Soft Pillows

Giovanna finds herself back home, and is a real sleepy fella. She has a conversation with her father. (By the way, meet her father.)

It was near sundown before I even made it home. I can’t even feel my feet anymore. My eyes kept closing on the way, and I had to snap myself awake multiple times to keep from face planting into the dirt. But still, I made it home; and never before has this dingy little hut looked so inviting. It was surprising to see that papa wasn’t out in his workshop, slaving away on some piece of steel. The workshop was just an open little box built off to the side of her house, with wooden frames to outline, a roof bound in leather and covered on top by thatch, a single wall at the back, also made with long strips of leather. The home itself was much the same, with walls made from wooden logs and a slanted roof. Only part of the flooring was there, in a sort of L shape, and his equipment was set along it.

 We lived at the crest of a small hill, where it flattened out for a bit. On the other side of the road from our home was a small wooded area, a place I would often play as a kid. I would spend hours climbing trees and being bitten by bugs before running home and scoffing down whatever was sitting in the cooking pot. 

I wonder what papa made to eat? My stomach roared at me for even daring to mention food, and I had to stop walking just to let it settle down. 

Salted meat. Boiled potatoes. Thinly sliced vegetables, Perfectly seasoned broth. Hot stew straight from the pot. I can already smell it… My stomach yelled again, and I felt a sharp pain. I can’t tell if my body trying to eat itself felt worse than numb legs, but all I had to do to alleviate both of those issues was start walking again. Just start walking. Move my foot.

My foot won’t move. I’ve been relying on the momentum of my own body to actually keep my legs moving, and now that I’ve stopped I can’t start again. I don’t know how I’m still standing, but I do know that I can’t keep standing here. Luckily, as I looked down at my own legs, I happened to notice a thick, sturdy branch had fallen off of a tree. From the looks of it, it’s just my height too. A gift from a woody friend! I bent over, careful not to wobble and fall, and plucked the stick from the ground, feeling the grass around it tickle the back of my hand. With the aid of my new walking stick, I could just barely hobble my way to the door, right as the sun fell behind the tree line, and the sky began to change color. The door had always been a little shoddy, with plenty of cracks and marks in the wood. I remember one of these was from a customer testing his new blade, until it slipped out of his hand and scratched up the wood. I wonder if he won that duel he had?

I reach down to the handle and let the door creak open, with me planting the stick against the wooden floor and hopping my way in. The inside had an orange hew to it as the fireplace roared, and just as I thought, a pot was hanging over it. All along the walls were racks of papa's favorite works, rugs, animal skins, and a single piece of artwork; a black and white painting on parchment, depicting two very long limbed, thin men engaged in a duel, with their swords bound and emotionless faces. I turn my head to the right, only to see papa standing there, holding our broom and looking at me as if I’d interrupted him.

Papa’s an older man, with patches of gray showing up in his long, unkempt beard, and his tied back hair. He’s shorter than most men (even a bit shorter than me, in fact), but built stocky. He’s still wearing the same clothes he had been for three days now; a white linen shirt and pants that had their legs cut off just below the knee.

“Papa, I told you I’d do that when I got back.” I quietly groan, being too tired to even speak loudly. He sets the broom up against the wall and comes over to me, letting me take his shoulder as another walking aid.

“Gia, you’ve worked yourself ragged! I told you to take it easy out there!” He supports me with his wide frame, and helps me walk into the house. I drop the stick by the door, no longer needing it now that he was here. “Oh, you reek! This shirt feels wet.”

“You don’t smell better.” I let my head nod for a second before snapping back awake. He carries me to a small wooden chair just in front of the fire, the place we ate all of our meals. I remember being so little at one point, my feet wouldn't even touch the ground when I sat up there. 

“Sit, I’ll bring you food.”

“No, I can do it.” I try to stand again, putting my hands on the edge of the chair to lift myself!

“No!” His voice rings out and echoes through the house, and I know better than to try and stand again. “Sit! You don’t need to get up.” He looks down at me, narrowing his eyes to see if I’m still too stubborn to listen to him. I’m not. He walked behind to a small dresser, the place he kept our bowls. He came back, walked past me to fill the bowl from the pot, and sat down in the chair beside me. I can see the steam rising out of the bowl, and the smell, that perfect smell. The stench of my sweat couldn’t drown it out. Papa handed the bowl over to me, and I gladly took it from him. 

As I lift the bowl to my lips, I get the first tease of flavor. I can already taste salt on the rim of the bowel, and the broth is just touching my lips. As it slides into my mouth, I taste the new spices he bought off of that merchant; it’s just a little bit sweet. Next a chunk of meat comes, then a carrot, and then another. The meat is so tender and salty, and the carrots perfectly complement it. I keep downing gulp after gulp, not wanting to stop tasting this elixir of life. I can hear papa chuckling as keep drinking, but I don't care. I’m too hungry too care about anything else. 

Nearly two-thirds of the bowl is gone before I pull it away from my mouth, and I let out a little burp. I hear Papa laugh even harder. “What happened today? I haven’t seen you eat like that since you were a little girl.”

“I forgot to eat this morning.” I admit to him, rubbing my bottom lip before the broth started leaking down to my chin.

“I told you to make sure you ate! Autier is no better slave master, the way he works you.” His face turns angry, mentioning my tutor. “You work from daylight to sunset, and barely have time to sleep at night! He won’t even arrange a carriage to bring you to him!”

“At least today ended early. I got home while the stew was still hot.” I joke with him, trying to keep my eyes open while we talk. Still, it might be better if I don’t tell him why today ended early. “I’ve had no time to practice what he teaches me either. His prodigy pupil has been beating me senseless.”

“You still could not win against her?” He asks, the anger for Autier still bleeding into his voice as he changes the subject. I sigh deeply before speaking again.

“No. It’s as if she does nothing but fence! With the pace we’ve been keeping, I have no hope to outdo her.” I raise the bowl again, swallowing the rest of it while Papa talks.

“I know you can beat her. If you could scare off three grown men, then surely that girl cannot keep besting you.” He watches as I finish the whole, exhaling in relief as the warm stew fills my belly. 

“I’ve been given two days' rest. I plan to finally reflect on the things I’ve been shown.” Before he can yell at me again, I manage to stand on my own and make way over to the pot. “There has to be something I’m missing.” I take the ladle and start to refill my bowl. Papa is oddly quiet as I fill it and go back to my seat. We sit there in silence for a while, just long enough for me to finish this second helping. 

“I don’t like that you’re doing this.” He finally says, not even looking at me. “It was different when you were just playing with the swords, but this is bad! I don’t think you understand what it really means to take up fighting.”

“Papa, I was not playing! I know what it means to take a sword. I was ready to take a man's life before he ran! I’m not scared of this.”

“But I am scared!” He raises his voice, finally whipping his head around to face me. I saw in his face that he was ready to scream, to voice his frustration. But he didn’t. He took a moment to think, and his face softens. “I am scared, Gia. As any father would be. I am scared because you know nothing but this place.” He gestures to the room around us. “We barely leave, and you only interact with my customers and their kids, and you are taking up a dangerous path! I would be a horrible father if I were not afraid for you.” He stops there to take a breath, and I see the shaking anxiety in his body relax slightly. “I did not teach you well enough for this. I could never have taught you this.”

“Papa…” I’m frozen, trying to think of what to even say to him. “Papa, you do yourself a discredit. There may be things you did not teach me, and even things you should not have taught me. But you should never worry that you did not do enough. I am strong and capable because of you. I love because of you!” I let go as a string of consciousness spills from my lips. “You have not failed me, and I could never think that. You put both of us down when you say that. I will not accept these words from you!” As I finished speaking, I stood up and walked over to him, leaning down to kiss his forehead. I could see the wheels turning in his head as he thought over what I said. “I need to sleep now. Thank you for the stew, it was excellent.”

Before I left, I saw his confused face. “Excellent? It was just okay.” I walked off toward my room, an old supply closet at the back of the house that he cleared out for me as a kid. The bed took up half of the room, and the walls were only a few more inches apart than I was tall. I laid my tired body down, resting on the bundle of straw that served as my headrest. I never thought straw could feel so soft.

Author's Note

This chapter is a bit more dramatic, taking a first peak at Giovanna's actual life. There are probably some structural problems that I need to fix, and the transition from third in the first chapter to first here might seem a bit jarring. I'm still considering if that style is worth it.