Domazhir did not have to wait long to discover the talents of his new wife. She was to him but a “sleeve,” but she was a fertile one. They had married in March and in April she announced her pregnancy to him. She was already 25 when he married her, but was apparently well within her childbearing years.
The pregnancy was a hopeful thing for Ambrosia. In the first month of her marriage to Domazhir, he had only ever spoken to her once, and then very briefly. Greek was the only language they had in common, and neither of them spoke it very well; Domazhir did not seem at all inclined to speak to her at all. Once she became pregnant however, she was noticed; or rather her ever increasing body was noticed. Domazhir frequently inquired after her well being and more than once visited her. When he did, she greeted him in halting and broken Russian, bowing deeply.
Her efforts to charm her husband were useless however. Domazhir still did not see her. He saw her steadily swelling stomach and that was all. He was not cruel to her; she was simply invisible. He was till in love with a memory; Sviatoslava, a woman he had not known how to love in life, he now loved fervently in death.
Ambrosia’s pregnancy went smoothly and in December she gave birth to a little girl, Maddalena. Domazhir was disappointed that it was not a boy, but he was happy enough. For Ambrosia however, Maddalena’s birth gave her something to live for. At last there was someone to love her; someone who she could love.
The pregnancy was a hopeful thing for Ambrosia. In the first month of her marriage to Domazhir, he had only ever spoken to her once, and then very briefly. Greek was the only language they had in common, and neither of them spoke it very well; Domazhir did not seem at all inclined to speak to her at all. Once she became pregnant however, she was noticed; or rather her ever increasing body was noticed. Domazhir frequently inquired after her well being and more than once visited her. When he did, she greeted him in halting and broken Russian, bowing deeply.
Her efforts to charm her husband were useless however. Domazhir still did not see her. He saw her steadily swelling stomach and that was all. He was not cruel to her; she was simply invisible. He was till in love with a memory; Sviatoslava, a woman he had not known how to love in life, he now loved fervently in death.
Ambrosia’s pregnancy went smoothly and in December she gave birth to a little girl, Maddalena. Domazhir was disappointed that it was not a boy, but he was happy enough. For Ambrosia however, Maddalena’s birth gave her something to live for. At last there was someone to love her; someone who she could love.
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