Chapter Twenty-Seven

We returned to Nina’s house, having walked the rest of the way in silence. Her movements as she cleared the path to the door were slower, yet still deliberate. I started to see the places each brick was being moved to, even if I couldn’t memorize them right away. She opened the door and let me walk down first, before following me and closing the door above us.

She placed the container of vegetables on the table in front of us before sitting down on the couch. I joined her and watched her try to find something else to do. She avoided looking in my direction as she tapped her foot and patted her leg. I took her hand looked at her, making sure she caught my eyes.

“Something wrong,” I said again. “Here to listen. Just like you.”

“It’s not anything to worry about,” she said, trying to laugh it off. “Besides, I would rather help you with the things you’re dealing with. I think that’s more important that whatever’s happening with me.”

“Admitted, something wrong,” I said, trying not to smile. Nina caught on before looking away.

“Fine, there is something bothering me but like I said, it’s not important. It’ll go away soon, and I won’t have to think about it.” She turned towards me again. “But I have to make sure I can help you. I don’t ever want to stop making you feel better, and I want to keep helping you figure out everything that’s been bothering you.” They were words that I was used to hearing now, but they felt different. She wasn’t lying about helping me, and yet I could feel that it would be difficult for her to continue to do so.

“No, talk now,” I said with a firmness in my voice. “Difficult to help, when needing help.”

“But not impossible,” Nina responded, with a hint of desperation. I stared back at her, narrowing my eyes. Nina tried to look away, but she couldn’t continue and, chose to give up with a sigh.

“I don’t want to overload you,” she said with a lowered voice. “I–”

“Not weak. Things hurting me. But still walking. Share pain. Things hurt less. Walking is easier.” Nina stared at me, with an expression that now felt familiar to me. “Listen to you. Like you listen to me.”

Nina held on to the last bits of resistance, trying to avoid saying anything else. I felt bad for pushing too much, but it didn’t feel like the wrong thing to do. I didn’t notice my heartbeat increasing the closer I got to her. I was doing this for the first time. I couldn’t have dreamed about trying to help another person by talking to them. I was trying to do and say the things that Nina did to me, trying to help me overcome the things that were bothering me. But I had the lingering feeling of dissatisfaction, not knowing if it would work, or if I was even doing the right thing. I had to wait until she shared with me, before I could know for sure.

“I don’t have to tell you that things are different here than what you are used to,” Nina began, eyes glued to the ground. “I don’t have to tell you that the world the books around us present is not something we’ll ever experience up here. The books about living creatures always talk about a female animal giving birth to an offspring. Sometimes, the young animal is left alone, to try and survive in a world that wants it dead. But there are other animals that spend a lot of time together. The mother watches over their offspring, helping it grow, and making sure it stays out of trouble. When I get to the part about people, I always feel a pain in my heart.” I found myself taking Nina’s hand as talked, trying not to let go.

“That merchant,” I said to her. “Distant mother.”

“She wasn’t my mother,” Nina responded without hesitation. “She was just one of the many people that ‘raised’ me.” She could see the confusion in my eyes before she continued. “Nobody out here knows who their mother is. We’re born, and if we’re lucky, someone finds us and raises us. Sometimes, it’s a group of people who take turns raising others. But there’s no connection. I don’t know why those people choose to do it. Maybe they’re able to get something out of us. Maybe they’re just following instinct. Maybe they just have nothing better to do. But it’s never been about helping someone grow just because they want to see them grow. I wanted that connection with the people who raised me. I wouldn’t call them mothers, but they were the closest thing to them I ever experienced.” I saw Nina clenching her fists and focusing her gaze. I let go of her hand.

“Mothers are supposed to care for you. They’re supposed to hold you when you’re scared. They’re supposed be there when you need help. They’re supposed to dry your tears when you can’t stop crying.” Nina’s own tears began to fall. “But they weren’t there. Why didn’t I get any of that? Why didn’t the other children get any of that?” Nina began shaking. Her sobs took over her words as she looked at me, trying to find an answer. “Nobody protected me. Nobody listened when my stomach cried out. Nobody listened when they held a knife to my throat. Nobody listened when they left me alone with that person. Nobody listened when that same person stood over me.” The sobs were infused with anger. “They were right there, next to me, and did nothing! Why couldn’t they just be mothers for even a second?!” She stood up, knocking the table over and spilling the container of vegetables.

“Sorry,” she stammered, in a voice that had to catch. “I ruined it. I ruined it.” She put her hands on her head, trying to move some part of her body. I swallowed the doubt in my throat and stood up to hug her. Nina’s eyes widened as she froze, her tears continuing to move.

“Nina,” I said with a warmth in my voice. She shook when she heard her name spoken out loud. My words spoke themselves, not waiting for me to think about how to say them. “Nina. Don’t have your words. Can’t make you, feel better. But I’m here.” I could hear Nina’s short breath alongside her heartbeat. “Scared, hold your hand. Help, lead the way. Tears…” I said as I reached for her face. “Wipe away.” Nina’s sobs became louder. I thought about the people that we met in the forest of black figures. I hesitated to bite the woman trying to hold my head. But now I know that the only thing I needed to hesitate on is when to stop tearing their bodies apart. I looked at Nina, hoping she would look back at me. “Threaten. Body becomes dust, before I stop.”

Nina tried to face me, hearing every word I said.

“You can’t possibly do those things all the time,” she said, voice still shaking. I kept my eyes on hers.

“Don’t believe words,” I said. “Believe me.” Nina fell back into the couch, tears in full swing. Her crying echoed throughout the room, bouncing back to us, quieter than when they left her.

“It hurts. Why does it hurt so much?” she asked, squeezing me. She dug into my chest and held on tight. I put my hand on her head and stroked her hair. The various objects in her pockets dug into me, but the lack of any pain made me forget about them.

“Lots of pain, inside,” I said, closing my eyes. “Hidden pain. Unknown pain. Combined. Comes out, all at once. Look at you. Hurts me too.” She looked up at me.

“But Nina, not alone.” Her tears continued as I held her, just as she held me. “Things hurt less, together, remember?” I was starting to understand what it meant when she would say those words. I didn’t believe her back then too. There was no possible way for anyone to promise something like that and follow up on it. But as I looked at Nina, the little girl who played the strong adult, the little girl who thought she figured it out, the little girl who thought she needed to do it all, I knew I would do anything in order to make it happen. I smiled at that thought, feeling the tears that fell without my permission.

“You promised, help,” I said. “I promise, help.” We stayed together, holding onto each other, making sure neither of us felt the cold. We waited, until the sobbing stopped, and we could look at each other with hopeful eyes.