“Elim is here, Tolan,” Mother said. “He came to say hello.”

Father opened his eyes, enormous and glittering dark pools that overwhelmed his gray shrunkenness. What life remained had collected in them. It took him a moment to focus on me, and then he smiled.

“Elim,” he whispered.

“Hello, Father.” My voice sounded loud and false.

“Look . . . Mila. He’s a man,” he said with wonder, as if the intervening years had been mere days.

“Well, isn’t that what I’m supposed to be?” I tried to joke.

He started to pull himself up. “Help me, Mila.”

“No, Tolan. Rest. Elim will be back when you’re feeling stronger.” Mother started to guide me out of the room.

“No!” The strength of his voice stopped us. “Help me sit up, and then leave.”

Mother had a stricken look on her face. She looked at me. I didn’t know what to say.

“Please, Tolan. You need to. . . .”

“I need to talk to Elim.” He turned to me. “Help me sit up.” His body was nearly weightless, and as I lifted him up and reset his bolster, I wondered what kept him from floating away.

“Now leave us, Mila,” he commanded.

I thought Mother was going to cry. She gave one last pleading look, but realized that it was useless. She turned and left.

Alone with Father, I didn’t know what to say. He motioned me to come closer. I knelt down on the floor so that my face was level with his.

“I’m dying, Elim.” He could see the distress in my face as I tried to stammer something. “No, no, no. I’m old, and this is what’s supposed to happen now.”

“And all this time. . . .” I tried, but my voice choked off. “I’m sorry, Father.”

“You have nothing to apologize for, Elim. I’m the one who’s sorry.”

“Please, Father. . . .”

“I’m not your father.”

I studied his face to make sure that he wasn’t drifting away. His eyes were clear and present; if anything, the glitter had intensified.

“Of course you are.” I spoke to him as if he were a child or a simpleton.

“Elim, there’s no time to waste. I have always loved you like a son. I wished with all my heart that you weremy son. But you’re not.”

Now I felt like the child. “Then . . . I don’t understand. Who is?”

Tolan sighed. “Your mother is the one to tell you. I made a promise. . . .” and his voice trailed off.

“I don’t understand,” I repeated. “Why?”

“Oh, my dear Elim. The soul of a poet, and look at you . . . your closed face . . . all those secrets. . . .” A spasm rippled through him like a sudden wind over still water. “Too many secrets . . . it’s like poison.” He brought his trembling, clawlike hand up to my face. “Too many secrets poison the soul.” The spasm came again, this time accompanied by a racking cough. When his body relaxed he pointed to a table.

“The red box. Open it.” I saw what he was pointing at, and rose and went to it. For some reason I was afraid to touch it.

“Open it, Elim.” He endured another racking cough.

It was an old lacquered box made from some kind of organic material. I lifted the simple latch. Inside it was the Hebitian recitation mask. I picked it up and felt the coarse material. The neutral face of the mask stared blankly back at me.

“Celebrate Oralius. However you can. The bag also.” His voice was barely audible.

A white fiber bag was at the bottom of the box. I picked it up and opened it. Inside were dozens of Edosian orchid tuber cuttings. I looked at Tolan, who was smiling faintly.

“However you can,” he repeated with as much energy that remained. “Now take them and go.” He closed his eyes and went completely still. I stood there a long time. Thoughts, images, feelings swirled through me, collided, lingered, dissipated–and I did nothing but observe them. I had no choice. To identify with any one of them meant certain chaos. I maintained my detachment as I repacked the red box. A part of me stood off to the side and watched the rest of me pick up the box, go over to Tolan, and press my open palm against his cold, dry forehead.

“Good‑bye, Father.”

Mila was waiting for me when I came out. Her face was as neutral as the Hebitian mask.

“Why?” I asked.

“It was necessary.” She was unapologetic, almost defiant. She looked at the red box I was carrying and sighed.

“Necessary to live this deception for all these years?” She just looked at me. It was a stupid question. In our society, having a child without an enjoined mate marked both mother and child as outcasts. The child needed both parents, otherwise he or she was designated an orphan and taken away to a service institution. The mother was publicly vilified, and the father of the child, if he was ever identified, was severely punished.

“Why didn’t you ever enjoin with my real father?” I asked.

“It wasn’t possible, Elim.”

“And Tolan agreed to this deception?” It was a dangerous arrangement. The Cardassian family is a strictly defined unit, and any corruption of this unit is considered a real threat to our society.

“Tolan is a good man.”

“But you had another man’s child!” I was angry; I wanted to punish her. She knew this but wasn’t going to back down.

“His loyalty was stronger than his disapproval,” she answered pointedly. Was this the formality, the distance that had always existed between them? And had there ever been any love between them?

“Who is my father?” For the first time she broke our contact and looked away.

“I’m sorry, Elim.” Mother moved to the bottom of the stairs as if she were ushering me out. “Will you come back tomorrow? I don’t know how long it will be. . . .”

“Who is he?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“I have a right to know!” I demanded.

“And I have a right. . . .” She cut herself off and made a wide gesture with her arms that seemed to include everything around her. And then it hit me . . . and simultaneously we both heard his footsteps upstairs. A chill went through me. Of course. I went to the stairs and looked at Mother. Her face was softer, younger. For this one moment the distance between us had dissolved. The footsteps were now directly above us. My entire life had been dominated by his presence. So had Mother’s . . . and Tolan’s. I nodded and started up the stairs.

“Elim. . . .” I stopped and looked back down at her. I could see how handsome and strong her face must have been when she was young.

“What, Mother?”

“Be careful,” she finally warned.

“There’s nothing to worry about. I’m just going to say hello to ‘Uncle’ Enabran.” I turned and continued up the stairs.

Tain opened the door. Although I hadn’t been here in many years he wasn’t surprised to see me.

“Elim. This is like the old days. Come in.” And it was like the old days. He led me through the same dark hallway into the same cluttered study, the focus of his home life. Except there were even more scrolls made from the hide of the brangwa,the extinct mountain canid. Early Cardassians from the mountainous region of Rogarin used these hides to record the poetry and stories of their culture. Tain was proud of his collection and was very much involved in a network with other collectors.

“That’s an old box, Elim.” He pointed to the red box I had forgotten I was clutching. “May I see?” I hesitated. “I don’t blame you. It shouldn’t be handled by just anybody. Where did you find it?”

“Tolan gave it to me.” I never called him Tolan, but if Tain noticed the change he didn’t indicate it.

“Ah, yes. How is he? I understand he’s quite sick.”

“He’s dying.”

“Oh dear. Such a good man.”

“That’s what Mother said.”

There was a long silence and we just looked at each other. I felt disconnected. What was I doing here?

“Sit down, Elim. Just put that stack on the floor.” I cleared the chair he had pointed to and sat holding the red box protectively in my lap. Tain sat in a deep chair that was obviously his favorite.