by Nōnen Títi
Her moment of hesitation was enough for Aryan to put his arms around her neck. The stink of his breath made her wince and she pushed as hard as she could. He had trouble enough holding his balance without that. As soon as she had room to move, she took the belt in her hand as a warning.
But Aryan backed up against the wall, his eyes not on her but on the belt; the eyes of a stranger. Only once before had she seen him like that – when he stood opposite Leyon at the campsite. Her anger washed away. If anything he’d throw up, not attack. As soon as she retied the belt around her waist, he relaxed.
“I don’t know what happened here, Aryan, but you had better hope that Frimon wasn’t alone tonight, and hope nobody comes after him for setting fire to that power shop or I’ll tell people what I saw.”
She left, unable to explain to herself why she did this. Why she still chose Aryan over the truth and Roilan with his dream of a second DJar. Why she wanted a man two and a half kor older, who looked and smelled as if he’d lived in a trash-heap.
She missed him, maybe not as much as he missed her, but more than she’d believed possible. She wasn’t without blame. The reason for his decline might be largely her doing, but he would be the one to say sorry first, no matter how long it took, and “sorry” under the influence of wine didn’t count.
DEVILS AND DEMONS
In the distance the new reed kabin awaited the group of settlers walking towards it. Carrying a pack over her shoulder, Maike’s hips moved from side to side. She would not come back.
Aryan turned around and started home. His head hurt. He had only a vague memory of what happened last night, but enough to know she’d seen him. She’d threatened to throw him in prison. “Wrong, Maike,” he muttered. “Totally wrong. This is the new otacy: fair is fair. You should set me on fire!” He laughed out loud.
A child ran away.
“Shouldn’t be too much of a problem. Plenty of fuel in my system.” It would serve him right, too. He’d seen Roilan this morning, running around like a wild man, ranting and raving about Frimon until people had taken him away. Frimon would leave on that kabin with Maike. Serve her right too. She’d have to live with the Society now. Sacred Praise Village. “Ha!”
It was quiet and dark inside his home. Aryan poured himself a cupful of wine before going back to his mat. It stopped the throbbing in his head.
They had torches and were coming after him. The kabin was out there, but too far to reach. He couldn’t run fast enough. All he could do was watch them come. He knew who they were: Maike, Jema, Benjamar, Frimon. They would burn him. He could hear their footsteps pounding in front of him.
“You behave like a child,” the tall man said.
Aryan woke up from a voice at his door. He didn’t respond – let them think he was at the lander.
Once the person on the other side had decided he wasn’t home, Aryan got up slowly and emptied the cup, which still sat beside his mat. Damned dream. Maike was gone. They all were. He’d never see them again. What did they care? She’d marched in, not to say goodbye, no – she’d come to put him away. She had… no, he… He had threatened her… somehow. That’s why she’d taken the belt: to defend herself… against Aryan! He was a threat to people, to Jema, to Maike, to the whole town. She’d looked so attractive standing there. He shouldn’t have let her go, but she no longer fancied the devil.
Holding on to the wall, he relieved himself in the excretorial; alone with his worshipper, who was clearly getting too old for the job. Maybe the devil was losing it, losing it to the wine. He poured a new cupful before going back to his mat.
Maike stood against the wall, challenging him to come in. Her hips moved from side to side. He opened his arms to embrace her, and she smiled and waved her belt at him. Instantly his venerator jumped to attention. There was laughter. The men at the beach were cheering her on. The green of her eyes turned blue. Her tunic was a suit. “You asked for it!” The blow on his back produced the voice he feared and he retreated to his corner, suffered the pain to avoid the dark prison, but it came anyway. He felt around for his cup, his life-saver.
Aryan wiped the cold sweat off his forehead. Once again he had woken up just when he tasted the salt of his tiny attackers, desperate for a drink.
The water container was nearly empty, but the new pouch of expensive sweet wine sat on the floor next to his chest. Aryan clamped it between his knees while his hands pulled the spout and twisted the clip in position. The hands doing this with such ease were wrinkled and weathered. Aryan had watched them do it a mas of times… when he was a boy!
With a sudden nausea he pulled back. A mas of times. The hands he’d feared because they were the hands of the drunkard, the abuser.
In an impulse, Aryan stood up, took the pouch under one arm while taking his knife from the chest and hacked into it above the excretorial. Damn wine. That was the problem. He should stay off it; every day the same cycle. He’d never get Maike back like that. It would never stop.
He satisfied himself by urinating over the contents. He may be sorry later, but for now he’d go back to his mat. Before he did, Aryan dragged the chest in front of the door. Not that anybody cared if he existed, but it felt better.
Today was the day. A day of good suits and combed hair. It had been looming. Aryan rubbed through his hair to make it stand up. He wouldn’t do it again. He’d made up his mind. Today he would be brave: he’d protect her.
“Don’t disobey him. Be polite. Please, do it for me,” she said, straightening his hair.
The inspectors came, the act was played, and they left. The tall man in the suit that didn’t fit him turned to her. It was a cycle and it had to stop. Aryan jumped in between the woman who’d never helped him and the man who was ready to beat her. “Don’t you dare touch her!”
A moment later the buckle hit his side. He ran for the kabin, fell over the rocks, couldn’t reach it and knew he was a coward. He held on to the pain as long as he could, while the darkness engulfed him and the animals started creeping over his skin. He tasted the salt, felt for the drink… but couldn’t find it.
He kicked around to shake off what crawled into his clothes. He tried standing up, but he sank. It was smooth inside the bowl. The drink was down there, but he couldn’t reach it. Deeper and deeper he fell until he could feel the warm liquid… he tried to swim, moving wildly, but he kept sinking, while she watched… “Maike!”
The sound from his own voice startled Aryan. His body and mat were drenched and stinking. He shivered when he remembered the dream. The cup wasn’t there when he reached for it. The wine was down the excretorial. He didn’t want wine anyhow. He wanted water. He wouldn’t give up this time.
A cupful made him feel good enough to get up. He smelled disgusting, but his hands trembled so badly that he couldn’t change his clothes. He couldn’t find what he wanted and he had no water left to wash with. Exhausted from the effort, he sat back down. Where were the people who always came with advice, even if you didn’t want it? Where was Daili? Where was Benjamar when you needed him?
For a long time, Aryan just sat there, afraid to lie down and allow the dream to come back, afraid to get up for the shaking. He couldn’t do this. It was too late, he was almost Life; too late to stop being a coward. He needed wine or he’d shake to death. There was none in his home. He’d have to go out and get some. But this wasn’t DJar; there was no dispensary to take it off his points account. He’d have to trade something, but what? He had no food left. Nothing inside his home would be worth a drop of wine. People would pay to get rid of it. He tried to think who lived around here and would have wine in their home. Aryan could borrow it; they didn’t need to know.
Noises outside his home alerted him. Somebody was pushing against the door, trying to open it, but the chest didn’t give way. Good! Aryan wasn’t ready to see anybody. He didn’t need more orders or sympathy. He’d brought this on himself and he would solve it himself.
After they left, Aryan made another effort to ge
t dressed, but soon gave up. He cursed his own weakness. It was all those memories, the dreams, and all these people with their belts. Why was this suddenly so important? On SJilai there had been no problem. If only he had a little wine… but it was down the bowl. What if he could salvage some? Just a drop, just to stop the shaking.
It was already dark outside. People would go to sleep soon and the dream would come back. He’d have to get it now, just enough so he could clean up, just enough to go out and get some beer. Haslag would give him some.
Using the wall for support all the way, he managed to get to the recess. He leaned over. The liquid he aimed for with his hand didn’t smell of wine. Before he could think what was coming, a huge cramp emptied the contents of his stomach on top of it – there was nothing left to salvage now.
He needed water. He pushed his body up and turned back into the room. Within two steps his foot hit an object, which rolled away, sweeping his legs out from under him as he went. A fraction later, a massive shooting pain travelled through his left leg. He howled before hearing the clank of the misshapen fuel can as it, too, hit the floor.
Aryan tried to get up, but the pain made his eyes water. He couldn’t do it. He lay back, holding on to his leg. He’d failed everywhere. This would be a good time to just die.
When the pain ebbed away a little, he could think more clearly. The nausea was gone. The pain had taken over all sensation. That was good. It would keep him awake. It would stop the dream. If he was going to get sober, this was the way.
So he sat through the night, sipping water from the cup he’d crawled to, unable to stand. As soon as he took his hands off his leg it hurt too much. He couldn’t change his clothes or his mat, so he sat on the floor. The dream which didn’t come made place for thoughts he didn’t want either. Thirst, pain, and shaking took turns being prevalent.
Served him right too. How had he stooped this low? Turned into a disgusting old man, forcing his way with women, watching the young men on the beach, even enjoying it, maybe. How sick was that? And all because of the wine. Because he had no control left in him, because he longed for Maike, but she wouldn’t have him, wouldn’t have a jealous old drunk. Who could blame her?
Over the day the shaking became less, but so did the pain and with that, the tiredness crept up on him. No, he didn’t want to sleep. Sleep would bring his determination down. He’d always given in to the dream, crawled for the blows, but not this time. He was holding his own belt. He forced himself to stand and let the leg dangle to feel the pain come back. When that didn’t hurt enough anymore he stood on it until it cracked, sending shivers over his spine, but the throbbing returned for hours.
Somewhere during these ups and downs, Kun had also risen and fallen. The last of the water from the container was in his cup. If he spilled it, he’d have nothing. Very carefully, he took one sip.
In the darkness of the prison, he tripped over the masses of tiny bodies, crushing them under his weight with crackling noises. His leg sank into the heap. He tried to pull it out, but they’d latched on. He could feel their pincers nibble at his skin. He could hear the sound of them eating the bone, feasting on his leg. More and more of them marched up, higher and higher. He tried to shake them off. He wriggled and lashed out at them, but their numbers only increased. They were near the top of his leg and he knew where they were going. No! He had to protect that – for Maike. They didn’t listen. Aryan kicked again. His leg came loose and walked away. It was lit up with a raging fire. Then he felt the heat inside him. The creatures had entered his body. The prison was eating him alive. He yelled for someone to help him. For the mother who stood by and watched, but when he reached out she walked away. He heard her close the door.
Aryan reached for his water, but the cup was empty. And it was so hot inside. Maybe Kun DJar had summers after all. He held the cup upside-down to catch the last drops. The heat came from his leg. He couldn’t see what it looked like under his trousers. Just as well, probably.
The fire was high in the sky. It was SJilai. She circled the planet, burning, dying. High above her was Bue, laughing out loud. “She’s gone. You don’t deserve her,” he said.
Aryan told him no, she would never leave him – she was his mama. He stood up and reached. Higher and higher he rose until he could hold and rock her. He lowered her burning body into Kun DJar’s cool ocean to soothe her. Then he looked up at Bue. “I’ve come to repent.”
Bue showed him the door to the Land Beyond. It had a window. The large sea inside sparkled. It was cool and inviting. It was drinkable, Maike had said. Yes, that was what he wanted.
It was so hot when Aryan sat up. He felt the glow like a shield around him. He was burning up. On the other side of the door was help: the ocean. He couldn’t go into town in case he came across wine, but he’d go to the sea. He could have a drink, soak his leg, and cool down the heat.
He crawled to the door. The chest was full of stones.
Bue laughed out loud and opened the door for him. The Land Beyond was waiting. So bright it was. So many people here to welcome him, all clapping.
“No, I’m going to the ocean,” Aryan answered.
“Perfect timing; I’ve just finished cutting you beard.”
Aryan opened his eyes. Above him was a younger man, who pulled away a tube which tickled his nose.
Aryan reached for his chin. There was no beard. A thin layer of hair covered his face, but nothing more.
“It was impossible to wash anymore,” the man told him after introducing himself.
But Aryan hadn’t tried to wash it yet; that’s why he was going to the ocean. No… to have a drink, but he wasn’t so thirsty anymore, and not so hot.
“Do you know where you are?”
Aryan looked around him. It looked like the clinic.
“It is. You’ve been here two days.”
How was that possible? Aryan struggled to sit up and looked at his leg. It was wrapped in a bandage from hip to ankle. No sign of his trousers.
Remko told him that he’d been found collapsed in front of his home. “You were dehydrated and nearly in coma from fever.”
Aryan had no recollection of time passing, so when Irma asked how long before coming here had he broken his leg, he couldn’t answer her.
“Why do you always have to make things so difficult? If you’d come right away it wouldn’t have gotten infected,” she scolded him. “You were lucky we had the antibiotics, and lucky it was a DJar bug that got you.”
Behind her, Remko winked at him. Irma ordered him to stay where he was and not to try and get up – as if he could with a sandbag hanging at the end of his leg.
Maike could be happy now. He was in prison after all, confined to a hospital mat. Nothing to do but watch the coming and going of others and drink water on command, trying very hard to keep from falling asleep.
Remko sat down beside his mat. “When did you stop drinking?” he asked. “Before or after you fell?”
“Before, I think. How do you know?”
“You talked in your confused state.”
“I see. How many people did I embarrass?”
“Only yourself, Aryan, but you did that before you locked yourself in your home six days ago.”
“Six?”
“It’s a kor since the kabin left. That’s the reason you fell apart, right? Because of Maike?”
“How much, exactly, did I tell you?”
Remko replied that was common knowledge. Everybody in town was aware of his fall-out with Maike and his drinking. “It’s a small community without much in the way of entertainment. They’ve been following your story like a soap opera.”
Aryan rubbed his bare face. “No wonder she left. She deserves better than me, you know. That boy is a lot braver than I ever was.”
“Maybe you should stop trying so hard to be a hero for Maike. A real hero is one who fights his own demons and comes out clean. I admire your courage, Aryan, but the hard part is still to come. You need to stay clean.”
Aryan couldn’t help but laugh at this. Neither “courageous” nor “clean” were words to match his existence. The proof of that must be in the last kor.
“Tell me about it,” Remko said. His slim body rested against the edge of the mat. “You don’t have to leave out any of the gory parts. I’ve been able to puzzle together certain details from the state of your clothes and home already.”
Since he had no more self-worth to lose, Aryan told Remko what he remembered, including the gory bits. He also told him about Maike’s visit the night before she left, and its reason. “So what do you think – have I gone crazy?” he asked.
“Crazy? There’s no such thing. Sometimes people simply have to let go of their social image for a while in order to deal with a deeper need. Mind you, you can’t go on without sleeping out of fear for night-time demons. You need to find the disabling unit.”
“The what?”
“You said you used to always wake up at the same point in your dream until you stopped drinking. The drink was a message in your dream to wake you up. You no longer have the wine, so you’ll need to find another message to tell you to open your eyes.”
“You talk as if it’s totally normal for people to have these dreams.”
“After what you went through as a child, sure it is. It’s also normal to have panic attacks, like during the expedition,” Remko said.
“Does everybody talk about that too?”
“No, not everybody. When does it happen, Aryan? What triggers it? Something has to set it off – a word, an image, something over which you have no control. Once you know the trigger, you can disable it, just like an immobilizer, which is exactly what fear is.”
“How come you know all this?” Aryan asked the male nurse for whom his admiration was growing with the minute.
“You won’t believe how many people on DJar walked around with demons of their past. You’ve got to remember, though, that it isn’t the demon that haunts you. It’s you running from it. Instead of staying awake, you should try and go to sleep. Then, when the demon approaches, observe it, remember it, and tell me about it.”