Meeting (1)

"What is a Maiden doing in the Eunuchs' Compound at this time of night?" the boy asked as he walked around the pond. He unwrapped the ends of his headcloth, which were loosely wound around the lower half of his face and neck.

Emeravwe quickly stood and wiped her tears, turning slightly from him.

"Oh? Were you crying?" he asked.

She dropped her hands from her face and stared silently at the ground, though tears continued to prick her eyes.

"What is the matter?" the boy asked, settling on the white stone bench before the pond.

When Emeravwe still did not answer, but continued to stare at the ground, he said gently, "It is all right. You may tell me."

Emeravwe glanced at him.

He was dressed in the brown robes of a Eunuch and looked to be about fourteen years of age. The orange glow of the twilit sky revealed his skin to be a radiant golden bronze. It shone softly like the finish of a neatly polished marble bust.

Around his head and forehead was wound a rich yellow cloth. And the boy himself looked quite fine, with high cheekbones and clear golden eyes of amber.

Emeravwe recognized the yellow headcloth as the color worn by esteemed Eunuchs, and bent her knees in a butu. She uttered a choked "Miguo," then turned quickly away again.

"Omote," the boy called gently to her.

Emeravwe weakened at the kindness in his voice. The tears brimming in her eyes overflowed.

She had been taught, in her Mannerisms of a Maiden class, that palace Maidens must always remain composed. They were not to lower their dignity in any way and were not to complain about anything.

She knew all this, but she could not help herself.

The lump in her throat seemed to grow, throbbing so painfully she could hardly breathe. And no matter how hard she tried, her tears would not stop flowing.

"I-I do not want to be a palace Maiden. I do not want to stay in the Sun's Court, I hate it!" She sobbed, "I do not understand the Four Classics—I do not want to study anymore! And I hate the Bureau of Halls and Chambers.

The Omote all hate me and force me to clean the halls by myself, and it makes my hands dry and they hurt! They tease me about being a valued child, but Omote Oluchi said I am not valued at all because I was abandoned in the palace! And… And… Ugh!"

She cried in frustration.

She had so much to say that had been weighing on her the past two years. Yet she was unable to force the words past the lump in her throat and cried miserably before the pond.

By the time her tears subsided, the blanket of night had settled across the sky. The clear waters of the pond reflected a delicate crescent moon.

Emeravwe was too ashamed to face the young Eunuch who had wordlessly watched her cry her heart to pieces.

She stared silently at the moon's reflection in the pond. Her breathing was disturbed by silent hiccups, and her head throbbed.

"Dear Omote," the boy called softly. Emeravwe turned meekly to see him holding out an embroidered handkerchief. "Dry your tears."

She cautiously approached the bench, invited by the boy's sympathetic gaze. Taking the handkerchief, she bent her knees slightly in a butu.

"Miguo," she greeted and rose, bringing the handkerchief to her tear-streaked face.

The silk cloth was luxuriously soft against her skin. It emitted a sweet smell which soothed the headache beginning to pound at her temples.

The boy asked gently, "Why do you believe you have been abandoned?"

Emeravwe looked up, surprised by the question. "I…" Her face heated.

That she disgraced herself in front of a stranger was embarrassing enough. Now, the boy's interest in her was even more disconcerting.

She knew she should tell him to forget her earlier ranting. To forgive her for disturbing his ears with her complaints. But his eyes focused on her through the night, awaiting a reply. The intent look told her he would not be satisfied with such an answer.

She squeezed the handkerchief to her chest, lowering her gaze. The subject was one which brought tears to her eyes simply at the thought of it.

She knew her meeting with the boy in this remote garden, and at such a late hour, was inappropriate. But she wanted to finally unload her worries instead of keeping them locked inside.

She said quietly, her voice quivering with tears, "On holidays like the Day of Birth and Day of Rebirth, the other Maidens are visited by their families. But no one ever comes to visit me. No one knows who I am or where I came from. I have asked the Aye if they know the name of my clan or even my tribal name, but they said they do not." She finished tearfully, "No one knows who my family is."

The boy was silent a long time. His brow knitted as he studied her.

When he spoke again, his voice was harsh. "The Sun's Court is not a place where parents can abandon their children! Such an act would be an insult to the Orodje. If anyone dares to utter such nonsense, you must report them to the Bureau of Corrections. Do you understand me, Omote?"

Shocked by the sudden severity of his tone, she answered immediately, "Y-yes, Oga*," and added shakily, "I will make sure they do not say it again."

His voice was softer as he said, "See that you do."

Emeravwe shifted uncomfortably, still rattled by the sternness he had shown. She squeezed his handkerchief in her hands. The action reminded her it was still in her possession.

She presented it to the boy again, bending her knees and intoning politely, "I shall take my leave of you now, Oga, if you please."

To her surprise, the boy took her hands as well as the handkerchief.

"Excuse me," he begged pardon, nodding reassuringly at her look of alarm. He examined her cracked hands.

"Indeed, they are dry." He released her and stood, tucking the handkerchief into the inner pocket of his sleeve. "Come here again tomorrow night, and I shall have some oil for your hands. Good night, then, Omote," he urged her on her way.

Emeravwe returned to her chamber in the Maidens' Quarters in a daze. Omote Oluchi and Ngozi were already in their beds, and she collected her blankets and quietly prepared for bed herself.

It was then that the full force of her encounter hit her, and she could hardly sleep for excitement.

She had not expected the young Eunuch would invite her back to the garden—she was not supposed to be there in the first place. She expected even less that he would offer to bring her oil for her hands!

But just as much as the prospect of acquiring oil, the thought that she might possibly make a friend in the palace made Emeravwe restless. Her heart raced with anticipation for the coming day.