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My father looked at me lovingly.
"Good, Myrina," he lied. "I've had a good night's sleep. Thanks for asking." Then he folded up his newspaper and reached into the bread basket.
"I heard Chris planned to take you for a walk today," he said, his face also shadowed with concern.What's going on here?"You should eat a good breakfast. Who knows how long you'll be out," he trailed off while giving Chris a penetrating look and handed me a roll, which I took to my plate. I had thoroughly lost my appetite around this mystery.
But I was not so stupid as to ignore my father's advice. So I forced myself to eat the baked goods, even though my throat was closing. Something terrible had happened, and it affected me.
"Then let's get going quickly, Chris. It's relatively quiet in the park this time of day. I love it when all you can hear is the rustling in the elms," I gushed as a young maid entered the room with a pot of coffee.
"Let me have another coffee, and then we'll head out. You'll be able to hold out that long, won't you?" My big brother teased me, and I was about to stick out my tongue like I did as a kid. Chris, of course, had recognized this immediately and started laughing uproariously. It was nice to see him so happy. Laughter had become a rarity. I could no longer suppress a giggle; even my father was grinning from ear to ear.
For a brief moment, the pressure and the burden had fallen off them. I also felt the knot in my stomach loosen. I should probably eat a second roll after all. I courageously took one from the basket and spread strawberry jam on it. Maybe I hadmisinterpreted everything, and Chris just wanted to take me for a spin in Central Park.
Half an hour later, I walked on Chris' arm down East 69th Street towards Central Park. Early in the morning, it was fortunately not yet so hot. Now and then, a cool breeze strayed under the skirt of my dress and swirled refreshingly around my legs.
My brother had insisted on a parasol. I couldn't say whether this was meant for me, who would melt like ice in the blazing sun in the long-sleeved dress, or for him so that he wouldn't get sunburned with his fair skin.
Chris was silent. Although he strolled, I felt a restlessness in him that almost drove me crazy, but I did not know what triggered it.
At the height of East 72nd Street, we entered the park and, at the same time, a completely different world. The perpetual street noise of Manhattan increasingly disappeared into the background, and instead, the birds sang together with the leaves in the wind. Of course, not everything here was the same as before the Knights of the Seals took over. This became especially clear when we turned into The Mall, New York's boulevard. It used to be lined with small stalls, hot dog carts, and artists showing off their skills, whether painting, singing, music, or other performances. It was colorful. It was alive. The Brotherhood had destroyed all this—only nature they could not banish.
Sadness overcame me, and I turned to my brother before it could turn to anger. "So silent this morning? How's the work going at St. John's?"
An uncertain smile flitted across his face. "Good, Myrina. Everything is going well. Thank you for asking," he repeated the sentence my father had already put in front of me for breakfast. A mirthless laugh rose in me. How far had it come if no onedared to speak freely about their feelings anymore? What would become of our society?
"You don't want to talk about it. I see!" I replied, a little annoyed. "Then, at least share your worries with the one upstairs." Demonstratively, I stretched a finger toward the sky.
"I will. Thank you, Myrina," my brother sighed, clearly unhappy. "How are you? How are the preparations for the wedding going?" he asked me—a topic I didn't want to discuss right now.
Grinning, I rolled my eyes. "Good, Chris. Everything is going well. Thanks for asking!"
"You are and will always be a cheeky brat. Poor Alex. Does he know what he's getting himself into?" he laughed.
"I should hope so. After all, he knows me better than I know myself," I replied, playfully indignant. "Just as I know you inside out and know when something is wrong. So, out with it!" I said more energetically than I had planned.
Nervously, Chris looked around. "Let's walk to the fountain. We can sit down there and talk a bit. Walking and talking simultaneously is not my thing," he urged in an uncertain voice.
At the well? The last few years have taught me a lot, and I knew a conversation at a fountain must be very serious. After all, the murmur and splash of the water made it almost impossible to overhear one.
My knees went weak for a brief moment. What was it Chris and Dad wanted me to know?
To the left of us, behind the fence that lined the entire path, I discovered a pile of stones. Startled, I stopped and stepped a little closer. Sadness, anger, and hopelessness enclosed my heart, holding it tightly in its grip. These stone ruins in the green grass had once been the base of a magnificent statue. A monument honoring the rights of women. It had depicted three women from history, all of whom, in their own way, had pavedthe way for women of later generations to fight for the rights they had hoped for. These bronze figures had not been that old, and that they had now been removed was a sign of how little we had left. Any rights had been taken from us, including the right to vote. Everything these three heroines stood for had been granted to us only briefly.
My brother stepped next to me and put an arm around my shoulders. To avoid screaming loudly, I clenched my fists and jaws. This had been a symbol—a symbol of hope. But apparently, all hope had been destroyed—a puny remnant, like this pile of stones here.
"Come on, Myrina. Let's keep moving," Chris urged. His brown eyes were lined with fear that I would have a breakdown here in the middle of The Mall. I nodded silently and let him lead me away, further along the walkway that passed many more statues. But none had played such a significant role in women's rights. I glanced back one last time.
Someone has to stop this madness!
CHAPTER 5
We were silent for the rest of the walk, and I kept my gaze lowered. The sight of the lifeless paths in this park, once the city's beating heart, was too painful.
As soon as we reached the end of the promenade, we walked down the steps that took us into the underpass. A tunnel with its ancient-looking columns and the small tiles on the ceiling reminded us of a hall in a Greek or Roman bathhouse. As a child, I always hid behind the columns, driving my mother crazy. Was it the memory that took my breath away with cold claws or the cooler temperatures here beneath the elevated level blasted from the original rock gneiss? Seeing Central Park today, no one could imagine this landscape had once been a wilderness with granite-streaked rocks and had only been formed into a park by human hands.
On the other side of this pedestrian passage, we stepped out onto Bethesda Terrace, which offered a spectacular view of the lake, reflecting the sun's rays high in the sky.
"Let's sit on the fountain's edge and rest a bit," my brother suggested, his voice betraying an underlying nervousness. Determined, he grabbed my arm and pulled me toward the lake.His hand was clammy, which fueled my anxiety. To distract myself, I looked at the statue on Bethesda Fountain.
