Although the action itself was minor, I felt that I had reached a major turning point. I was still not in enough control of myself either to look after my physical well-being or prevent images of death and battery from creeping into my head, but I felt powerful enough to take on a few simple tasks. Just minutes before Nidath entered my home, I resolved that I would great her verbally. It would be the first time Nidath would hear me speak, and I marveled at my new resolve and wondered at how she would react.
Then I heard her beautiful voice call out “Yahram alu” from below, and my heart became filled with excitement and nervousness. I had committed to speaking to her—would I do it? “Hello, Fe’n,” she had entered my chamber again. “Are you well today?”
This was my opportunity. This was the single best chance for me to show myself how I had changed. Did I have hope in truth? Had I reached this turning point? But when I went to respond, no words came. She was here; was that not enough? She had returned today even though I had said nothing the day previous. Why did I need to say something now?
Nidath was clearly accustomed to having no answer from me, and she thought little of my lack of word, likely having no idea of the conflict it caused me within. She produced the small cup of stew and poured its contents into my mouth. As I consumed she spoke to me, although I have no idea what she said. Just then I was deep in crisis, as I struggled to understand what my actions meant. If this lovely young lady left again this afternoon, having never heard my voice or known my appreciation, how would I feel? I would surely, during her twenty-three hour absence, curse myself. When she was around, she provided comfort. Certainly, I felt supreme discomfort in her presence, for I knew that she saw me at my worst, and I knew that there was little I could do to impress her, and I knew that her care for my hygiene was shameful. But I also loved having her there, and when she was around I thought very little of the misery I experienced in her absence. When she is gone, I would surely be upset for having said nothing. And yet now it feels perfectly fine to say nothing.
Now, here was a sensation I had never experienced before, not even when I was fully sentient and active. I could see complacency directly before me. I understood its danger, I knew its cause, I could see it taking hold. Was this not a miraculous opportunity to fight it? I thought of Karliott again, as he spoke out against disinterest in change. I had only known Nidath for a day, and yet I hated how our hour together was wasted. That single hour was the only part of remark in my entire day, and I spent much of the remaining day thinking on how I had been a failure. Why not act in that day? I had control of the hour right then and there, if only I could fight the complacency, the ilnarvattar within me! What was I doing today to make tomorrow better?
I finished the stew and Nidath removed the cup. “Thank you, Nidath,” I said. The words came out weakly, and I worried that the grocer’s daughter might feel that they lacked in sincerity. I saw her slump over and her face collapsed into a serene smile. Her eyes found me, and she said my name. “Fe’n.”
I managed a smile, and she rested her hand upon my chest. Then I saw her eyes draw closed and she sighed heavily. I did not know what this meant, for I had very little idea as to how she felt about me. But I knew that she was satisfied; I knew that those three words against complacency had brought peace into both of our hearts. For as small an act as it was, it meant that tomorrow could not be the same as today.
We remained in this position, silent for several minutes. To me it seemed like forever, as I still could not grasp time, and I began to feel as though thank you Nidath were the first words ever spoken by a man, and that when Yakko had left me months ago, I had been in bed with this graceful hand on my chest. I thought again about the sinedratha on the University Chapel, but there was not merely one. There were over two hundred of the lacking stars, and they drifted away from the University Chapel and out into the lavender sky. Yakko was with them now, and he smiled and said my name. He walked hand-in-hand with a beautiful woman, and she nodded and said my name as well. She began to make music with her voice, and at some times it sounded like a slow, peaceful Aratapir Antanpor, and at other times it was music that I did not understand.
Then they pressed on, further and further into the distant sky, until they became specs of dust, and I could no longer perceive them as distinct from anything else. The four-pointed, impaled stars, my brother, the beautiful woman were all gone now, and I began to feel a great pressure upon my shoulder. I opened my eyes and I discovered Nidath sitting over me, her hands firmly upon my shoulders as if to gain my attention. I felt different somehow, and I did not understand fully where I was.
“F’en,” she whispered. “I must leave you now. But first, I shall pose you this question: what is your most cherished memory of your father?” She gazed at me briefly to see if I might offer an answer. When she registered that I would not—that my verbal response was just a singular event that afternoon—she patted my right leg three times just above my knee. Then she gently pressed her lips to my forehead, whispering “I shall see you tomorrow, Fe’n. Be well, sir.”
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