The Bridge To Nihon (BOOK ONE)

Chapter 3 - Aunt Sybil

Sofia expected to be reprimanded, but Aunt Sybil merely led her to the small bathroom at the back of the house, then disappeared up the stairs without saying a single word.

The fire in the bathroom was already burning, even though Aunt Sybil was usually obsessed with saving firewood. To her, a single moment of warmth in an empty room was the embodiment of wastefulness. It was Uncle Tomas' duty to provide the wood, either by cutting it himself or buying it from a neighbor, and he could never be trusted to procure enough in time. Maybe that played a role in Aunt Sybil's stinginess, too.

Sofia quickly removed her wet clothes. She took a cloth and was pleasantly surprised that the water was already hot. She rubbed the cold from her body until she was red and warm and prickly.

Despite this comfort, she couldn't shake an eerie feeling. The bathroom had been prepared as if for an important visitor. How long had Aunt Sybil known what was going on outside? Had she been watching from the window? Had she heard what Orì and Sofia had talked about? And why had she taken the time to prepare the bathroom beforehand?

Sofia couldn't picture her aunt taking deliberate time for any domestic task. Aunt Sybil was not the kind of woman who took pride in her home, nor in her child-rearing skills. Sofia didn't understand her aunt's character and behavior, but she didn't question them, either. While she didn't think of her as a maternal figure, she had no memory of her own mother, and therefore nothing to compare her to. Pip and Tin didn't have a mother either, so Sofia didn't know what she was missing, except from books, and she tended to skip over the parts that spoke of families with too much tenderness.

After putting on the clothes Aunt Sybil had laid out for her – for the first time since she could remember – Sofia looked at herself in the mirror. Usually, when she considered her appearance, which she didn't do often, she saw a girl with no distinct features. But now that she was able to compare herself to Orì, she found that she looked very different from her.

Orì had been tall and slim as if pulled to the maximum of her length by some invisible force. Her light blue complexion and silver hair had given her an otherworldly appearance as if she would be neither cold nor warm to the touch. She had been fluid and slippery as if she was neither fixed in time nor in space, but changeable, mercurial. Sofia had not trusted her, and she felt that she had been right not to.

Sofia herself was tall for her age, though she didn't know this. She was taller than Pip and Tin, but she thought that maybe it was normal for girls to be taller and stronger than boys. She had brown hair that was always messy, even though she brushed it every morning, unknotting the strands until tears came to her eyes. Her eyes had an undefined muddy color which Sofia secretly resented because girls in books had blue or green eyes or even the color of violets. Her skin was becoming more tan with every day she spent outside.

She wondered what Orì had seen when she had looked at her. She had never thought about other people looking at her and forming an opinion of her. If she never saw the blue girl again, would she remember her? And how would she remember her?

With one last unsatisfied glance into the mirror, Sofia left the bathroom. The house was quiet. Uncle Tomas had spent the night with his drinking buddies and was still asleep, and Aunt Sybil had taken up her duties upstairs as if nothing had happened.

Sofia considered her usual tactics for joining her aunt, bringing her something, or coming up with a phony question. She decided that this wasn't necessary for once.

She walked up the narrow spiral staircase, curiously feeling herself tread into her aunt's footsteps. What must it be like to climb these stairs every day? The walls were cramped, and she had to be careful not to bump her head. When she had been smaller, she had sometimes run up these stairs - to Aunt Sybil's horror - and had always come away with bruises on her elbows and knees. Now, as she had grown, there was no question of running anymore, the space was much too tight.