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He'd remembered what Captain Leitnos had said earlier. None of the men had heard the captain's suggestion, but more than one had looked nervously at the clouds of white vapor drifting away on the late afternoon breeze.Then they returned to the eastern shore of the lake. In the time they'd been gone, a small tent city had been constructed, about thirty tents. Soldiers walked the perimeter, all armed and grim.There was something like a rowboat moored at the small pier, and Tuck, Captain Leitnos, Tanda, Tazi and Judy climbed in, for a quick row out to the city.Tuck turned to Tanda. "We have been summoned for a meeting concerning the first scout reports. There would be time to see your uncle first." First Count Tellan, then my uncle," Tanda told Tuck when he made his suggestion.The whole thing with the night before was simply her fault. She should have known, had indeed assumed, that Tuck would try to stop her from leaving the camp.She woke after midnight and had moved silently to the. It all happened on one day when I first saw her.She came newly rented to my opposite flat with her husband who is ugly looking and who does not love her much and a kid.Initially, I didn’t care much about them but day by day I get to see her in a lift or on stairs or during apartment get together and just gave her normal smiles and she smiles back.One day my doorbell rang in morning and I was in a towel wrapped and t-shirt and was ready for a bath.I went and opened the door and was surprised to see her and her husband in front of the door.I welcomed them and went to change and came back and they invited me for a party in the evening as it was their 5th marriage anniversary.I accepted and they left.It was evening and I dressed up my best and went to the anniversary party and many other flat peoples also came to the party.Then the couple entered and I was stunned seeing Pooja aunty in white designer saree with transparent view shining like an angel.I was dumbstruck and was staring all.
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“Perhaps he’s bought her as a concubine for me – or himself.” My fantasies were brought to a halt as father went on, “This is Sari Mikowski,” Sari, my son David.” “Hello,” she said her voice a soft contralto that even in that one word revealed the accent of one whose native tongue was not English. Her eyes still looked through or past me and the voice matched her eyes, being distant and vague. I began to wonder if she was some sort of beautiful imbecile who was not quite with us. She made no attempt to extend her hand for me to shake. I remembered the flash of seeming recognition I had seen in her eyes a moment before and decided she was not imbecilic, yet there was something strange about her. There was a coldness and remoteness. Those eyes that did not see, a frigid stance which seemed to say, “I am untouchable”. The word hauteur came to mind. She looked rather like those models on the catwalk with that frozen look of disdain on their faces that some assume as they strut.

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