by D. Moonfire
minutes later, one of the dogs dragged the shovel around the dune and set it down. The hound panted for a moment and ran off, leaving it behind.
Rutejìmo picked it up and began cleaning. To his surprise, he felt content with what the Tijikóse expected of him. The shovel settled into his palm, against healing blisters. Without hesitating, he got to work.
Hours later, when the sun had long dipped below the horizon, he staggered around the dune and looked across the camp. Most of the campsites were occupied by various clans, just like before. Most had a number of tents, but a few had wagons. One even had a snail-like vehicle that smoked from its tentacles. Small fires had been set among the tents and wagons with a larger bonfire in the common area of the oasis. The crowds gathered around the larger fire, sharing dinner, laughter, and conversation while they forgot the world for a moment.
Mapábyo, on the other hand, sat next to an empty fire pit. She had her tent set up, and there was a spot for a second one.
He came up along the sands, his bare feet scrunching with every step.
She jumped at his sound and scrambled to her feet. “Jìmo—”
Rutejìmo held up his hand to silence her. Coming up, he came close enough to feel her breath against his skin. He grinned and leaned toward her, enjoying the sight of her tilting her head up to meet his kiss. He kissed her.
A Tijikóse guard walked near.
He pulled away from her to step toward the shadows, watching the guard warily.
Mapábyo whimpered softly and sat down. “I don’t like this.”
Without a word, he unrolled his tent between hers and the dune. It would remain hidden from the central area of the camp, something he thought would be appropriate. He worked quickly to pitch the tent, and started making food to donate to the central fire.
She shifted to watch him. In the light of the flames, her eyes glistened with tears.
Rutejìmo tried to smile encouragingly when he could, but he remained silent.
When she left to take the food to the others, he slipped into his tent and sat down heavily. He wanted to cry or scream. The urge to bolt out of the tent and bellow for everyone to pay attention to him rose up, but he fought it. He yanked the small book of poetry from his pack and distracted himself by reading.
Twenty minutes later, Mapábyo pushed aside the flap of his tent. “You forgot to eat,” she whispered.
He looked up, unsure if he could find any words. The lessons before held, and he nodded silently.
She knelt and carried in two heaping plates of food of all varieties, each clan contributing their specialties. He recognized the small yellow peppers from a horse clan who shared bodies with their mounts and the spiced pepper that many clans bought from the south. With a smile, she held up her finger and left. He saw that the gathering had started to break apart, but then the tent flap blocked his sight of the others.
He listened to her footsteps fade before he took a deep breath. His heart felt heavy and his throat tight. He waited for her to return, knowing that she would but still fearing that she had abandoned him.
The long minutes stretched out with only his imagination keeping him company.
When he heard her walking back, he almost sobbed with relief.
Mapábyo crawled back into his tent with a carafe of fermented milk and a large mug. “I could only get one. You don’t mind sharing, do you?”
He shook his head and smiled.
They ate in silence and passed the mug back and forth. They said nothing, but Rutejìmo felt a pressure between them, a tension that felt like a thread about to snap. He felt clumsy and nervous, lost and excited at the same time. In the moments between bites, he couldn’t help but watch her.
Eight years younger than him, Mapábyo wasn’t anything like Mikáryo. She was almost as nervous as he was. She fumbled with her plate and glanced at him through her hair. Her slender body somehow looked vulnerable in the tent, but it was the closeness to her that quickened his heart. She was beautiful, and he wondered how he missed her growing up.
She was nothing like Mikáryo, who moved like a feral mare brimming with confidence. He couldn’t help comparing the two women, he saw both when he looked at Mapábyo. He didn’t know if it because Mikáryo was his first or if it was his ten year shikāfu, but he struggled with both the differences and similarities of the two, starkly different, women.
He couldn’t forget Mapábyo’s kiss when they first reunited. He tried to bring it back, the tenderness and intensity quickly fading with his memories.
“J-Jìmo?”
Rutejìmo looked up.
“Tomorrow, could we camp out there? Where you can talk?”
He nodded, a smile stretching his lips.
“Jìmo?”
Rutejìmo shivered at the sound of her voice. It reminded him of the sound Mikáryo made when she drew him back to the tent.
Mapábyo set the mug aside and crawled over to him. Her breath washed across his face, and he drank in the sweetness tinged with soured milk. She smelled like the sweetest amyochíso fruit in that moment. She inhaled sharply and leaned into him until they were an inch apart. “I still see you.”
And then she kissed him again.
Mikáryo
Love blossoms in quiet words and gentle touches.
—Tateshyúso Shifáni
Two days later, at the end of their run, Rutejìmo and Mapábyo stopped at the same time. Their feet dug through the sand and dunes, tearing two large gouges through the ground and leaving a cloud of sand to scatter across a valley.
Mapábyo, giggling, pushed her hair from her face. “You didn’t stop running this time.”
He blushed and gave her a sheepish smile. “I can’t when I’m running with you. I start to slow down, then I realize that you wouldn’t want me to, and both my heart and feet start going faster.”
“Good.”
Rutejìmo followed her up a short hill. At the top, a rock plateau stretched out in a wide circle almost a rod across. In the center, a clan had erected a waist-high circle of stone to shield against the desert winds. The clan’s name was engraved on the rock, but Rutejìmo didn’t recognize it.
“Jìmo?”
He stopped at the top of the wall. He looked over his shoulder to where Mapábyo stood a few feet away with her hands held behind her back. She twisted back and forth, with a smile.
His heart beat even faster.
“You set up the tents, I’ll make dinner.”
He nodded, unsure of what to say. “I’d like that.”
In the brief silence, Rutejìmo finished crawling over the wall and held his hands out for her.
She took them and pulled herself up.
His muscles and injuries screamed in agony, but he fought to keep his discomfort from his face. When she reached the top, he relaxed and straightened.
Mapábyo stepped closer and reached around him. Catching his wrists, she pulled him into her and placed his palms on her hips.
Rutejìmo tried to pull away, but she held him there. “Jìmo?” She whispered, “You want to continue your story?”
Rutejìmo smiled. He had been telling Mapábyo about his rite of passage. For the first time, he didn’t hold anything back, including the most humiliating moment in his life, when he peed his pants as Mikáryo first pressed her tazágu against his throat.
He nodded, and she released him.
Time passed quickly as he told his story. He was relieved that she didn’t laugh during his whispered telling of the darkest points when he almost failed at being a decent man. Instead, she just asked a few questions and listened.
He finished in the middle of dinner. The cold food rested on his plate, and he stared at it, drained from his storytelling. In his mind, he kept seeing that last moment when he begged everyone to not kill Mikáryo and Tsubàyo.
Mapábyo padded around the small fire and sat down next to him. “You loved her, didn’t you?”
Rutejìmo sighed. He wanted to forget that moment when Mikáryo’s life was
in his hands. His own life would be better if all he could remember was when she told him to leave. But then he would be lying. He sighed and set down his plate. “I don’t want to get hit again.”
“Silly, I’m not going to hit you,” she said with a grin, “unless you answer dishonestly.”
He chuckled.
“Please?”
When he looked over, he could see her pleading. Her dark skin accented the ridge of her nose and the green of her eyes. In his mind, he could see Mikáryo sitting next to her, brown skin covered in black tattoos compared to Mapábyo’s darker coloration. They were night and day in his world and he didn’t know which one he wanted more.
He took a deep breath. “I loved her.” He felt sick to his stomach saying the words. “She was the only woman in my life, even as a fantasy.”
“What about Chimípu?”
Rutejìmo gave her a playful bump with his shoulder. “Of course, there was Chimípu and Faríhyo and Kiríshi and everyone else. They were women,” he sighed, “but Mikáryo was… the first I ever thought of as something other than a parent or sister.”
Mapábyo inched closer. “No one else? I would have thought you and Chimípu would have done it,” she paused for a heartbeat, “at least once. Isn’t that her duty? To teach you about fucking?”
“I couldn’t.” He sighed. “We tried, but it just…” He closed his eyes tightly. “Every time we get close, all I see is the people Chimípu killed. Not just her fighting for me against Tsubàyo or Mikáryo, but in the years since, she’s killed so many people to protect me.”
She leaned against him, saying nothing.
“I despise the violence of the desert.