Of a Note in a Cosmic Song; Part Three

by Nōnen Títi

  Benjamar didn’t ask for silence but it came anyway when he walked down the room to face the man. “You can leave.”

  “Hey, it was only a joke.”

  Marya squeezed Jema’s arm when Benjamar stepped up so close that his legs were against the man’s knees. “Leave the room,” he repeated.

  Guards positioned themselves next to him, but once again, Benjamar didn’t need them. After another useless protest, the man gave up.

  Jema liked Benjamar’s style. He didn’t hide behind law prints and he took no shit from anybody, including the audience.

  Spilling the Beans

  Aryan was close enough to the front to see the glare Haslag received from Thalo on his way out. There was no question as to why Benjamar was so successful in getting people’s respect: He didn’t cower for anybody.

  Aryan agreed with Haslag; they would never talk anyway. He wondered why Maike had asked for a trial. Nobody would have complained if she’d thrown Thalo into prison. If only she’d told him about the attacks… but she’d gone to Benjamar.

  Aryan had come today to satisfy his curiosity about what had gone on between those two men. He could imagine the gist of it: Leyon would have provoked Thalo over and over again, and Thalo, unable to control his temper at the best of times, would have retaliated. The reason for all that must be in that big Habitat Three secret they all kept hinting at, even today, and which must be behind Maike’s decision to never speak to Aryan again after that argument.

  Having no intention of going on his knees for her, Aryan had made do with watching from a distance. He’d seen her with this kid a lot. He didn’t like Leyon and had secretly enjoyed watching Benjamar cut him down. He liked Thalo even less, seeing the man was a coward and deserved whatever he would get. Apparently Maike’s concern about mixing genders on Habitat Three had been correct after all.

  Benjamar was aiming for a peaceful solution: an admirable but unlikely quest, since Leyon had once sworn that the only way they’d get along was after Thalo’s death.

  Next to Aryan, Roilan voiced his objection to the suggestion that was put in front of the audience: that one of the men go on the seakabin that was due to leave tomorrow while the other would repair the damage in town, after which they would talk in front of Maike and Benjamar. Roilan wanted zero tolerance as the only long-term solution: Anybody committing an act of violence against somebody else should leave town for good and he suggested they vote on that now.

  Benjamar stood watching Roilan for a while before shaking his head. “First of all, zero tolerance brings back the system we had on DJar; a system which, I believe, you yourself were a victim of. Second, if you throw out of town everybody who doesn’t act according to your expectations, you create a second colony, which will, without any doubt, one day come back to take revenge, and then you have war. Third, I said I’d welcome any input from the jury, but I decide and I don’t need you to call an election for that.”

  “Is there nobody in this Bueforsaken town who can outsmart him?” Roilan whispered to Aryan.

  On the opposite side of the room, Frimon stood up. “I’m all in favour of talking, but these two men have more than proven that they’re not willing to voluntarily end this. You’ll need to put a stick behind the door in case they refuse to talk.”

  “What do you suggest we use for a stick?” Benjamar asked.

  “They could talk under penance, the way we do it,” Frimon answered and then smiled when the audience started booing.

  Roilan jumped to his feet. “Are you totally mad? You can’t possibly mean we literally use a stick. We may live in mud homes, but we’re not wild animals!”

  Aryan folded his arms and leaned back. This was getting interesting.

  “I mean it as literally as you want to kick people out of town because you don’t like their ideas,” Frimon answered his opponent directly, completely ignoring the judge at the front of the room.

  Roilan turned to the audience. “Don’t you see what he’s trying to do? He wants to convert this whole colony to the ideas of the Society.”

  Benjamar could produce quite a volume for a man his age. “Sit down, both of you, or you can leave the room this instant!” He waited until his command was obeyed by both men. “This is not to turn into a political stand-off. This is about Thalo and Leyon, not the two of you. But keep in mind that, different as it may seem, you all speak from a viewpoint of self-preservation; the two of you as much as them. We all saw this happen before the storm.”

  Aryan glanced at where Kalgar and Frantag were sitting. That little sting must have hit home with them.

  “Now, if there are no more objections–”

  A voice at the back interrupted Benjamar’s intention to end the hearing right now. “I can think of an alternative that may be an incentive for them to be serious about talking to each other.”

  Aryan recognized the voice by its slow articulation and the high pitch at the end of the sentence. Yako must have been tired of fighting the wind with his hair; it looked as if he’d taken a pair of scissors to it in a fit of despair, for it stood upright in irregular spikes. His beard was equally tormented.

  “Let’s hear it, um…” Benjamar said.

  Yako introduced himself and suggested they build “an overnighter”.

  After a round of quizzical looks and murmurs, Benjamar suggested Yako explain to the audience what that was.

  “It’s very simple. Leyon and Thalo take turns attacking each other. An overnighter is sure to solve the problem one way or the other for good without anybody else having to make the final decision on the outcome. It always works.”

  He paused and looked at Benjamar, who nodded. “Well?”

  “Okay. An overnighter is a room just big enough for one body to lie down or two to sit up in. No bigger than a mat, no higher than half a man’s height. It has bare walls but for an air vent at the top. It is dark and can be locked from the outside only.”

  Aryan pictured the tiny prison.

  “It’s simple,” Yako repeated. “Two people in an endless cycle of conflict are sent into the overnighter together for a predetermined time, usually a night or a night and a day… of course on Kun DJar the days are shorter. Anyway, they go in as they were born: no clothing, no tools; nothing. Then they have three choices. They share their bodies, they share their thoughts, or they kill each other. Of course, the winner has to sit with a corpse on his lap for the remainder of the time.”

  “No way,” Leyon said into the otherwise silent room. Next to him Thalo’s face was ashen.

  “It may be the only option, unless you two talk with your clothes on,” Yako answered.

  Aryan couldn’t help himself. “What about if you have this cycle between a man and a woman?” The image had formed in his mind without him having to think about it. He grinned when Maike gave him a death glare.

  “It’s a possibility we’ll keep in mind,” Benjamar said to Yako, ignoring Aryan’s comment altogether.

  This was a real thing then? Pretty drastic.

  “It may work for Frimon and Roilan as well,” Yako added, and sat down.

  Aryan put up with the punch on his arm Roilan gave him for laughing, but Frimon started shouting at Benjamar. “You let him stand there and spit out all that nonsense while you turn my suggestion down without any consideration!”

  Before Benjamar could respond, Roilan jumped back to his feet. “Don’t be absurd; you want to legalize belting people. What do you think started this whole thing in the first place?”

  The noisy audience stopped to take a breath simultaneously, sucking the air and every sound out of the room. An instant later all moved at the same time: Guards rushed forward to where Thalo sat, Leyon, who’d jumped up, was pushed back into his seat by Benjamar so hard it made his chair topple over backward, and everybody else was standing and talking. Maike, having come out of nowhere, cursed Roilan, who stood gaping, but Aryan felt her glance at him.

  It couldn’t be, but in that same fraction he knew i
t was true. A whole series of images and words raced through his head: the secrecy of the conversation at the assembling of the prefabs, the sudden silence on Habitat Three when he’d walked in, Maike saying she had dealt with the trouble that same day, his own challenge to her, the words of Gabi when she described the Society’s penance ritual, but most of all Maike’s reaction to his own words: “Or was it the belt?”

  Aryan squeezed his eyes hard to prevent the picture from forming, but it did anyway. The room went dark as the cold crept up to his chest, followed by the nauseating smell of salt. He had to get out of here; run, before the door closed. He almost tripped over the man on the chair. From far away he heard his name, but this time he reached the door before he was caught. It opened to reveal light and air. He stumbled down the step and took a hold of the wall, swallowing back the sour contents of his stomach.

  “Hey man, are you okay? You want a glug?”

  Aryan couldn’t get a grip on the flask that was held in front of him. When the liquid reached his throat, its bitter burning cleared his head. He let it go all the way down before opening his eyes.

  “Take another one,” Haslag said.

  This time Aryan held the flask and then let himself slide down against the wall. The ground was a welcome cold.

  “Thanks.” He handed the drink back to Haslag and wiped his still-sweaty hands on his pants. Somebody had opened the door; somebody had been calling.

  Maike’s belt. Was that what it was all about? Everybody had known… but known what? No wonder he’d attacked her… but Thalo was a coward. Cowards deserved to be beaten!

  And Maike? How could she possibly have done that after Depeter, after the guards in the camp? After he’d challenged her: “Beat them if you have to.” Had she mastered that challenge, literally?

  He wiped his face with his hands: too many thoughts.

  “Have another drink,” Haslag offered, and sat down beside him.

  “Tell me what Maike did to Thalo. Tell me exactly.” Aryan said.

  “You mean on SJilai? I shouldn’t…”

  “The whole damned assembly in there knows,” Aryan answered.

  Haslag took back the flask to have a big gulp and made himself comfortable against the wall. “Somebody finally spilled the beans then, hey? Okay, I’ll tell you.”

  No Way to Conduct a Trial

  Benjamar left the room last, reproachful. It had been a joke, this whole trial. His kabin might have sailed, but had anybody been at the helm?

  All good intentions aside, it had been bound for failure from the moment it lifted anchor. No, from the moment he’d agreed to take it out. Now Thalo was intent on killing Roilan for his stupidity and Benjamar couldn’t blame him.

  However, it had been Benjamar’s trial, not Roilan’s. Benjamar had agreed to have an audience there. He had allowed them to come up with suggestions. He should have foreseen that it couldn’t work, that you couldn’t keep a secret with that much emotional baggage attached. What had he been thinking? How could he, for one moment, have believed himself capable of using what happened at the same time as keeping it from the audience? Was he getting too old for this?

  He’d finished the meeting in record time: The two had agreed to talk. A show of hands to decide who should go on the kabin was the only decision he’d left to the voice of the people. It was no competition; Thalo was considered the most dangerous, despite the broken arm. Thalo had not protested and he might as well be far away for now. Maike would put Leyon to work in town. That was all good and well, but would it solve the problem permanently?

  Yako was waiting outside of the social building. “I made it up on the spot,” he started, without waiting for a question.

  “I figured as much.”

  “I thought it wouldn’t hurt to make them consider talking a serious option, but I should have kept my mouth shut about Frimon and Roilan.”

  “You should have indeed.”

  “I lived with them on Habitat Three,” Yako said, walking alongside Benjamar.

  “So what is your opinion? Is this going to solve the problem?”

  “Maybe. I think Thalo is clever enough to realize he has reached the limit. He may be able to get over it. Leyon I’m not sure about.”

  “Does he take everything as a joke?” Benjamar asked.

  “I don’t know if he really does. He’s had a hard life; he was beaten a lot when young. I think his is just a mask. The anger must be there somewhere. He may still turn around and lash out.”

  And that was, presumably, without Yako being aware of what Thalo had done to Leyon. Benjamar left the unconventional young man and went home.

  Wolt’s article in the bulletin the next day didn’t help his annoyance. It wasn’t a report as much as a one-sided personal opinion, stating that there had been little evidence of justice, since no punishments had been handed out. He complained that the judge had run the show, leaving no room for words of defence from either of the two men, that the right to freedom of speech had been denied the man who’d been kicked out of the room early, that if the public would have been heard, the majority vote would have opted for more drastic action, and that the judge had used the threat of physical abuse as a way to make Leyon talk.

  And though that might have all been true, Wolt ended stating there had been a clear bias in favour of Thalo, who was now on a sea cruise as if he’d won a prize.

  Benjamar would have liked to confront Wolt, but he didn’t. This had been no way to conduct a trial and people should have the right to criticize it. He also didn’t talk to Roilan; Maike had already done that. So he left it for what it was. This colony would have to devise a new system of written laws or it would never work, and they could find somebody else to be judge from now on.

  Losing Perspective

  Daili came home to find Tikot and Laytji on their knees in front of the fire. Laytji was trying to grab a hold of something with the tongs Kalim had constructed. “What are you doing?”

  “He dropped the binoculars in there,” Laytji said.

  “Dropped them? In the fire? How did you manage that?”

  Tikot shrugged.

  Daili took the tongs off Laytji to retrieve the binoculars herself. They came out blackened and twisted. She put them down carefully but they wobbled and fell. “What were you trying to do, warm them up?”

  “It was an accident. I didn’t mean for them to get ruined,” Tikot said.

  Ruined they certainly were. The idea of Kalim trying to use those again… Yet it had been his only pair and Kun DJar had no replacements. He would not be happy. “I told you that I don’t want you kids playing with fire.”

  “Oh come on, Mom. It’s not like you had so much experience when you came here. At least Tikot waited until I was home.”

  That would explain the total meltdown of the outer casing: They’d been on embers for a while. “Just get yourself cleaned up. I’ll talk to him,” Daili told the boy who looked like he’d been the one sitting in a bed of ashes.

  Kalim came in a little later with their food for the evening. “Starches again,” he announced. They’d had starches every day this kor, and Daili wasn’t too keen on it. It filled her too fast and made her sluggish, but complaining about food was no longer done, not even by the kids.

  Kalim spotted the binoculars right away. Daili quickly explained how they’d landed in the fire.

  “And you believe that?” he asked. “Tikot. Come here!”

  “He’s only a kid, Kalim.”

  “Stop trying to protect him all the time, Daili. Let me handle this. I hate it when you keep me from solving my own problems.”

  Daili bit her lip. She felt as if a big hand squeezed her chest because she’d overstepped her right to talk; the hand she felt so often when she was being cut down or ignored. All she wanted was a peaceful meal together. What was wrong with that?

  Tikot entered the room meekly.

  “What happened?” Kalim asked, holding up the misshapen eyepieces.

  Daili wi
ped the water from her eyes and tried to concentrate on dividing the food over the five bowls. Poor kid; they all knew the binoculars were special, but it was still an accident.

  “Did they fall in or did you put them in?” Kalim asked. He did not sound upset.

  Tikot put all his attention to the hem of his shirt.

  “Did you throw them in because you were angry at me for saying you couldn’t come?”

  Daili leaned on the table and waited. Laytji stood against the side of the dividing wall and raised her eyebrows briefly when Daili looked her way. Tikot fiddled with his fingers.

  “Did you throw them in on purpose?”

  Kalim’s patience surprised Daili. He was not normally willing to deal with people not getting to the point. His voice was determined, but not angry. “Yes or no?”

  Tikot burst out crying all of a sudden the way Laytji used to. “Why don’t you just go ahead and spank me?”

  Kalim took a step back.

  “Go on then, do it. Or you can just throw me out!”

  Kalim recovered and took the boy by the arms. “Stop crying and listen to me.”

  “Let me go!” The more calmly Kalim responded, the more Tikot got upset; he kicked at Kalim’s legs as he had once done Hani. “You don’t even care about me anyway!”

  “That’s not true,” Kalim defended himself and let go of Tikot’s arms. In a flash the boy turned and ran out the door. Daili took a step to go after him but then reconsidered in case Kalim accused her of interfering. On the other hand, it was dark: Who knew where Tikot would run to? And he didn’t have his coat.

  “Why didn’t you just spank him?”

  “Laytji!” Daili exclaimed.

  “Well he asked, didn’t he? He literally asked for it.”

  “That is utterly ridiculous,” Kalim said, looking from Laytji to Daili and then walked out to go after Tikot. Or, at least, Daili hoped that was where he was going.