by R.G. Strike
Xhynia woke up early the following day. Unlike yesterday, she strolled out, when the twin was still sleeping inside their bedroom, to discover the golden rays of the sun dazzling over the village. She immediately wore her boots and set off to search the forest surrounding the old Turpin House for dry twigs.
An hour later, when the sun had finally managed its way to shine upon the roof of the house, Xhynia returned inside, both hands embracing a bundle brittle wood, which she had lazily thrown into the cavity of the grate. Nevertheless, as she secretly paused before the door of the twin, and had discovered that they were still asleep, she took advantage and tiptoed to the village market, where she had purchased ingredients for her plan of a sumptuous breakfast.
When Xhynia arrived at the house, nearly after an hour later, Irvin and Peter were ambling near the forest, apparently searching for her.
“We thought you went out to the wilderness,” said Irvin, meeting her on the doorpost. “And, in fact, this is our third time after thinking – where have you been, by the way?”
“Obviously,” Peter snapped, walking next to Xhynia, and lifting the bag of groceries she bought. “The market, of course; let us get ourselves inside.”
Irvin turned the handle and ushered them inside. Peter, whose eyes were still swollen, was interrogating Xhynia to the best he could.
“Well, if you got some really bad dilemma things wouldn’t work easily. Managing a conversation in the market was such a bad thing I despise the most, especially when we were younger because grandma often enjoys bringing me when she visits the market.”
Peter laid all the things on the table. Irvin, however, immediately disappeared to his bedroom.
“He always does that,” Peter told Xhynia, who had resumed the pan and heating it on top of the stove. “Changed a little since we were kids.”
“It isn’t bad, is it?” asked Xhynia, peeling the onions.
“Come on, you can’t pretend to enjoy that,” said Peter, frowning.
“I didn’t say I enjoy it,” Xhynia retorted.
Peter scuttled into rummaging the package of groceries in the table. He scrutinized each, always with a comment, and laid it before Xhynia, who was then beginning to cook their meal.
“Hey, Xhynia,” Peter called out, “has it occurred to you that the baby is enchanted?”
Xhynia did not answer for a few seconds, then she rinsed her hands and faced Peter.
“Well, if so then it should have terrorized me last night,” she said. “Doesn’t matter what the baby is. We’ll be sending it later to the orphanage anyway.”
“Do you really think it was essential?”
“Well, of course, it is essential, Peter. No one could have thought it isn’t essential if they were in our place.”
Peter chuckled and continued rummaging the package. When he grew tired of it, he left the room and showered. Irvin, on the other hand, had locked himself in the attic for unknown purposes. When Xhynia had announced meal was ready, the two men hurried on the table.
“There you go,” she said, placing a served viand onto the table. “Having the thought we were just lucky we could pay our credits, we just deserve some nerves to luxuriate.”
“It’s what you think, eh?” said Irvin, grabbing some into his plate, and then finally disappeared into chewing hungrily.
“Haven’t had one like this for the past four days,” said Peter, also gobbling his own victual. “So after breakfast we could go on with our business.”
“You’re right, and I got things already planned,” said Xhynia. “Well, the errand’s got myself so much excited for today.” Irvin suddenly stopped and looked at Xhynia.
“Did you count the money?” he asked nervously.
“Yes, it’s exactly a thousand Meeks,” Xhynia replied satisfactorily.
Her momentous answer had totally relieved the fear of Irvin. Now he looked down at his food and continued eating until after a few more minutes, he bolted upright and sighed.
“What?” said Xhynia disappointedly.
“Nothing,” Irvin replied. “What do you plan after this?”
It might have taken Xhynia a couple of seconds to think before answering Irvin in a straight, direct statement without drawing breath again.
“Well, I do plan stepping a foot on the bank and paying the credit first of all, then we could manage the orphanage business afterwards.”
“It’s good you set the bank on the top,” said Peter approvingly. “It seems that they have only threatened us.”
“They just can’t,” said Irvin, “otherwise it would be for me to knock them down.”
There was something on the tone of his voice that, for a moment, had made Peter flinch back and remember what his older brother had done. He sat low on his chair, feeling the impassiveness he had felt yesterday. He could not quite forget how odd things were going: A fight that occurred just as the bank had declared the foreclosure of their house. . . . Irvin returning home with a baby and a bundle of real cash with his great little story, which Peter secretly struggled to believe, and he could not tell whether or not Irvin was faking him with his ‘sorry’ yesterday; now they were hours away from slamming the payment into the bank’s cashier, it felt queerly on his part having witnessed a dozen impossible incidents within a short span of time.
Irvin spun around and drummed his fingers on the table.
“What?” said Xhynia.
“The baby – did you feed it?” Irvin had asked, rather concerned.
Xhynia chuckled heavily.
“What do you mean?” she said.
“We’re sort of eating and I just thought if you had managed to keep it off from starving.”
“Yes, I fed him with milk I bought from the marketplace,” she said. “You think I could ever forget about it?”
“Dunno.”
“Well, I think I must get upstairs and change its clothes, see – I’ve also purchased clothing for him so not to draw any suspicion to the people in charge in the orphanage.”
She scuttled away into the staircase and disappeared with a trail of footsteps.
After fixing themselves, Peter, Irvin, and Xhynia, who was holding the baby like a real mother, had set off to the busy street of the village. She was wearing rather tight jeans and knee-length coat, a luxurious handy bag dangled from her right shoulder, and a dark sunglass that was making the passerby look at her.
“It’s effective, isn’t it?” she asked the two men.
“Obviously,” Peter answered.
Xhynia smirked at him, drawing the bag closer to her as they reached a tall, gray building with large doors and two fat men guarding the outside. A few people were going in and out, most of them were royal people wearing fashion clothes different from the less fortunate.
“You two better wait here,” she said, indicating a hut in front of Ladvick’s Restaurant. “I am sure the guards won’t let us all in so you need to take this baby and I need to get the task of paying it as soon as I can.”
“Sure,” said Irvin, taking the baby carefully from her.
“I’ll be back.”
Xhynia left them behind and climbed on the three remaining stairs leading into the doorpost of the bank. She felt invincible this time, as though she had drought a magical potion that ought to make her powerful. She beamed at the two bull-size guards, who were crossing each other from either path, and they came hurrying to open the large, metal door, which noisily creaked.
She stepped into the dimly lighted chamber. There were people sitting on one corner, reading newspapers, some were counting money on a bag; there were also those who were attending their tellers and arguing with what seemed to be mistakes in their accounts. On the other hand, a cluster of guards were ushering a mad man out of the chair, his face completely full of scars that only his thick eyebrows were the only things visible.
As Xhynia was walking and looking around at the people, a slim and elegant lady met her. She was wearing purple shirt and faded jeans, her hairs ti
ed upwards, and she seemed to be wearing two large dangling.
“Can I help you, ma’am?” she asked Xhynia, who jolted the moment she spoke.
“Oh, yes, if you please,” Xhynia answered rather professionally. “I’ll be paying to the bank, actually.”
The lady pointed at one vacant chair before counter, and after knowing that Xhynia understood her clearly she disappeared to the next person.
Xhynia followed her direction, and there, beside an old lady who was speaking very slowly that her teller got bored she was now gnawing her fingernails, the man who was in charge had called her to approach him. Xhynia did not hesitate and appeared there in less than a second.
“Take your seat,” he said, and Xhynia sat so low on a Perkin’s chair. “So, we meet again.”
“Yes,” said Xhynia sharply. Then she whispered to herself, “Abnormal bank. . . .”
“Have you changed your mind?” he asked. “Have you finally realized that letting the Turpin House foreclosed would mean the end of your entire lineage’s possession?”
“It is beyond your business to know about that.” Xhynia squared her shoulders as she sat more poised on the low chair.
“Well, yes, you were quite right,” the man continued. “So where on Earth did you borrow the money to pay your loan?”
“Actually, it is not my attitude to borrow money to pay my loan. And it is beyond your business to know about that, too.”
“Very well, then –”
“Do you still plan to interrogate me with so much of your curiosity?” said Xhynia madly. “I suppose I have other important appointments to get myself occupied rather than sitting here and answering you with the same thing.”
“It is our right to interrogate our costumers –”
“Tut, tut, tut. Get things fast, do you understand?” said Xhynia boringly, eyeing the man with her sharp face.
She quickly withdrew the money from her bag and slammed it right in front of the teller, who looked back in fear that Xhynia might threaten him. Then she closed her bag and faced him once more.
“Count it quickly.”
“It’s your order,” he said, and began counting the money in front of him. When he was finished, he looked at her and said, “Seven hundred Meeks.”
“So, am I cleared?” she asked seriously.
“Yes –”
“Record it, stamp it, sign it, do the damn things you ought to do to legalize it. My attorney’s coming here to arrange things with you shortly after lunch. Goodbye.”
Xhynia stood and walked away, the man’s mouth hanging even as she disappeared outside. She walked quickly as she saw the two enormous guards crossing at each other’s direction again, and met with Peter and Irvin inside the hut.
“Such a tremendous teller,” she sighed, taking the baby back from Irvin.
Peter lurked his eyes on her bag, which sagged almost empty.
“Still got three hundred Meeks there?” he asked.
“Yes,” said Xhynia, patting the bag.
“Let’s go, then,” Peter called out.
Irvin stood and was the first to step out of the hut. Peter held a large bag where Xhynia had put the clothes of the baby and some of the newly bought accessories, and was gazing again at it.
“Where are we going, by the way?” Xhynia asked, then she paused and stared at them.
“To the orphanage, remember?” said Irvin coldly.
“Yes, I know, but which orphanage are we heading for?”
“Oh, I thought you planned it all last night –”
“Sorry, we’re actually heading to St. Mayleboune Orphanage,” Peter said as he withdrew his eyes from the bulging bag. Then they resumed walking, Peter at lead. “It’s located in Galania, not far from here, really. I’ve heard about it over the years . . . some of my friends came from there, and they’re not really happy being called orphans. . . . doesn’t really matter.”
There were cars parked on the sidewalk as they curved into a labyrinth of brick houses, roads turning narrow and shabby, and chimneys rose into the air like slim fingers pointing upward. There was a strange smell that simmered the air as they turned right into a gloomy street.
Dogs and cats were everywhere, scattering piles of garbage cans on the pavement. Street children were hilariously chasing a postman riding on a bicycle as it passed the pallid houses, pretending they were sorts of ghosts imitating a rather realistic hoot.
“What is this place?” asked Xhynia, tightening her embrace on the baby as they passed a gate full of barking dogs.
“We’re nearly there,” said Peter.
They turned, yet again, the end of the road into a nicer street with a much decent features: Well kept road, and there were neither dogs nor cats loitering around the brighter surrounding that was full of life.
“I think we’re here,” Peter announced.
All of them looked up at the tall gate where upon hanged the letters:
ST. MAYLEBOUNE
Orphanage
“It looks creepy,” said Irvin, “but I am sure the baby will enjoy.”
“Come on. Enter,” said Peter.
He pushed the gate open a crack and they slithered inside the wide and grassy backyard. Beyond was a stone building, with strong aura of an anciently built one, roofed with scarlet tiles that shimmered on the sun’s beams.
It smelled almost natural as they strolled deeper into the bushes of healthy bougainvilleas. Somewhere from the far corner came high-pitched giggles.
The three of them looked around. And not so long they saw three dressed women sitting under a cherry tree beside the stone building. All of whom seemed to be enjoying the sunny day, as though it only came once in a hundred years. The woman whose hairs were straight and shoulder level was the one who laughed the hardest.
“What are they doing?” Xhynia asked madly.
“How could we know,” said Peter, “if we won’t get near them.”
He led the path, again, and after a few seconds, they reached the tree under which sat the three women, who immediately stopped giggling and looked up them. The one on the center, who has long hairs that was tied upwards, spoke first.
“Can we of any help to you?” she said.
“We are under the impression to ask for assistance regarding this baby,” answered Irvin politely, gesturing his hands into the baby at Xhynia’s hands. “We want to leave him under the care of this orphanage in an accurate manner.”
“Oh,” said the woman. She looked at her companions then nodded.
“Come, follow us, sir,” she said. She stood together with the other two then walked into the stone building.
They entered an open door, then into an alley vibrantly illuminated with the sunlight coming from the outside; Xhynia was following closely behind the three women who were walking so elegantly that they were almost discriminated. Irvin looked around as if there were decorations. Peter was clutching the bag tightly.
There was a scuttling sound, and a group of children ran across them into the backyard. After a few more minutes, they entered a large, high-ceilinged room with walls dully covered with racks of books, some of them were dusty and cobwebbed. A rectangular table lay on a corner facing a sofa covered with a pink, newly laundered cloth.
“Sit,” said the three women, and Irvin, Peter, and Xynia sat immediately.
Xhynia looked down at the baby and stared at its green eyes. He was smiling at her, a smile that was almost impossible to make. Xhynia beamed at him and smiled in return.
“Shall you require tea?” asked a woman with short, bushy hairs, strictness on her tone, “or anything, perhaps?”
“No, thanks, we’ve just had one recently –” answered Xhynia.
“Did we?” Peter quickly asked; Xhynia stomped on his foot. “Oh, yes, and it was really great.”
“Very well, I shall be asking you questions for the mean time,” said the same woman, caressing her palms. She cleared her throat and said, “Have you considered the consequences of lea
ving your child in an orphanage rather than raising it yourself with the best of your ability because, I suppose, there are greater benefits waiting for him if you do?”
No one answered. Peter thought of something to say just to keep the conversation flowing.
“Well, we’ve had that decided for almost a month, and we are afraid to say that it is below our abilities to raise it furthermore,” he said. “That is why we chose the better option of entrusting him to your orphanage.”
“Are you aware –?”
“No,” said Xhynia. “Are we going to answer –”
“I am not yet finished,” said the woman. “Are you aware, in any manner, that at your age you are still capable managing an errand to get yourself occupied? That being mediocre villagers of Galania, you are not to waste your energy into raising the child which sprung from your bond –”
“Oh, stop telling lies, we’re not mediocre,” said Xhynia, sighing. “And, just that you know, we’re not capable to work.”
The strict woman looked unconvinced. She scowled and rolled her eyes sideways, as if underestimating Xhynia.
“Judging by your appearance,” she said, “it is, I believe, essential to say that you are placing yourself in eccentric part of stressful –”
“We have a virulent form of illness, for your information,” Xhynia retorted, “sending us not so much capable of works for the remainder of lives.”
“An illness?”
“Yes, an illness, we’re afraid. So if you just stop asking stupid questions that are not so much useful, though in a matter that is not concerned with us leaving this baby, maybe we could get things fast, isn’t it?”
“Well let’s just suppose that you have correctly and hospitably answered our questions and had not, for a moment, felt insecure being interrogated.” She pretended to protrude a snigger. Afterwards, she slowly turned her head towards the other two women at her back.
The woman whose hairs were ponytailed sneered at her other companion beside her. She had straight shoulder length greasy-black hairs, and seemed to have halted from a guffaw.
“As Melody expounded in her statements,” she said, waving her straight hairs backward, “we are feeling unsure about your background, as unlike the others who left their child on our care, that is why, for some reasons, we think for any measure to ensure we are safe engaging business with you –”
“Oh, right. You don’t trust us – we don’t trust you. We’ll be seeking for other worthier orphanages, anyway.”
The three woman looked at each other.
“That is not what we mean to say,” said the strict woman. “We are eager to know more about you –”
“I suppose you are not educated to be an investigator?” Xhynia asked rather sharply.
“Oh, we’re not,” said the same woman. “As a matter of fact, we are educated best as we got older from our experiences. But don’t get us lost. There are circumstances –”
“Stop it,” said Xhynia. “Just name the child Alexander Abercrombe, that’s enough, I believe.”
“Yes, yes,” said the woman, “it is an interesting name. But just to avoid any massive regret, perhaps you would want to look over our Book of Names –”
“Oh, there you are, welcome!” exclaimed another woman, who had just entered the door; she has long bushy brown hairs and dark skin. Then she moved towards them as gently as her elegance would permit. “I am astonished to see walk in visitors!”
“They are here to manage a business, Marietta,” muttered the strict lady, tilting her head towards the other woman called Marietta.
“Yes, I am aware of it, Melody,” Marietta retorted. Then she looked at Irvin, Peter, and Xhynia. “So it’s great that you’re here.”
“We are pleased to leave our baby on you care,” said Xhynia honestly.
“You certainly have your own grounds for you to leave your baby in this orphanage,” said Marietta, beaming at them.
“Oh, yes, we have them, but we think it’s private,” said Xhynia, almost after Marietta finished her statement. “And I suppose you ought not to ask us that if you want to accept this baby.”
“Well, of course, we do.”
“We want to do it accurately. In fact, we also want you to assist us in doing so as we are completely ignorant on the process –”
“Yes, Sandra will kindly assist you to sign some important sheets –”
“Well, then we should better start.”
Xhynia stood and gave Marietta the baby. She smiled upon receiving it and uttered, “Oh, gosh, he’s cute like his father.”
“He doesn’t have –” Peter began, but Xhynia had stomped on his feet again.
“Yes,” said Xhynia, “he strongly looks like his father. Irvin, please let yourself be recognized as the father.”
Irvin smiled as all the women in the room searched to look at him. They seemed to giggle again, but the woman named Melody hushed them to hold their tongue.
“Sandra, please assist her,” she said.
“I’m Xhynia, actually,” she said disappointedly.
“Oh, what a nice name, sounds like a piñata, or something like –”
“It doesn’t sound like anything!” she yelled, and walked towards the table.
After she had signed almost one ream of papers, her hands turned numb repeating the same words on every page. She came back to the cluster of women and informed them that she was finished, and that they should better collect the papers otherwise she would change them.
“Oh, yes, Sandra will kindly collect those papers,” said Marietta. She looked at them once more and asked, “Are you really sure about leaving us your baby?”
“I shouldn’t have signed those papers if my decision wasn’t final!” she barked, turning impatient and mad at the same time. “Is there anything else?”
“Oh, yes, there is,” said Marietta, still smiling. “Do you have anything to leave as a donation to the orphanage?”
“Is the baby not an enough donation?” asked Xhynia, and Marietta and the other woman looked frozen in their emotion. “Oh – and, by the way,” – Xhynia snatched the bulky bag from Peter – “we have an additional donation. You’ll find his clothes here and some other important stuff.”
“Er, I think that is not what she meant,” Peter whispered to Xhynia’s ears. “She means money to develop the orphanage.”
“Yes, sure,” said Xhynia, opening her bag and picking money. “Here, take this fifty Meeks –”
“Fifty Meeks?” screamed the woman, surprised. “That’s a grand already, ma’am! In that case, you will need to –”
“Sign another document?” Xhynia asked. “I don’t think so, we’re in a hurry.”
And so she and the twin stepped out of the room, and walked into the labyrinth of stone houses, then back into their very own Turpin House.
CHAPTER FIVE:
DISCIPLINARY ROOM