“Yes! What a wonderful idea!” I reply in my sister’s place, for having failed to reason with her once already today, I’m past caring about the breach of etiquette. If we were to send the guards away now, they would never return, but resume the distance I have fought so hard to bridge. “Please, do place it down on the table and take seats if you will.”
And with these words, the tiniest flicker of hope stirs in the depths of my heart. If you care for people, they will care for you. This is something Celestia has yet to comprehend. She is so set in her ways that I’m not sure if she will ever be able to see that.
“Thank you.” Captain Janlav chuckles. He strides toward the table with the gramophone. Alina and Merile flee out of his way, to hide behind the sofa chairs, but not because they are afraid of him. Rather, as if he were their older brother, someone who might lift them up and spin them around or playfully hang them in the air from their ankles.
“Alina, Merile, you can sit here on the sofa with me.” I pat the padded seat once, twice, to reinforce the invitation. Celestia won’t dare to disagree with me before the guards, her mastery of self-restraint becoming a weakness for me to exploit. “If we move a little, there will be space even for Rafa and Mufu.”
My little sisters do exactly as suggested, but Celestia and Sibilia are slower to realize how important this day may yet turn out to be. Sibilia shuffles to occupy the end of the table only after receiving a nod from Celestia. Our oldest sister broods opposite to her, her long fingers curling around the back of the sofa chair. After our heated argument, she doesn’t exactly trust me.
“This is an old model.” While Captain Janlav hustles with the gramophone, turning the metal crank a dozen or so times, the guards remain by the door. The instrument is ancient indeed. These days all machinery is powered by souls. “Boyek, you brought the discs, right?”
The guards exchange grins, relieved and proud as if this had by no means been an easy feat. But Boy’s pimpled face flushes as if he were caught red-handed. And that he was. Because even as he meanders his way to his captain, balancing a pile of paper sleeves against his widening chest, he’s still staring moon-eyed at Sibilia.
“May I see which songs we have to choose from?” Celestia speaks for the first time since the guards entered the room. I hope it’s only me who recognizes the tone. She’s more than slightly annoyed. This situation isn’t in her control. But it is in mine. “Ah, do lower them gently! The older discs may be brittle.”
Boy’s shoulders draw up to his chin, so high that his neck disappears altogether. I feel for him, for my sister’s chastisement. This isn’t how one treats one’s guests!
“Sibilia, dear,” I chirp in, “would you pick the first one?”
Let my sister’s presence bring back Boy’s cheer! For he sees her as she is, a girl grown into a woman, tall and lush, though wearing a gown too short on the sleeves and hem, sagging around the frame she hasn’t yet realized she possesses.
“Sure.” Sibilia shrugs, waving Boy to bring the discs over to her rather than Celestia. She browses through them, unaware of the hope she has stirred in this young man’s heart. She sees Boy only as he is, not as what he will become. He may be lanky, but soon he will grow to fill in his tunic and trousers, his narrowness will turn to pure muscle, his awkward steps to determined stride. “How about a waltz?”
Celestia studies us, lips pressed together as if she were a bird observing her subjects from between clouds, unwilling to sing, to let them even catch sight of her. I wonder if she will ever be willing to learn from me, acknowledge how well I handle this sort of situation. I doubt it. She doesn’t understand how everyday kindness is akin to a pebble rolling down a hill to join an avalanche.
“If you will allow me,” Captain Janlav offers, and soon the brittle black disc is spinning under the needle, and the grandiose strokes of the violins interlace with the bold brass notes. While my younger sisters lean their elbows against the oval table, the guards listen to the music from where each of them ended up. Captain Janlav is bent over the gramophone, cranking it when need be. Boy shifts his weight behind Sibilia’s chair. The other guards are still clustered by the closed door.
I don’t think they have heard music in ages either. For Beard has his eyes closed, lips parted under the brown whiskers. Boots taps the floor hesitantly. Tabard and Belly nod along as if they yearned to spin us—any girl, for that matter—around, but know that this isn’t the right time or place for such.
When the song ends, the guards look disappointed, but hopeful, too. No one dares to speak, for we are dazed by the simple beauty of the waltz, by the memories of better times that it has stirred in our souls. Finally, Beard clears his throat. He brandishes a small rectangular cardboard box. “I’ve got cards. Anyone fancy playing?”
My younger sisters turn to Celestia, to see how they should react. But again, before she can say that it wouldn’t be proper for us to play together, I hasten to reply, “Yes! That would be most delightful.”
“Come join us,” Celestia agrees, finally taking a seat herself, but the look she casts me speaks volumes. If I had hoped earlier that she would descend from the skies to join us, as a sister amongst sisters, that she hasn’t. She sees only that even in captivity, there are certain protocols to follow. She’s the oldest. The decisions should be hers. But she doesn’t understand either that the world has changed, that we must change with it or cease to be.
Captain Janlav and Boy and Beard and Tabard take the free chairs on the other side of the table, opposite to me. It’s an unexpected reflection of the dinners we shared during the winter months. Or not quite. Belly and Boots choose to stay by the door, leaning against the wall, with one knee raised. At ease, at least.
“A polka?” Sibilia suggests, holding another disc up for Captain Janlav. His hands tremble, barely visibly, and I don’t think anyone else notices this. What is he nervous about? Surely not being so close to us.
Then I realize it, and I should have realized it much sooner. The gramophone is the one from the garrison. Did he bargain for it or steal it? How much is he risking simply to cheer me up?
But as the buoyant polka starts, I push these thoughts aside. I shall not worry about the gramophone’s origins, even if Captain Janlav’s choices may have consequences later on. I shall enjoy that which is within my grasp now. Something I failed to do when enjoyments were available aplenty.
My sisters and I, we play family—no, Families, the card game—with the guards, and with a silent agreement, we let Alina win at least every other game. Perhaps not all change is for the worse. As I watch the guards laugh with my younger sisters, the grain of hope in my heart swells. To them, we are no longer only Daughters of the Moon, but also human beings, young girls, young women kept captive against our will. I hope Celestia sees this, too. We may not have the power to alter our fates, but it is within our power to make the last days of our sisters better.
I cast a warm look at Captain Janlav. He smiles back at me, arches his brow at the redness of my cheek. I shrug as if I had hurt it by accident. From his concern for my well-being, I know at last that I wasn’t naïve in placing my trust in him. He and his men will keep us safe as long as we obey the rules of the gagargi’s wicked game. That is more than I have asked for, hoped for.
And yet, no matter that I’m resigned to my fate, that of my sisters, I want more.
The polka ends, and it’s then that the door flings open.
Captain Ansalov’s beady green eyes gleam with ire as he takes in the scene: us sitting around the table, fans of cards in our hands. The black dog on Merile’s lap bounces up and growls at him. It senses the threat in the air, the promise of violence the captain carries with him everywhere he goes. “Ah, here it is.”