5-- Part 1 (B)

When I awoke for the second time, I was not alone. In the light of one small candle and a sliver of moonlight I could see the boy from the charcoal drawing searching quietly in the evening gloom among some boxes near the door. His back was to me, but there was no doubting it was he. He was older now, about fifteen or sixteen, and even in the few minutes that I observed his fruitless search I learned a lot more about my first friend. He was tall and lithe, with the smooth, graceful movements of a cat. His blonde hair was cut short, except for one long rat’s tail at the back left, near his ear. Finishing his search the boy left without whatever it was that he had been after. I did not speak. I did not move. When he left I was offered a narrow view of a small, tidy kitchen. And the boy was gone, and my world shrank down to the one room again.

I lay still for a long time, the spiral ring in my hand, my thoughts out beyond the door. I wished I had said something, made myself known. Then I decided it was time I was up and about. I pushed the sheet back and swung my legs over the side of the bed.

The wooden floor was smooth and cool and felt wonderful. The air on my skin was like the soft touch of silk. It felt good to be up, good to be doing something. Working the muscles in my shoulders and neck I searched about and found that there were some clothes in a neat pile on the floor beside the crate-table. I did not immediately get up to retrieve them but continued to simply revel in the wonder of movement. I was pleased to see that my shoulders and legs were well muscled and I imagined my chest to be the same. I ran my fingers over my face, feeling the stubble, my mouth and nose, and wondered if women found me attractive. My fingers continued past my eyes and through my tangled hair bringing it around before me to discover that it was long and black. Letting go of my hair I moved my fingers, watching the muscles in my arm ripple in response. All the while thoughts were coming to me from nowhere.

My thoughts of women and attractiveness had no grounding in what I new of the world. I did not know how I knew what a woman was, for I did not recall ever seeing one. Attractive? What was attractive? How did one judge it? Why did I think the ring on the thong about my neck belonged to a woman? Who was to say that I was not unusually large for a man? Who was to say I was a man? It was obviously so, but who gave me the thoughts and knowledge to make it so. I had only seen one other person in my living memory and already I had divided the world into those who were men and those who were women, those who were friends and those who were not. I knew nothing, had seen nothing, and yet I was just beginning to touch at the edge of my knowledge.

I touched at the ring about my neck and then pushed myself to my feet. I knew that the clothes were mine, like the knives were mine, and I pulled them on quickly. There were black breeches, boots, and jacket. The only thing that was not black was the simple loose-fitting shirt, which was grey, with laces halfway down the front and a stiff collar. Both the jacket and the shirt had been torn across the chest and skilfully repaired. Without thinking I had also strapped the shoulder sheath on under the shirt and, when I was dressed, I collected all the daggers.

One of the fighting knives went in the sheath at my right hip, one in my left boot. A throwing knife went at my back and the other in my right boot. It felt like the weapons belonged where they were, but none the less they felt strange. I thought of taking them out and leaving them beside the bed, or even throwing them into one of the boxes where they might go unnoticed, where I might forget them. But they were mine, so I left them where they were and, taking a deep breath, doubled the size of my world by pulling open the door and stepping out into the kitchen.