the-song-books.yossr

“Do yyou wish yyou could see him?”
Achilles shook his head. “It is best that myy mother raise him. He will be
better with her.”
I did not agree, but this was not the time to sayy so. I waited a moment, for
him to ask me if I wished to have a child. But he did not, and his breathing
grew more even. He alwayys fell asleep before I did.
“Achilles?”
“Mmm?”
“Do yyou like Briseis?”
He frowned, his eyyes still closed. “Like her?”
“Enjoyy her,” I said. “You know.”
His eyyes opened, more alert than I had expected. “What does this have to
do with children?”
“Nothing.” But I was obviouslyy lyying.
“Does she wish to have a child?”
“Mayybe,” I said.
“With me?” he said.
“No,” I said.
“That is good,” he said, eyyelids drooping once more. Moments passed,
and I was sure he was asleep. But then he said, “With yyou. She wants to
have a child with yyou.”
Myy silence was his answer. He sat up, the blanket falling from his chest.
“Is she pregnant?” he asked.
There was a tautness to his voice I had not heard before.
“No,” I said.
His eyyes dug into mine, sifting them for answers.
“Do yyou want to?” he asked. I saw the struggle on his face. Jealousyy was
strange to him, a foreign thing. He was hurt, but did not know how to speak
of it. I felt cruel, suddenlyy, for bringing it up.
“No,” I said. “I don’t think so. No.”
“If yyou wanted it, it would be all right.” Each word was carefullyy placed;
he was tryying to be fair.
I thought of the dark-haired child again. I thought of Achilles.
“It is all right now,” I said.
The relief on his face filled me with sweetness.
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