Tuesday, October 21, 2008
Lucy opened the trunk, inhaling the mixed scents of opium and camphor. Her fingers tightened on the ironwork and cottonwood sides as she imagined her great-grandmother packing it for the last time. When she closed her eyes she could almost see the woman if front of her, young like she was in the photograph in the Great Hall, her eyes shadowed by a straw hat and a katana hung loosely from a wide belt.
The sword wasn’t in the chest but the hat was; wrapped in a silk headscarf, the bowl packed with brittle tissue paper. Lucy tried it on. It was a little big and hung down covering her eyes.
“Use the Force, Luce,” she said, drawing an imaginary lightsaber.