Larimara and Principe

The third night, after she finished her dance, he lay her down flat on the mattress and gently covered her with the sleeping bag.  He lay down beside her on top of the overhang and smiled.

It was a surprisingly gentle smile.  

His face was scrawny, his beard was straggly and there was a gap where a front tooth should have been, but he looked like a little boy on Christmas morning hoping against hope that somebody remembered him.

"Do you like stories, Larimara?  I bet you know lots after being around so long.  But you can't talk."  This made him frown a little.  He stroked her hair wistfully.  "No new stories."  He repeated this, then suddenly loomed over her.  "But you can listen!  I'll tell you a new story.  And you'll always remember it."

He settled back down, with his right arm under her neck and his left resting on the sleeping bag above her stomach.

"There was a little baby rat who wanted to fly.  His mama told him no and the bigger rats laughed and called him a dumb bastard.  Said he was just a skinny idiot who dug in garbage like all the others.  Dogs and cats laughed even when they tried to eat him.  But the little baby rat wouldn't listen.  He wanted to fly so so so bad.  He'd close his eyes and pretend to fly.  He'd crawl and climb and climb way up high, higher than anyone could follow.  And he'd sit and pretend to fly.  But he never really did fly, because rats are rats and don't have wings."

His hands clenched into fists and his arms tensed like strung wire.  "I'll finish the story tomorrow."

He squeezed her so tight she nearly gasped.  As it was something popped in her back and he immediately dropped his hold.

"Sorry!  Sorry, Larimara.  I'll be more careful.  Dolls are delicate.  You ok?"  He inspected her neck and joints and, satisfied that all was still together, fell asleep with her cradled gently in his arms.