasslands again. She’d climbed up to the top of that mango tree and jumped.
Sal lurched. She did not land in a lush grass field underneath a setting sun, but a dull, graying room with faded patterns and dim light. Her stomach growled at he sight of another untouched meal as she glanced at flies feasting on the edge of the bowl of soup the maid has left by her table. Common decency told she should brush them off, but Sal had no use for a meal anyway. Even as she hungered, her whole body felt like pasted on the floor as she huddled in her blanket on the corner of the room.
She was nailed to her spot. Useless. Probably like the other days, useless and caged like a bird in this room while the world outside moved around her and her feet would truly lose the need to feel the air, to feel untethered on the earth. Useless around her brother.
Sal used to have dreams of falling. But strangely enough, the feeling was more freeing than terrifying. For a moment after, she’d see herself soar, even for just a moment. That semblance of flying she always sees whenever Ren sneaks inside her room like today. Sal kept her ears peeled open as she agonized at the slightest creak and shuffle in her steps.
“Don’t worry.I am quiet as a fox.” Ren assured her.
“Was I too obvious?”
“Sure are.”
It was unbelievable how this man stood nonchalantly as if any chance of being discovered will not breeze about any consequences. It was enviable, really.
“Pardon. I often forget your skills and your abilities.”
“To be fair, no one guards the windows. But it still is quite a bother making sure the Signor Castiglione is not on my tail.” He did not bother to sit like he would before. He must have clocked the tension in Sal’s face. “Let’s be quick. The Signor Oleon has left earlier this morning.”
Sal had expected that, but she almost wished she hadn’t confirmed it. Earlier that day, she’d crawled by the floor to peek between the bintanillas and chanced upon the figure of a tall man in a thick, dark, overcoat and a bowler hat. He was also holding a cane. On that accord, the man looked like the Signor, yet was also something else. Sal knew in her gut who he was but thought it better to ignore it.
Ren handed her a letter sealed in wax. Sal unceremoniously ripped the edges open, fraying the edges of the letter a bit and pulled it out. The letter contained nothing but a few words.
Ate, I don' t like to go back. Help me, please.
BATS don’t fly at the day for they don’t have the courage to be seen. With the inch worth of space, Sal peeked at the little creature flying about by the gardens with only their strange silhouettes giving away their form and presence. Perhaps it was not a bird, but a bat that will be her messenger for this moment.
The sun had long bid its goodbye and shadows danced in the moonlight, flitting towards the room. A dim lamplight sat on the floor, its light hidden from the window and the door through the angle her bed had stood. Sal curled up to the little space she could afford herself, under the bed. As she set down the ink and proceeded to write a letter, she reviewed all the obscure and technical documents she chanced upon her readings.
It is my request to your good office that my son be excused from his studies-
My son. It did not roll well in the mouth. The Signor always called people by their title first, name second. Sal cringed at the words. How unfamiliar they were. She slapped the paper away and picked up another sheet from her under her bed and proceeded to repeat everything from the beginning.
It is my request to your good office that the student, Napoleon Felix Cuorre, be excused from his studies…
Sal proceeded to finish the letter, but she couldn’t bring herself to write the Signor’s signature. How foolish it was. She scrawled in the air, a vague recalling of an almost undecipherable name. She set down to write, but cannot come to st it down to paper.
A shadow passed by the corner of Sal’s eye and the first instinct was to hide. However, she stayed put and waited in her place, only to see that the shadow was a bat that had just flown too close to the window, a hapless creature like that scaring her. Harmless it was, like a bird. Bats are creatures of cowardice but at least they had wings to fly.
Sal scrawled the Signor’s signature. Turning off the lamp, she marched by the windows, moonlight shining in her steps. She placed the letter in the slit just under the bintanillas. Will it be found? Ah, yes. Choices are only for the brave, for the blessed, but for now it was nice to delude herself.
SAL stood by the window and willed herself to open the windows an inch wider than she used to. A strip of green and blue peeked from the window, a view that she has seen and can fully imagine before. Sal traced a finger on the sight, from the blue of the skies to the green of the gardens. She set her hands on the windowsill and breathed in the slight breeze standing exactly like the illustration of a waiting princess in the woodblock print of a fairy tale.
“I will see my brother again.” She whispered into the air. She glanced at the view outside and the airiness left her words. At the sound of wheels whirring, Sal collapsed to the ground at reflex. But no, who knows who was in that carriage? Oleon would not want to see her curled up like a child with her hands on her ears like a child afraid of thunder.
Sal stood tall, as she peeked to the garden. Slowly, suited and top hatted figures emerged from the carriage. Sal gripped the windowsill, leaning ever so closely to get a look. Soon, the ruckus died down.
Sal sat by the table by the window, sitting upright like how a proper lady should be and her hand clasped on top of the table. She imitated pictures she’s seen and sometimes, how the maid carries herself with her unusually elegant aura. Three knocks came by the door. The key turned. Sal held her breath in anticipation.
A long wooden cane hit her arm as soon as the door opened. Sal turned to see the Signor, holding himself up on the cane with that grim, sharp look. She has never seen his face properly, until now. It actually stung harder than the pain in her arm.
The Signor placed Sal’s veil by the table and she quickly donned it on herself, trying to displace the image she had seen of his face. By the half of her sight, she could see the man holding a crumpled paper by his left hand.
“What did you do?”he said. It was low, whispered, as if said through gritted teeth.
Sal kept her head down. Respect your elders. Do not talk back. They know what’s right. She was only a girl.
“Interfering in a man’s business is never your right. He had a path set for him and you do not aid him in his folly. A man’s business is left to a man alone.”
“I am duly sorry.” The words came out blank, monotone. No choking of words or sobs like true sadness would entail, but something weighed down on her chest
“I will not let you continue shaming the Cuorre name.”
No sorrow, no sadness. No tears. Wood met wood as the Signor tapped his cane and turned.
“The good Lord Castiglione must be informed that there would be no wedding to take place. His nephew would be very much relieved.”
Everything dissolved into a blur. All the noises melding together as the weight pounded on her chest. At the door’s close, Sal looked at her hands. They were not trembling as she thought they would. Red nail marks glared on her arm as it felt like itching to get ahold of something. This is not sadness or guilt. Surely, it was not.
