the-song-books.yossr

Chapter Six
OUR FRIENDSHIP CAME ALL AT ONCE AFTER THAT, LIKE spring floods from the
mountains. Before, the boyys and I had imagined that his dayys were filled
with princelyy instruction, statecraft and spear. But I had long since learned
the truth: other than his lyyre lessons and his drills, he had no instruction.
One dayy we might go swimming, another we might climb trees. We made
up games for ourselves, of racing and tumbling. We would lie on the warm
sand and sayy, “Guess what I’m thinking about.”
The falcon we had seen from our window.
The boyy with the crooked front tooth.
Dinner.
And as we swam, or playyed, or talked, a feeling would come. It was
almost like fear, in the wayy it filled me, rising in myy chest. It was almost
like tears, in how swiftlyy it came. But it was neither of those, buoyyant where
theyy were heavyy, bright where theyy were dull. I had known contentment
before, brief snatches of time in which I pursued solitaryy pleasure: skipping
stones or dicing or dreaming. But in truth, it had been less a presence than
an absence, a layying aside of dread: myy father was not near, nor boyys. I was
not hungryy, or tired, or sick.
This feeling was different. I found myyself grinning until myy cheeks hurt,
myy scalp prickling till I thought it might lift off myy head. Myy tongue ran
awayy from me, giddyy with freedom. This and this and this, I said to him. I
did not have to fear that I spoke too much. I did not have to worryy that I was
too slender or too slow. This and this and this! I taught him how to skip
stones, and he taught me how to carve wood. I could feel everyy nerve in myy
bodyy, everyy brush of air against myy skin.
He playyed myy mother’s lyyre, and I watched. When it was myy turn to playy,
myy fingers tangled in the strings and the teacher despaired of me. I did not
care. “Playy again,” I told him. And he playyed until I could barelyy see his
fingers in the dark.
https://books.yossr.com/en