I am back after months of indecision, exhaustion, and just general ennui. Things still aren't great but at least I am able to create something .
This tale begins as many did in Ilya’s life: on a ship. Or at least looking at one. He shifted from foot to foot as the line to board inched and stalled.
He supposed there had to be some poetry in it. Something about new beginnings out on the open water, going where the wind blows. Watching the moon crest over the horizon. The smell of salt that clung. Adventure! Hopefully one with less shipwrecks.
Hopefully.
A warm hand came to rest on his forearm.
“You know we can stay a little longer. There will be another ship next week.”
Ilya looked over to see his younger sister Pasha, worry lining her crystal blue eyes. It’s an expression she had worn like an old blanket for the past six months, an expression that did not suit her. An expression she wore for him exclusively it seemed. Ilya put on his best smile.
“Now now,” he said. “I cannot impose on our grandmas any longer. I am sure they have had enough of me these past few weeks. Besides, if I have another bowl of borscht I may turn into a beet.”
It was a weak excuse at best, even he could hear that. He knew without a shadow of a doubt that he could stay another week, another month, another year and the village bubbes would happily keep him. They would keep feeding him matzah until he became more matzah than man, bake him babka, sneak him some lobster if they were feeling particularly indulgent.
“We need to get some meat on those bones!” they would say as they have always said. However, as of late it was tinged with unease and concerned glances when they thought he wasn’t looking. A fear that if they take their eyes off of him, they will find him like Pasha did in his clinic; frail and weak on the floor, dying from the same illness he worked so hard to save his patients from.
It was best if he moved on.
“If you’re sure,” Pasha said. By the furrow of her brow Ilya could tell exactly how she felt about him leaving. Luckily she respected him enough to not push. Though it wasn’t as if she wasn’t itching to leave herself. Pasha’s hunger to see the world was insatiable. He could see it in the way she looked at the ship when she thought he wasn’t paying attention. According to the bubbes, Ilya and Pasha looked the most alike when faced with adventure. He couldn’t help but agree.
“I am positive. In any case, if we stick around another week we will miss the Sun Festival in Firent.”
He couldn't hide how his smile widened at his sister’s surprised squeak.
“The Sun Festival!” Pasha said. “I have been wanting to go for years! Are you sure we’ll make it?”
Ilya nodded. “If my almanac is correct, and it hasn’t steered me wrong yet, the solstice is in about two weeks. If the weather holds we should be there with more than enough time to spare.”
Pascha clapped her hands excitedly. Her eyes shone brighter than they had in months. “I have heard so much about their library! And their markets! Oh I heard the view of Nimbus Fork is just stunning. I am so thrilled I–”
Suddenly, there was a beat of hesitation.
“–I,um…”
He looked at his younger sister with concern, the sudden shift in mood unlike her. Pasha toyed with the end of her shawl.
“Are you sure you are up to it?” She asked quietly.
“Of course I’m sure!” Ilya replied. “My clinic handled half a year without me, it could handle a few more weeks.”
“No I don’t mean that. I mean–”
Her sigh seemed to come from somewhere deep.
“I mean are you sure it wouldn’t wear you out too much? I know you are so much better, but things have changed Ilyusha.”
The worry lining her eyes returned tenfold and he could feel his smile become brittle.
“I am sure Pasha,” Ilya said through almost gritted teeth.
“Listen, you don’t need to push yourself for my sake. We can always go another year–”
“I said I am sure.”
He faced forward and did his best not to clench his jaw too tightly. It’s because she cares, he reminded himself. She cares. He could feel it in his soul, in the way her eyes searched the side of his face. She cares.
(was this it then? A loop of would he? should he? could he? when did his little pashenka, who once toddled on beaches and made friends with every seal she met, become his keeper? when did he lose his function? was it when he coughed up blood into his handkerchief ? or was it when he felt a tickle in his throat that first week? or maybe it was the day he stepped foot in vesuvia. his life became patient, patient, funeral, patient, patient, minyan, patient, patient, no ma’am i’m sorry you cannot see him it is contagious!, patient patient funeral minyan funeral minyan. another loop. could he should he would he.)
The line inched forward.
