Day after day, Gabriel’s unwavering voice reached her. His voice carried her away to her dear beautiful native country, where she had lived her whole life till the day of their wedding.
***
She looked around her: her mom and dad were sitting at a table with her uncles and aunts and cousins. The moon was high in the sky, round and beautiful; she could see in the far distance the mountains surrounding her little village.
A moment later she was standing with her sister, when their parish priest introduced them to an American visitor. She turned to greet the young man; their eyes met. She had a feeling her life will never be the same.
She did not want their first conversation to end – she could tell that he didn’t either. He told her how his luggage was lost at the airport, and how a few nights ago he woke up to the sound of bombs. He could not believe his ears – he had never heard real bombing before. And how he loved her country’s food and, oh, the music and on and on he went…
Even though Joyce’s country was enjoying peace now after many long years of war, from time to time some people who cannot forget nor forgive make mischief here and there to have the false satisfaction of power and heroism.
Joyce always thought that if mothers took over politics in her country there would be no more fighting nor hatred because mothers would not send their children to war, fights and more often their deaths as easily as men do.
At the party, Gabriel was still talking while Joyce was hanging on his every word. She could see her mother standing behind him, waving to her and her sister to come to the table. It was time for the dinner party to begin. Joyce looked back at him – he was still talking to her about the beautiful places and ancient ruins he had been visiting in her country. Joyce decided to invite him to join her at her family’s table to share dinner with them.