Caladrius Feathers

Chapter Two - A Little History

Fifteen years ago I was born in a pathetic excuse for a cottage on the farthest outskirts of the kingdom. My mother was not much of a woman in the last year of her life. The nurse maid that lived with us for the first two years used to tell me how beautiful my mother was before she conceived me. She told me my mother had a charming way about her, and she could always make people laugh. Her physical appearance was very different from mine. She had been a full figured woman, with a rather generous chest. The nurse maid always rambled on about mother’s hair: Blonde curls that caressed her face. The only quality we shared was our eyes. They were a dark brown, almost black.

            Mother was a strange woman. Magdalene was her name. I vaguely recall times when she would sulk about the house, mumbling to herself. The slightest noise would make her jump, and around the evening she would have a crying fit, throwing furniture about the room and screaming words I could not understand. The nurse maid would sit her down in a corner of the room, arms restraining mother. Magdalene would continue to throw a fit for a moment or two before calming down. Then the nurse maid would sing a soft lullaby in her native tongue:

يالله تنام ريما 

Oh Lord ! Help Rima Sleep

يالله تنام ريما يالله يجيها النوم 

Oh Lord ! Help Rima Sleep , May she become sleepy

يالله تحب الصلاة يالله تحب الصوم 

May she grow loving to pray and to fast 

يالله تجيها العوافي كل يوم بيوم 

Oh God Make her healthier each day 

يالله تنام يالله تنام لادبحلا طير الحمام 

May she go to sleep and I will cook a delicious pigeon 

روح يا حمام لا تصدق بضحك عا ريما تتنام

- Go pigeon bird , don't believe what I am saying, I just say it so that Rima will sleep 

ريما ريما الحندقا شعرك أشقر و منقى 

Rima , Rima , beautiful rose of the prairies, you have shining blond hair

و اللي حبك بيبوسك اللي بغضك شو بيترقى 

The one who loves you shall kiss, and the one who hates you will go away

يا بياعي العنب و العنابية قولو لأمي قولو لبيي 

Oh merchants of grapes and of jujube , tell my mother and my father

خطفوني الغجر من تحت خيمة مجدليي 

the gypsies have kidnapped me from below the tent of "Majdaliyyeh"

و التشتشي التشتشي و الخوخ تحت المشمشه 

I will take you on a little trip, to place where there are prunes under the apricot tree

و كل ما هب الهوا لأقطف لريما مشمشه 

and each time the wind blows , I will pick an apricot for Rima

هاي و هاي و هاي لينا دستك لكنك عيرينا 

Hey Lina , lend us you kettle and you bowl 

تنغسل تياب ريما و ننشرهن عاليسمينا

So that we wash the clothes of Rima, and hang them up on the jasmine tree

            I never blamed Mother for the way she acted. I knew how she felt: looked down upon by her own people. But her mistakes made my life a living hell, and I did resent her for that. Although I guess in some ways that’s contradictory, considering the fact that I was my mother’s mistake. If I hadn’t come along, everyone’s life would be perfect. Father and Aiden wouldn’t be ashamed, the townspeople wouldn’t be bitter, and Mother wouldn’t have died.