Chương 26: Chapter 25: Inadvertent Farewell

When Pira thrust the broom into her hands, the rough contact of wood against skin jolted Selena from her reverie. She blinked, like someone emerging from deep water, her fingers tightening around the handle with the strength of one needing to clutch something tangible to avoid drowning in the tangle of her own thoughts. —We split it half and half, Selena— Pira's voice was low, yet it carried the clarity of someone accustomed to being ignored, choosing every word with care.

—You take the back; I'll take from the gate to the well. Then we both gather the waste from the center. It's faster that way. Selena nodded, processing the instructions while her mind was still populated by dreamlike echoes and heretical phrases. —Yes, no problem. She turned and walked toward the far end of the patio, where the wooden fence separated the washrooms from the open space.

The packed earth floor was covered in a thin layer of dust deposited by the night wind, and the first footprints of the women who had already left traced irregular paths across its surface. She began to sweep. The movement was mechanical, almost hypnotic: push the bristles, gather the dirt into small mounds, step forward, repeat. The dust rose in small golden clouds in the morning light, dancing for an instant in the air before settling back onto the earth.

The minutes passed, marked only by the constant rhythm of the broom against the ground, that swish-swish that was already becoming familiar, almost comforting in its simplicity. Until she heard them. It was Maren and Enara. Both were speaking in low voices, that whispered tone people use when sharing things not meant to travel beyond chosen ears. Selena kept sweeping, letting the conversation float as background noise, just another murmur among the morning sounds.

But then, without intending to, she moved close enough that the words, once blurred, became clear and distinct. Maren's voice carried a particular weight, a gravity that wasn't her usual sadness, but something deeper. —I am sorry you have to leave today old Enara— she said, and Selena could hear her voice crack noticeably, like a dry branch yielding underweight. —No elderly woman deserves what you have been through. Left alone and abandoned. Selena stopped moving the broom.

The handle went still in her hands, the bristles resting on a half-formed mound of dust as she strained to listen. —You know I lost my children to the plague— Maren continued, and now every word was an effort, a shred of soul torn away with pincers. —And that I am alone, too. That is why... that is why I understand you. The silence that followed was more eloquent than any speech. Selena held her breath, feeling the air grow dense, as if the entire courtyard had paused in respect for that moment of shared pain.

Then came Enara's voice. Grave, serene, with that texture given by years of living and surviving, of losing and moving on. The author's tale has been misappropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon. —I know, little one. I know. A pause. The wind stirred the branches of nearby trees, and Selena heard the rustle of leaves mingling with the beat of her own heart. —My children...

they were selfish with me— Enara continued, and in her voice was a hint of something that could be resignation, or perhaps a sadness so old it had become part of her. —But there is no worse pain for a mother than what happened to you. Do not worry about this old woman. I am old, and I know how to look after myself. There, in those words, Selena heard something that chilled her blood: a fierce pride. She trembled. It was the pride of one who has survived the worst and still remains standing.

—Besides, with what I've been earning, gathering roots... — Enara went on —I have enough to pay for a small place. Until the shelter helps me again. Her voice softened then, adopting a maternal tone that, coming from that woman with gnarled hands and a hoarse voice broke Selena's heart in a way she couldn't explain. —We will see each other again, daughter. I promise you. Selena resumed sweeping.

The movement flowed automatically, but her thoughts spun like a flag in the wind, lashed by a revelation she hadn't wanted to see, hadn't wanted to notice since she arrived at this place. The shelter was temporary. No matter who you were. No matter how much you had suffered, how much you had lost, or how much you needed a roof. The time was determined, measured, counted. Fifteen days. Then, two months of waiting.

Two months on the streets, in the elements, in misery, before being able to request that straw pallet, that cup of hot tea, that piece of bread again. That was why those women of whom she was now a part saved. That was why they worked despite being disabled, despite their broken bodies screaming for rest. Because the roof was not guaranteed. It was only a respite from the streets, a brief truce in the endless war of survival.

But the reality of poverty was always there, lurking, waiting for the moment to reclaim them again, regardless of anything. Without realizing it, the task came to an end. It was Pira who, touching her shoulder gently, pulled her out of her abstraction. The silent woman, the dust-gatherer who barely spoke, looked at her with sad eyes and pointed to the mounds of refuse they had accumulated. —We have to pick it up— she said, her voice like the brush of coarse fabric. Selena obeyed.

She knelt, helping Pira gather the waste into the large wooden bucket, feeling the dirt, dry leaves, and the small fragments of daily life slip through her fingers. But her mind and heart remained squeezed by the scene she had witnessed, by the words of Enara and Maren, by that uncomfortable truth now revealed to her in all its harshness. The rest of the morning passed with its usual speed, that mixture of routine and urgency that characterized every day at the shelter.

The steaming porridge in the dining hall, the same taste of cooked grain and salt, the same comforting heat in an empty stomach. The collective prayer, the words of thanks to Aelthra that Selena repeated with her lips while her mind wandered elsewhere. Then, the farewell at the gate, that small, personalized ceremony Anya granted each woman before casting them into the torrent of the day. When Enara's turn came, the sister of charity, far from giving her the usual daily farewell, looked at her differently.

And then, without a word, Anya embraced her. It was a brief hug, lasting only a few seconds, but its eloquence was greater than any speech. When they pulled apart, Anya only smiled. That wide, tired, but genuine smile that was her way of saying everything that words could not encompass.