Hope

CHAPTER 8

Hope

Walking on the “lively” part of the city, Roderick contemplated the mass of people moving from one side to the other. The battle had destroyed a great portion of the city, and even then all of them seemed occupied. The capacity of adaptation that the human being has is surprising, the war did not impede those people from continuing their daily routine to make a living. Roderick noticed that all of the people passing next to him did not look at him; in fact, they avoided him completely, like a school of fish that gently opened around him and would get together once they left him behind. It was comprehensible behaviour due to the circumstances, he was not welcome and that was more than clear.

Passing next to a flower shop, something drew his attention. It was a woman observing the colourful bouquets on the other side of the crystal. Her height was around the hundred and sixty-five centimetres, she wore a blue dress, her smooth hair was black and was at her back’s height and her figure looked healthy. Afterwards, Roderick looked to see the flowers that she was observing. The white petals surrounded the yellow stamen that at the same time guarded the purple pistil that opened up like a cocoon. The girl sighed at the beauty of the flower. What would she be thinking of seeing them?

“They mean Hope. They’re white irises.”

At the unexpected voice, the girl came back from her thoughts. She turned and looked at the source from where it came. She couldn’t hide her surprise after seeing the uniform, although it was kind of obvious considering the language with which she was spoken to. She analysed his face; it looked young and tired, as most soldiers’; however, it still had life in his stare.

Roderick noticed that he was being carefully evaluated. He gave a slight smile to the girl and she answered it. Roderick saw through her honey-coloured eyes a woman full of dreams, full of life, gentleness, audacity and a slight pinch of innocence. Then that flame went out as if she had closed the hatch towards her being. Roderick felt intrigued by such drastic change.

“So that's what they mean? That explains why they looked to me as very pretty flowers. I’m Nadia.”

“My name is Roderick Smirnov.”

“Smirnov?” She was sure that his uniform was Lilisburg’s, despite not knowing too much about the topic. His last name was clearly not from Lilisburg.

“Yeah, my father was from Kholodfiorde. Honestly, I think that’s everyone’s reaction after hearing my name.”

“I see…” Nadia looked a bit more relaxed although slightly defensive. “So… do you have business with me or something like that?”

“Oh, no… I just…” Roderick could not help feeling like an idiot. He should’ve thought things better and planned out how to approach her naturally instead of forcing out a conversation like he just did. “I was walking by and thought of talking a bit.” Lame attempt, he still felt like an idiot.

“Oh, yeah?” She giggled; she noticed how abashed Roderick was. He didn’t look anything like how Lilisburg’s officers are usually described: hard-faced, authoritarian and inexpressive, as if they were dead inside. “Well then, let’s talk.”

Both stood there, without saying or doing anything. None of the two could tell exactly why, but they had a facility to talk to each other. It wasn’t like one of those first conversations had with someone who had just met, where both parties play passing the ball to each other quickly as if it was a bomb about to explode, waiting for the other party to have the initiative to keep the conversation accompanied by the occasionally uncomfortable silence that marks the depletion of topics to talk about.

Roderick felt accelerated, his legs trembled slightly although it wasn’t noticeable through his pants, his forehead was sweaty but it wasn’t because of the heat. He realised this and couldn’t help but feel frustrated with himself. He had to keep disciplined and a serious posture. It was ridiculous the fact that he could confront death at its face on an almost daily basis, but he had a hard time dealing with his nervousness when talking to an attractive woman. She wasn’t the first person of the opposite sex with which he had an interaction of this kind. He could only ask himself: What the devil was wrong with him? And he feared to know the answer. He took a deep breath, he could not allow himself to get carried away by impulsive sensations and thoughts. Nadia had a defensive appearance; although it was very slight, almost impossible to distinguish. It wasn’t rejection nor repulsion, Roderick was very familiar with both. Nadia was allowing him to make some progress; however, he noticed that she was having a reserved attitude, it looked like there was something that she was hiding and did not want to push the topic. Then, he realised; every time Nadia lowered her gaze and did that small gesture that gave her away: her eyes would turn off and her lips did a small grimace, almost indistinguishable. In a moment, Roderick realised the reason: his uniform. It was frustrating, he felt an impulse to get to know her better, learn more about her and introduce himself to her world. It was something that he would rarely feel, if he ever felt it before. Then there was that crystal dome that covered her, he could see her through it and she looked captive, with expectations and hope. He wanted to enter that dome or break it so she could be free just as she had liberated him from his own dome.

The sun was setting, it was time for Roderick to return to the camp. Both had invested their afternoon hours walking by the city’s lively parts. He accompanied Nadia to her home: a house of very simple architecture; a rectangular building with stairs on one of its extremes, which lead to a cedar door. Roderick curiously observed the flowerpots that were on the stairs’ railing, which had a straight relief. On top of every flowerpot, there were marigolds. They looked healthy despite the hot weather, they even had clovers blooming under, she most likely took care of them exhaustingly. Both walked up the stairs until reaching the door which Nadia opened, then she turned.

“It was fun. I must confess that you impressed me,” said Nadia with a mocking tone.

“You mean I was under evaluation?” Roderick played along. Nadia giggled.

“Perhaps. Let me tell you that if you had been, you just passed it.”

It was about time to go for the conversation’s final sword thrust. Roderick swallowed saliva, inhaled deeply and opened his mouth.

“In that case, what do you think about going out again? I mean, when all this war business comes to an end, of course.” He tried to talk as casually as possible. Nadia smiled at the approach. It was the first sincere and not courtesy smile that she gave him.

“Sounds wonderful. I’ll be waiting for you. Good night, mister Roderick.”

“Good night, miss Nadia.”

The door closed. Roderick started going down the stairs with increasing enthusiasm. Things turned out better than he could have expected. Now he had a proposed goal. When she smiled at him a small portion of that dome that separated them cracked; he could see a bit more of her. With endeavour and perseverance, he could break it off completely.

Roderick returned to the small citadel outside of Karkas, which conformed itself with the multiple khaki tents that formed a circle around a bonfire. Roderick observed from one side to the other; infantry troops were preparing themselves for the next day's campaign all around. One of them was anxiously cleaning his rifle, passing a swab that he unconsciously introduced and removed from the rifle’s bore, again and again, while he had a lost stare. Another one with his uniform undressed, his jacket opened up and his pants unbuttoned. He appeared to be writing a letter, his restlessness was notorious in his hand’s trembling pulse with which he was holding the pen, it was also noticeable that he couldn’t think of the words he wanted to express. Roderick knew that those two weren’t the only ones like that and that it didn’t make any sense to keep observing them.

He walked towards his personal tent, where he took off his kepi and tossed it to his bed, he then collapsed on his chair. He let out a sigh and took out a cigarette from one of his jacket’s pockets and a box of matches, with the burning friction he lit the phosphorus and placed the cigarette between his lips. He inhaled deeply and let out an enormous cloud of smoke that covered most of the tent. Tomorrow he would bet his life again, in this game where every day the risk was greater and the gain was almost non-existent. All that time he had fought just because he had been ordered to do so; as a soldier, he had to comply with his duty and follow the king’s orders. Now he had a motive to survive: Nadia. He wasn’t sure what it was that awakened his interest in her; her reserved but mannered conduct, her modals, her eyes that had shown him a woman full of feelings, but that would occasionally turn cold and distant. He wanted to unwrap the enigmas that surrounded that woman, and, as some sort of confession, admit that he wanted to feel her smooth hair between her hands. No, Roderick could not afford to drift away in such thoughts.

Violently he pulled the cigarette from his mouth and put it out with a crushing force over the table, then he shot it out with his fingers out of the tent. He pulled out a wooden box, a holster and what appeared to be a leather cartridge pouch, one of those that are worn transversely from the shoulder to the opposite side’s hip. He opened the box, inside there was a percussion revolver with three spare cylinders. It was a graduation gift that the King gave to the graduates of the Royal Military Academy. He examined the cylinder on the gun; the six chambers were loaded with powder, a projectile and a cap on the nipple of each chamber. He did the same check with the spare cylinders. He half-cocked the hammer, which liberated the cylinder so it could rotate freely and he started spinning it to verify that it was in optimal working conditions. Once finished with his inspection, he holstered the revolver, which he placed on the table; then he placed the spare cylinders inside the leather pouch. He closed his tent and put off the oil lamp; the best thing to do was to get some sleep or at least try to.