However serious the topic, it was interesting to watch Stitch’s expressions. His mood seemed to change at whim just like a small child’s did. He didn’t have problems with expressing what he felt. To Malia, who had nearly lost connection to her emotions, watching this particular human proved to be endlessly fascinating. First he looked down as if being ashamed, then he tried to pluck the lyre’s strings with concentration evident on his face and then a shadow was cast over his features when his thoughts returned to her previous question.
What he said about the strange illness he suffered from attracted Malia’s attention. Pain behind the eyes … was that even possible for someone who didn’t use one’s eyes? From what she knew he kept them bandaged the whole day long. What he did during the nights she couldn’t know, of course, but she didn’t think that he engaged in any dubious activities. Perhaps she underestimated him. Even humans had their secrets, although they weren’t as obvious as a Nuit’s. Malia was no healer, but what Stitch described sounded like a symptom of exhaustion or sunstroke or … she didn’t know. Perhaps she was wrong and perhaps there were countless other illnesses with headaches as one of the first symptoms.
What she could say for sure, however, was that Stitch carried a secret neither she nor the children knew of. Additionally, she supposed that it would do him good to get some time on his own. Ignoring the compliment, although she had somehow expected it, Malia exclaimed: “Maybe you should let others do the work more often. You’re the owner of Welcome Home, but you have employees and little bundles full of energy only waiting to help you.” That was everything she said. A bit of advice she gave because she felt awkward not commenting on the topic she had originally inquired about. Her mind, however, was spinning. She wanted to find out, just because the mystery intrigued her, but she didn’t know where to turn to. Perhaps she should forget the matter until it started being a problem to her as well. He was just a human, after all … an extraordinary human, but a human nevertheless.
For the time being she received the slip of paper from him, staring at it in an attempt to concentrate on something else than this headache. What was that? For a while she tried to discover a context in the confusing chaos of clumsy lines. When Stitch started pointing at random spots of the drawing, comprehension slowly deciphered the forms and shapes. So he had drawn her and himself, and in the middle Fentya, Damien and Trisha. Still she couldn’t read the line at the bottom, but then his finger landed there and he spoke the words out loud while her eyes followed the letters.
For a while Malia was struck speechless.
What was a Nuit to say to those words, so typically human? Once again Malia felt somehow detached from her surroundings. She had forgotten how to maintain the façade, how one usually answered to such a revelation. Eventually she mustered a reply that sounded lame even in her ears. “T-thank you. Considering what this means, I won’t give any other comments.” Perhaps she should have laughed a hollow laugh and told him that in a century she would have forgotten what the shapes depicted. But Malia wasn’t cruel.
She was just a Nuit and as a Nuit she had no need for emotions. While letting the paper disappear in the side pocket of her instrument bag, she wondered what she should do with it once she was alone. Well, the most likely option was to store it somewhere until it crumbled to dust.
Where had all that cynicism come from, anyway? Malia still didn’t disturb the silence between the two.
