by Ike Hamill
Pemba arrived with the sweet evening breeze. Dom and Pemba sat in Denpa’s back yard and chatted while Diki napped.
“Tell me of your journeys. Did you achieve all your goals?” Pemba asked.
“I suppose. The monks do not say what they mean.”
“They lied to you?”
“I don’t know,” Dom said. He leaned back and looked at the sky. Low clouds swept across the sky. They would have damp fog tonight if the clouds descended any farther. “Tell me what they say about those monks in the mountains. Why have they withdrawn to the caves?”
“They seek enlightenment, right?” Pemba asked. “When they’ve studied everything they can down in the world, they climb as close as they can to the sky so they can continue their ascension, physically and then mentally.”
“Do you think that’s the whole reason?”
“I haven’t much thought about it. I’ve heard that they share secrets up there. They have secret rites, passed down between the monks. Nobody outside their cabal can know of their traditions.”
“They taught Diki exercises. She’s not a part of their cabal,” Dom said.
“She charmed them, I’m sure. Diki charms everyone,” Pemba said, with a broad smile. “She’s way too sweet to be the daughter of a lummox like you.”
“I hope you’re not suggesting that I’m not her father.”
“Forgive me,” Pemba said. “It was a poor choice of words. You know I adore you and Diki.”
Pemba let his apology settle, and then he brought the conversation back on track. “You seem troubled by what happened in the mountains, Dom. You went seeking peace, and you’ve come back with more turmoil. What happened?”
Dom described the trip, and meeting the monks, and how they’d hunted and lived off the land to trigger Dom’s memory.
“So you remember your childhood?” Pemba asked.
“A lot of it, yes. I grew up mostly on my own, in a forest. Eventually, I was tossed in a river and left for dead,” Dom said. His brief summary opened a deep line of questions from Pemba, which Dom answered as completely as he could. Some memories swelled back to fill in the gaps in his narrative. Others remained just out of reach, so Dom shook his head and apologized before moving on.
“Where was this forest? How did you come to where Denpa found you? Why did you lose your memory?”
“If you believe the silent monk, there was a lot in between.”
“How would he know?”
“He says he knew me then,” Dom said.
“This monk knew you after you were thrown in the river and before Denpa found you? So you were up in the mountains then, or did he know you somewhere else?”
“I don’t know for sure. I don’t remember any of that part. Well, maybe I do, but it’s very unclear. It doesn’t make any sense.”
“Nothing about your life has been bound by sense. You were a boy with no family and a terrible name. You became one of the richest men around, and married the most beautiful woman. Then you lost everything. Now you’re richer than before, but everyone considers you less than a peasant. You’re a living contradiction. Why would you expect your childhood to make any sense?”
“The monk said that I came to him a withered old traveler, but I left as a boy.”
Pemba sat for a moment and thought about this statement.
“Those monks do have quite a disorderly arrangement with aging.”
Dom fished around in his robes and untied a small bag which was tied around his waist. From the opening, he shook the piece of green candy.
“The monk gave me this candy. He said that when I was ready to remember the rest, this would help.”
“So eat it,” Pemba said, rising up. “What are you waiting for?”
Dom shook his head. “When I was talking with the monk, I lost several hours. What if Diki needs me and the candy has incapacitated me?”
“I’ll be here with Diki. I can stay the night. Who’s going to miss me? My maid? My cook?”
“No,” Dom said. “I cannot take the chance.”
“Daddy,” Diki said from the doorway, “my arm hurts.” She pointed to her upper arm where a deep purple bruise blossomed.
“I’m sorry, darling. Let me fix you some tea,” Dom said. He left Pemba in the back yard while he got Diki some tea and settled her back in her bed. When he returned, Pemba was smoking pungent tobacco from a long pipe.
“What happened to her arm?”
Dom sighed and rested his chin on his chest for a second.
“I grabbed her too hard. She was doing these special exercises the monks taught her, and I got angry.”
“Were they the same crazy moves that you did when you were a boy?” Pemba asked.
“Yes, I think so,” Dom said.
“I remember that. Denpa would catch you spinning, or raising your legs into the air, and he’d try to whip the life out of you. That’s the only thing I ever saw the old man get truly angry about. He would shout about black magic, and evil spells, and he’d whip you until you stopped doing the exercises.”
“And you rescued me,” Dom said. “Back then I couldn’t remember things for more than a few seconds at a time, but I remember that. You ran to Denpa and grabbed his whip.”
“Everyone was just watching him beat the little foreign boy, the damaged boy who couldn’t speak. I couldn’t let that continue.”
“You were just a boy yourself,” Dom said.
“So you saw Diki doing the same exercises and you beat her?” Pemba asked.
“No,” Dom said. “I didn’t beat her. I just squeezed her arm too hard. It was an accident.”
“Maybe you were with the monks, then. You knew the same exercises that the monks taught Diki, right?”
“I suppose.”
“Eat the candy and find out,” Pemba said. “I’ll eat the candy. Do you want to split it with me?”
“No, I can’t.”
46 DICTATING
HE TALKS FOR HOURS and sometimes he just stands up and walks away. It gives me a chance to stand up, stretch, and rest my fingers for a bit. I’ve always been a decent typist, and I’m good at taking notes. Something in my brain just shuts off and I stop processing the information. It just flows right from my ears to my fingers. I wonder if court reporters experience the same thing.
When he comes back, he has a bowl of chocolate. I let a couple dissolve in my mouth. They sweeten up the coffee aftertaste lingering there.
“Did you ever eat the green candy?” I ask.
“I told you, I have to tell the story in my order,” he says.
“I know, I’m just curious. You have great recall of all this stuff, but you’re still playing it like there’s a big blank spot. I’m just wondering if Dom ever remembered that stuff, or if Bud did, or if you have yet to remember it.”
“You’ll find out as we continue.”
“Sure,” I say. I’m not done messing with him though. It’s not often that I have a chance to try to rattle my boss, and I relish the opportunity. I’ve been hanging onto a few pieces of information for a while, and I’m interested to see if they’re at all valid. “So are you going to talk about how you established a new trade route between Oman and India?” I ask. I keep the smile off my face, but when he looks in my eyes, I’m sure he sees it. He hasn’t talked about the time between growing up in the forest and when he became a plumber in Tibet, but he mentioned a couple of things that align with what I heard from a psychic. I’m not sure where she got her information, but it seems like it must have been a good source. So far, everything she told me works well with everything my boss has just asked me to record. I’m guilty of a little impishness. It’s fun to possess information you’re not supposed to know yet.
The good-natured gentle expression he always wears is gone. His mouth is a thin, flat line and the sparkle fades from his eyes. His eyes bore into me until I have to look away. I’ve clearly hit a nerve.
“Who do you work for?” he asks. His voice is toneless, like the
words were scraped across concrete before they hit my ears.
“I work for you,” I say. “I was just joking around, trying to startle you. Apparently, it worked.”
“Tell me what you know or you won’t leave this room alive,” he says. He looks dead serious.
“Whoa, hey, slow down a bit,” I say. “You pay me to see around corners, remember? No fair training me to do a job and then getting angry when I do it well.”
His expression doesn’t soften, but he hasn’t done anything yet, so I can tell he’s processing my argument.
“I had a psychic last year. You probably don’t remember because I send you reports on a lot of psychics. For this one, I actually did field work. Ring a bell?”
“Perhaps,” he says.
“I told you in my report that she regurgitated a bunch of personal information, but didn’t bother to schedule a controlled test?”
“Okay.”
“Well some of that personal information was about you, I just didn’t write it down. If it was true, I didn’t think you would want a record of it. I talked to you about it last fall. You said you were busy and we should talk again. Do you remember that?”
“Yes. I remember.”
“So do you want me to bring up my notes, or are you going to threaten my life again?”
“Go ahead.” His face softens, but he’s still way too serious.
I give him the rundown of what Laurette told me that day. At first, he just narrows his eyes and listens. By the end, he’s nodding along.
“I didn’t realize they were making contact back then,” he says. “We can assume that anything you know, they know.”
“Who’s that?”
“The other Providentials.”
47 GROWN DAUGHTER
DOM RAISED DIKI IN a pauper’s house, with pauper’s clothes, but when she went to monastery for classes, he sent her to the best one. Everyone assumed that Dom’s rich friend Pemba probably paid her way. Pemba, with no wife or children, couldn’t seem to find enough ways to spend all his money. He traveled extensively for his work, setting up new conferences under Dom’s secret guidance. Pemba still kept a lavish house and full staff in the village.
When Diki’s school bills were paid promptly, people credited Pemba.
Diki excelled at learning, and had many friends in the classroom. When school ended for the day, and children grouped up to play, Diki had no friends. Parents never forbade their children from associating with Diki, but the kids seemed to understand her position. Diki didn’t seem to mind. Dom was always there to walk her home when the school let out.
Some girls were allowed to live at the monastery, and worked to reduce their tuition. Diki lobbied for that privilege, but Dom wouldn’t allow it. She saw it as a way to spend more time with her friends, but Dom couldn’t bear the thought of not seeing his daughter every evening.
The monks taught Diki to read and write. They taught her basic math, and history. From them, she learned the names of the village leaders, going back to before Denpa was a boy. At home, Diki learned business. She learned of budgets, and forecasting, and economics. Diki learned to listen to reports from Pemba and Tashi, and understand the news they told. She could also intuit the market forces which had precipitated those events.
She learned to reason as well as Dom, and learned to argue far better than he.
“At the end of the summer, I’ll need to move to the city to continue my education,” Diki stated one evening.
“No,” Dom said.
“I don’t understand. You’ve always stressed education above all else, and you know I cannot continue my education here.”
“I’ve always stressed learning,” Dom said. “Anywhere you are, there’s something to learn.”
“Desire to learn to comes from a passion for the subject. You have a passion for metallurgy and plumbing, and you’re constantly learning and honing your expertise for that business.”
Dom closed his eyes and reopened them after a slow blink. When had Diki become the young woman who sat across from him? When did she tie her hair back behind her head instead of leaving the soft black curls to frame her face?
“True. And I have much more to teach you. Things that I learned before you entered the world are so dim now that I could almost forget them. We will re-learn them together.”
“But that’s not my passion, Father,” Diki said. “I want to learn more about business and finance. I want to help you grow your enterprise with Pemba and Tashi. You’re at the limits of your expertise. I have no mentor here.”
“Our business is as large as it needs to be. Does Pemba need another mansion? Tashi practically owns half the village and rents it back to our neighbors. Would you have him own the other half as well?”
“Perhaps my dreams are bigger than this village?”
“We have everything we need here.”
“You have everything. What do I have? I want to see new places and learn more,” Diki said.
“You can go with Pemba to the next conference. He invited you twice.”
“I don’t care about your conference. I want to move to the city.”
“You’ll be an outcast there, just an upstart villager.”
“I’m an outcast here!” Diki said, nearly shouting now. “You’re so careful to hide your standing. Nobody can know of your wealth. Where does that leave me? I have to pretend to be the child of a beggar, squatting in his master’s abandoned house?”
“I own this house.”
“And nobody knows it,” Diki said.
“It’s not important what others think of you. You can’t measure yourself by their standards. If a big house is important to them, then they’re not the kind of people you want to associate with. Find peace in simplicity, Diki. Find joy in being with the ones you love.”
“And who will love me? Who is in my life? I have you. Even my great aunt’s family barely recognizes me. They’re afraid to acknowledge me because of you. To everyone else, I’m scenery. I have to start fresh somewhere new, where I can be a real person.”
“Then I’ll move with you,” Dom said.
“No,” Diki said. “I have to do this alone.”
“I have no people, darling. It’s not like I can send you into the mountains to live with your cousins. Your grandparents on your mother’s side are long dead, and your great aunt doesn’t even speak with anyone still in the mountains. If we had family somewhere else it would be different, but your only family is your great aunt and her children.”
“Jetsan has people in the city,” Diki said.
“Jetsan is not your blood,” Dom said.
“He’s married to my great aunt. Isn’t that close enough to blood?”
Dom felt a shadow pass over his heart. Diki had maneuvered him into this position.
“I’ve spoken with him, and he sent a letter to his sister. Their daughter recently married and they have an extra room. They’re asking a very reasonable rent,” Diki said.
“Where would you study?” Dom asked. The fire in his voice was extinguished. A minute before, he would have never entertained this notion. Now the question flopped from his mouth like a foregone conclusion.
“There is an accounting school which now accepts women. I will study in the mornings and apprentice at a local firm each afternoon. Many businessmen have studied there. Some of the factory owners whom Pemba does business with are alumni.”
“And could I visit you there?” Dom asked.
“Of course, Daddy. There is a textile mill near the river that gives a tour. You would be fascinated with that.”
“How do you know all this?”
“I’ve been talking to people,” she said. “I’m not so ignorant that I can’t follow up on my own dreams.”
“No, darling, I know. I just didn’t realize how fully-formed your dreams had become, and how far away they’d take you.”
“Oh, Daddy,” Diki said, smiling. “It’s really not that far. If you get on a fast boat, you can be t
here, two days; three at the most. I’ll have to get new things when I’m there, so I’ll need to bring along plenty of funds.”
Diki pulled out her journal and opened it to where a ribbon marked her place. She began writing.
“I’ll need money for tuition, of course. Rent will include breakfast and supper, but I’ll need money for lunches. They charge for books, and supplies. Is it reasonable to include a small budget for entertainment?” she asked.
“Pardon?”
“Oh, travel expenses! How could I forget? And, like I said, I’ll need a new wardrobe and furnishings. I’ll want to spend a couple of days to see what people are wearing in the city before I do all that. Don’t you think, Daddy?”
“Yes. Of course.” Dom watched Diki’s flashing hand, making her list and estimating expenses. He wondered if Tara’s father had felt the same emotions—but no, Tara’s father was dead by the time she left to go live with distant relatives in a strange place. Dom wondered if that made him more, or less, lucky. “I will go with you, and see you settled.”
“No, Daddy, no,” she said. “I need to make my way on my own. This is my opportunity to make a fresh start in a new place. You can visit me after I’m all set up, then you’ll be much more comfortable when you see how well I’ve adapted.”
“I will go with you, or you’ll pay your own way through school.” Dom considered himself a firm, but fair parent. He didn’t often deny Diki her wishes, but she was a reasonable child, so he wasn’t often put in a position to.
“Daddy, you can’t mean that. You would deny your only daughter a good education because of a trip? You’ll just come visit me after I’ve been settled for a while. Let me get my place in order, get some clothes, start my classes, settle into a routine, and then I’ll send word that it’s a good time to visit. I’ve heard that the classes get really difficult around the new year, so I’ll need to focus until...”
When her desires clashed with Dom’s, Diki knew to fill every space with her words until he relented. This time, Dom wasn’t going to be swayed by her fast talk.
He interrupted and said, “No. I will go with you, and see you settled, and meet Jetsan’s sister. Then you will have my blessing and the funds you need.”