Chapter 4: Marta
[Page 62: While I never really sought it, I still find the fact that the two of us have been existing just outside our orbits without our knowledge to be funny as much as it’s romantic. Like fate itself has decided the course of our lives.]
Marta and her friends took shelter from the rain at the local library, bags clutched tightly close in their arms. Rain poured down suddenly, blanketing the world in a curtain of gray. Marta wondered if she still had enough paint to replicate the color.
They all went inside the building and picked a table close to a window. School had only ended moments ago, and the library was still quite lively with students moving around the tall shelves carrying armloads of books while others ducked down to their tables, notes and papers scattered on the surface.
“I don’t want to start on our assignments yet,” Camilla, one of Marta’s oldest friends, said in a petulant voice. “But we don’t really have much to do inside a library.”
“How about reading a book?” one of the girls innocently asked, which earned a flat look from Camilla and snickers from the other girls.
As they wait for the rain to stop, Marta walked aimlessly between the aisles, fingers running along the spines of the books. She could faintly smell the scent of old papers and leather, the covers dyed in all kinds of colors. The lamps washed the aisle in warmth, and it was making Marta itch to sketch something.
Her hand moved to grab a red book, the color catching her eyes, when another hand bumped into hers, trying to grab the same item.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t see yo–– oh, it’s you!”
Marta looked at the person, a lanky young man with a bright smile and eyes. “It seems like fate has not yet abandoned me and has given me a chance to meet you again.”
For a second, Marta thought the young man familiar, until a sudden memory of a windy afternoon flashed through her mind.
“Ah! You’re that young man from that day! The one that helped me with my hat.”
The young man made an exaggerated bow. “Benedict Clarke.” The young man was wearing a familiar dark maroon coat and red-and-gold tie, with the same school insignia that Marta had on her own uniform, though the colors seemed slightly faded.
“I never knew we were both in the same school.”
“Indeed,” Benedict nodded. “Though I would say that this is a good kind of surprise. It’s been some time, hasn’t it?”
Marta thought, “Around a year, I think?” She had already celebrated her fifteenth birthday a few weeks back.
“Still, to be remembered after so long— it's quite an honor.”
Marta could feel her cheeks starting to feel warm, and a faint playful smile bloomed on her lips. “And you’re still as good with words.”
The young man laughed, “I’d take that as a compliment. Having a mastery of words is an important skill for my craft, after all.”
Marta tilted her head in curiosity at that and noticed a couple more books, blank papers, and a pen in his hands. “Ah, are you needing this book, then?” she asked, gesturing to the one they were both grabbing earlier.
Benedict scratched his cheek and gave her an apologetic look. “Yes. I need to review some historical facts for accuracy. I haven’t seen someone else about to grab it, as well, or I wouldn’t have bumped into you.”
“For a project?” Marta asked, confused. It’s still early in the semester for any large school workloads.
“Ah, no.” The young man seemed to be getting more embarrassed. “It’s more of . . . partly personal?” At Marta’s more confused look, he sighed and showed her the papers he was holding. Marta took them, noting how Benedict was now looking more at the shelves than at her. For a moment, she wasn’t sure what it was she was reading until she noticed how the lines were written.
“Are you. . . writing a script?”
“For a play,” Benedict quickly added, though Marta could’ve help but detect a small hint of defensiveness in his tone. “We had a small group here in school, and we met up twice a week for practice and making props.”
“I didn’t know we had a theater group here on campus.”
“It’s a bit generous to call us a theater group. We only ever had five members.”
Marta read a few passages. “Are you the writer, then?”
“When needed.” His shoulders seemed to relaxed. “I could also be a revered general or a charming prince, if asked.”
“And charm the princesses and ladies in court with your sweet words?” Marta joked, making Benedict laugh in surprise.
“Exactly! You already knew me so well, Miss Marta,” he told her with a wink. His eyes, though, remained earnest. Marta felt her breath stop for a second. She could see how he could definitely pull off the “Charming Prince” role.
“Is that the play you are currently working on?”
“Oh no, we’re doing a more historical one.” He gestured to the book. “One of our members and friends had a dear uncle who was in the military for much of her life. They received news last week that said their uncle had passed away. A skirmish near the border, they said.”
“That’s awful,” Marta said in a low voice. “Both my father and eldest brother were also in the military, and so I was somewhat aware of the growing tension on the border. However, I’ve never heard of any fights until now.”
“That’s what my friend said, as well. It seemed the attack was a surprise even for them. They said they wanted to do a play about our soldiers and life in the military as a way to commemorate their uncle, especially as they won’t be able to go back home in time for the funeral. The rest of the members agreed, as well.”
“You all seemed really close,” Marta said softly, a small smile on her lips. Benedict nodded in agreement.
“When you spend countless midnight hours with the same people nailing stage props and painting trees with barely any light, you’re already part of a family.”
Marta chuckled as Benedict nodded with such conviction. They then heard Camilla’s voice as she turned from the other end of the aisle, calling for Marta.
“Oh, there you are! I’ve been looking around for you.” She turned at Benedict, curious. “And you might be. . ?”
The young man straightened, the easy atmosphere dissipating as Camilla neared them . The bow that Benedict did this time was more proper. “Benedict Clarke.”
“He’s. . .” Marta paused, thinking. “A new friend of mine.” Benedict looked at her, surprised written on his face for a second, before a bright smile graced his lips.
Camilla blinked a couple of times. “Well, nice to meet you, Benedict Clarke. You can just call me Camilla.”
“A pleasure to meet you, Camilla.” The church bell started ringing, signaling the coming of night. “Ah, it’s already this late. I’m afraid I’ll be going ahead of you, ladies. Much left for me to do.”
He turned and started walking to the other end of the aisle when Marta suddenly remembered something. “Wait!”
Benedict turned, confused. Marta pulled out the book earlier and moved to hand it to him.
“You need this for your research, remember?”
“Aren’t you going to read it?” he asked her.
“I was merely browsing to pass the time,” she replied. “And besides, I would like to see the final product of your play. The ones I read earlier seemed interesting.”
Benedict looked at her with such large eyes and then started to chuckle. “In that case, I’ll make sure to leave you the best seat in the house.”
As the two girls walked to where their friends were, Camilla bumped Marta with her shoulders. “Learning to make friends with handsome boys now, are we? Your father dearest will be in shock.”
“Stop that,” Marta told her, though a small smile was present on her face. “We were just talking, and he’s an interesting conversationalist.”
Camilla looked like she didn’t entirely believe her, what with that mischievous look in her eyes, but she thankfully dropped the teasing. “Still,” her voice was much softer and serious. “You don’t want others sending ideas to your parents.”
Marta bit her lip and nodded. She is aware of the weight her family—her father—carried, aware of the ongoing talks regarding her older sister’s future, aware that hers would probably begin sooner rather than later, but she found herself reluctant to care. From the windows, they could see that the rain had finally let up, the last rays of the afternoon sun peaking through the dark clouds.
Days blurred with classes and daily routines. It was days later, when Marta went to the library alone to look for some reference for an assignment in History, that she noticed a familiar book as she skimmed through the shelves. She pulled it out and noticed a small tip of paper peeking through. She opened the book’s cover and noticed a small written note on the side.
‘Finally finished the script. Thank you for the help. The tentative date for the performance is in three months, and I’ll be sure to prepare that promised seat.
P.S. I don’t think I’m allowed to write anything on library books, but I forgot to ask how to reach you last time, and my friends are making fun of me for writing here. But, I have a feeling this note will reach you this way.’
Marta would have snorted if she could. She looked at the piece of paper and noticed a date and time jotted down, as well as an address. She put the book on top of her pile. After making sure that no one saw, she quietly slipped the book into her bag and brought it with her when she left the building earlier. The act was making her feel giddy and guilty as if she just committed a crime, but it is prohibited to write on the pages of library books.
A sense of unexplained nervousness and excitement filled her heart. Maybe she could prank the young man using the book. After all, they’re already friends.