oye como va, mi ritmo
bueno pa gozar, mulata
What is it with children and death?
“Yes,” Mallos replies casually. For the second question he pauses to consider it carefully before confessing, “I haven’t really tried. I suppose it would be more difficult for you than it would be for me. Adults don’t usually tell children things, do they?”
Having not raised any of his own children, Mallos can’t comment on Arthur’s parenting skills or on the tendency of some adults to postpone answers to awkward questions ‘until you’re older’. It’s easier to criticise something than it is to do it right yourself, and parenting is the most difficult job in the world. Even so, he generally disagrees with the overprotective tripe some parents come out with as excuses for not telling their children things. Children are strong (more so than a good deal of adults) and, for the most part, can handle sensitive information when it’s presented to them correctly. That said, Arthur may not be quiet because of Tristan’s sake; he may just be a quiet person. Having met Arthur, the latter seems to be more likely. He may have his own reasons for maintaining such a mysterious profile, but Mallos knows first-hand just how appealing secrets are to the opposite sex.
The dawning realisation on Tristan’s face is priceless to watch. At the boy’s interjection, Mallos’ own face clears, reassured now that is role in Shaman’s history books hasn’t been overlooked. If he were to honestly divulge his feelings (which he never would), he would admit that the delight seeping across his grandson’s face at having learned his identity is a greater feeling by far than fame. Although he doesn’t express it, it’s also something of a relief. Between the havoc Gwythr had created in assuming his character and his own belated arrival to Shaman, all of his descendants (and the people who had brought them into the world) have good enough reason to hate him. Lilith and Arthur don’t, which should be an indication that Tristan wouldn’t either, but that hadn’t appeased the nagging worry at the back of his mind. Gratified on this front, he answers the boy’s query by way of a winning smile.
“That’s no problem,” he replies. “I suppose that’s a reasonable assumption to make. Unfortunately for her, your mother does not resemble me at all.” At the prince’s next words Mallos’ face creases into a slight frown. “That is a poor reason to learn a language,” he says dismissively, “there are plenty of things you can do to gain patience and discipline, and if you are not conversing regularly in your second language you will quickly forget it. Beyond conversation and showing off, you should learn a language because languages are gateways to culture.”
Letting this statement hang, Mallos rises to his feet and strolls nonchalantly over to the window on Tristan’s other side. He hadn’t missed his grandson’s look earlier; indeed, it had provoked a slightly irritable sensation in him. If he still had his magic, he could make the rain go away so that Tristan could go out and engage in whatever activities he’s clearly longing for. Instead both of them are stuck inside, powerless against the weather.
“Look at those – what’s the word,” he snaps his fingers a few times, staring absently out of the window. The Spanish is preposición; it relates to words like ‘by’, ‘with’, ‘in’ – the grammatical term – do you understand what I mean?” He turns slightly to look at Tristan, feeling uncharacteristically helpless. His English is generally excellent and he has a good grasp of slang, but technical grammatical terms are beyond him. Not put off by the language barrier, Mallos continues rolling under the assumption that Tristan understands him. “Those words – they don’t translate well between any language. You can learn a lot just by studying the way people speak, the words they use. When you listen or read something in translation, you lose part of the meaning; and the part that you lose is the part which gives you power.” Turning fully so that his back is against the window, the Spaniard looks directly into his grandson’s eyes. “You did not offend me earlier. Do it now. Go on; insult me the best you can.”
Despite the serious tone of voice, his dark eyes glitter alarmingly and there’s a slight twist to his smile which quite plainly says, I dare you.
