JК
A Kiss Of Shadows :: Гамильтон Лорел
Страница: 214 из 338I never remembered being particularly proud of the medals, mainly because my father never seemed to care about them. But when he died, he left them to me in their satin-lined box. I'd carried them around in a carved wooden box along with the rest of my childhood treasures: colored bird feathers, rocks that sparkled in the sun, the tiny plastic ballerinas that had graced my sixth-birthday cake, a dried bit of lavender, a toy cat with fake jewel eyes, and two silver stars given to my dead father. Now the medals were back in their satin box in a drawer in my dresser. The rest of my "treasures" were scattered to the winds.
"Your thoughts are far away, Meredith," Doyle said.
I was still walking at his side, hands on his arm, but for a moment only my body had been there. It startled me to realize how far away I'd been.
"I'm sorry, Doyle, were you speaking to me?" I shook my head.
"What were you thinking about so very hard?" he asked. The lights played over his face, painting colored shadows against his black skin. It was almost as if his skin reflected the lights like carved and polished wood. I was touching his arm, so I could feel the warmth, the muscles underneath, the softness of his skin. His skin felt like anyone's skin, but light didn't reflect off skin, not like that.
"I was thinking about my father," I said.
"What of him?" Doyle turned his head to look at me as we walked. The long feathers brushed his neck, mingling with the spill of black hair that was only partially trapped down the back of the cloak. I realized that except for the small knot that captured the front pieces of his hair, the rest of his hair was spilling out underneath the cloak, loose.
"I was thinking about his medals that he won in World War II."
He kept walking but turned his face full to me, never missing a step. He looked bemused. "Why would you be thinking of that now?"
I shook my head. "I don't know. Thinking about faded glory, I guess. The mounds remind me of the plaza in Washington, D. C. All that energy and purpose. It must have been like that here once."
Doyle looked up at the mounds. "And now it is quiet, almost deserted."
I smiled. "I know better than that. There's hundreds, thousands under our feet."
"But yet the comparison of the two cities saddens you. Why?"
I looked up at him, and he looked down at me. We were standing in a pool of yellow light, but there were pinpricks of every color of will-o'-the-wisp in his eyes, swirling like a tiny cloud of colored fireflies.
"Your thoughts are far away, Meredith," Doyle said.
I was still walking at his side, hands on his arm, but for a moment only my body had been there. It startled me to realize how far away I'd been.
"I'm sorry, Doyle, were you speaking to me?" I shook my head.
"What were you thinking about so very hard?" he asked. The lights played over his face, painting colored shadows against his black skin. It was almost as if his skin reflected the lights like carved and polished wood. I was touching his arm, so I could feel the warmth, the muscles underneath, the softness of his skin. His skin felt like anyone's skin, but light didn't reflect off skin, not like that.
"I was thinking about my father," I said.
"What of him?" Doyle turned his head to look at me as we walked. The long feathers brushed his neck, mingling with the spill of black hair that was only partially trapped down the back of the cloak. I realized that except for the small knot that captured the front pieces of his hair, the rest of his hair was spilling out underneath the cloak, loose.
"I was thinking about his medals that he won in World War II."
He kept walking but turned his face full to me, never missing a step. He looked bemused. "Why would you be thinking of that now?"
I shook my head. "I don't know. Thinking about faded glory, I guess. The mounds remind me of the plaza in Washington, D. C. All that energy and purpose. It must have been like that here once."
Doyle looked up at the mounds. "And now it is quiet, almost deserted."
I smiled. "I know better than that. There's hundreds, thousands under our feet."
"But yet the comparison of the two cities saddens you. Why?"
I looked up at him, and he looked down at me. We were standing in a pool of yellow light, but there were pinpricks of every color of will-o'-the-wisp in his eyes, swirling like a tiny cloud of colored fireflies.