Histories of the Void Garden, Book 1: Pyre of Dreams Read Online Free

worried when I hear you talking
to yourself.”
    West sensed
that this honest admission from Miss Osterman deserved to be
answered with an equal show of trust. He grimaced and let his eyes
fall to his lap, “Miss Osterman, until just now, I hadn’t realized
that I talked to myself.”
    She pulled the
scissors away from his hair and let her arms fall to her sides as
she started to laugh warmly, “Well, it happens to the best of us, I
wouldn’t worry about it. You can call me Charlene by the way.”
    West smiled
weakly, “and you can call me West.”
    “Hippie
parents?” she asked, innocently.
    “My parents
were scientists, foreign; for them, West was just a word that moved
the air pleasantly.”
    “So there is
some foreign blood in you?” Charlene asked, reassuring herself that
this was at least some validation of her suspicion that Mr Yestler
was potential terrorist material. He smiled at her, brow furrowed
slightly, “I’m not honestly sure what kind of blood runs through me
anymore. I suppose it could be foreign.”
    She had started
cutting in layers at the back of his head, graduated towards a
curve that described the arch of his neck, “Well I suppose whatever
blood it is, it’s lived in America long enough to be considered
native now?”
    West laughed
gently and nodded.
    She pulled her
hands away from the back of his head quickly, “Oh I’m sorry, did
that hurt?”
    West was
confused by Charlene’s question; unable to tell what she had done
that might have hurt him.
    “No, no bother,
don’t worry about me.” West knew that she couldn’t have cut him; he
suspected she’d tugged his hair with her scissors. She looked calm,
her mouth flickering into a smile as she returned to her work.
    Charlene leaned
in closer as she cut the hair around his neckline, “Were you born
here?”
    “No, I was born
in a town called Allim.”
    “Is that near
Texas? California? I haven’t heard of it.”
    West smiled
broadly, “It’s not in America.”
    Charlene
stepped away from him, apparently ignoring his last statement. She
went over to the sturdy dresser and picked up a small hand mirror
and, bringing it back over to the seat, she moved the mirror around
behind West so he could see how she had cut the back of his hair.
West nodded approvingly as he glanced in the mirror at the smaller
reflection. He didn’t care about how his hair looked of course; he
cared about the reveal, the casting off of a long worn
disguise.
    Charlene
watched his eyes closely, looking for approval. There was something
odd about those eyes. She couldn’t put her finger on it, so she put
the mirror down carefully on the dresser and continued with the
cut.
    “Have you lived
in New York long?” she asked, again pulling sections of hair into
uneven lines between her middle and index fingers, cutting a neat
line and letting the hair fall back into place.
    “I suppose. It
depends on your frame of reference really.”
    She pursed her
lips as she glanced at his reflection, “Hmm, well let’s see … I
bought one of the first pressings of the Freewheelin’ Bob Dylan on
the day I moved into this apartment on my own. Do you know
Dylan?”
    West laughed
gently, “Not personally, but I do listen to him.”
    Charlene nodded
and smiled, “Well, I was 18 years old and that record was ‘bout all
I played for the first few months after my mother, god bless her
soul, passed away.”
    “Well by that
frame of reference, I suppose I’ve lived in New York a good while.”
He glanced up at Charlene to gauge her reaction. She was squinting
at his scalp, teasing and cutting his hair. She pouted and squinted
as she cut a couple of layered sections on the top of his head. “So
where else have you lived in the city?” she asked, letting him know
that she had been paying attention to what he said.
    “Since I moved
to New York, I’ve mostly lived close by here. I had an apartment in
East Harlem for a couple of years.”
    Charlene
nodded, “Where else have