I type this from my hotel room at the Wyndham Princeton Forrestral Hotel. I've spent the past few days shopping like a maniac. The New Jersey 7% sales tax is so much kinder than LA county... and no sales tax on clothes!
It is 12:30 EST at the moment and tomorrow I check in to school. The day after that, I embark on a week long backpacking trip, possibly with some canoeing and rock-climbing. Then..
. school...
That was a surprisingly boring update on my life. I shall spice it up with an excerpt from the Parallax novelization.
PARALLAX
Chapter One-The Old Maid, and the Young Male One
Lanat Atis looked into the gently shifting water and gazed at his own reflection. He saw a young face, burdened with the weight of hardship and misfortune, pale and heavy-eyed from lack of sleep. Above this face, nestled in a wreath of auburn hair, was the symbol of his servitude – a dainty lace headband.
The water clouded and his reflection dissipated as Lanat poured the toilet cleanser into the bowl and began scrubbing away. Cleaning the toilet was a demeaning task, but at least he didn’t have to be seen by other people.
Lanat Atis had endured nineteen years of humiliation, subjugation, and compromise. A sampling of his résumé in degradation included shoveling camel dung, crawling through endless tunnels of filth in the mines, and collecting snake corpses. In retrospect, cleaning an already spotless toilet didn’t seem so bad.
If Lanat were the complaining type, he would have objected to his employer about the maid dress he had been forced to wear during work hours. What bothered him about the dress wasn’t the high hemline that kept hiking up his thighs every time he climbed one of the many flights of stairs in the Fitzwilliam mansion, nor the lace edging, nor the ridiculously large satin ribbon tied in a bow behind his back, not even the collar necklace (with lace edging on it).
It was the fishnet stockings.
When Lanat was a child, he had once gone to the monthly village market with his mother. She spent most of the trip complaining to Lanat about a pair of stockings.
“Fishnet, of all things!” Miranda had muttered, shielding the young Lanat’s eyes. “Absolutely no shame at all, these young creatures nowadays…”
Lanat had never seen a fish in his life, as he had never left the high peaks of Khios. But he was sure that even if he did see a fish he wouldn’t want to eat it.
Lanat bent over the toilet, putting the finishing touches on his cleaning job. He couldn’t help but take a small amount of personal pride that he managed to keep the frilly sleeves from getting wet.
“LANAAAT!” The voice of his employer, Clara Fitzwilliam, broke through Lanat’s silent reverie, followed by the furious ringing of a miniscule crystal bell. Involuntarily, he twitched at the sound. Ms. Fitzwilliam had trained all of her servants to respond to a uniquely pitched bell. As luck would have it, Lanat had been assigned the bell with the highest timbre. It was a monstrous little thing, about half the size of Lanat’s thumb and engraved with horrid dainty butterflies.
Ms. Fitzwilliam had given the bell three short shakes, followed by one longer roll, which Lanat had been trained to interpret as an order to go to her boudoir.
He washed his hands, being careful to keep the sleeves dry, and left the shining porcelain of the bathroom.
“Lanat Atis,” began Ms. Fitzwilliam haughtily as he entered her boudoir. She had not bothered to rise or even turn her head from the armchair in which she was lounging. “Come here at once. I have a matter of utmost urgency to discuss with you.”
Here is a photo of the actual statue from a different angle.
If there ever comes a day when I have lost the capacity to weep over characters drawn of line and ink...
