Week 13

 September 29

I’ve gone through all of the accounts of Danae’s business. I wish someone had been stealing from her; at least that would be an event that I could take action against. It was just Danae…The entire business was built around her and her husband being alive and happy together. Maybe because Winterians are so focused on the deaths of their enemies (in theory, anyway) it is astonishing to me that neither Danae nor her husband thought beyond the present. Yes, the money has lasted for two years, but that was all from Danae’s personal account. She didn’t even have a separate account for the business. Toilet paper and donuts for home were bought on the same account as desk chairs and computers. 

It’s all very organized in the paperwork, but it’s a terrible way to do business. Danae would have been financially taken care of for several more years if she’d just shut down the business. Eliava says Danae couldn’t do that because people depended on her for a job. But for two years, no one worked! Whatever money came in had to be refunded to the customer because the job wasn’t finished.

How frustrating for Carrot. I have less and less frustration toward her for her part in suing Danae. She must have just been trying to bring the situation to a head, rather than attempting to be vicious and greedy. She knows there’s no money left -- she just wants the business shut down. That’s not going to happen. I need to rebuild Danae’s reputation, and I need to make certain that Zahina and Eliava are provided for -- and not by me. In Winter, providing for your family after your gone is a matter of honor. I will not see Danae lose hers, not after everything she did for me.

I’ve asked Carrot to stay on as a consultant and partner, but she has no interest. I think she’s very angry at both Danae and Danae’s husband for taking her on and then abandoning her. Originally she was going to both design and learn the business, and then take off into her own business. After Danae basically quit, Carrot tried selling her designs, but without anyone to vouch for her, none of the clients bit. So Carrot tried hiring other architects, she fired everyone who wasn’t absolutely necessary to have around when Danae wasn’t working, and after two years of trying to keep the business afloat and failing, she’s exhausted and burnt out and disillusioned.

I honestly can’t believe Danae’s selfishness. I’ve seen interviews of Danae with her husband, and sure, she loves him, that’s obvious. But how could she just shut down like that when he was gone? For twenty-some-odd years, she was a bit older than me, she was perfectly fine without him. So what made the real difference between before she was married, and after? Sure, I know from experience that grief comes with apathy, and nothing seems as important after someone you love dies, as it did before, but still. Danae didn’t have only herself to think of. She had a daughter and a mother and an entire staff of people to worry about. She cared enough not to fire anyone, and to pay them from her personal account, but at the expense of her daughter’s future. Her selfishness astonishes me. What was she thinking?

By the time I met her, she was ready to take action, but she needed me to do it. It was only the in the cave or when she talked about her daughter, that she lit up from within and seemed to have the wonder and joy that I’ve seen on those recorded interviews. Something about the caves refreshed her vitality, which I understand, because it does the same for me. But even so, when we’d leave the cave, she would lose all that vitality and go gray again. She barely cared. She was practically dead already. It was incredibly frustrating to watch the transformation and know that there was nothing I could do about it.

Sometimes, since I’m impersonating Danae, I think maybe I should act more like that, but even the thought brings me down. I can’t act like there is nothing worth living for -- even though, most of the time, I have no idea what I’m doing or why, I’m here. I have loved ones to protect and care for. Having the responsibility for the lives of people on two planets on my shoulders can be overwhelming, and there are times when I just want to give it up. But mostly, I feel honored that I was entrusted with this task. 

It’s sort of how I feel about Zahina. I’m not her mother, and I never will be, but I get to be a part of her upbringing. I get to advise her and watch her grow into her own woman. I get to be a guiding force in her life. Sometimes, the responsibility feels larger than trying to hold up two planets. With the planets, I’m only responsible for keeping everyone breathing. With Zahina I’m responsible for her learning to be honorable and powerful and intelligent and spiritual, and all of the things that a mother does. Danae has done part of the work, but she’s also done some damage; first by quitting when her husband died, and now by her permanent absence.

Mother is leaving tomorrow, alone. It’s been over a months since they’ve been here, but all three of my cousins have made strong enough romantic alliances to stay. Jea and Samson’s engagement was announced today and they’ll be married in two weeks. That was fast, but Jea seems barely more attuned to Samson than usual. It has the appearance of a political match, though I know she’s crazy about him. Staejha has three or four serious suitors and I think there is one courtier who is seriously smitten by Ceci. Mother said she’ll return in another month or two with some available Winter males. The whole thing grosses me out -- the idea of giving up your entire life to live somewhere foreign so that your planet won‘t go to war. That‘s what I did, and I hate that I had to, but I guess it’s one way to desegregate the planets. Once everyone here is married to everyone there, there won’t be a real separation anymore.

September 30

Mother left this morning. I feel conflicted about her leaving. On the one hand, I liked having her here every morning, to talk to and have breakfast with. Yesterday at breakfast, I actually felt like an adult in Mother’s presence. Until she gave me a to-do list and started getting emotional. I think she is more uncomfortable being Summer in front of me because when I was growing up, she was always correcting me if I cried or laughed or whatever. Now I’m this ice queen who shows no emotion, and it embarrasses her to show emotions in front of me. It’s kind of odd, like the roles have reversed and I’m the one who’ll slap her hand when she steps out of line. Although, it would even occur to me to do so, but I guess to her it feels like I will. It’s kind of sad to be in the authority role. She seems to relax and enjoy herself more when she’s around other Summerians than when she’s around me. The idea saddens me because; I more than anyone else, would appreciate a soft, affectionate mother. Why does everyone else get the best of her, and I get the stiff, cold instructions?

Samson has only been working for me for one day, and he’s already paying off. We have three clients who haven’t run screaming – I think they’re desperate, so they’re going after our low rates with the hopes of our tarnished reputation can be polished. Carrot signed them up, promising them that not only are they getting a great deal, but having us design their buildings will not only mean that they get a great product, but that they’ll be helping us reestablish our reputation. She signed them when Danae was still alive, and they weren’t super happy that I wasn’t going to be designing for them, but Samson won them over with his charm and his fantastic designs.

The first client, or pair of clients, is a husband and wife team who want to run a bed and breakfast out in the country near where my mother-in-law lives. They want to be able to house the tourists who want to come see where the former queen lives, along with extraneous staff of guests during large functions my mother-in-law has throughout the year. A lot of the extra staff end up sleeping in corners or outside or in the stables, so there is a need there. The couple, the Brandorfs, want a style that complements the castle, without being an overt copy. Samson, who only started yesterday, already had five sketches ready for them when they came to meet with me. They were skeptical, only of the fact that they weren’t getting “a Danae”, and then Samson intimated that I had actually helped him with the designs, which was a complete fabrication, but the clients seemed happier after he said that so I didn’t correct him. I don’t like the idea of taking credit, even a little bit, where it isn’t due, but Samson needs this job and I need to save this business, so we both have to sacrifice our sense of honor to get the job done. Anyway, the Brandorfs suggested a few changes, and Samson said he and I would come up with some combination of the elements of his designs that they liked. They’re supposed to come in next week.

The second client is a male, around 55, round and sweet, like a little donut. He wants to open a bookstore on 7th which is a block of shops so he needs a storefront that will complement the other stores but also with a unique look to it. He also wants us to design the interior of the space so that it will work for what he wants. He has some nice, innovative ideas, and he also has REAL books, that sell for millions because of their rarity, so he wants an incredible security system as well. The project is actually suited more for an interior designer but we can not afford to turn away business, and architects train in aesthetics as well as structure, so we should be able to do it. I interviewed someone who is coming in for a second interviewed who majored in architecture, but minored in interior design. If she’s as impressive the second time around, this would be a good project for her. Samson showed “Bub” several designs for the front of the shop and took extensive notes on what the man wants to do for the interior. This time, Samson gave me most of the credit for the designs, and Bub was ecstatic about all of them. He took home some copies so that he can talk them over with his kids and come to a decision.

Our third client is coming in tomorrow, so I told Samson to stop giving me credit for the designs. The look he gave me said so much in terms of honor and sacrifice and his love for Jea, that I was almost left breathless. “We need our clients to believe that you have a large part of these designs,” he said. “They didn’t and new clients won’t come here for a Samson original. Not yet, anyway. I don’t know why you refuse to design anymore, but I did my thesis on your work. Besides,” he added, with just a tinge of his charm glowing through the edges between his armor, “My own work is highly influenced by you, so I don’t see why you shouldn’t get some of the credit.” I couldn’t help but smile at that, and wished Danae was here to hear him say that, but I agreed.

It hurts my heart to see him so willing to sacrifice the building of his reputation for the good of everyone at the company. Sure, he will benefit too, but I wouldn’t be able to do this without his beautiful designs. None of the applicants I’ve interviewed today or previously had anywhere near the level of his talent. And his stuff does remind me of Danae’s….The only real solution is to put both Danae’s names and Samson’s on the designs, and build his reputation that way.

October 1

It’s funny how we as humans like to cling to old traditions, as though in honoring our ancestors, we ensure that we will be honored after we are gone. Not that it matters -- isn’t it more important to be treated well when you’re alive, then after you’re dead? Oh, well, it’s just me, I’m sure, but I never understood the superstition about not speaking ill of the dead. Wouldn’t the time to be kind, be when the person is still alive? Perhaps the superstition stems from the worry that the person you’re talking about in the afterlife will overhear you and haunt you, or something. That’s certainly not a concern when we’re busy backbiting people who are alive…

The thing that brought this up, was, I was reading a letter from my mother. She must have written it on the ship hope, and she says more in the letter than she did the entire time she was here -- which isn’t a lot. But apparently, she’s sending my sister Karen here for a visit. Karen is married already, so this isn’t a match. Mother says that Karen would like to see that lands that I’ve conquered, which is code for “Karen misses you”. I’m thrilled, of course, but I wonder if it’ll be odd to have her here, like it was to have mother here. I doubt it, though. Karen and I have always been very close. We spent a lot of time apart during our childhood, because she’s not my biological sister -- she’s actually a daughter of a man who was homeless and needed a job and came to my mother for help. But in Winter, we were inseparable whenever we did get together. 

We were even roommates during two years of college. She’s a couple of years older than me, so she graduated first. I’m looking forward to having her here, so that I can show her around. She’ll have to follow me around for once, which will be a fun switch. She’s more action-oriented, and tends to be a bit mouthy, so I won’t be able to show her the library (due to lack of interest) or the caves (due to her inability to keep a secret) but Adora and I have found lots of fun places on the mountain to climb, using only our wits and our fingernails. Of course, there’s protective equipment, at least, ever since Danae died. Adora never went rock climbing before I got her, but she used to run. 

Running is a difficult sport in Winter because of the high-impact of the hard ice, and also because of the slipperiness of the ice. It’s odd to walk around Summer with cardboard strapped to my feet with golden ribbons, whereas in Winter we had big boots with spikes on the bottoms. The cover story for that, of course, was that the Winterians are always ready to take out an enemy, and every item of clothing can double (or triple) as a weapon. Ceremonial clothing is kind a pain to wear, literally.

I can take Karen rock climbing; she’ll enjoy the physical exercise, and there’ll be no one important around to catch whatever blunders come out of her mouth. Karen is whip-smart, but she’s not shy about raising taboos in common conversation. I can also take her to that giant mall -- she’d like the excitement of the crowds and noise and lights. I’ll have to find some other places to take her, though, because she’s not a stroll-in-the-garden kinda girl. 

Anyway, the thing I thought when I read Mother’s letter, was that it was odd to keep the tradition of the old calendar. We still have thirty-one days in October, and for that matter, twelve months in a year. An hour is still sixty minutes, an a day is still twenty-four hours. Originally, these measures of time were created by the Earth’s rotation around the sun. Since we don’t rotate around the sun anymore, you would think that we would regulate things, like making all of the months last thirty days instead of having some of them be thirty-one, and February have twenty-none -- except in leap year. I mean, it’s absolutely ridiculous to have leap year when we don’t revolve anymore.

Not that it matters, really. I just think that our ancestors wouldn’t give a damn about our calendar. I think that if I was to travel two or three thousand years into the future, I’d want to know, first how me and my family fared, but also -- I just want worlds peace, really. I just want what people have wanted since war was invented. I just want us all to be able to get along. The differences, as I’ve noticed since I moved here, are neither as numerous nor as enormous as I once thought they were.  It’s amazing how we can base a perception of an entire people on rumors and bad feelings.

I’ve lost an aunt, seven cousins, and numerous brothers and sisters (adopted) in the war with Summer. I’ve also lost grandparents, great-grand relatives, etc. as well. And this is common on both sides of the war. Most of the Summerians who hated me at first, were people who had lost (recently, in most cases) important family members in the war. People hated my mother and my cousins too. Most Summerians have gotten accustomed to us individually, to be able to look beyond our Winterian upbringing, but there are still some Summerians who just absolutely hate us, even though the majority of us have never even used a weapon against another human, aside from in training. And at first, I hated the Summerians right back. My father died trying to fight -- and the sad thing is, he was trying to fight to end the war, not to keep it going. But he was murdered anyway. I have to take a deep breath and shake off these reminders, because I’m starting to see red again. 

October 2 

Tomorrow is my birthday. What with everything that has been going on, I pretty much forgot about it until today. Jean, Ceci, and Staejha all came to visit, and I got birthday wishes from my mother, Karen, and a bunch of other people back home. It’s kind of funny; the older I get, the less I feel like celebrating. When I was a kid, birthdays were highly anticipated, even a month or more before it came up. I remember counting my progress by the moth. “Oh, I’m eight-and-a-half“, “I’m eleven-and-three-quarters“, “I’m nearly thirteen” (two days after my twelfth birthday).

Birthdays used to mean presents and money and visits from relatives I hadn’t seen since the previous Christmas. They used to mean cake and no school and music and candy and even more cousins and siblings than I usually had. The house was turned into a theme park, and everyone would run around shouting and laughing. Even the adults smiled more. I liked birthdays because it meant I was even more invisible than usual. When I had a birthday, aside from the few minutes it took to blow out candles on a birthday cake, and to “ooh” and “ah” over presents that would be donated to poor children as soon as the people who gave them to me left -- I could hide for hours in the nooks and crannies of the house, pretending to be an explorer, spying on a strange new civilization.

I would sneak off with my favorite doll, and hide all of my favorite toys so that they wouldn’t be broken or stolen whilst our “guests” were visiting, and then I would play ghost. It’s easier to hide in a crowd. I’m more at ease on a busy day at court, than a slow one. On a slow day, I’m more visible, more noticeable. When there are a lot of people, chaos, and drama -- people barely notice me. 

Some days I feel exposed, even when there are a lot of people around. I’m overly sensitive to the stares and giggles that may be directed at me, or at someone behind me. I start thinking about stray arrows and daggers. I wonder if Adora and Stan and Todd are okay. I have to pray that Mother’s ship is attacked. The people that I like, annoy me because they never seem to notice that I’m upset or scared, and I can’t say anything because that would destroy the illusion and there’s something almost worse about having people know that there’s something wrong. The people that I don’t like, my disgust for them is magnified, almost to the point where I can’t stand looking at them or talking to them, and I almost, almost let them know how I feel. It’s horrible to feel like I’m walking around with no skin; like I’m just a mass of exposed nerve-endings. And there’s nothing anyone can do, particularly me, to soothe the nerves. 

I had one of those days today. I went to visit Zahina. Children are more observant, or more sensitive, whilst being completely unobservant and insensitive at the same time. It’s an amazing feat of ambiguity that always makes me feel superior and inferior at the same time. So we played dolls and went to the library and then to the real food restaurant. Zahina was quiet, and didn’t seem to notice the tears that I could not hide. I didn’t make a big deal out of them, I just thanked God that she was shorter than me and that she didn’t look up. She was obviously having a rough day, too. We grabbed a couple of ice cream cones to go, and rather than heading directly to the car, we both sort of wandered down the sidewalk instead.

We were quiet for a while, and then she said, “Do you think Mom is …” She paused in her speech, but we just kept walking. Rather than trying to finish her question in my mind, in order to come up with an answer before she asked it, I just noticed the crispness to the air and the rainbow of leaves littering the sidewalk. The sky was so blue it made my eyes water to watch it through the leaves that were still on the trees. I’d forgotten Zahina had spoken, until she did again. “Do you think Mom misses me?” I was silent for a while, mulling over her question, and enjoying that dusty, broken-leaf smell. 

I thought about my father, and how I think of him as watching over me from Heaven. “No,” I said, finally. It took me a few more minutes to come up with the rest of my answer, but Zahina didn’t seem to mind the wait. “I think she’s in a place where she gets to see you whenever she wants to, and she doesn’t mind waiting until you join her.”

“You mean Heaven,” Zahina asked.

“Mm-hmm,” I answered, absently, flicking a bug off of my T-shirt.

It didn’t take her as long to form her question this time, but there was still no hurry about her when she asked it. “Isn’t Heaven just something grown-ups tell kids so that they won’t cry about their dead moms, or so that they can say, ‘you won’t go to Heaven if’…”

“Hah,” I said, halfway between a chuckle and a sigh. “A lot of grown-ups need to believe in Heaven,” I said, thoughtfully. I chewed on the thought for a while, and added, almost without thinking, “Maybe even more than kids,” I said. “Life is even scarier when you’re a grown-up and there’s no one to step in and take care of you.”

“But you can take care of yourself,” she said. “You don’t need anyone else.”

I laughed-sighed again. We stopped to watch a couple of squirrels chase each other up and down a tree. They moved so fast that they shook the slim tree, which rained tiny sunsets down on us. “I used to think that when I was a kid, too.”

October 3

*sigh*

October 4

This morning I woke up and realized that I didn’t see Zahina at all yesterday. I haven’t missed seeing her, at least for a few minutes, since her mother died. I started to beat myself up and then I stopped and realized that she probably didn’t even notice. I went over to Danae’s house and sure enough, Zahina didn’t seem to have noticed my absence. I was a little insulted, but mostly relieved. I actually thought that I was off the hook until she brought out the birthday card she made especially for me. So, of course, the message I sent was that she’s good enough for me to hang out with on ordinary days, but not on really special days.

Of course, I don’t even enjoy my birthday the way I used to, although this one had nice elements to it, so it’s a bit of an unfair assessment on Zahina’s part -- not that she said anything. But she’s a kid and her birthday is still the best day of the year. Fortunately, she had her sixth birthday before her mother died, so I don’t have to worry about that for another nine months. Zahina got me a present to go along with the card. She made me a journal as well. It’s just two pieces of cardboard with a collection of scrap paper inside, some with her own faint scribbles on them, but it is probably the best present I have ever received. I’ll keep it in the cave, the only place I can wear my own face.

There was a huge party for me here. It didn’t have real food, because that party is next week as part of Karen’s welcome. There were lots of people from court, and my cousins of course. No one paid any more attention to me than they usually do, although I heard a lot of “Happy Birthday,” rather than the usual “How are you”. The former phrase was not any less dismissive than the latter. I wore a beautiful, soft-feeling, pointed-looking dress that Adora designed for me. I would have been the hit of the season back home, but here I wasn’t looked at twice. Adora did my hair and make-up as well. I think she likes the Winter fashions better than the Summer version.

I feel bad that she goes through all this trouble to make me look fantastic and her efforts go unnoticed. I’ve asked her to help me come up with a way to incorporate the two looks over time, so that I can retain my chilly atmosphere, but in a softer way; like snow, rather than hail. She showed me twelve sketches, to represent the next year. I can not wait for next October.  I should be with baby, beautiful, and beloved by then. I have to find a way to soften my image at court, aka public opinion, but being Danae is helping with that. 

If I went by the way false kindness that Summerians use to show disdain, I would just go from being Winter cold to Summer cold. But as Danae I get a chance to get treated a certain way by strangers and friends alike. Which reminds me. I have another date with Hon on the sixth, and a date with my husband tomorrow. I get cool tingles when I think about going out with my husband, but I get warm fuzzies when I think about going out with Hon. If I were not determined to fall in love with my husband, I might be able to love Hon. I kind of wish I could; he is a wonderful man, and he really deserves a nice woman. Then again, I’m not a nice woman, so it’s better that I can’t be with him.

The human heart is a funny thing. I have almost no physical attraction to Hon, but my emotional attraction grows each time we meet, which transforms into a physical sensation. All I have for my husband are physical sensations, but none that are based on trust or humor or liking, so they just kind of bubble up and disappear like a cola that is left out too long. I need to be able to bond with my husband on a true, emotional level, and not as Danae. 

I need to show him the cave, and soon. November 1st. By November first, we have to have bonded to enough of a degree that I can show him something like that and not be afraid that he is going to turn it against me. I have to trust that he wants Summerians and Winterians to live in peace, and that he is not just using me to save Summerians and kill all the Winterians. Instincts tell me that he would not do such a thing, but instincts can get a girl in troube, so I have to be practical as well. By November first, I have to be able to smile and laugh, and to be next-year pretty. Danae must help me to do this. I will speak to her tomorrow.

Samson continues to “wow” our clients, but he also continues to give me all the credit. Logically, it is the best course of action, but we have to be careful to make sure that it doesn’t go on too long, otherwise a) Samson will become resentful even though it was his idea to give me credit, and b) I will never be able to wean the public off of me (Danae) and onto Samson. I sigh. There is another consideration. I can not assume that Samson is going to live, any more than Danae and her husband should have assumed that they’d live forever. I have to make provisions, in case he becomes another person who abandons me.

October 5

I had another date with my husband tonight. He took me to this park Farmer Bohn and Danae used to go to when they were kids. It made me wonder how long he’s been pretending to be a farmer. It also made me nervous that he’s known Danae for so long. He kissed my cheek and took a quick glance at my clothes. I was wearing a short, yellow summer dress with white lacy pants that flare out at the knee and gold, strappy sandals that lace up the calf and show through the pants. Eliava basically dressed me from head to toe. I would not have chosen the outfit for myself, I was a bit self conscious of the way she curled my hair as well, but when I saw myself in the mirror, I thought I could have been born in Summer.

I’ve seen my husband look at other women the way he looked at me, and I was glad that I let Eliava dress me. I guess I reminded him of Danae at a younger age, because he said, “Do you remember the park we used to go to when we were kids?”

“No.” I shot him a glance through a wave of hair that Eliava had arranged over my left eye. “Why don’t you remind me?” 

Tremors caused by his laugh, tingled their way through my veins. 

The park was a small one, with a field for Summer sports, a few swing sets, and some metal contraptions for climbing on. He made me climb to the top of a big, shaky metal cage shaped like a spaceship, pointed straight into the air. The thing was at least three stories tall, and as we climbed up short metal ladder, he told me about all the kids who had climbed the spaceship and fallen -- dying or breaking limbs – throughout the years. The spaceship shook more, the higher we climbed and I would have been inclined to believe him if space between the bars of the cage had been wider than five inches. He climbed before me, and stopped when I laughed.

“You can’t scare me,” I said. “I’ve climbed spaceships higher than this one in my lifetime.”

He looked down at me and quirked a brow. “You have?”

“Yes.” I leaned back, allowing my arms to take my weight, my feet wedged onto a rung below. “When I was a kid my father was a spaceship engineer and I used to go visit. You remember back in the day, those horrible, non-aerodynamic, boxy shapes they used to make?” At his nod, I continued. “I used them as stairs, and could climb all the way to the top.”

“Hah,” he said. He resumed climbing, and reached the cockpit, then settled back to wait for me. “Was there ever danger of them taking off with you on top?”

“Yes.” I laughed, and reached the “cockpit” myself. He pulled me up and I sat facing the wheel. If it had been a real spaceship the wheel would have been positioned on the floor, but as it was, it looked like a steering wheel of a car. It squeaked gently as I steered us nowhere. “Once, I was on top until after the ship started up. I got scared at the vibrations, and started to climb down, but got stuck. The step had been much easier to climb UP when the spaceship wasn’t vibrating. Fortunately, I was right in front of a window.” I turned to my husband. “I wish I could implant the memory of the pilot’s face, when she saw me on the nose of the ship.” I tried to imitate the face, but I could feel it wasn’t as good as the original.

He laughed anyway. “Wow. You’re lucky you’re not space refuse right now.”

I shrugged. “There was no real danger. My father was already looking for me, and every ship was on lock-down until I was found. I was always trying to sneak off to Spring or Autumn or –“ I realized that I was about to say Summer and changed it to “W-Winter” at the last second.

“You were an explorer,” he said. “What made you change to architecture?”

I realized that I’d been telling him about a real story about myself. If he and Danae had known each other as kids, he must have known Danae’s father as well. He didn’t seem to notice, though, and I realized that he probably had focused more on Danae, than her family when they got together. I made a mistake, though. Now I can never tell him that story as myself because it’s Danae’s story. Damn. It’s one of my favorites, though. I recovered quickly; it’s only now that I’m getting tripped up by these thoughts. “I still get to travel,” I said. “And now I can contribute to the landscape.” It’s true enough for Danae – she has her designs on all four planets, including one on Winter. I turned away from him, though, surprised that I had opened up like that. 

“My father was very educated,” he said. “He married a woman who was not as educated or as rich as he was. He moved to her land and became a farmer, but he always insisted that I learn what he knew. He used to take me out on the tractor, and he’d give me statistics about the working man and how the king depended on him and that we were very important.” His voice was quiet and confidential. At first I was glad that he’d opened up, but then I realized that he was confiding in me as Farmer Bohn, not as the king of Summer. He pulled me back toward him, and I rested my back against his chest, my head cradled in the nook next to his neck. “It was kind of confusing,” he said, “to be Just a Farmer, but to be told how important I was. When I was really young I believed him, and then when I was a teenager, I thought that the peasants were not important.”

“And now,” I said, lulled by his quiet voice and my attempt to decode his anecdote.

“Now I realize more than ever how important the working man is,” he said. “The working man doesn’t care about matters of state. His concern is being able to buy food tablets for his family and keep a roof over their head and to not have them running around naked after a certain age. Yet, the farmer makes sure everyone else eats, that everyone else is able to feed and clothe their kids. All a king does is talk, talk, talk – and his job is important in its own way, but it’s more of a philosophical job than a practical one. A king things and plans and tactics and plots and acts and seduces – but he doesn’t work.”