Saturnalia (SAMPLE)

chapter seven: on the origins of family

Many things make a loss difficult to bear. One of these factors is most assuredly the bond of blood.

The first instance that Iyan Lutton met his aunt Myra, he had the inexplicable sense that they had met before. He was only three years old, and barely capable of speech, but his memory was still exceptional for his age. Perhaps it was her hair that he remembered, a faint blondish colour that darkened the further up it went. Her eyes were kind and inviting, the sort of eyes one isn't inclined to forget when surrounded constantly by the lifeless glances he found himself surrounded by the rest of his days.

His parents, of course, were off to visit important people in a different town, where children were most assuredly not welcome. After having exhausted the available individuals capable of watching Iyan for the night, they settled on bridging a decades-long quarrel with the only other family left: Myra and Hans Lutton (in all instances of marriage between a Lutton and one not of the family name, the surname was at once taken by the outsider. Regardless of role or station in life, who would pass up the oppourtunity to lay claim to such a noble legacy!). The exact nature of their separation was unknown to Iyan, even for years after he was concerned with the interpersonal relationships of his family. All he was made aware of was that Auntie and Mother were upset about how the other handled the death of their dearest old Father.

None of this mattered to Iyan, especially not at three, but there he was, the unwitting adhesive that brought the Lutton sisters back into communication with one another.

Myra (who at this point, had never been pregnant, despite wanting very much to be a mother), took at once to Iyan, and found herself the appreciated woman of taste and talent. She had baked a tray of cookies on a whim earlier that day, and found that the treats her husband complained of being burnt were greatly favoured by the small visitor they had acquired.

It was inconceivable, then, that more visits were not soon arranged. Every weekend for several months was reserved for the visitation of families, though it would be some time before the once-bitter sisters actually spoke to one another. One half of the family had married around her station, whilst Myra had thrown her lot in with a serviceman, decidedly lower in life that her name ought to have secured, and this could never really be forgiven by the extravagant elder sister. Despite all of their misgivings, and not a few flares of anger and outbursts, the wives grew to tolerate the other's husbands, and Iyan became the child of all of them. The mistakes were never made known to his mother, but these initial years of contact often caused confusion in Iyan, who frequently (and much to Uncle Han's amusement) referred to his aunt as Mother.

Once family has been removed, the tie of shared taste can be a loss unto the world like no other. How rare is it indeed, to find a kindred soul, and in a world of routine impression as this.

After his aunt's miscarriage, Iyan spent a great deal of time attempting to console her. Uncle Hans worked horrid hours, and was hardly ever home, so the two of them spent their days in insolation. With nearly no ability to practise an instrument (children in Saint Ivry often learned the craft of at least the piano at an early age), as his parents felt he could get by in life on purely his status and with no real musical talent, and blessed with a distinct lack of a singing voice, Iyan was forced to resort to the art of reading aloud.

Stories about werewolves and witches did nothing for his aunt, though his attempts to read these particular ones often gave Iyan nightmares a few days after reading; little did the tales of princesses and fairies interest the grey-faced Myra (for which Iyan felt terrible about being grateful, as he disliked these ones the most); worse yet for Myra were the romances of Lords and Ladies, filled with the middling dramas of the privileged.