Mom would pack up fried cold chicken. I know, it sounds gross, but it’s not...”Her voice floated on the air. “It doesn’t sound gross.”Smiling, I continued. “Mom always timed it perfectly. We’d be there and have a picnic in the middle of the cherry blossoms. She looked so young and I’d be running around. It was sort of magical. I miss it. It seems silly, but I can still remember the aroma. It’s one of my favorite smells. It smells clean, somehow. Like how light would smell.”“That sounds really sweet. I’m gonna go when this is all over.”“You should. They have a zoo and playgrounds and gardens and stuff.”“Thanks, Danny. I’m going to go Google it. See some photos.”I went back inside thinking of her grandmother.Well, either I wasn’t quite as charming as I thought I was or the hospitals in the US were more stringent than I thought they’d be about patient privacy. No one with the Trimboli last name was in any hospital I checked. It took forever to get anyone to answer a phone and when they. I have traded for salt there many times and admired its women. Bathed, anointed with olive oil, then fresh fruit and lamb is offered to me as I wait. The food seems to have lost its taste. I am consumed with thoughts of this woman that is like a tiger. She took the life of two of my advanced guard before she could be subdued. Even shackled she is a handful. She reminds me of the jaguars that I kept long ago, strong yet graceful but ever deadly. Finally, I see her being led in wearing fine silks and smelling of exotic oils from lands that I have plundered. ‘I’ll kill you, she hisses, you vile desert rat.’ ‘Brave talk from a girl who I chose to let live.’ Like a cat, she leaps at me and lashes at me with her claws. Servants knock her to the ground and a rapier is drawn to take her head. ‘Hold! She is mine. Leave us.’ My cheek stings from the blood she has drawn with her nails. ‘For a slave you fight well.’ ‘I am not a slave. I am a sultan’s daughter.’ ‘Oh, I see, and where is your.
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