The second uncle, the one with the sharp eyes, stood up so abruptly that his chair flew backwards and rolled across the marble floor, the echo of the crash shaking the entire dining room.
His trembling hands rested on the table to propel himself forward, and for a moment I could see the veins in his neck bulging beneath the skin reddened with anger.
The cutlery clattered, and several glasses vibrated with the impact, spilling drops of wine that stained the white tablecloth.
The atmosphere was heavy, as if every word he was about to utter burned in his throat.
Even the servants, who had tried to make themselves invisible in the corners, held their breath, afraid that any movement would make them an unwitting target of his fury.
—"How dare you insult your uncle!" —he bellowed, his voice shaking with indignation as he pointed at me—. "His son is dead! Do you have no respect for your own family?!"
