by CK Collins
“Mere existence was not enough — the galaxies and the elements were not enough — there had to be life. And that life had to be capable of seeing and of knowing and of speaking what it knows. And so into one living creature came the breath of Ashma. It’s been done so that we might come one day to know Ashma’s true face and speak Ashma’s true language. Quoting Burton: ‘The human being, the human being, so much more than humans being.’
“The job we’ve done of it has been piss-poor, of course. Every lost moment of every lost day, Oblivion casts the elements of Creation farther and farther apart — further separating God from the pieces of Herself.”
“So it is possible, is it not — that Ashma may have been moved to breathe again?”
“Yes, Brother. It is.”
26 October
* * *
Nova Coast, Masalay
The sea slaps hard the sand.
It ebbs.
The sea slaps hard the sand.
It ebbs.
The sea slaps harder and nearer to me.
Ashma, I’m not as bad as the things I’ve done. But I’m not as good as I need to be.
On the road is headlights and engine noise.
The chickens peck at the wire keeping them in. In them is sin, and it is like the sin in me. They harm each other and are ignorant of You, Ashma. But I have no eggs to give.
In front of Alimi’s house stops a car.
Open quick comes Alimi’s door.
I am trying not to see. Alimi talks in language not Masalayan. Over my head is creaks — Yabaren awake and his boys.
I am out of my hanging bed, I am at the edge of the coop, I am seeing that Alimi is with two women who are not of this place.
* * *
Sister Imurna said, how would I feel to live at the sea and be taught the catching of fish.
The sea was a place I did not know about, and I said, wherever you say for me to go, Sister, I will go there. How she answered is this — that I am not for following orders now, I am for making the own choices of my life. What I said is that if they are teaching me to be a Liashe Ashmanist the right way and also make me know of fishing, then I want to go to that place.
* * *
Alimi is saying sorry to the women. One is a Runai. The other of them is white. They have come for staying in one of the rich houses that are many times empty. A part of Alimi’s business, what they say to me, is that she tends those houses.
Alimi is telling Fori to run and unlock the gate. How her voice sounds, I know she is wanting to kill Fori. Why of that is her telling Fori today to unlock the gate for her guests — I heard it — and of him being lazy like Fori always is and playing football instead.
Fori runs up the road two minutes. Then back he comes for a light to carry. Yabaren slaps him — so Alimi will see that he is taking this serious. He is the father of Alimi but always he is worried of making her cross. It is from Alimi having more money than anyone in this place and being smarter than everyone besides.
Alimi says for Gaarik to hurry get refreshments.
The Runai is cross at all this waiting and saying sharp things. The white woman is I don’t know what.
* * *
The MDF came from where I did not see. Around me was blood and death and I did not want escaping of it. Down I put my weapon and down I laid. Death past me went and I do not know the how.
In the cage of us we had not room for moving. The sun was on us. For drinking we had cups that could two times a day be dipped in a bucket. If any guard sees you drop your cup, he takes it and maybe you die. How I held my cup I do not know, and how I ate I do not know, because I was all the time shaking for strong orange. The skin of myself I bit. My blood was loud. I jabbered and shook for dying.
Came then a Sister of Liashe.
Seven was how many igmaki she had permit to take. Why one of them was me she never said.
The place we went was a long time driving. A school and a temple were there. For me they had different clothes and a bed for sleeping, food and water, and a medicine that made less the need of strong orange. It was many days then of the Sisters holding my hand and them giving me ice and changing sheets until the death of strong orange was wept from me.
Next was to clean my soul of evil. The doing of that was harder and it is still of needing to be done. What is the name of where I come from, that question was asked of me. I said a place I have once heard of. Ashma, I did not want them to think it was a place I could go back to. And did not want to stain the name of it with my tongue.
Ashma, I know it hurts You how much evil is in the world. Sister Imurna said that You did not know Oblivion would breathe evil into people’s empty spaces. What You wanted was for people to learn to hear Your voice, so that You could be truly known. The only one that has ever done that all the way was Jesus.
It came Jesus had a choice to live easy and happy as a person — or give up His life and become a bridge to You. Jesus gave up Himself to torment so that people of all the world could have a path for reaching You. That is what Sister Imurna explained to me, and many things of what she explained I did not understand, but what I am knowing is that through love I can be redeemed.
If I will give You my hand, You will never let it go.
When we came to this place, Sister Imurna asked for the man called Yabaren. He showed her into his house and I saw the room that would be my room. Sister Imurna signed the paper. Yabaren signed the paper. Then she gave him another paper — it was for the government money of igmaki care. When he was putting that paper away, she said to me, Is the sea not lovely?
To the road we went. She gave me there a Bible and clothes and a five-pound note. On my head she gave a kiss and in my ear a forever promise of Your love. Together we waved. When she was all of gone and the dust was again on the ground resting, that is when Yabaren hit me.
* * *
Back is Fori. He is out of breath and swearing the gate is open now.
Alimi again is promising there will be no more mistakes. To the white woman she talks in a language that could be is English. They get into their car. The white woman I thought maybe was a servant, but the Runai is who drives. Alimi is sorry to them again, but they are fast driving off.
Alimi is all shouts at Yabaren and Fori and Gaarik. To my hanging bed I go so they will not see me watching.
* * *
After Yabaren had hit me enough to knock from my head the religion shit, he showed me my real place of living. His house is like all houses here, it is off the sand. Under it is where chickens go. And igmaki.
The accents of these people were strange to me then. But most meanings I understood. Yabaren told about the cleaning I would do and the trouble I would not cause him. Fori and Gaarik showed me about fish and their guts. After that is when Alimi came.
First was her shouting at Yabaren. I was eyes on the sand. To me she said that she has built an honest business and will not be dragged into mud by an idiot father and brothers.
Since the dying of her mother they have had no one to slave after them. In me Yabaren thinks is a solution. The Church and government think it is better to help igmaki rapists than hard-working businesswomen, and that is why this country will always be nothing in the world. Yabaren has done the signing of papers at a time when he knew she would be gone. He has done it without asking her or any woman. And now there is no getting rid of me for half a year.
Alimi has told me my rules. First rule is never soil a woman by meeting her eyes or looking on her face. Second rule is never touch the house or possessions of any woman. Third rule is never talk to her customers or be present in their eyes. Fourth rule is always eat last. Fifth rule is never soil Ashma by putting Her divine name on my lips. Sixth rule is if she sees me outside the coop at night she will kill me herself.
She said do I understand and I said that yes I do. That is when she told me the last thing, which is that I am not going to fool her like I did the Sisters. She knows that shit, once it becomes shit, does
not ever become better than shit. She said do I understand and I said that yes I do.
28 October
* * *
Nova Coast, Masalay
I feel like I’ve been let out of prison. And the house isn’t as primitive as Pashi made it out to be. Electricity, hot water, a stove, two bedrooms. Lumps in the couch and some stuck drawers I can’t open, but it beats most of the crap rentals Dad and I ever lived in.
There’s eleven other places, but this one’s got the best location. Closest to the beach and a little more secluded. Not like secluded really matters: there’s nobody else here. Pashi says I probably won’t see anybody till the next holiday season starts in December.
She’s convinced I won’t be here that long, but we’ll see. (As much as she doesn’t think this is the best idea, me getting over on the Colonel has made her year, I think.) Her prediction is that once they see I’m not bluffing — and I’m not bluffing — they’ll come up with a reason why it actually would be fine for me to live in Jaya. They’re not going to let their grandchild — they know it’s true — be born in some low-class place like the Nova Coast.
But I’m not wasting energy thinking about that now. When Rika gets released — a prisoner swap is what she says to expect — I’m wondering if we could even just live here. Screw Jaya. If I could get internet, which is probably not impossible, I’m sure I could figure out a way of earning money. Which you don’t need a lot of here. It could really work.
Getting down to the cove is a bit of an adventure. The staircase really isn’t one. It’s a series of rocks pounded into the side of the cliff — no attention to spacing and they shift in scary ways. Dad would have a heart attack if he saw how fast I take them, he’d say, “Slow the goddamn down you crazy girl.” (The only man alive who can make goddamn sound so sweet. It’s because he learned English from motley sailors in the merchant marine. Celebrities, trademarks, and swear words are his foundation — son of a bitch, Bridget Bardot, and Hershey bar — from his mouth they sound like words from a children’s rhyme.)
When we got here the gate was locked, and Pashi was seriously pissed. Her customer-service standards, I’m learning, are a lot higher than mine. Which is funny because I thought Masalayans were supposed to be so laid back. She stayed the night and we went back into the village the next morning.
The village is a lot like the steps, just something pounded into the land. A lot of the houses are up on stilts, which Pashi says is to keep out the sand and protect against flooding. Most of them have stuff underneath, like chickens and fishing gear. On the other side of the road there’s houses scattered all along the hills. It’s all a hodgepodge of materials — wood and corrugated metal and here and there plastic sheeting and coconut fronds.
Once we got past Silva on the drive, I was wishing so much I had a camera. All along the coast, there’s villages where people fish by standing on these kind of stilt platforms with just spears. If it was me driving by myself I’d have stopped so I could watch how it’s done. I had so many questions. Like what kind of fish are they getting, and when they spear one what then, is there like a bag they put it in? Do you use the inflow or outflow of the surf somehow? I tried asking Pashi and seeing if she knew why it’s some villages and not others, but you’d have thought I asked her about yoghurt-making in Mongolia.
Anyway, so on this beach it’s just lots of small fishing boats. The caretaker is this lady named Alimi, and as far as I know she’s the only one here who speaks decent English. She’s probably in her early thirties, but I feel way younger than her. She’s Runai, I guess, but what I’m learning is that not all Runais are equal — a Nova Coast Runai isn’t too far above a Talid in Pashi’s view of the world. Not that they look any much different. Alimi might not have the same grace as Pashi, but she’s beautiful in that same Masalayan way: dark eyes, full hips, cinnamon skin, and boobs that look like they were drawn by a teenage boy.
The phone that she has is the only one in the village. (So maybe internet access wouldn’t be that easy.) If you want to make a call, looks like you pay Alimi by the minute. The thing she calls her store is more like a roadside stand, with this awning that locks down over the shelves when she closes up. There’s canned food, noodles, cigarettes, crafts that the local women make, etc., etc. — absolutely amazing how much she fits. It’s also the village post office, and there’s a TV-DVD unit that she sets up like a movie theater on certain nights. Could be she charges by the laugh, by the explosion — not clear.
If Pashi needs to reach me, she’ll call Alimi and somebody will come get me.
“I shall see to her every need,” Alimi promised. ”She will not experience the least trifle.” I like that. It makes me want to find a trifle just to see what they’re like.
On the way out, Pashi gave me a wad of spending money. (I’d already snuck some of Rika’s stash into my bag, but that’s still my secret.) It was all in a little leather purse of its own. I took the purse and told her for the thousandth time that I’ll pay her back, and she told me for the thousandth time not to think of it.
She worries about me being isolated with nobody to talk to. I should have told her that I usually get along with people better when I don’t talk to them. And the baby keeps me company just fine.
29 October
* * *
Liashe, Masalay
The lowest district of the low city, where photographers of postcard Liashe don’t go. Backed-up gutters, mangy dogs, and abrupt paving stones that constantly catch — constantly — the wheels of Brother Carodai’s chair. Kistulo would be right amused.
They left at noon, a bad choice as it meant navigation through the lunching throngs south of Middle Academy. Several of Brother’s former students felt compelled to say hello and express concern about his health.
They were running late already, yet he insisted on visiting Son’s for a dozen deirin buns.
She worried they’d be stuck at a turning of the Riyain Bridge. It was open, but the ledge was steep and she needed the warden’s help. Carodai offered him a deirin for his trouble, but the fellow declined, declaring it his honour.
She re-angles the chair and shoves it over the next stone. “Apologies, apologies.”
“I should walk.”
“No. You should not.”
“It will be up here,” Brother says minutes later as they reach a long windowless building, “that side door.”
She can hear the din of machinery. “You’re certain?”
“Yes, give it a ring then.” He stands before Tchori can object, and come a half-minute the door is opened by a middle-aged Talid in smock and cotton hat. “I believe we’re expected,” says Carodai. The fellow bows and helps Tchori lift the chair up the entry step. Without speaking, he stows it in a sort of anteroom and leads them past a busy shop floor (female workers stooped over clattering machines, a haze of lint), through a storeroom of fabric rolls and towering pallets, and then into a spartan office at the building’s rear.
The Talid bows his goodbye, mute to the last. Tchori helps Brother to a sofa that is in most dire need of reupholstery and takes opposite seat in a wooden folding chair.
They’re two minutes before the door opens, giving Tchori a start. The man who enters is short and so mild of appearance that he might be a bookkeeper arriving to find his office occupied. Brother stands and they embrace. “Hello Sule.” Tchori is to her feet, hands behind her back, awaiting introduction. “Tchori Vidaayit, my novice this term. I’d be quite lost without her.”
“Of course,” says Sule, returning Tchori’s bow in a manner that says he expected to see Carodai alone. “Miss Vidaayit, may I provide you a drink?”
“I’m well, thank you.”
“Brother?”
“No, many thanks. As it is, we’ve brought you something — the most exceptional deirin. A bakery adjacent Miss Vidaayit’s flat. Off Egypt Row, you know the area.”
She presents the bag.
“Too kind.” He removes one and takes a courte
ous bite. “Quite good, yes.”
“I believe I’ll have one if you don’t mind terribly,” says Carodai, who already enjoyed one on the way, and reaches in. “Addictive.”
They all sit, and Brother takes a hearty bite.
Tchori feels hot from the embarrassment of being unwelcome.
Sule is not an accountant, she decides. With shaved head and glasses and not entirely Masalayan complexion, he more resembles the Dalai Lama. If the Dalai Lama were someone who might be carrying a stiletto.