Garder mon Ame

Chapter Fourteen: Mother

The threefold terror of love; a fallen flare
Through the hollow of an ear;
Wings beating about the room;
The terror of all terrors that I bore
The Heavens in my womb.

Had I not found content among the shows
Every common woman knows,
Chimney corner, garden walk,
Or rocky cistern where we tread the clothes
And gather all the talk?

What is this flesh I purchased with my pains,
This fallen star my milk sustains,
This love that makes my heart's blood stop
Or strikes a Sudden chill into my bones
And bids my hair stand up?

~William Butler Yeats

Danae Lux was sleeping in that morning. Her husband had drove the kids to school and the baby to daycare. He left quietly, but not before handing her a single, red rose and wishing her a happy Mother's Day. The quiet was crushing, so she had to turn on her classical music. She listened for the cellos and dozed back off. The peaceful morning accompanied by Bach was what she needed. No crying. No yelling. No disappointment. Just calm.

Ardin stepped into the room and turned the radio off.

"I hate Bach," she said, and Pride merely laughed.

Her mother stirred a bit and blinked her green eyes open, alert to the sound of silence. She rolled over in her neatly-made bed, and she started when she saw Ardin and Pride standing just inches from her once-relaxed form. She blinked a few more times with deliberate force, and she even rubbed her eyes like a small child.

"What is it, Mom?" Ardin asked. She did not hide the mordancy. Too many years of hiding the derision, she supposed.

What else was there for Danae to say? "You're dead."

"Always so blunt! I do not know how similar that makes us. Not that it matters much, anyways," Ardin said.

"I . . . I haven't been able to sleep. I haven't slept since you . . . well, you know."

Ardin scowled. "Huh. That's funny. You sure seemed content this morning. Or was that an act like everything else? Could you sense that I was coming?"

Danae ignored the mockery and turned to Pride. "Who are you?"

"My name is Pride, madam," he said, giving her a small bow. "I'm much better at expressing it, but I suppose you and I function with the same sentiment. But what would one be without humble satisfaction?"

"You rise far above that," Ardin mumbled to Pride, who just chuckled in return. "Both of you."

"Ardin . . . I don't . . . what's going on?" She was now rubbing her temples as though figuring there was something wrong with her head. If only a forceful rub to the head could slay the demons and nightmares! Ardin knew how futile her mother's attempts at making sense of the situation were.

"'How do I love thee? Let me count the ways.'" Ardin sighed and fumbled with her gun. Pride had brought along a pistol of his own, and he was polishing it with a handkerchief.

"Ardin?"

"What, Mom? What is there to say now that I'm dead? Or maybe I did not ask the right question. How do you love me? How do you love us? Shall I 'count the ways?'" When Danae did not speak, Ardin continued. "Let's start with me. The daughter you never wanted. The one who ruined your music career and forced you to be a stay-at-home mom. The doctor would not perform the abortion because you were too far along." Danae's eyes widened. "Yeah, I know about that. I also know about my dad. You did not want to say that you ruined your life with consent, so you threw around the 'rape' word. I haven't heard about him in a while. Is he still in jail, Mom?"