Opportunity Squandered

This kiss might have sent my heart flying, but that I was already thinking on other things and awaiting Nidath’s departure so that I might have time to think of everything in peace. When she disappeared through my bedchamber door, I breathed deeply three times. What had happened this afternoon? Why did Nidath leave so suddenly? Or had she? An incredible notion crept into my mind. I looked down upon my blanket, and felt my body along the inner parts of my legs. They were clean! The blanket had changed! How had this happened?

I briefly entertained the idea that I had not soiled myself since Nidath’s last departure. Yes, I was so distracted by the hope that Galatt had brought, or by the fear of that shame, that I had ceased to excrete waste. But I knew this was untrue, for I had just released a bit of urine as I promised to greet Nidath, immediately before her arrival. Where had it gone?

In truth, I was attempting to deny what I thought had been impossible. I had fallen asleep. I did not understand how it happened, or what it meant. It was not an unpleasant idea; if I had managed to sleep, even but for a few minutes, it meant that I was truly beginning to recover. Yes, sleep was the thing my body most needed right then, and I wished I wanted to know the secret to finding more of it. My body felt a bit lighter, my head was a bit calmer, I could move my limbs with a bit more freedom. I felt as though, with just an hour more of sleep, I might be able to rise from this bed and perhaps even liberate myself from this building. What I would do once free I did not yet know, but the important thing just then was that I felt able.

This proved to be dangerous, however, for now I began to idolize sleep. I had forgotten about it for so long, and having had a drought of it, I no longer desired it. Now, though, I had had a taste, and I craved more. I spent that afternoon and night seeking sleep actively, positioning my body in this way and in that, hoping that I could find the key. I thought of simple things, I thought of complicated things, I thought of peaceful things, I thought of violent things. I allowed the Aratapir Antanpor to echo in my head, and attempted to recreate the voice of the beautiful woman. Who was that woman? Was it Nidath? But I could never return to that exact vision, could never see that exact face or hear that exact hauntingly peaceful rendition of the ode.

Yet, no matter how I tried, sleep continued to evade me. I became desperate, deranged in search of it. “Yahram alu,” I cried. “Dala elu saqhema—God help me!” And still, I remained awake. Finally, as the sunrise approached, I took one last desperate act. I do not even know what exactly my intentions were, or how I believed they might satisfy my yearning. I was beyond logic at that time, and I took action with little idea of how it might bring me to my desired destination.

With a deep breath, I propped myself up upon my elbows, then slowly drew my legs in toward me. I pivoted my body toward the side of the bed and allowed my legs to drape over the edge. Then I pushed myself so that I was sitting upright, and my back bore the weight of my torso, which it distributed upon my hindquarters. I was exhausted from this movement, and I took a minute to catch my breath. My body swayed back and forth, as I was obviously too weak to carry myself in full. Nevertheless, I pressed on.

I used my hands to propel my body forward and onto my feet. I expected to have another moment here, atop my legs, to take a breath and rest my muscles. But I overestimated my own strength. My knees buckled underneath me, and I felt my thighs give way. I felt as though my legs had turned to the meager stew that had sustained them over the past two weeks, melting into mush beneath me. My body crashed upon the floor, and I landed hard upon my right hip and elbow. I felt my eyes squeeze tears out, and I allowed my head—the one part of me that had been spared from the ordeal—to rest on the floor.