Issasara's will E-Book

Jacques Lafarge

• Herausgeber: BoD - Books on Demand
• Kategorie: Abenteuer, Thriller, Horror
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 249

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2025

Beschreibung

The Minoan civilization flourished for more than 1000 years in Santorini and Crete until, in 1628 BC, the Santorini volcano erupted on a scale without known equivalent. Santorini was wiped out in hours, Crete was ravaged by ash and a tsunami. For many archaeologists this historical event is none other than the tragic end of mythical Atlantis reported by Plato. A century after the eruption, Minoans were supplanted in Crete by the Mycenaeans. What happened in the meantime? This is what is told in this fiction whose initial events and all the places are historical. From the carelessness of youth to the anguish of dark days, we are moved by this young woman who holds a whole world on her shoulders. Exile, tyranny, wars, love, all human feelings pass through this novel, giving it something timeless.

Leseprobe

Works by Jacques Lafarge

Plays

Planet for sale*

Positive discrimination

The coach despite himself

Psychanalyric*

Short stories

Camille and the baby stork*

Who is I, who is me*?

Back to the convent*

The mechanic and the beautiful car

Novel

The true story of Lazare Meradec

* text in english available on

www.jacqueslafarge.fr

CONTENT

PREFACE

PROLOGUE

THEODOSSIS

THE EXPLOSION

KEPHTI

ISSESSINAK

THE DAWO DISTRICT

FURUMARK

THE HUNT

ISSASARA

EPILOGUE

PREFACE

The Minoan civilisation developed on Santorini and Crete for over a thousand years, until around 1450 BC. Little is known of its origins and history, partly because its writing has never been deciphered. In 1967, archaeologist Spyridon Marinatos discovered a city on Santorini buried under tens of meters of ash deposited by the eruption that ravaged the island in 1628 BC. Excavations revealed a flourishing civilisation that traded with the entire Mediterranean, particularly Egypt, Cyprus, present-day Turkey and Greece. The buildings and streets are in a remarkable state of preservation but, unlike Pompeii, no human remains have been found. Clearly, sensing the danger, the inhabitants had time to flee their city. The eruption made Santorini uninhabitable for several centuries. In Crete, it had little-known consequences, but it appears that, at the beginning of the 15th century BC, the island had become Mycenaean.

In this novel, I imagine what, after the eruption of Santorini, could have led to a thousand-year-old civilisation being supplanted by another in a few decades. To write it, I based myself on archaeological data. The places correspond to the Minoan cities whose remains can be visited today, and the elements of daily life correspond to what can be deduced from the structures and objects found. On the other hand, the story is a fiction whose events and characters are imaginary. Only the beginning (the eruption of Santorini) and the end (the Mycenaean colonisation) are historical facts.

Jacques Lafarge

PROLOGUE

The finger hovering above the mouse button, Aristotle Kondopoulos hesitates one last time before clicking on “Send“ with a small smile of satisfaction. He knows his message will spread far beyond the microcosm of specialists in Minoan civilisation, reaching archaeologists, historians, sociologists, and linguists worldwide. It must be said that he managed his effects well. He simply wrote: “I am pleased to inform you that following an exceptional discovery at the site of Aghia Triada, we have been able to unveil most of the great mysteries of Minoan civilisation. You will soon be informed of the date and location of a conference we will hold on this subject.”

Six months later, he insisted that the presentation take place in Santorini, at the Petros Nomikos conference centre, even though it was far too small to accommodate all the scientists who would not want to miss the event. He assured everyone that his choice would make sense during his presentation.

The excitement of major scientific events reigns in the packed conference room. Despite technical difficulties and logistical challenges at the entrance, the event is already two hours behind schedule. Many are standing or even sitting on the floor, but no one complains, thrilled to witness the event live. To handle the overflow, video broadcasts have been set up in every annex of the conference centre, with additional streams organised hastily in hotels on the island equipped with projection facilities.

Finally, the main hall doors close. Aristotle takes the podium. Silence descends. While the lights dim, the first slide appears behind him. As the image becomes legible, murmurs ripple through the room. When everyone can clearly read “WELCOME TO HATTIARINA,“ the hubbub is at its peak. Jubilating, Aristotle starts with the immutable phrases of welcome and thanks to which speakers oblige themselves before their presentation. Usually, no one listens to these foreplays. That day, you can't even hear them. Aristotle has all the difficulty in the world to calm his audience.

“Well! I think it's time to end the suspense before we have a riot. Welcome to Hattiarina! This message alone summarises the extraordinary results we have achieved. Ladies and gentlemen, we now know the name the people we call Minoans used for themselves, we know the names of their islands and cities, we know their language, and we even know where they came from.”

It looks like a freeze frame. Excitement has given way to stupefaction.

“You may wonder how such a result is possible from a single discovery. Well, here it is: three years ago, I was working on the site of Aghia Triada. While trying to clear an oil press, I discovered a pot hidden in the wall of the workshop where I was digging. It was filled with wood ash in which six documents were perfectly preserved: two papyri and four clay tablets.”

“The papyri have been dated to between 1550 and 1600 BCE. The tablets are disks, similar to the Phaistos Disk but slightly larger, with text written in a spiral on both sides. Together, they constitute what we have all dreamed of: the same text written using two scripts, one known and one unknown. Specifically, two discs are written in the Minoan language using Linear A script. and the other two in archaic Greek using Linear B script. ”

The audience immediately understands that Aristotle has succeeded in deciphering Linear A, the famous Minoan script that has long resisted the best experts. Conversations break out across the room.

“I see that I do not need to explain to you the first consequences of our discovery. Indeed, the text of the tablets was long enough that, thanks to the invaluable collaboration of Yves Duguy, we were able to establish the rules for deciphering Linear A. The technical details of this remarkable achievement will be presented shortly, but I first want to explain why these documents reveal so much about the Minoans. They have the same author, in this case a woman. The tablets constitute what she herself calls her will, while the second ones contain her memoirs. She dictated her will to two scribes, one for each language, with the mission of copying it and ensuring that every household in Crete had a copy in its language. In contrast, she wrote the papyri herself, totalling more than 60 meters of text of remarkable quality. Reading these memoirs allowed us, as I announced in my email, to reconstruct the history of the Minoans almost in its entirety. Of course, we lack information on what happened after the author’s death, but you will see that she anticipated what was to come.”

“So far, we have only focused on deciphering Linear A and translating the papyri and tablets. You now hold printouts of the complete versions of both documents. I won’t reveal their contents here: it would take too long, and it would be a shame to deprive you of the joy of discovering them for yourselves. In the future, specialists will study these texts and their implications for our understanding of Minoan civilisation. To whet your appetite, I can already share a few names you’ll need to familiarise yourselves with. First, you’ll no longer call them Minoans but Hattianteans, as that’s the name they gave themselves. Additionally, as you already know, we are not on the island of Santorini but on Hattiarina. Its main city, revealed by Spyridon Marinatos’s excavations at Akrotiri, was called Urukinea, meaning the new Uruk.”

Aristotle pauses to allow the astonishment created by this reference to the city of ancient Mesopotamia to pass.

“I won’t say more on that for now. In the translations, we’ve used the Hattiantean names for cities rather than the Greek names of current excavation sites. At the beginning of the memoirs, you’ll find maps and correspondence tables to help you navigate.”

“One last point before Yves Duguy takes the floor to explain the fascinating process of deciphering Linear A. The texts tell us that each Minoan city was ruled by a woman whose title we have had difficulty translating because we also did not know the corresponding term written on the Linear B tablet. She wasn’t a queen or priestess, as those terms are familiar in archaic Greek. Reading the memoirs, we understood she was essentially a moral authority recognised by all. She does not intervene directly in the administration of the city, which is ensured by a person qualified as General Intendant. On the other hand, she alone assumes the exercise of justice. We ultimately chose the term Matriarch, particularly because people addressed her as “Mother””.

“That’s all for now. I pass the microphone to Yves, who will explain our discoveries on Linear A far better than I could.”

§

Toponyms

Correspondence of the names of the places mentioned in the memoirs:

Islands

Hattiarina: Santorini (Thera)

Kephti: Crete

Sukipawu: Cyprus

Hattiantean (Minoan) cities

Urukinea: Akrotiri archaeological site in Santorini

Kunisuu: Knossos

Kamaljia: archaeological site of Malia

Gurnjia: Gournia

Dikta: Palaikastro

Kalataa: Galatas (Archaeological Site of Galatas-Arkalochori)

Vatypetawa: archaeological site of Vathypetro

Turusa: Tylisos

Gortunjia: Gortyn

Mesaraa: Messara

Payto: archaeological site of Phaistos

Opsjia: archaeological site of Monastiraki

Dawo: archaeological site of Aghia Triada

Kommo: archaeological site of Kommo

Dawrometo: Rethymno

Summit

Psilowitis: Psiloritis (Mount Ida)

Units of measure

1 inch: about 3 cm (1.2 inch)

1 cubit: about 35 cm (1.1 foot)

1 stadium: about 300 m (330 yards)

1 lead: 0.5 kg (1.1 lb)

Maps

THEODOSSIS

I am writing here my memories of the time when the Hattiantean people lived in peace and harmony on the magnificent islands of Hattiarina and Kephti, as well as of the time when immense misfortunes befell them, which they fought against with all their might.

§

I was born in Urukinea, a city on the island of Hattiarina, on the sixth day of the second month in the 982nd year of the Hattiantean foundation. My parents named me Asiraa. My father was a fisherman. He died at sea when I was seven. My mother, my younger brother Adikete, and I lived with my uncle. We were like siblings with our two cousins, Isthar and Ninlil, and their brother Noda. My mother taught writing at Urukinea’s school. She taught me to write and count very early. Thanks to her, I joined the school of architecture at thirteen. My interest in this art came from the clay models displayed in front of houses under construction. Once the work site was completed, they were thrown away with the rubble. I collected them and, little by little, I recreated a miniature village in the basement of our house. My cousins and I each had our own houses, painted in our colours to avoid confusion.

A colleague of my mother, a teacher of drawing and painting, often visited our house. He was in love with her and, perhaps to have an excuse to visit, offered to give me lessons. That’s how our home became the most decorated in the city. I started with the girls' bedroom. I sketched a design, and while my cousins coloured the flowers and the trees, I painted my favourite animals. Once our room was fully decorated, we moved on to the hallway and, step by step, almost every wall in the house was covered. It felt like we lived among animals all day long. My mother's lover told everyone about it, earning me the nickname of “the little girl who paints frescoes”. People even came to visit our house.

At the school of architecture, we spent a lot of time on construction sites. It was during one of them that I first met Mother Inanna, the Matriarch of Hattiarina. I was plastering the façade of a building in a new neighbourhood outside Urukinea. She came with the craftsmen, architects, and Quarter Intendants to inspect the progress. As she walked down our street, we all stopped to watch the event from the top of our scaffolding. She was going from house to house, questioning the foremen and talking to the workers. When she passed by our site, she recognised me.

“Asiraa! I stopped by your house this morning. I wanted to talk to you. Could you come down, please?”

Since I was little, I have admired our Matriarch. I found her very beautiful and envied her imposing height, which commanded respect. Unfortunately, our first meeting was not as I had imagined. With my mason's smock too large and covered in dust I looked like a clay pot. She smiled at me and then, after complimenting me on the plaster on my wall, she ran her hand through my hair to dust it.

“We’re alike, you and I: we both have plenty of white hair, though not for the same reasons, sadly! … As I mentioned, I’d like to speak with you. Could you come and see me at the Central House? Tomorrow, at the tenth hour, if that suits you.”

I couldn't believe it. Of course it suited me.

§

My mother was redoing my bun for the third time. She thought the curled strands sticking out weren’t long enough.

“You’ll put your cousin’s new dress on. You never have anything decent to wear. With a few adjustments, it’ll fit you just fine. I need to do your nails—they’re a mess. You’ll wear my large earrings and the gold necklace your father gave me. And, for once, you’ll put makeup on. You can’t go looking like that; people won’t even know if you’re a boy or a girl.”

At that time in Urukinea, Egyptian-style makeup was fashionable. All the boys and girls wanted to look like the princes and princesses depicted on the papyri, embroideries, and vases brought back by merchants. I didn't like wearing makeup. I thought it took too much time for a look that always faded throughout the day.

During these preparations, the question that had kept me awake all night haunted me: what did Mother Inanna want to tell me? I tried to recall anything I had done or said that might explain her request, but by the time I was ready to leave, I had no answers. Groomed and manicured by my mother, made up and dressed by my cousin, for once, I thought I looked rather pretty. Of course, it was impossible to prevent the whole family from accompanying me. Surrounded by this excited procession, dressed as ever, I felt ridiculous. But I didn’t care: I had a meeting with the Matriarch.

Arriving at the Central House, the question of what Mother Inanna had to ask me returned, accompanied with the anguish caused by the sight of the entrance porch. I tried to gather my thoughts, but my uncle had already announced our arrival to the usher, who gestured for us to follow him. After escorting my “suite“ to a modestly decorated room, he led me directly to the Matriarch.

Her office, located on the top floor, was bright and spacious, but I was surprised by its lack of decoration. The only embellishment was a vine motif that ran around the room near the ceiling. While the design was lovely, it left the walls bare and rather austere. Sitting at a table, Mother Inanna was reading a papyrus. Standing beside her, I recognised the General Intendant. She looked up.

“Ah! Our little girl who paints frescoes. I’ll be with you in just a moment.”

Maybe she wanted to ask me to decorate her office? As she continued her conversation with the General Intendant, I began imagining what I could paint to give her the most beautiful office in the city. She handed the papyrus to the Intendant. He withdrew.

“Asiraa! You look stunning! I'm flattered that you came so prepared to come see me. You’re radiant.”

Unlike me, she was dressed very simply. Her hair tied back in a ponytail, with only little makeup, she wore a plain gray dress tied at the waist with a simple rope. I felt like I was in costume.

“As I mentioned yesterday, I have something important to ask you. There’s no rush. You can take all the time you need to respond. But first, remind me: how old are you?”

“I’ll be seventeen soon, Mother.”

“You must be one of the youngest at the school of architecture.”

“I am the youngest in the fourth year. Thanks to my mother, who is a teacher.”

“Thanks to your talents too, don’t you think?”

“Maybe…”

“Your mother certainly thinks so. I can tell you she’s proud of you.”

My mother, proud of me! For sure, it was the first time I heard that.

“Let’s get to my question. I’m forty-eight years old. You know that, according to our tradition, the Matriarch must name her successor by her fiftieth year at the latest.”

A lump formed in my stomach. I tried to say, “Yes, I know“ but no words came out.

“I’ve been fortunate to enjoy good health, so I’ve postponed this obligation until now. But the time has come. As is customary, I’ve done my research.”

The lump in my stomach was growing.

“Everyone in the city knows the little girl who paints frescoes. They think you’re very talented and like you a lot. But if you’re here, it’s mainly because I’ve also spoken to your teachers. They appreciate you. Do you know you impress them?”

I felt tears welling up.

“I believe that you have understood. Yes, it’s to you I would like to ask if you would accept being my successor.”

Everything was mixing up. Pride, fear, the desire to flee and even the ridiculous worry that my tears would cause my makeup to run.

“If you accept, you’ll spend several years apprenticing with me. You’ll attend council meetings, and most importantly, I’ll teach you how to render justice.”

I was fixing my gaze on the frieze above her.

“It will require a lot of work on top of your studies. Take your time. Think about whether you would enjoy organizing the city, helping people resolve disputes, and judging those who behave badly. It’s a challenging and demanding role. If you feel it’s not for you, tell me without fear.”

She added, looking directly into my eyes:

“Personally, I am sure of you.”

I managed to smile.

“Take your time and come back to see me whenever you’d like to discuss this.”

§

On the way back, clutching my mother’s arm, my bun undone to hide in my hair, I couldn’t stop crying. I thought about what Mother Inanna had told me, about my running makeup, about the sad walls of the office, everything made me cry. No one said a word, except Adikete, who kept repeating:

“What’s wrong with Asi? Why is she crying?”

Thankfully, I had my construction work. I returned to the site the very next day. My foreman was a kind but very demanding man. He would check everything and made us redo our work without hesitation if it wasn’t perfect. That was exactly what I needed to clear my mind. No house in Hattiarina ever had a wall plastered as perfectly as mine.

Little by little, I got used to the idea. I could think about the question without bursting into tears. Unfortunately, I realised I had no idea what a Matriarch’s day-to-day life entailed. So I tried to talk about it with those around me. Isthar immediately saw the appeal of being the Matriarch’s cousin. She declared herself the “Chief advisor in charge of festivities.” Every evening, she would come up with new ideas for festivities, games, or performances. They sometimes lacked realism, they always were very cheerful, each time it ended in fits of laughter, but that didn't help me at all. For her part, my mother could not imagine that I might refuse. Whenever I tried to share my doubts, she would get upset, forcing me to end the conversation. Our relationship had always been strained. Sometimes, it felt like she didn’t trust me, or even that she was afraid of me. We couldn’t talk normally. Whenever we disagreed about something, it turned into a drama.

Yet it was her attitude that helped me out of my indecision. Since I returned to work at architecture school, I realised how much this profession captivated me. Even if I found it difficult imagining what a Matriarch did, I knew it would force me to abandon it. My indecision was more due to fear of my mother's reaction than to any hesitation on my part. Involuntarily, she helped me becoming aware of what I really wanted. Determined to follow only my own aspirations, I asked for an audience with Mother Innana.

When I entered her office, I was not overconfident. I prepared myself for anger or, worse, disappointment. But she showed none of that. She listened attentively, then confided that she wasn’t surprised, having noticed how much pleasure I was taking in my studies. After a long conversation that stretched into the evening, she made one final suggestion as we parted:

“Your decision might not be fully informed. Would you agree to go and see for yourself? You could intern in different city departments and meet the people who work there. What do you think?”

I was sure of myself but I didn't have the courage to refuse her once again.

After this hectic period, I organised myself as best I could between my classes, my construction sites and the internships in town, which allowed me to resume my usual routine: building crooked walls, painting frescoes in every free corner of our house, enraging the boys who were chasing us, and leaving in fits of laughter with Isthar.

§

My first internship at the Central House involved tallying delivered goods and services. It was easy and dull, so that Mother Inanna sent me to Aphaia, the port of Urukinea. The climate there was very different. Organised around a square extending into two quays, one for receipts and the other for dispatches, it was a hive of constant activity. To the north, a large covered hall housed counters where goods were inspected and recorded. Strong men, almost naked, carried items between boats and warehouses. The square teemed with idle sailors waiting for their captains to finish with formalities. Opposite the piers, the awnings of the taverns were overgrown with pink and white clematis. All the languages of the world mixed together in a din of invectives and bursts of laughter.

I was supposed to begin by handling the records at the counters. However, due to a sudden death, they needed someone who spoke Achaean for trade negotiations. My mother had insisted I learn that language, claiming it would be useful someday. My supervisor had hastily taught me the rules but had not explained the negotiation process in detail. He only warned me that, in general, Achaeans didn’t like the Hattianteans, whom they accused of thinking they were the centre of the world. Actually, my first client encounter was anything but smooth. Panos, a wool merchant, was from Ios, an Achaean island located north of Hattiarina, half a day's sail away. After a moment of surprise upon entering the office, he explained to me that, given the importance of his affairs, there could be no question of him handling them with an intern. Before the interview, I was afraid of not knowing how to behave. The condescending tone he used when he said “an intern” set my mind straight. I told him that I could understand the discomfort caused by this unforeseen change, but that, knowing his file well, I would be able to respect his interests. He insisted, demanding to see my superior. I told him that he had appointed me to deal with him and that I saw no reason to disturb him. Panos grew angry and called me a “little conceited black head.” One did not know where this nickname “black heads” that the Achaeans gave us came from, but nobody was unaware of what it expressed. Conceited might have passed, but “black head” was too much. I told him that I was not going to be able to let his goods in and I left without giving him time to respond. He remained stunned for a moment, then ran into the hallway to apologise. We calmly returned to the office to discuss what he wanted in exchange for his 1,200 mines of wool. Later, I learned that my supervisor, knowing Panos’s fiery temper, had assigned him to me “for training.”

After that lively introduction, our relationship improved significantly. He was an honest and straightforward man with whom I enjoyed negotiating, and I knew the feeling was mutual. Once our business was settled, we often chatted about other things. In fact, it was mainly him who talked about his life. Originally a fisherman in Naxos, he often stopped in Aphaia during his fishing trips. After frequenting the port’s taverns, he realised that Hattiarina, with its limited pastures, lacked wool. He converted his fishing boat for trade and settled in Ios, closer to Hattiarina. He collected the finest wool from the Achaean islands and exchanged it in Hattiarina for bronze and earthenware, which were renowned for their quality among the Achaeans. This trade had made him, in his words, one of the wealthiest merchants in Ios.

He often spoke of his son, Theodossis, a boy full of promise whom he intended to introduce to me since, one day, I’d have to deal with him instead. No matter how much I explained that I would soon leave the trade office, he insisted. Each time, he promised to bring him on his next trip, but each time, something came up. I began to wonder if this prodigal son even existed. It was only on the last day of my internship that he finally came accompanied by the young man. Young—and mostly very handsome. Tanned skin, curly brown hair, he was the complete opposite of the Hattiantean beauty ideals, but I found him very handsome. Plus, something unknown to us, he had blue eyes! While I was negotiating the value of a mine of wool with his father, I looked at him out of the corner of my eye. He was staring at me with an expression somewhere between astonished and captivated. When it was time to part, he stammered, “See you soon“. My internship at the trade office was over, so the chances of meeting him again were poor.

§

Back at my studies, I reconnected with my friends from the school of architecture and, for the most part, forgot about the handsome Achaean. Not entirely, though, as evidenced by the pang in my chest whenever something reminded me of our brief encounter. One evening, while celebrating a classmate’s graduation in a tavern at the port, I spotted him walking in front of the terraces, lost in thought. I rushed toward him, shouting and waving my arms.

“Hey, Achaean! Remember me? From the warehouses, with your father.”

“Of course, I remember you. I hoped to see you again, but each time, someone else received us.”

“I don’t work there any more.”

We were smiling foolishly at each other, eye to eye. His father arrived, out of breath.

“Ah! There you are. I’ve been … “

His gaze shifted between us, back and forth.

“… looking all over for you. Excuse us, Asiraa, but we must set board immediately. It’s late.”

My classmates had clearly seen what had happened. Jokes began to spring. Upset, I couldn't react to their banters. I left the table, ignoring their apologies.

In the days that followed, my primary concern was figuring out how to see him again. Between my construction work, architecture classes, and city internships, I had no time to visit the port. I asked a friend who worked there to let me know as soon as she saw him. I knew I could trust her discretion: my classmates’ gossip had spread a rumour about my “affair” with an Achaean, which had already reached my mother’s ears.

A few weeks later, a young Egyptian brought me a scrap of papyrus scribbled on by my friend. Theodossis was at the quay on his boat. As I was leaving, pretending to have a family issue, my foreman said to me mockingly:

“And… it is normal that you to keep your smock full of plaster on you.”

No one had ever been as fast as me to get to Aphaia, without running and keeping a normal air. When I reached his boat, he was busy coiling ropes, unaware of my presence.

“Will you take me for a sail?” I called out.

He looked up, startled, as if to say, “What does that girl want from me?”

Then, nearly tripping over the ropes, he leapt onto the dock.

“Get aboard. We’re leaving now.”

Unaware of my complete lack of sailing knowledge, he began barking orders at me in Achaean, using technical terms I didn’t understand. I tried to improvise, pretending to know what I was doing, but it didn’t work. The more mistakes I made, the more irritated he became and the more I laughed. Finally, dejected, he did the manoeuvre all by himself after ordering me to sit in the middle and not to touch anything.

Carried by a light breeze from the overheated land, we sailed along the coast, past the famous red, white, and black cliffs of Aphaia, renowned throughout Hattiarina. Sitting on a net, my head resting on his thigh, I enjoyed the warmth of the sun on my skin and especially the pleasure of the contact with his. I waited for him to stop the boat, pull me close, and kiss me. Unfortunately, when we reached the western tip, the open sea’s strong wind and choppy waves forced us to turn back. Soaked by the spray, we had no choice but to return as quickly as possible. Disappointed and shivery with cold, I had to settle for huddling against him.

We returned to port at nightfall. Sheltered from the wind, the air was still mild. Lying between his legs, I watched the sky, waiting for a shooting star. He pulled me up to his height and —finally—kissed me. Then he rolled onto me, his hands exploring my body, first over my clothes, then underneath. On the dock, I could hear people talking and laughing. I was afraid they would see us. With awkward twists and muffled giggles, we slipped under a sail and made love silently, gently, for a long time. Completely content, I wished I could stay there, trapped beneath his weight, forever.

When I arrived home, I worried my mother might still be awake, waiting for me. She was asleep. The next morning, she had her face from the days when she ruminated on her bad mood. As I was about to leave, she couldn’t hold back any longer.

“Where were you last night?”

“I stayed at the port with friends from school.”

“You could have let us know you’d be home late.”

“It was decided just like that. It was not planned.”

She shrugged her shoulders.

§