Post by laurcat on Jan 6, 2013 21:43:08 GMT -5
I shook the snow off of my boots, keeping an eye on my mother. Luckily, she hadn't seen me 'soil' her wooden floor. Leaving my boots on, I carefully and silently stepped towards the ice nook. An ice nook is a tall cabinet full of snow and ice made to hold food. The door spanned wide enough to make me have to step out of its way. When I did, I forgot how quiet I was trying to be, and my footsteps made audible sounds.
"Laila? Are you wearing your boots?" My mother turned. She was seated on the seal leather couch. The color scope was flashing in front of her.
"Yes, Annivik. Yes, Mother."
"Why this obsession?" My mother's English was not the best; my father had taught it to her.
"I don't want to get frostbitten again." My calm voice understated my fear.
My mother took the control and switched off the color scope. Its dancing, colorful pictures turned to a lifeless black. "Not need to worry. You will not get frostbite inside the house!"
"I know. I'm just paranoid," I pulled out a loaf of bread, and my voice grew softer."Would you like me to feed this to them?"
She nodded. "Anything new at Stóra Torg?"
I shook my head. "Not a good selection."
I left to deliver dinner to two unfortunate little faces. I traveled down the hallway but did not stop at a door; I proceeded down to the basement. The faces looked up at me with hungry eyes.
Their dark brown eyes were mine and my mother's, their hair was sleek and black like mine and my mother's, and the slight paleness in their dark-toned faces was mine and came from my father. These children were like us, but they were not allowed. They could not be seen.
"Is that bread?" shrilled Biina.
I nodded, broke it in half, and tossed each of my siblings a piece.
"Do we get butter?" Malik asked.
I gave a little smile. "No, no. We're all out. The 'Great Square' wasn't all too great today."
Biina looked up to the ceiling and dreamed aloud, "I wish I could go to Stóra Torg again."
I could tell what she was implying. "That could happen, but it takes a lot of planning. One of our aunts or uncles would have to come to our house without looking suspicious, then pick you up and pretend they were just picking their own kid of from babysitting or something."
"What about me!"
"Oh, that would take even more. Plus, if you saw each other there, you couldn't act like you were twin brother and sister. Acting like friends would be risky."
"Why can't we act like buddies? What if I just happen to know him?" Biina looked at me inquisitively.
"See, that could work if we looked like most people. Not many people in Icelord have Icelandic heritage, even in the east where we are. Since our father is pale for even an Icelandic, our skin tones are lighter than others." I took off my heavy coat and showed them my arm. "A lot of people could figure you are related."
"But," Malik noted, "Alaala is not exactly Icelandic. He's just from there."
"Well, he is a little bit. But most of his ancestors were of the population that was not native." I almost mentioned inbreeding, but I knew they were too young to know what that was.
"You mean the refugees? The ones from the place Father's ancestors left? The one that Father says is gone forever?"
"Yes, them."
It was true; the land our father's ancestors were from was now too far underwater to ever be seen again.
"But the refugees took their technology with them and still taught their kids how to make it," Malik added, being the attentive listener he was, "which is why we have cool stuff today!"
My mother's footsteps sounded on the steps leading down to the cellar. The noise had a solemn feel, and I knew something was wrong.
"It is six o' clock! The night guard has started his walk!"
We all nodded in understanding. The twins fell suddenly silent, which was something that always broke my heart. Their lively spirits had to be suppressed in case the night guard happened to stroll by and hear them.
After throwing Biina and Malik a sad smile, I trudged up the stairs after my mother. Two table chairs had been pushed against the wall. We ate at the table we had once bought from Stóra Torg, pretending to be the only two occupying the house at the moment. It was painful, but it was the way we lived every night.
In a moment of bravery, I kicked off my boots. The air was warm and welcoming to my toes, but I had to resist covering them up again. My toes may have been safe, but I never felt that way myself during dinnertime. Neither did Mother. It was another day we would have to suppress one part of our lives and pretend it wasn't there.
"Laila? Are you wearing your boots?" My mother turned. She was seated on the seal leather couch. The color scope was flashing in front of her.
"Yes, Annivik. Yes, Mother."
"Why this obsession?" My mother's English was not the best; my father had taught it to her.
"I don't want to get frostbitten again." My calm voice understated my fear.
My mother took the control and switched off the color scope. Its dancing, colorful pictures turned to a lifeless black. "Not need to worry. You will not get frostbite inside the house!"
"I know. I'm just paranoid," I pulled out a loaf of bread, and my voice grew softer."Would you like me to feed this to them?"
She nodded. "Anything new at Stóra Torg?"
I shook my head. "Not a good selection."
I left to deliver dinner to two unfortunate little faces. I traveled down the hallway but did not stop at a door; I proceeded down to the basement. The faces looked up at me with hungry eyes.
Their dark brown eyes were mine and my mother's, their hair was sleek and black like mine and my mother's, and the slight paleness in their dark-toned faces was mine and came from my father. These children were like us, but they were not allowed. They could not be seen.
"Is that bread?" shrilled Biina.
I nodded, broke it in half, and tossed each of my siblings a piece.
"Do we get butter?" Malik asked.
I gave a little smile. "No, no. We're all out. The 'Great Square' wasn't all too great today."
Biina looked up to the ceiling and dreamed aloud, "I wish I could go to Stóra Torg again."
I could tell what she was implying. "That could happen, but it takes a lot of planning. One of our aunts or uncles would have to come to our house without looking suspicious, then pick you up and pretend they were just picking their own kid of from babysitting or something."
"What about me!"
"Oh, that would take even more. Plus, if you saw each other there, you couldn't act like you were twin brother and sister. Acting like friends would be risky."
"Why can't we act like buddies? What if I just happen to know him?" Biina looked at me inquisitively.
"See, that could work if we looked like most people. Not many people in Icelord have Icelandic heritage, even in the east where we are. Since our father is pale for even an Icelandic, our skin tones are lighter than others." I took off my heavy coat and showed them my arm. "A lot of people could figure you are related."
"But," Malik noted, "Alaala is not exactly Icelandic. He's just from there."
"Well, he is a little bit. But most of his ancestors were of the population that was not native." I almost mentioned inbreeding, but I knew they were too young to know what that was.
"You mean the refugees? The ones from the place Father's ancestors left? The one that Father says is gone forever?"
"Yes, them."
It was true; the land our father's ancestors were from was now too far underwater to ever be seen again.
"But the refugees took their technology with them and still taught their kids how to make it," Malik added, being the attentive listener he was, "which is why we have cool stuff today!"
My mother's footsteps sounded on the steps leading down to the cellar. The noise had a solemn feel, and I knew something was wrong.
"It is six o' clock! The night guard has started his walk!"
We all nodded in understanding. The twins fell suddenly silent, which was something that always broke my heart. Their lively spirits had to be suppressed in case the night guard happened to stroll by and hear them.
After throwing Biina and Malik a sad smile, I trudged up the stairs after my mother. Two table chairs had been pushed against the wall. We ate at the table we had once bought from Stóra Torg, pretending to be the only two occupying the house at the moment. It was painful, but it was the way we lived every night.
In a moment of bravery, I kicked off my boots. The air was warm and welcoming to my toes, but I had to resist covering them up again. My toes may have been safe, but I never felt that way myself during dinnertime. Neither did Mother. It was another day we would have to suppress one part of our lives and pretend it wasn't there.
