After the first few weeks, I didn’t know what day it was.
By that, I don’t mean that I didn’t know if it was a Monday or a Tuesday. I didn’t know if it was a Monday or a Saturday. The only day I ever knew that summer was Sunday, which was marked by church bells and the voices of the psaltes (singers) in the nearby churches.
I stared at the ceiling and thought that each of us has our own unshakable, fundamental truths that we cherish and from which all other thoughts and emotions derive. My own truths were passionless and simple: that this world is cruel and predatory, that human greed and selfishness are appropriate and, perhaps, even necessary responses – and that redemption is the delusion of fools. I thought I knew Kerryn’s truths as well: despite all she’d been through, she believed this world to be abundant and benevolent, a manifest and shining sanctuary meant to be shared by all its sentient creatures.
I wondered if we were both wrong . . . if we were both right.