Contrarywise

by Zohra Greenhalgh

  «I'll remember you said that, Po,» replied Tree. He smiled icily. «Especially if any more money disappears from this house.» There was a dead silence. Two weeks ago Janusin had put his rent money in an envelope and hung it on Barlimo's door. It had vanished before the Jinnjirri architect returned home that evening from a meeting with the Saambolin Housing Commission. Everyone suspected Po, but no one had any proof. Just lots of motivation. It was common knowledge that the little thief was six months behind in his rent payments. He still managed to eat, so the money had to be coming from somewhere. Rowenaster had countered the circumstantial evidence by suggesting that perhaps Doogat supplemented Po's income when things went badly in the street. Barlimo had seconded this opinion, but the younger members of the «K» had remained unconvinced. Irate, they had all converged in Mab's room to discuss the possibility of evicting Podiddley. Rowenaster broke the silence. «Tree—remember yourself, please. You've no proof for such an accusation.» «I don't need proof,» retorted the crabby Jinnjirri. «The guy's a professional pickpocket. Stealing is second nature to him.» Po said nothing, his fist clenched. He threw his empty curry bowl into the sink—leaving it unwashed—and stormed out of the kitchen. «Nice,» said the Professor, meeting Tree's eyes cooly. Tree swore, putting his head in his hands. «This just isn't my day,» he mumbled through his twiggy fingers. «This just isn't my day at all.» Chapter Ten Master Janusin was beginning to think this wasn't his day, either. He pulled out two studio stools, offering one to Doogat. Then, kicking some marble rubble out of the way of the other stool's legs, he sat down, his shoulders slumped. His hair was a frosted black and blue: beaten up. Doogat noted the Jinnjirri's emotional barometer and cleared his throat. «This concerns proteges in general—» «And Cobeth in particular?» The Mayanabi Master nodded. «To begin with, Jan—Cobeth isn't worth your grief.» «Tell that to my heart,» muttered the Jinnjirri. Doogat reached over and rapped playfully on Janusin's chest. «Yoo-hoo, in there? Don't grieve for a weasel.» Janusin laughed drily. «If he's a weasel, Doogat, he's the most talented weasel I ever met.» «Skin-deep.» «What do you mean?» Doogat relit his Trickster pipe. «Talent like Cobeth's is useless.» Janusin winced. «Uh—Master Doogat—could you maybe wear gloves tonight? I'm in need of a soft touch. I've just spent five years trying to train that useless talent.» «Yes, you did,» replied Doogat mercilessly. «And now you can stop.» Janusin hung his head. «It's not that easy. I—uh—still appreciate him.» Referring to general Jinnjirri wantoness, Doogat teased, «I think you often appreciate the artist as well as his or her work, hmm?» Janusin's hair turned a brilliant pink. He smiled weakly, looking anywhere but in Doogat's direction. «Shit,» he muttered. Then, in a gallant effort to get himself out from under Doogat's ruthless scrutiny, Janusin added, «Poor Tree. He's going to hit the roof when Cobeth fires him tonight.» If Doogat was surprised by this piece of news, he gave no indication of it. Puzzled, Janusin decided to pursue the subject a little further; «Tree loathes Cobeth, you know.» Janusin laughed bitterly. «Tree keeps telling me he thinks Cobeth is an emotional charlatan.» «Too bad you don't listen to Tiree.» Janusin swore. «Do you ever have a soft touch?» «Only when it's necessary,» replied Doogat, his black eyes twinkling. «How about now?» Doogat regarded the forty-year-old Jinnjirri with amused affection. «I believe you have a question for me, Master Janusin?» The Jinnjirri stared at Doogat. «How in the world—oh, never mind!» he snorted. «I should know better than to ask you a straight question, anyway.» «Who knows,» replied Doogat puffing idly on his meerschaum pipe, «you might get a straight answer. This time.» Janusin took a deep breath. «All right, all right. Here's the question: Teacher-to-teacher, I'm wondering about Cobeth—» Doogat nodded encouragingly. «—I mean, I tried everything I could think of to bring his talent to bear. To get him to use his potential. But clearly I failed. After five years his commitment to sculpting remains—as you say—skin-deep. What should I have done differently? If anything,» he added in his own defense. Doogat blew a smoke ring between them. Then he said, «It's the way of the Mayanabi to answer such a question with a story.» «This is a straight answer?» «That depends on your readiness,» replied Doogat calmly. Janusin rolled his eyes. «My readiness. Well, I suppose there's no way to know if I'm ready or not, is there?» «Let the story be the test.» Janusin's shoulders sagged. «I don't know, Doogs—I feel so sad right now. I don't even know if I could listen to a story, much less comprehend it on more than one level. My heart is just so—» «Broken?» asked Doogat gently. Janusin nodded, a tear slipping down his cheek. «I'm sorry,» he said hoarsely. «I shouldn't have asked the question if I wasn't prepared to hear the answer.» Doogat was silent for a moment. «You're very hard on yourself, Jan.» He touched the sculptor's shoulder. «Listen to me: good teachers are good learners. And good learners are risk-takers. You with me so far?» Janusin nodded mutely. Doogat smiled. «Now sometimes risks turn into what is commonly called 'a mistake.' For the risk-taker—for the learner in the learning process—a mistake is simply a dead-end exploration. Some students turn out to be mistakes. Like your Cobeth.» «But what a waste of time!» said Janusin desperately. «Not for the good teacher. The good teachers profit from their mistakes. As do the good learners.» «And don't make the same one twice, right?» Doogat shook his head. «That's unrealistic. The truth is, you're very likely to make the same mistake twice.» Janusin gave Doogat a horrified look. Doogat held up his finger. «But,» he said sternly, «the good learner will recognize the same mistake in half the time. And so on. Until finally, the 'mistake' can be averted altogether. But that can only be done over time—and through painstaking but informed trial and error. That's the nature of exploration. Everyone alive makes mistakes. Everyone, that is, save 'The Boy with Intelligent Hands.'» «What?» asked Janusin, feeling completely confused by Doogat's swift change in subject. «What boy with intelligent hands?» Doogat puffed on his pipe, his black eyes glittering. «Once,» he said with a smile, «there was a young boy born in Jinnjirri. Now his family was Asilliwir born and so were travellers. One day, when this boy was very young, a great storm arose in the mountains where his family was camped. He got separated from them. He got lost. They searched and searched for their Jinnjirri son—but they never found him. So they left the Feyborne broken-hearted. «Little did they know, however, but their son was not dead. He was alive and living in a village across the landdraw border of Tammirring. Now the Tammirring born are gifted seers, but they're not particularly gifted artists. Not like the Jinnjirri and not like this Jinnjirri boy. This boy could turn anything into a masterpiece—a stack of toothpicks, a sack of seeds. The world was his medium. «His new Tammirring family was awed by this ability—so they praised their Jinnjirri boy loudly and often. As a result, the boy became used to being the only talent around. One day a stranger riding a large blue-black mare came to town. He was a Mayanabi—among other things—and so had seen something of the world. He listened to the villagers tout their prodigy proudly. The man asked to see the Jinnjirri boy. The boy came out to meet him. The stranger frowned. He saw something in this boy that he did not like. Without explaining why, he asked to see the boy's hands. «The boy held them out, his smile insolent. » 'You have smart hands, boy,' said the stranger. «The boy nodded matter-of-factly. «The stranger smiled. 'They're a curse. You should cut them off,' he said. «The boy's smile faltered. 'Wha-what?' he asked in disbelief. » 'You should cut them off,' repeated the stranger. 'You don't know how to use them. On you, they're a waste. In the end, they'll kill you. One way or another.' He leaned forward. 'If you wish to live, if you wish to love—cut them off.' «The boy was indignant. 'I can't do that. My hands are the smartest part of me. That's what my name means. Yonneth: smart hands.' » 'For now,' replied the stranger drily. «The boy regarded the stranger with disdain. 'I'm going to the big city when I grow up. I'm going to be famous,' he asserted. «The stranger ignored the boy's ambition, looking past him to where the boy's older sister stood. 'Do you love your brother?' he called. » 'Oh yes. He's
a wonderful brother,' she said softly, her eyes full of awe and respect. 'He's a blessing for our family.' «The stranger's face sobered. 'So are you, my child,' he told her. «There was a peculiar silence. «The boy frowned. 'She doesn't have hands like mine,' he muttered. 'You should see her try to paint a picture. Her hands are stupid. They make mistakes.' ''Yes,' said the stranger with a smile. 'Her hands do not protect her like yours do you. That's because they're empty. What she touches, she feels. Directly.' » 'My hands feel!' protested the Jinnjirri boy. » 'Ah,' said the stranger, 'but does your heart?' « Doogat ended the story here, taking a moment to relight his Trickster pipe. When he had drawn on it several times, he added, «You see, Jan, like this boy, Yonneth—Cobeth of Shift Shallows didn't come to you with empty hands. He came to you holding tightly to his pride and arrogance. How could you hope to fill what was already filled?» Janusin took a deep breath. «But that part about cutting off the boy's hands—how barbaric.» «The stranger was a Mayanabi Master. His suggestion was radical because one cannot travel the Way of the Mayanabi without experiencing severence from the familiar. What could be more familiar than one's own hands? The stranger's suggestion was really an invitation—he was inviting the boy to become his student. So an opportunity was missed.» Janusin gave a despondent sigh. «Cobeth probably would've missed the opportunity, too.» «That's why I tell you the story,» replied Doogat softly. Janusin rubbed his eyes. «You know, for all my 'appreciation' of Cobeth, I have to say, he could be uncommonly cold sometimes. And secretive. Maybe that's the price for his kind of genius.» Doogat nodded. «Genius uninformed by the heart is brilliant. But it is also insensitive. It lacks empathy. Cobeth, you see, is completely incapable of putting himself in another's situation.» Doogat gave Janusin a sad look. «That's why I tell you not to waste your time grieving; Cobeth has no idea what pain he has caused you. How can he? His hands are so full of himself, he has no room for another. And that is his tragedy, Jan. Don't make it yours.» Janusin bit his lower lip. «Pretty strange story, Doogat.» The Mayanabi Master smiled. «Strange to the strange.» Janusin scowled. He was just about to retort when Barlimo came bustling through the studio door, her shawl of many colors slung unused over her back. «It's so damned warm out!» she muttered. Then, seeing the Mayanabi and the sculptor, she put her hands on her hips and said, «What in Neath are you two doing out here? I send him out here to fetch you, Jan, and nobody comes back? Come on, fellows. You're holding up the house meeting.» «Who says we haven't been having it?» asked Doogat chuckling. Barlimo wagged a finger in his wrinkled face. «I have other things to do tonight, Master Doogat. Sleep, for one!» Doogat nudged Janusin. «I think she's cross with us.» The sculptor smiled conspiratorially. «We probably deserve it.» «Probably,» agreed Doogat, getting slowly to his feet. As he walked past the glaring Barlimo, he whispered, «Zendrak asked me to tell you that he has a plan for Po; he wants Po to stay at my house for a while.» Barlimo grunted. «Does Po know this?» «He will.» «Wonderful,» replied the architect without enthusiasm. Po had a vocabulary of four-letter words so rich in imagination that only Greatkin Jinndaven could top him. «Wonderful,» Barlimo repeated. Chapter Eleven As Barlimo, Janusin, and Doogat walked back from the artist's studio to the Kaleidicopia, the rest of the house members waited impatiently for their arrival. Particularly Podiddley of Brindlsi. Feeling furious with Tree for accusing him of stealing Janusin's rent money, the little Asilliwir paced back and forth in front of the hearth. He wanted to walk out on all of them, but he couldn't. Doogat prevented him. As long as he was Doogat's student, any situation that involved the Mayanabi Master was a potential learning experience for Po. «Even this frigging house meeting,» muttered the little thief under his breath. Rowenaster came into the room from the kitchen. He had apparently decided against seconds of curry stew. Glancing at Podiddley, the professor pulled on his bifocals and returned to correcting mid-terms. Mab asked for hers. Rowenaster picked her exam off the top of the pile and handed it to the nineteen-year-old with a smile. Mab looked at the grade. Her expression turned into astonishment. «This isn't a hundred percent. You said I aced it,» she added accusingly. The professor slipped his glasses lower on the bridge of his large nose. «Child, you did ace it. You only missed one question.» «Which?» she said angrily, skimming the six pages. «Number forty-four.» «Hey,» said Po interrupting with a get-even snigger, «that's my question.» Mab gave him a dubious look. «Your question?» Rowenaster cleared his throat, hoping to avert the brewing argument between them. The professor was certain Po knew Mab had called the secret meeting to evict him. And Po, when angry, was not opposed to throwing a punch or two. Mab hadn't lived with Po long enough to be aware of this. Rowen decided to draw her fire. Smiling diplomatically, he said, «Uh—yes, Mab. I took one of Po's ideas and put it on the exam.» Mab's brown eyes blazed. «The only question I missed!» Po grinned from ear to ear. Rowenaster bit his lower lip. «Most everyone so far has missed it, Mab. It was a trick question. Really, quite unfair.» Mab stared at the Saambolin professor. «Your landrace doesn't do things like that,» she protested hotly. «You're predictable. That's why I study with you and the other Saambolin.» Rowenaster pursed his lips, unsure if he'd just been complimented or insulted. He cleared his throat. «Well, Mab—the exam was on Greatkin Rimble. Perhaps you should've expected the unexpected.» Mab's reaction to Rowenaster's statement was peculiar. The young girl turned away from the professor, dropping the exam on the commons room rug and walked jerkily to the far side of the couch in front of the hearth. Without a further word, she picked up the comforter that rested there and pulled it over her shoulders. Timmer, who had been working on a musical score by candlelight, watched this with amazement. «Somebody mind telling me what question forty-four was?» Po answered her. «What is the landdraw of the Mayanabi Nomads.» «And?» continued Timmer, still looking at Mab. «And,» replied the professor, «most students write 'All.' That's because traditionally the Mayanabi are said to hail from all the landraces of Mnemlith. However, the correct answer is 'Unknown.' « «Unknown?» asked Timmer skeptically. «How can their landdraw be unknown? That's like saying they don't have one. Or that they aren't born of Mnemlith or something.» «Nevertheless,» said the professor. «According to Doogat, the correct answer is 'Unknown.' He says the Mayanabi were a Greatkin improvement.» Timmer regarded him with dismay. «Oh, no. Doogat's got you believing in the Greatkin, too? I'm disappointed in you, old man. What happened to good old academic skepticism? And tidy Saambolin logic? No wonder Mab's upset. Better stop hanging around with Doogat, Professor. He's having a bad effect on you.» «Thanks for giving me your opinion,» said Rowenaster drily. «You're welcome,» she replied, meaning it. Then feeling uncharacteristically generous toward Mab, Timmer asked, «Want some tea, love? It'll only take a second to boil some water.» Mab nodded dumbly, her eyes staring at the dancing flames in the hearth. Timmer left the room for the kitchen. As she did so, Doogat, Barlimo, and Janusin arrived. Doogat broke off in mid-sentence, his attention immediately directed toward Mab. Frowning, he said nothing, taking a seat beside Podiddley who was now kneeling before the hearth turning logs. «Been behaving yourself?» Doogat asked the thief. «Some.» Doogat grunted, leaned against the couch, and closed his eyes. Laughter exploded in the kitchen, followed by shrieks and giggles. Janusin chuckled. «Tree's here. Timmer, too, by the sound of it.» The Jinnjirri sculptor sat down in an overstuffed armchair, his dress draping beautifully in a soft puddle of magenta. «Timmer's making tea for Baby Mab,» Po said meanly. «Why not for all of us?» asked Barlimo, hanging her many-colored shawl on a wooden peg in the front hall. «I could use some coddling, too.»