He crossed over to her couch, tugged at her side, distracting her from her blank stare.
"Mama, are you bothered in any way?" he probed. His eyes glared with deep concern. “Mama, I know the damn hurricane is distressing, yet it seems something else is on your mind. Tell me Mama, what’s the matter?"
Vatima blanched; a bit embarrassed her son discerned her darkened mood. She extended a quivering hand and encircled his plumb body, masking her feelings somewhat, gazing into his curious eyes with affection.
"Nothing is bothering me, Hansi Jnr," she said in a husky voice, drawing him close. "How could I be worried with your cute little face and your radiant smiles around me?" Her lips formed a wry smile, but could not fool the boy with her antics.
Mama is not telling me the truth, Hansi Jnr thought. She must think I’m too naive to notice her lingering brooding. Of course, she’s in some kind of pain she finds hard to express. She had never been this weary in spirit before.
Her apparent weakness emboldened his adventurous spirit. He firmed his grip around her trim waistline, a form of strength he thought his arm could avail for her.
"Mama, are you telling me the truth?"
Drawn by the cosy exchange, Manta and Pram, her two other children stopped their prattle. Pram lowered the television’s volume by remote sensor.
Vatima leaned forward, almost breathing down on Hansi Jnr, invoking the presence of wilted courage. She touched the tip of his nose with her forefinger.
"You bet it’s the truth," she lied, her tone cajoling.
Hansi Jnr tickled, gasped and broke free from her hold, suspicion glaring still in his eyes.
Damn. I’m lying to my own son, Vatima thought. I have to shield him from the bitter truth though. I love my children. They are still tender, highly vulnerable. To expose them to the cruel aspects of the meeting with Tonka is to endanger their aspirations and engender their souls toward the absurd. I’ll spare them the ordeal.
"So how come you’ve been frowning all day, behaving funny and causing all those lines of stress on your face?" Hansi Jnr probed. Her sudden geniality did nothing to reassure him.
Manta, her eldest son chuckled on the opposite couch. "I didn’t quite understand Mama's mood myself. So distant she’d been from us. I thought perhaps it was just the bad weather that affected her."
Pram giggled and gave a girlish assent. "Mama looked like a fiery cloud about to burst when she came home before the windstorm."
"Now, no, no!" Vatima's protest went. "Stop exaggerating, Pram. Maybe, just a gentle frown you saw, not this," dramatizing with a deep tone, "fiery cloud you talk about!"
The children pealed with laughter, amused by their mother’s defensive charade. None of them believed her acting though.
"This is a concession I believe?" Hansi Jnr fawned. "A gentle frown," he imitated her, "means I guessed right. You were troubled no doubt.”
Vatima looked at Hansi Jnr and saw the handsome copy of his father with the way he acted - huge, exuberant, stubborn at times like a straying mule, but quick in displaying endearing tenderness, which had won a vast crop of hearts.
She peered at his gleaming brown eyes: precocious little things in not too wide sockets, welling with intense inspiration and wisdom at barely ten calendars. They seem to mock her of her own inept handling of life's tender strings at thirty-four.
"It is hard sometimes to conceal even a simple frown," Vatima said truthfully, bringing her hands to a prim placing on her lap. "Some things are better not said. We are subject to trifle individual worries once in a while, but you should be thinking about many exciting things about life and not a transient frown of mine."
The children squirmed and laughed, leering, tempting their mother out of her self-contrived shell.
"Say Mama -” Pram began in a soft tone, raising her crystalline clear eyes in a tease. She heaved her well-shaped body of thirteen on the couch. "Is it wrong to worry about you when you worry about us all the time?"
"Of course, no. That’s why we are a family.”
“The beauty of a family...is it not the sharing of joys and pains? Is it not what you’ve always taught us, Mama?"
"Yes, it is."
"Do you mind then if we share your pains?"
"No, I don’t mind."
"So what are those things...?" Pram broke-off.
"What are those things better not said?" Manta enjoined, trying to exercise the unfolding wit of his growth process inspired by Pram's mention of a family. In the absence of his father, he played the role of the man of the house at fifteen.
Vatima sat pleasantly stunned for a moment unable to imagine and fathom the depth of her children’s wit. Their wisdom bellied their age. She shrugged in amazement. An alien light seemed to streak into her heart’s stunned corners, overwhelming her dark feelings with pride - the pride of chatting with adults and not little children who were far from the perilous fringes of reality.
Vatima chewed a corner of her broad lips and her eyes blazed with admiration as she said, “Those things better not said have been said in an oblique sense. Well, I was out to the Manu Square on Tonka's invitation and wasn’t too pleased with some happenings there. I didn't know I carried those moments like a damn plague with me back home. Sorry I got you all worried stiff." And as a diversion she added, "We should be worried instead about the threat of the hurricane raging on outside."
The children turned in unison to the television screen not able to pry through the drawn drapes of the windows. Vatima stole a deep breath as they gazed away.
Hansi Jnr could not be dissuaded so easily. He riveted his gaze from the screen to his mother and implored, "Would you at least brief us about the invitation later?"
"After the hurricane, yes," she promised.
“The hurricane had better hush off," Hansi Jnr said.
Vatima could see he anticipated the one story she knew she would never tell. The allure of the television, however, overshadowed his curiosity at the moment.
Vatima never longed for a life more meaningful than this: caring kids by her side, a loving husband too willing to share even the last artery of his heart to please her; the comfort of a dream house, warm and grand, with a rare exotic view and furnishing. And to cap it all, the confidence and security huge fortune brings.
Their mansion, situated on a beautiful knoll at the green belt bordering the sprawling towers of Dawn City, the elitist haven of Songhai, delighted her as an attraction in the plush neighborhood. Every time she had looked at it from a distance, her sense of imagination found derision in the artistry of the beige colored mansion. Eight calendars of toiling with her husband Hansi Snr brought them to this peak of contentment. It had been a journey of faint hardship but now it pleased her to note they could afford such a magnificent house. It came two long years after Hansi Jnr's birth, but worth every dime put into it.
When they moved in from Dhusa, her children were happy. Manta, seven calendars old then, in his childish fascination had shrieked with joy, “This must be another Manu Square.! It's so grand and beautiful!"
Pram, barely five, though shy, threw a hand to her throat in wonder saying, "Mama, I'll be delighted to fly a Hansa and land it flush on this roof someday. It’s amazing!"
They had hobbled up the stairs together and danced round every room till they were drained of strength. Then they had joined their parents in the living room and had chatted about their findings. Life had been fun ever since.
The children had grown over the years. Their investments too had yielded dividends and the mansion had seen a number of vital changes. It looked even grander now with spruce gardens flanking both sides of the driveway. The intervening lawns, swimming pool and the fountains looked even more florid than when they moved in. An assortment of rose flowers florished in vases in the living room. They added a natural freshness to the crimson sparkle of baroque-like niches
and gold-toned paintings.
Vatima often imagined her home as a mini-paradise. The floor, a mirror of polished terrazzo, reflected the shimmering dance of the overhead chandeliers and made a floating mirage of the two sets of ash-tinted purple couches and golden-legged round glass tables. Draped in thick orange laces with white silk overlays, the windows were impressive in huge crescents and triangular shapes. A massive brass closet on the immediate left held the stash of electronic appliances and the thirty-five inch wide plasma television, while a Gothic-like crystal bar took up the extreme right.
This was her own home, a paradise free from intrusion. And she had lived out the fantasies of a self-professed queen in it, hoping still for more out of life. Yet right in it, she had heard the displeasing knell of her hopes.
Tonka Manu.
Not until a few swirls ago, the name Tonka Manu conjured the jitters in her. Like other Atlanteans she was subject to his spiritual counsel as patriarch of Atlantis. The part of her being which cringed timidly, or perhaps in awe of Tonka's aura, had suffered an abrupt and violent death in the meeting at his exotic mansion.
For a moment, she sensed her spleen vent with hatred. Her right fist gnarled with pain as she clenched it, while her teeth kept gritting like the shrill, offensive grind of stone upon stone.
Forget the meeting at the reception lounge, it never happened, she urged herself. Can’t you see it was a sham? A morbid stage rolled out for you to exhibit your naiveté and carry Tonka's brand of ineptitude? Come on, live in the present! Hack out and dump the sticky chords or memories of yesterday that tie you to Tonka or the meeting. You have a life to live now. Be smart.
Vatima, however, knew the harder she tried to wipe out the encounter from her subconscious, the harder the guilt spasms that overwhelmed her.
She jerked her head with vigor and tried to resist by the force of an unknown will the memories of the meeting, but plunged deeper instead into its frightening depth.
Vatima unclenched her fist, adjusted her gown and sat in a manner that drew no attention. Why she charged at Tonka Manu before such a select audience of Atlanteans at the reception lounge she did not quite recollect, but remembered a rupture of anger, an ill-inspired move for vengeance. No doubt Tonka's own brew.
The microfilm of her mind wound backwards revealing in its starkness her nudity in front of Tonka. She shuddered on her seat as she recalled the past. The harrowing events flickered in chain: the awe-struck gaping of Tullami and Daya halted in mid-chase by Tonka; the stunned, speechless stare of Tonka and the select Atlanteans; Tonka Manu's unceremonious exit after she became nude; Daya and Tullami's scurry after him, and his snob. Piece by piece the fragments of her momentous insanity fell back in whole, routing wells of tears in her bleary eyes. She stood firm against tiding emotion and forced the hurried flow of tears backwards. Something remained to be remembered, she told herself.
She recalled standing there like harried weather in the lounge after Tonka’s exit. Shivers of guilt and shame paralyzed her body and mind while time made its swift and gloomy strides. She recalled too how scared the select Atlanteans who watched her actions or dirty dance before Tonka were and how they feared to touch her.
Vatima also remembered with a gush of self-pity that it was Tullami who fetched clean white underwear, a tortoise-shell long sleeve shirt and brown chasuble for her as emergency wear. Assisted by Daya, they had draped the clothes in haste over her and frisked her semi-naked form to another room near the reception lounge where she rested and dressed up. Afterwards she was consigned to the care of an elderly Songhaian female present in the meeting who drove her home in her posh convertible Hansa. She had barely entered her mansion in Dawn City when the windstorm started its ferret at the outskirts of Ditara.
"Mama, look, the hurricane is subsiding," Hansi Jnr shrieked in trepidation, tapping Vatima lightly and interfering in her reminiscence of the events at the lounge.
"What is it Junior?" Vatima demanded in a gesture of incomprehension and seeming exasperation.
Her disinterest astonished him. "The hurricane – it is clearing out as the report goes," he explained, indicating the direction of the television.
"It is what you wanted," Vatima replied, her attitude brusque.
Hansi Jnr did not respond. Although her voice had a gentle edge to it, he thought it sounded more like a swipe. He looked away loathing any sign of disaffection.
The reporter’s excited chirp on the television and the vestiges of the receding hurricane caught Vatima's attention.
She heard the reporter say, “It would have been worst but Atlantis has not fared too badly. The furious onslaught of the hurricane is over. The shawl of darkness has hurried its ferocious dance away to a horizon beyond Atlantis and we may not see it again. The normal hazel clouds we have known for long have ushered back in the sky.”
The children cheered. Vatima grinned, happy the threat of nature had waned. She could not allude to any contrary thought beside that it was nature’s own vehemence.
"It is not easy to ascertain the extent of the havoc done at this early stage of recession but there are possibilities of partial damage on vegetation and houses. No human life seems to be in danger yet from an aerial view via our satellites. We hope to bring you detailed report of the hurricane’s trail all over Atlantis in a short while.
“The Emergency Unit of the Ecology Evaluation Center confirmed through satellite a while ago that rescue workers have been dispatched in all of Atlantis to visit sites ravaged by the hurricane and see to it no life is lost or endangered in any way. We believe there is not much to fear. For now, happy viewing on Songhai Waves!" the reporter concluded, fading out of focus.
Hansi Jnr jumped sprightly to his feet. “I’m going to have a drink. Anyone celebrating with me? Orange juice to the toast," he exclaimed, twirling toward the kitchen.
"Host me, I'm coming," Pram declared, scurrying behind Jnr.
“I'll appreciate a glass of juice both of you,” Manta called after them.
"Even if you want a whole jug, you’ll get it," joked Hansi Jnr by the kitchen door. "We deserve a celebration."
“Then make it snappy.”
"Sure, big brother."
Hansi Jnr and Pram returned with a giant pitcher of orange juice and three glasses. Pram filed the glasses and gave one to Manta. They began to sip with glee.
The phone rang at that moment and startled Vatima. Hansi Snr calling from Dhusa, she thought. Hell, she almost forgot about him as if he was not the quintessential speck of her whole existence. To think she did not miss his ebullient, loving and caring presence next to her even in the hellish fury of the hurricane due to random thought, said a lot about her state of mind.
Have I become so callous of a sudden? Some kind of crazy wife he must think I am. Pray I’m able to propitiate his fury, she thought as she picked up the receiver.
"Hello?" Vatima said, after a long drawn breath.
“Hansi’s residence?" the feminine voice on the line asked.
Vatima recognized the tingling voice. Almat Bou. Her long-time friend who lived in Straw Avenue down town.
"Almat, are you celebrating too?"
A startled hesitation from the other end, and then recognition came.
"Vatima dear! I would’ve sworn your voice had lost its seductive edge...a tone huskier you may say...the drawl is not peculiar you know," Almat said intoned. "What’s this celebration thing you talk about?"
Vatima made an eye. "My children figure the best way to bade farewell to a receding hurricane is a great celebration," she said without meaning the words. “They are doing it in grand style - and guess what, with orange juice."
"Oh,” Almat enjoined. “Did you not see the mayhem the thing called Hurri - what? - Hurricane created around here? Girl, tell you the truth, give me some wings and I’ll soar. It’s great to be alive after all the noise of wind and
blighting thunder, you know." Laughing, she added, "Any dalliance with him?"
Vatima blushed and chided her friend, "Almat, you’re impossible."
"Why? There’s nothing wrong with that," Almat joked.
“I know," Vatima said brushing her fleecy dark hair at the scarf’s end. “Just don’t feel like it right now. Besides...”
"Oh, I see. He’s off again on his usual business trips, eh?"
"Right. He’s in Dhusa but..."
"Ah, ha! I know my dear, same worries again - they never end you know,” Almat interjected. “What’s it this time? My girl, if you have some time to burn, why don’t you come over with the children and let’s have a big celebration. My husband, Bou, is back home, the windstorm is gone, curfew on land traffic lifted, the roads are free, the wind outside smells good with hope and....How about it? A little chat might just do the trick. Don’t you think so?"
"If you insist."
"I insist."
"Expect us in about thirty swirls then."
"That’s my girl," Almat said and hung up.
Vatima straightened up and announced, "Say you want to celebrate?"
The children stirred with joy, replying, "Yes!"
"Then hurry and change to something sleeker. Aunt Almat is hosting us in half an hour from now."
"Wow, just what I wanted," Hansi Jnr said.
"Mama, I’ll be ready in a flash,” Pram said.
"Not bad an idea," Manta drawled.
"Fifteen minutes and we’ll be gone. So get dreesed quickly," Vatima ordered and made for her bedroom upstairs. The children scurried to their rooms on the heels of their mother to prepare for the outing in Almat’s place.
# # #
Disk Center, Blackhole.
Numa tapped the Red Alert button on the Command Module mains and the signal filtered in micro-swirls through vast electromagnetic field and across the great constellation. Hovering vessels above Atlantis’ space acknowledged the whirring blip of twin rainbows on their monitors. Blackhole’s green light. Six swirls gone in the countdown already.
Titan Race Page 19
