Snowblind by Christo Rose

Author:Christo, Rose [Christo, Rose]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3
Published: 2013-07-12T22:00:00+00:00

* * * * *

Joan made up the guest room at the far back of the house. Melanie and I rolled open spare mattresses and spread them across the carpet.

“Hey,” Melanie said, sounding unusually sober. “Daddio?”

I knelt, rummaging around in my suitcase. “Yes?”

Melanie knelt next to me. I heard her knees thump on the floor. I felt her wrap her hand around mine. Her hand was so small.

“Sorry you don’t like your dad,” Melanie said.

She was so young.

“I will live,” I told her. I squeezed her hand.

“We could share my dad, if you want,” Melanie said carefully.

This phrasing was unfortunate; it brought to mind something else entirely.

“Shawn?” Melanie said. She slapped her hand heartily against my back. “You choking on something?”

“Yes—no,” I said. I coughed. “Never you mind.”

“You’re so weird… Oh, hey. We’ve got a visitor.”

I lifted my head, but initially heard nothing. Gradually the sound of socks came skittering over the carpet.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hi,” Lilly said. It sounded as though her hand was in her mouth.

“Hi there,” Melanie said, spirited. “I’m Mel. Do you wanna sit with us?”

Tiny, scampering feet came closer; and then a tiny, warm body wedged its way between us. Lilly could not have been any older than six, for I had last visited the Hocak Reservation six years ago and she had not existed back then. Six itself seemed too old. I put my hand on her head, felt her soft crown and her downy hair. I guessed that she was four, a very shy four.

She put her wet hand on my cheek. “Ah, thank you,” I said.

Melanie giggled. “This is cozy. All we need is a snowstorm.”

“No more of those,” I said. “I would like to get to Kansas on time.”

“Iced tea,” Lilly said.

“What?” I said.

“Do you know any good songs?” Melanie asked.

I didn’t know which one of us she was addressing; but Lilly did not answer. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Songs, genius,” Melanie said. “You know. Those things you sing?”

“Feral child,” I murmured.

“Shteteian,” Lilly said.

With my fingertips I admired the hairs that curled at the nape of Lilly’s neck. “You know Innu songs?” I asked.

Lilly hiccoughed. Melanie yawned. Melanie must have lain herself across the floor, for presently her cheek came to a rest on my knee.

It was late, I thought. Certainly no child ought to be up at this hour, let alone two. And yet I did not know exactly what hour that was.

“Come here, then,” I said. I opened my arm. Lilly burrowed into it and rested on my other knee.

A child who is raised in a secure environment, I think, entertains a remarkable amount of trust in people she does not know. Maybe this is a good thing. Maybe this is a bad thing.

“You’ll sing Shteteian with me?” I asked.

Lily’s head bobbed against my shoulder when she nodded.

I remember the lullabies my mother used to sing in our language. They were ubiquitous. They were as old as the land itself.

There is one very old lullaby called Shteteian, which means When I Leave.

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