When Women Were Dragons(68)

My thoughts swirled and tangled and then became incredibly still. What do you say in a situation like this? What’s the response? My mother always knew what to say—she knew how to be unflappable and poised and precise always. I shook my head, utterly at a loss. I felt like the quiet remnants of a house after a tornado tore it to shreds and left it behind. I had no pieces to connect, nothing that made sense, no way to impose order on the chaos. But I needed to say something. “Would you like anything to eat?” I managed after a long moment.

Mrs. Gyzinska smiled. “No, dear. But thank you. There is a great deal more to discuss, but I won’t overplay my hand just yet. I will bring up the issue of dragons again, so brace yourself—and yes, I know that it makes you uncomfortable, and maybe a little angry too. It’s understandable, after all you’ve been through—but I want you to notice that your feelings are complicated by cultural factors that are, let’s face it, a little ridiculous. There are people who have problems with women, and alas, many of them are also women. That is because of something called the patriarchy, which I’m sure they have not discussed in that school you go to, but that doesn’t stop it from being an unnecessary and oppressive obstacle, and best disposed of as soon as possible. The point is this—I am working on your behalf. And on Beatrice’s behalf. And I’m trying to find the solution to your continued education, which absolutely must be maintained, as well as the preservation of your family. And I think I may be onto something. I won’t go into it now. Just know this: Things are afoot. We are on the brink of something big. And no one is talking about it on the news. But they will.”

She patted my hands and stood.

I stood too.

“I—” My throat hurt. I tried to swallow but it felt like sand. “I just want . . .” My eyes were hot.

Mrs. Gyzinska refastened her hat and slid her arms into her nubby pink coat. “You don’t have to say anything, dear. Just trust me.”

I pressed my hands against my forehead to keep my thoughts from spinning. “I am sorry, though,” I said. I couldn’t look at her face. I looked at her shoes instead. They were brown and leather with neat laces and sturdy heels. “I . . . I don’t get angry.” I shook my head. “I don’t usually get angry. But lately . . .” The words died there.

Mrs. Gyzinska gently cupped her hand against my cheek and tilted my face upward so I was forced to meet her eyes. They glittered strangely. “Anger is a funny thing. And it does funny things to us if we keep it inside. I encourage you to consider a question: Who benefits, my dear, when you force yourself to not feel angry?” She tilted her head and looked at me so hard I thought she could see right into my bones. She raised her eyebrows. “Clearly not you.”

I blanched. I had never thought of it like that.

She glanced around the room. “Look at where you’re living. Think of what you’re being asked to do. You’re not angry? Hell. I’m angry on your behalf. I’m going to be out of town for a bit—there are some people I need to see and some conversations I need to have. Mr. Burrows will proctor your exams while I’m gone. I have more to say on the subject, but you have school in the morning. You don’t have anyone telling you it’s time to go to bed, so I’m telling you right now. You need to take care of yourself. The world is changing, and it needs you to be well. Go to bed. Get some sleep. And start keeping your eyes up. The skies are full of promise. You are less alone than you think.”

She gave my cheek a soft pat, and she turned and let herself out.

I stood in the center of the room for a long time. The clock ticked. The refrigerator rumbled. Somewhere deep in the building the pipes banged. I heard Mrs. Gyzinska’s car door creak outside and I heard her car rumble away.

Then I did as I was told. I curled under my blanket and was asleep before I even lay down.





27.

Winter came early that year. On the morning of October eleventh, the sky dulled and the wind blew and snow fell in great heaps on the ground. Farmers scrambled, and crops were ruined. The cold settled deep into the ground and our boots squeaked across the compacted snow and grey ice. Beatrice and I stuffed old socks into the gaps around the windows, and I cooked endless pots of soup. We arrived at school each day wound in layer upon layer of scarves, our faces rigid against the cold.

I called my father to ask for extra money to replace Beatrice’s coat and boots and snow pants, since she had finally outgrown her winter gear. Plus all our mittens that I had in our winter box in the storage area of our building had been attacked by moths. My father gave me my monthly allowance, of course, and we had enough for incidentals, but coats were expensive. So were boots.

I dialed the number. Unfortunately, my stepmother answered.

“Your father’s not here,” she said. A baby and a toddler screamed in the background. Siblings of mine that I had not yet met. As of this writing, I still have not met them. Some grievances are long.

“Oh,” I said. “Is there a better time when I might reach him?” I had exchanged phone pleasantries with my stepmother only a handful of times. But I had learned that it didn’t do much good to leave a message.

“It’s hard to tell,” she said. Her voice was flat. “Maybe you should leave your request with me.”

I paused. I could barely remember what she looked like. She had once been a secretary. My father’s secretary. I imagined a woman in a smart suit and her yellow hair in a tight chignon, with ink smudges on her fingers and high heels that clicked against the floor so you might always know if she was coming or going. I imagined smooth stockings and a pressed blouse and an expertly drawn curve on her brow accentuating the eye. I guessed she didn’t look like that anymore. She lived in my mother’s house and cooked in my mother’s kitchen and likely dug up my mother’s garden to plant something boring, like petunias or grass. I knew that she slept in my mother’s bed. Other than that, I didn’t know a single thing about her. I never thought it was strange until this very moment.