Free Woman of Silk and Stone by Mattie Dunman Page B

glorious, carved out of what seemed to
be one great cave of sand-colored marble. Strains of glimmering
amber wove through the stone, catching the firelight from a second,
smaller fireplace, encasing the room in a jeweled glow. A toilet
similar to the one in Damki's spa waited behind a blue wooden
partition painted with images of thin, tan people bathing.
Stretched along one wall, a long mahogany table was covered with
perfume bottles, scented oils, soaps, lotions, and other toiletries
I couldn't wait to get my hands on.
    A bathtub that seemed to be carved out of
the same piece of marble as the rest of the room took up a good
quarter of the space; it was big enough for three or four people at
once, and was deep enough to cover my hips while standing. A short
staircase led in and out of the tub so I wouldn't have to employ
any gymnastics to maneuver it, and a soft glow seemed to emanate
from the stone, as though it were lit from within.
    I had noticed that there didn't seem to be
any signs of electricity in use here, but Solis apparently utilized
a different means of lighting. There were torches and candles
aplently, but placed strategically around the rooms were fist-sized
stones that shone without heat and emitted a gentle ambient light
that was rather soothing. I wasn't sure if it was a natural
property of the stone or some kind of magic, but I was glad I
wouldn't be dependent on candles for light.
    Hali had shown me the splendor in which I
was to live, her voice gaining strength and confidence as she
observed my wide-eyed awe. I barely took any of it in initially,
longing for the moment when I might be alone to try and regain some
of my equilibrium.
    By the time Hali left, promising to return
for me in a few hours for the evening meal, my level of
functionality resembled that of a twenty-four year old zombie. She
seemed a bit worried to leave me, asking if I wanted a servant to
help me bathe or just generally hover around getting in the way,
but I declined. I knew there was an explosion of emotion coming
soon, and I really didn't want some poor innocent getting caught in
the blast.
    So there I sat, running my fingers along the
softest coverlet on the biggest, fluffiest bed I could imagine, in
the middle of my own "special" chambers in a spectacular palace in
an enchanted kingdom, and all I could think of was my tiny desk in
my microscopic cubicle in a cramped office in D.C.
    With a great shuddering sigh, I finally, and
for the last time, allowed myself to acknowledge that life as I
knew it was over. Everything started anew here; I couldn't carry my
old insecurities with me into this brave new world, or expect
things to work the same, or to even understand the motivations of
those around me.
    And I gave myself a moment to realize that
despite my mostly aloof relationship with my parents, I would never
see them again, and they would never know what happened to me.
    The tears came swiftly then, a rising tide
of grief and resignation that far overwhelmed any antipathy I
usually felt towards my mother and father. They had been a
predominately indifferent presence in my life, not cruel or
abusive, but detached, and perversely, the times they actually paid
attention to me, I wished for them to leave me alone. Still, for a
moment I permitted myself to remember the trip to Jekyll Island
when I was twelve, the only time I ever travelled with my
parents.
    Mom and Dad were, if such a thing is
possible, aristocratic hippies. The offspring of two prominent
political activists from the 1960s, my parents had an inherited
sense of responsibility for the progression of mankind, the
environment, wheatgrass, and a number of other worthy causes, none
of which included hands-on parenting.
    They used to do community building workshops
all across the country and, oddly enough, in India, but they never
took me along. I was always a distraction because I wasn't
enthusiastic about the role of pamphlet passer-outer; silly me, I
was more interested in