Prologue
The Face
Makol was twenty years old. He was still sitting in front of the large painting he had just finished, the brush now dry between his fingers and a quiet sense of satisfaction on his face. It had taken him weeks to complete it, months if he counted all the earlier attempts. But now it was her. At last. The long, thick red hair. The eyes he had known since he was a child. That smile he had seen so many times in his dreams without knowing where in the world it truly existed. Makol tilted his head slightly as he studied the painting. He was certain it would not be much longer now. He had seen her so clearly. At last, he had managed to give her a face on canvas. Somehow, he felt that he would meet her soon. The door to the room opened softly. His mother came in without making a sound. Naira took a few steps, then stopped. For a few seconds, she said nothing. She looked at the painting. Then at her son. Finally, she slowly sat down on the edge of the bed. “She’s beautiful.” Makol smiled without taking his eyes off the portrait. “I know.” Naira smiled too. She knew that face almost as well as he did. For years, she had listened to Makol describe it when he woke, back when he was still too young to understand what those dreams might mean. “What are you going to do?” she asked.
This time Makol turned to her. “I’ll wait for her.” He paused briefly. “And I’ll look for her.” Naira lowered her gaze to her hands. “You know there are other possibilities too.” Makol did not answer at once. “There are plenty of girls here as well,” she continued gently. “Girls who would be happy to get to know you.” “I know.” “And you could be waiting a long time.” Makol looked back at the painting. “I know that too.” Naira watched him in silence. “Then why are you so sure?” Makol set down the brush. “Because what if I chose another woman and then met her?” He indicated the portrait with a slight movement of his head. “What would I do? Destroy a family? Tell a woman I built a life with her while I was waiting for someone else?” Naira said nothing. Makol lowered his voice. “And besides, how could I?” “How could you what?” He almost laughed, embarrassed by how simple the answer was. “Touch another woman.” Naira raised an eyebrow slightly. Makol went on. “How could I kiss another mouth knowing hers exists somewhere in the world? How could I promise someone my whole life when I already know part of me belongs to her?” Naira looked at him for a few moments.
Then a slow, affectionate smile appeared on her face. She shook her head slightly. “You’re exactly like your father.” Makol laughed. “Is that a compliment?” “Not always.” Naira stood and looked at the painting again. Then she rested a hand on her son’s shoulder. “Then wait for her.” Makol nodded. At twenty, it seemed like a simple promise. He could not know that he would have to keep it for the next thirty years.
