(no subject)
“A country long divided…a country long divided by…a country long divided by differences in….”
Cally placed her finger on the paragraph she was trying to read and closed her eyes. She rubbed her left eye with the hand not marking her place, and glanced over at Segal whose tiny desk was adjacent to her equally tiny one.
Segal was face down on the open book, breathing slow and even. She had told Cally to wake her up in twenty minutes if she did not wake herself up. Cally checked the clock. It had been two minutes since Segal had started her nap.
The room was quiet and there were only four lights on-the desk lamp at each desk where research was going on. Julian and Matthew had gone outside for some fresh air and a smoke.
She looked at the legal pad next to her book, filled with notes on what she had been reading. What they all were reading. Notes to brief the ambassador and his entourage on Turkey, as the Turkish ambassador was arriving the day after tomorrow.
It was really quite fascinating, especially since Turkey was so close to the influence of Soviets, but it was also past one o’clock in the morning.
She eyed the rather impressive and brooding grandfather clock ticking in the corner. Three minutes had passed since she last checked.
The window was open and Cally could hear the sounds of the street below. Voices, automobiles breathing past on the street, a strain of music now again; not so much loud as sharp in the cooler air. Cally moved from her chair and drifted toward the window. Propping her cheek on her left hand, elbow resting on the sill, she looked out at the winking lights of the city, at the bright spots on the lawn of the embassy, at the guards on duty below. Like ghosts when in shadow, then suddenly becoming glaringly real in the floodlights.
It was an old city and Cally liked that. Filled with ghosts; filled with life. Unsettled.
The baroque clock whirred a little as its long hand ticked off another minute, coming closer to striking half past. Distantly, Cally heard in her mind the whir of the simpler, smaller clock that stood in the hall in a shaft of sunlight on a fall afternoon--
--her mother’s foot on the stair--
--tea in the yellow teapot--
--bare feet on the hardwood floor--
--her father waiting with a blanket over his legs--
“See something interesting out there?” Segal’s sentence was swallowed in a yawn.
The clock struck half an hour, twenty minutes since Segal had put down her head.
Turning as the chime died away, Cally shook her head slightly with a slight smile on her face and went back to her desk.
Just ghosts.
Cally placed her finger on the paragraph she was trying to read and closed her eyes. She rubbed her left eye with the hand not marking her place, and glanced over at Segal whose tiny desk was adjacent to her equally tiny one.
Segal was face down on the open book, breathing slow and even. She had told Cally to wake her up in twenty minutes if she did not wake herself up. Cally checked the clock. It had been two minutes since Segal had started her nap.
The room was quiet and there were only four lights on-the desk lamp at each desk where research was going on. Julian and Matthew had gone outside for some fresh air and a smoke.
She looked at the legal pad next to her book, filled with notes on what she had been reading. What they all were reading. Notes to brief the ambassador and his entourage on Turkey, as the Turkish ambassador was arriving the day after tomorrow.
It was really quite fascinating, especially since Turkey was so close to the influence of Soviets, but it was also past one o’clock in the morning.
She eyed the rather impressive and brooding grandfather clock ticking in the corner. Three minutes had passed since she last checked.
The window was open and Cally could hear the sounds of the street below. Voices, automobiles breathing past on the street, a strain of music now again; not so much loud as sharp in the cooler air. Cally moved from her chair and drifted toward the window. Propping her cheek on her left hand, elbow resting on the sill, she looked out at the winking lights of the city, at the bright spots on the lawn of the embassy, at the guards on duty below. Like ghosts when in shadow, then suddenly becoming glaringly real in the floodlights.
It was an old city and Cally liked that. Filled with ghosts; filled with life. Unsettled.
The baroque clock whirred a little as its long hand ticked off another minute, coming closer to striking half past. Distantly, Cally heard in her mind the whir of the simpler, smaller clock that stood in the hall in a shaft of sunlight on a fall afternoon--
--her mother’s foot on the stair--
--tea in the yellow teapot--
--bare feet on the hardwood floor--
--her father waiting with a blanket over his legs--
“See something interesting out there?” Segal’s sentence was swallowed in a yawn.
The clock struck half an hour, twenty minutes since Segal had put down her head.
Turning as the chime died away, Cally shook her head slightly with a slight smile on her face and went back to her desk.
Just ghosts.