Of a Note in a Cosmic Song; Part Five

by Nōnen Títi

  Jema and Frimon had not been strangers. While watching Nini, Benjamar had been told that there had been previous confrontations. The stories had been filled with controversies. Leni had arrived, shocked, unable to comment. The boy had refused to speak to him; that was understandable. How much more serious could this get? Who would have the final decision? Who wanted it?

  “Not even otacy will last forever,” he’d said in town. But forever was a long time; one day was ridiculous! Why had he said that then? Why couldn’t it last forever? Because it never had. Both Seteger and Geveler had claimed being otacies while disputing the claim of the other. They had argued about the meaning of the word until their drive to prove themselves right had caused the greatest and most destructive war the planet had ever known. OT had died that day.

  Mythology. Ancient stories from a time long before written history. How right had they been? And how ignorant the people who kept reading them without understanding their significance? Like people who did speeches on social history and overlooked their importance for the present – how stupid had he been? How long would people keep repeating the same cycles before they learned? How long had it taken AR to punish? How long, indeed, before Kun DJar would punish again?

  He looked at Kunag. Maybe it already had: That fog was there for a reason. Logical or not, there was no denying it. So what was it waiting for? For people to take the last wrong step or for someone to break the cycle? In that case the question was, who would be brave enough? What if Benjamar had been wrong? Could he admit that? What would have happened had the election results been known today? How long before the power struggle between Frimon and Tigor would have resulted in chaos, in destruction and in the loss of OT? How many more unanswered questions could possibly fill one man’s mind!

  He stood up abruptly and walked out. He took the first two vessels to the tree and dumped their contents at Tigor’s feet. The farmer looked on without speaking, his eyes sombre. Benjamar went up and down to his shelter to add the pebbles of the other jars to the heap, throwing out his own prejudice and desperation along with it. Then he stood and watched the farmer for a while. The man was restless, as far as that was possible. He was frightened of the fog; frightened because he also knew the stories. He would need food and drink.

  “Wait here.” As he filled the cup with water, Benjamar realized the stupidity of those words. “Drink it.”

  Tigor did. Benjamar sat down at the end of the bench.

  “What did you really think you would achieve with that destruction?”

  “We were just tired of doing nothing.”

  “You were not doing nothing. You were carefully preparing for a future.”

  “We were playing with crops that grow by themselves. Useless! We were forced to come here.”

  That excuse had been used altogether too many times. Benjamar didn’t dispute it. He was too tired to explain it all again. “You are hurting the wrong people.”

  Tigor moaned. “I’m real sorry about the boy. I didn’t know that would happen.”

  “But that’s exactly the way these things always happen.”

  “How long are you going to keep me like this?” Tigor asked.

  “Until I’m totally convinced that no more people or animals will get hurt.”

  “What if I promise?”

  “No, I don’t take promises. I will get you another drink and then I’m going to have a rest.”

  “Listen, man,” Tigor hissed. “I don’t need a drink. I need the latrine. Can’t you at least let me go there?”

  The farmer did indeed look kind of desperate, but if Benjamar untied him now, all the lingering anger, still detectable in his voice, might be untied with it.

  “I’m not letting you go while everybody else is still sleeping.”

  “Then wake someone, because I can’t wait any longer.”

  “No.” Benjamar entered his home. Tigor had two choices now: He could get furious, start shouting and wake everybody up or he could realize that he didn’t run the place and that he never would. What was it Yako had said? People need to feel sorry or guilty. What about embarrassed? Let him worry a bit. Maybe it wasn’t such a bad thing not having prison cells – the call of nature would humble anybody in due time.

  It didn’t take too long. Benjamar ignored the first few calls. Tigor rapidly went from pleading to begging to whimpering. He also knew how many people would be passing by soon.

  When Benjamar walked out, the first rays of Kun were shining on Tigor’s feet. That distracted him for a moment. He looked up: The red fog had retreated to the South Hills. With a mix of relief and discomfort were his eyes drawn to the pebbles.

  “It has to be,” Tigor said.

  Benjamar looked back at the fog and sighed. “…But how?” Then, unwilling to entertain the thought, he turned to Tigor. He would have liked to wait a bit longer, but he couldn’t let the man go through that kind of embarrassment. “Unless you’re intending to start more trouble, I will let you go home. Don’t go anywhere. I will need you back later. One wrong move and the next time I’ll keep you here for a kor.”

  The look in Tigor’s eyes told him he didn’t have to worry. Once the rope hit the ground the man went running. The pile of pebbles was left deserted. So much for elections.

  In the distance Kun had started to rise under the lifting fog, its light a thin line under the dark cover; a thin awakening. On DJar, birds would now start singing. Here only silence greeted a new day. Good: today was wrong for singing.

  The cold air turned Jema’s breath into a tiny cloud. She’d have to go back. Kun DJar would not judge her. Jema’s actions affected only people; she’d have to face them. One line kept hammering in her head: I should have known. She should have foreseen how he would respond to the loss of that print, which was his life, his truth. Possibly that was why she’d thrown it in, because it had proven indestructible while all others had perished in the storm.

  She should have been the one to solve the problems the journey would cause to even the sanest of people. It was debatable if Frimon fitted that category, if there was such a thing, but more than anybody else she should have been aware of that. Yet all she’d done was add to the problems. She’d let Daili down again. And Kunag. He had trusted her to put it right, to keep Rorag from being hurt.

  Had she? The look in his eyes just after he’d reached for that strap, the few words… She’d known their meaning that instant. All those years she’d ignored his existence; too busy, too self-centred, too afraid, maybe, to acknowledge him. Locked away from the children in a safe little room by his father – well, not totally; Leni and Emi had been there. She’d seen his face when he stood there time after time, quietly watching, but she’d passed by him without stopping. She’d heard him later, his hints, but she’d not listened, not understood. In retrospect it had been impossible to miss, but she had, not just once, but over and over again.

  Yet she’d known. She must have, because it was all there last night, all in those few fractions of recognition. Last night there had been only him. Last night it had been too late. It wasn’t Rorag who’d been forced into this but Frimon. It had been Rorag’s night – his party – until she’d stepped in and made it his father’s once more. How could she have been so blind, so deaf – so stupid? What was Rorag doing now? What does someone who doesn’t exist do? Prove that he doesn’t, like Nori had?

  Jema didn’t notice Nini until she sat down beside her. She’d come from behind, probably having crossed the stream over the cave. “I didn’t mean for him to step into the fire.”

  Jema was used to Nini’s long silences by now. It no longer bothered her if no answer came. “I threw his print in. I shouldn’t have, but I did. He went in after it. I didn’t stop him.”

  “It must have been important to him,” Nini said.

  “It was. It was ancient. Now they have nothing left, like the rest of us.”

  Nini’s dark strands of hair hung loosely in front of her face.

  “I did
n’t throw it in for that reason, okay?” She was defending herself against something Nini hadn’t accused her of. “He was hurting Rorag.”

  “Hurting?”

  “Frimon was beating him in front of all those people. It wasn’t penance, Nini. It was forced.”

  Nini played with the little lamp she’d carried.

  “I know I should have waited for Benjamar and let him solve it instead of going myself. I knew Frimon was unpredictable. I should have realized that print was his life. I knew what I was doing, but I didn’t mean for him to step into the fire.”

  Nini kept on turning the lamp over.

  Jema watched her hands. “I just did what felt right. I tried to stop him hitting Rorag. I did it for Kunag.”

  Nini didn’t acknowledge the words, didn’t accept excuses for what was inexcusable. Jema didn’t wait for her to ask the unavoidable question. She answered it first. “Okay, I’ll come back down.”

  Nini stood up, patient and silent, when she must be so tired.

  “I’m sorry you had to clean up my mess. I walked away while you had to go and help.”

  “I didn’t help,” Nini said.

  Jema took a few quick steps to catch up. She didn’t dare ask what she already knew.

  “It was too late, Jema. He was too badly burned.”

  Like the fog lurking nearby, so Kaspi’s stone had been around. Now it fell back into place. Jema had to stand still just to make room for it between breaths. What had so far been only a possibility was now fact. As her legs resumed walking her mind put the images together. She’d been alone with those people. She had thrown in the print. Frimon was burned, dead. Nobody would remember the details. Why would they? She’d invaded their space, disrupted their ceremony, destroyed their print and killed their leader. “Funny isn’t it that I didn’t vote, but I had the biggest say in his election?”

  Now Nini stopped walking, but Jema carried on. Some say… She’d stood and watched him burn without doing anything. They’d all watched. The children had… Rorag!

  The edge of the village was paces away when Nini caught up. The people were awake. They’d all see her come and know what she’d done, even if she hadn’t. Yako was sitting on the outside ledge of the Hearth. Tigor was gone. In his place sat a heap of pebbles. Benjamar stood up from the bench. He looked at her and waited.

  For what? She wasn’t going to start. Let them come with their accusations. She wouldn’t run. But he said nothing for too long and the words escaped without her consent. “Hey, I saved you the trouble of having to count his votes.”

  Nini’s cry startled Jema. “Can’t you just STOP it? Isn’t it enough yet? I just lost the man. I tried and I tried, but I couldn’t do it. He died and all you can think about is your stupid challenge!”

  Nini’s eyes filled with the water that choked her voice. Benjamar pulled her into his arms, his face pale and silent – not even frowning, but the thunder was in his eyes. Jema shrugged and turned away. Even if she’d been able to find the words, they would have not been enough to mend this.

  Inside her shelter the dark was welcome. With her back against the cool mud ledge she slid down onto the floor. Marya was on her mat, asleep, breathing in a quiet rhythm that soothed Jema as she rested her head on her knees. She’d finished the job by now; she must have axed every person in this village: Kunag, Nini, and more than anything Leni. Frimon was her comate, her brother.

  “Jema?” Yako whispered, coming in.

  “No.”

  “Don’t you send me away.”

  “Go to Nini, Yako. She needs someone.”

  “Benjamar is with Nini. You need to talk,” he answered.

  “What I need is someone to beat some sense into me.”

  “No kidding?” For a while he just stood there. “…You can be so incredibly clever and so incredibly stupid.”

  She’d already worked that out herself.

  “Talk to me.”

  “I don’t want to talk.” She tried to keep her voice down.

  He sat down on the floor next to her. “But I do. Like it or not you’ll have to listen to me.”

  She tried not to move. Let him go ahead.

  “You’re cutting your own heart out, Jema. You turn against everybody who comes near you. You anger people by being angry. Your body language is defensive, your choice of words offensive. You keep your soul locked away inside and your face behind a mask. You refuse to ask for help and yet I think you want it. Then when somebody does try, you fight and kick. Soon there won’t be anybody willing to risk coming near you.”

  Words like swords on socks, whispered because of Marya. Somehow, they brought relief.

  He pulled her hands away. “Benjamar is a patient man, Jema, but he has reached the end as well. You’ve made your challenge. You need to give him time now. Think about what you’re asking of him after a lifetime on DJar. You’ve not only asked him to put back a system that has been considered backward for sets of years, but you’re asking him to be kollen, to take charge of all problems. I’m a lot like you. I can see the future you pictured. I feel it deep down, but thinkers like Benjamar cannot do that. He needs time to consider every detail, every possibility, every practicality. Every sense of justice will go through his mind with endless what-ifs. He needs time for that and he needs that time alone – time he’s not getting if people keep attacking each other.”

  “I didn’t mean for Frimon to end up in the fire.”

  “Nobody said you did. I’m talking about the things you say to people.”

  She knew that.

  “Can you at least look at me?”

  She opened her eyes.

  “Benjamar is having a really hard time right now, largely because of you.”

  “I was stupid to challenge him.”

  “No,” Yako said. “And Benjamar didn’t think so either or he wouldn’t have accepted it. But beware: more people have gone down unable to honour a counter-challenge, after too quickly accepting the offer, than people have failed original treyaks. Don’t be naive enough to think this is going to be easy.”

  “I never asked for easy.”

  “So I’ve noticed. Now be clever and get a bit of sleep. There will be time enough for regret later.”

  It was quiet after he left. A parade of faces marched through her mind: Nori, Kaspi, Jitsi, Daili, Frimon. And all she felt was anger: anger at the mortality of people and the humiliation of dying.

  Benjamar let Yako go and waited for Nini to calm down. He was still trying to recover from his own unexpected wish to lash out at Jema and the effort it had taken him not to. Maybe it was good this way. Nini had more influence over Jema than anybody else. “You need to get some sleep,” he told her.

  She wanted to check on Kunag first.

  “It was the amoebic cloud that brought them. The tubulars are no more than incubators,” Remag was explaining to Kunag when they entered.

  He stood up to make room for Nini so she could check the bruises, nodded at Benjamar and said goodbye to Kunag. “I’ll see you in a few days.”

  “Did you have to scare me like that?” Nini asked Kunag.

  “How bad is it?”

  “It looks like just bruises, Kunag, but I cannot be totally sure. You lost half your hair. They were strong and angry. If Doret hadn’t heard you scream, I don’t know what would have happened.”

  Then Nini wanted to visit Styna. Benjamar let her go; she’d only worry if she didn’t. He sat down beside Kunag.

  “How long before I can go home?” Kunag asked.

  “I’m not in charge of that. Wait until Nini is back. But seeing you’re on my mat, I’ll try and convince her to let you.” It was good to see Kunag smile again.

  Considering the trouble of the last days it was lucky the village only had four sets of people. Benjamar had hoped to go to this memorial, hold his speech, and then return to relax. This morning he knew there was no such thing as a peaceful time coming. The election pebbles sat under the tree: no result, no answer,
no use. The only positive he could see was the retreating fog. It still sat nearby, but its presence no longer felt like a threat. Nonetheless, Benjamar was aware of it all the time.

  “Can you tell me what you remember, Kunag?”

  The boy frowned with the effort it took to recall the events. He had walked up to the destruction site after Yako had told him about it and found the creature cut with a digger. He had picked it up to see if he could still help. Then, out of nowhere, the others had jumped on him. Yes, he remembered yelling and he remembered Aryan running. After that he didn’t know. He had woken up here.

  Leyon walked in. “Frimon is dead,” he informed Kunag before Benjamar could do anything about it.

  “What?” Kunag gasped.

  “Yes, last–”

  Benjamar took hold of his arm. There was no need to be so tactless. “Did anybody ask you to come in here unannounced?”

  “I just wanted to see if Kunag was okay.”

  “Are you still angry?” Kunag asked him.

  “I was never angry. It was Laytji. I bet it was her, you know. She spied on you and then she ran to tell Frimon.”

  Benjamar had meant to kick Leyon back out, but now he changed his mind. “What is this all about?”

  “Hani saw Laytji run after Kunag, so she must have found Rorag and Kunag, and told Frimon. That’s why he beat up Rorag last night.”

  This was all new to Benjamar. Kunag looked away.

  “Look, if it’s something to do with what happened at Frimon’s hearth last night, I need to know.”

  Leyon was about to start again, but Benjamar stopped him. “Enough out of you. You go help Marya make breakfast and bring Kunag’s here.”

  Leyon wasn’t eager – “Now!” – but he went.

  Briefly, Benjamar told Kunag what he knew about last night and watched the expression go from shock to hurt. “It’s my fault.”

  “It is not your fault. You were in here, unconscious. I still have to talk to all those people, but whatever happened, you need to be honest with me.”

  Kunag told him he’d been swimming with Rorag at night until Frimon came and made a big deal out of it. Kunag had told Jema and made her promise to stop Frimon from forcing this penance. He had then returned to the stream to do some drawing. He had ignored the fog calling and only learned what happened when he’d come home to find Tigor stuck to the tree.