Page 47 - full

46 Amit Bobrov
I felt. I fought my rage and tried to master my thoughts.
With my eyes to the floor I gathered my few belongings and

made room for myself in the smithy. Ingrid watched me, yet I
could not bring myself to return the gaze.
“What kind of name is Adam?” She suddenly asked, as she
watched me walking about.
“W-what?” I asked, surprised by the question.
“I am sooorry,” Ingrid said, drawing out each syllable slowly as
if I was dumb or deaf. “My father told me that you don’t speak
very well,” she said, nodding her head up and down.
“Yes,” I replied, taking a deep breath. My patience was growing

thin; I wanted her away from me.
“What kind of name is Adam? I’ve never heard it before,” she
asked.
“It means ‘Man’,” I replied, speaking plainly, trying to overcome
my accent.
“That’s it?” She asked.
“Yes,” I replied.

“Do you know what my name means?” She asked, obviously
wishing to tell me. I had no idea, but I played with the thought of
her name meaning ‘in-greed’, ‘inbreed’, or any such wordplay.
“You’re quite odd, being so stiff, and then smiling all of a
sudden for no apparent reason,” she said, and I turned red.
“It means ‘beautiful’,” she boasted after an awkward silence.
“What?” I asked, not following her thoughts.
“My name, Ingrid, it means ‘beautiful’,” she said.
“It fits,” I replied.

“What?” She asked.
“The name beautiful fits you, you are beautiful,” I replied,
only now realizing the truth of it.
‘Why the hell would I have said something like that? I hate