“Sorry, Talin. I don’t know how to saygratitudein Karenese and I’m trying not to upset him.”
The prisoner watches me, curious. I want to ask him if he ever fought for the Federation. If he’s ever slaughtered my people, if his swords ever ran red with Basean blood.
We’re close enough now that I can smell the stench of his breath, the stale, unpleasant smell of someone who hasn’t eaten in weeks. I reach into my coat and pull out the bag of food I brought for him, some breads and dried fish I’d saved from my own rations. At my movement,the prisoner stiffens, stirring uneasily, and for a second I assume it’s because he thinks I’m pulling out a weapon. But even when he clearly sees the food in the bag, he doesn’t change his posture.
“I know you don’t want to eat,”I sign as Jeran translates, then slide the bag next to his feet.“But this is just in case you change your mind.”
He doesn’t bother picking up the bag. Instead, he peeks inside it before turning his head away in apparent disgust. From this angle, I can see the hollow pits of his cheeks, the shadows under his eyes.
“Eat,”I sign, now frustrated. But he doesn’t bother moving, and only after another long silence does he finally say something in reply.
Now Jeran looks genuinely awkward. “Er, he says he doesn’t like fish.”
I shoot Jeran a withering glance.“He doesn’t like fish?”I sign flatly.
“Maybe best not to belabor it,” Jeran says.
“The bread, then?”I sign to the prisoner, annoyed.
His lip curls in distaste, but this time he grabs the bag and takes out a hunk of bread. That’s when I see a slight movement wriggle from his shirt pocket. A small, furry head peeks out from it, its nose sniffing the air, beady eyes locked on the food. It’s a fat mouse with a missing tail. To my surprise, the man lifts his hand so the mouse can climb into his palm, then lowers the creature to the bread, where it puts its tiny foot-paws on the crust and starts nibbling away.
Beside me, Jeran makes a face and shudders. “I feel like it’s on me,” he whispers, his eyes locked on the mouse.
“Glad to know I brought food for your pet instead,”I sign at the prisoner.
He just shrugs, one thumb idly rubbing the mouse’s head. “It was here first,” Jeran translates with a queasy expression. “And it keeps me company.”
Something about the prisoner’s gentle movements around the mousemakes my dislike of him waver. I think of my father leaning beside me as we watched the butterfly’s chrysalis.
I sigh. “Tomorrow, you fall under my charge,”I sign instead, changing the subject.“So I thought we should get to know each other a little better before we spend more time together. Don’t you think?”
Still, he doesn’t answer.
“Were you born in the Federation?”I ask.
The first serious light comes into his eyes. His lips go flat, but he shakes his head. “I lived there for as long as I could remember,” Jeran says for him. The prisoner’s hands move unconsciously, like they will somehow help him explain, and I find myself searching for words and meaning in the gestures. After a while, he looks at me again. “You?”
“My mother and I fled here when your Federation conquered Basea.”
I can’t keep the bitterness out of my gestures, and he notices it. This time, Jeran hesitates.
“What did he say?” Iask him.
“At least your mother still lives,” Jeran replies quietly.
Anger flares white hot in me. Maybe it’d been a mistake to save this prisoner’s life. My mother has lived to bear the permanent scars of what the Federation had done to her, and I do not have the patience to listen to a former Karensan soldier shrug that off.
“What happened to yours?” Isign. If I had a voice, the words would have come out ice cold.
He looks away, refusing to contribute to our conversation. The mouse finishes nibbling and darts back into his shirt pocket.
“And your father?”
Still nothing.
“Why don’t you want to live anymore?”I ask him, my signs gentler now.
He pauses for a long time before he gives me a steady look. I watch his lips move as he speaks to Jeran.
