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But my mother, who is quite religious, insists that the gods and goddesses have their hand on the tiller, so to speak, when it comes to Bilgonith.
And part of me might agree with her, though I’ll never admit it out loud to her.
Because in my eyes, Bilgonith is the perfect place to live.
It is as warm and muggy as the rest of Ikoth. It is a port city, and the population is quite small.
Bilgonith’s beach stretches on for miles and miles, as far as the eye can see, and most of its citizens live right near the beach.
Despite being smaller than Sarziroch, Bilgonith is almost as prosperous as the bigger city, although it is a lot cleaner. This is because a lot of Sarziroch’s trade comes through the ports here.
Now, Elia and I walk down the boardwalk, towards the far end of the port. We walk hand in hand, and we have been receiving unabashed, unashamed glances from strangers all morning.
Elia is obviously tense, although I warned her that this would happen.
But I think she is also anxious because she is about to meet my mother.
“I don’t know how this is going to go,” I tell her, my voice gentle, when we are about ten minutes away from my mother’s home. “But however it goes, remember that I love you. And nothing that anyone says will ever make me leave you.”
She nods, but her brow remains furrowed, and she continues to bite down on her lower lip.
My mother, who uses a crutch, walks heavily towards us when we round the corner of the seawall and walk up to the front of the house.
She gives a high-pitched scream, sending several black pitters flying into the air, and holds her arms out.
“Hello, mama.” I let go of Elia’s hand and go over to my mother. For some reason, hugging my mother brings me a lot less comfort than it used to.
“I’ve come home,” I tell her when I let her go. “I’m staying here forever. And I’ve brought someone to meet you.”
My mother pulls away from me and glances over at Elia, her shrewd eyes scanning my lover before she breaks into a smile.
“At least you finally brought someone home,” she turns to me, her voice stern, though there is a hint of mirth behind it. “And at least you aren’t that tiny, compared to the other human girls I’ve seen.”
This she tells Elia, whose face is red. But my mother’s apparent approval seems to dissolve some of the tension that Elia is feeling because she breaks into an uncertain smile.
“Now come in.” She ushers us into the house while leaning heavily on her crutch. I know that my mother is quite ill, and that there have been no improvements in her health recently.
But I also know that she is doing her best to remain cheerful, to make both Elia and I comfortable.
“I’ve been cooking since I got your letter,” she tells me.
I don’t miss the chair that is stationed at the kitchen window.She must have been waiting for me there since I sent her the letter,I think to myself.
“I told you not to go overboard, Ma,” I tell her as we sit down at the cramped kitchen table which groans underneath the weight of all the delicacies that my mother has cooked. “You know you’re not supposed to be on your feet for too long.”
My mother waves me off. Other signs of her illness are evident in her face and hands. Her skin used to be a bright red like mine. Now it is more purple, and it is constantly swollen, and it looks almost bruised.
Lumps have developed on the joints of her fingers, and I know she is dealing with a lump on her leg.
For a second, anxiety and anger surge through me. But Elia must notice because she reaches out to grab my hand.
We pray before we eat, though my mother never mentions any of the names of our gods or goddesses, as is the custom.
“Now.” My mother stands with difficulty after we finish eating. “Are you going to show Elia your surprise?”
Elia looks at me curiously as I lead her out of the house, towards a small structure that stands in the distance.
It is a cottage, which is closer to the beach than my mother’s house, though it is only a few minutes away from my mother’s home.
