by Andy Mangels
“Just put the water on,” her aunt said, still fussing with her bread.
“What do you need me to do?” Rena asked, looking directly overhead.
“If you can stay focused, glaze the buns.”
It was an old complaint. Rena rolled her eyes. “What do you mean ‘focused’?”
Marja shrugged. “No painting the buns with tinted glaze, no decorative flower patterns with the nuts and candies. No concocting experiments with the sweet bread recipes. We’re not creating art, we’re feeding people. Fofen Genn’s replicators broke down. He’s a houseful of boarders with no way to feed them. You’ll need to take down a few baskets of rolls to hold them over while he waits for the repair person to arrive.” Without actually looking up at Rena, she asked, “So did your trip purge that wandering impulse from you once and for all? I hope it did, because Kail came over every day when you were gone and I just know he’s ready to make your engagement official.”
“We’re not even unofficially engaged,” Rena said. “And he comes over here because you feed him.”
“I hope at least that you finished the design for Topa’s memorial. Every time I see him at shrine services, Vlahi from the foundry tells me he’s ready to make the mold.” Marja’s voice was sharp with frustration.
Rena winced, recalling her destroyed sketchbook. “No, Auntie. I’m going to have to start over. But I promise I’ll have it done before next week.” She looked more closely at Marja, noting the tension in her shoulders. She took a deep breath. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you that I was leaving for Kenda. I contacted you as soon as I could—”
Marja held up a hand to shush her. “After all these years, I should be used to your bouts of wanderlust. But I have to confess this last disappearance surprised even me. Not even a week after Topa’s passing. I know he asked you to go on his behalf, but there’s work for the living to be done, Rena.” She tsked. “And then on the heels of abandoning Kail at the shrine—”
Rena blurted, “I never agreed to go to the vedek with Kail!” Closing her eyes, she gritted her teeth and counted backward until she’d regained emotional control. She was so tired of having this discussion. “I left school for Mylea. Told my professors I wasn’t coming back because I was needed at home. Isn’t that enough?”
“Enough? Your parents gave their lives so that Mylea could be preserved and Rena asks if she’s done enough?”
Rena let Marja’s words hang in the air, restraining herself from pursuing an argument. She suspected that her aunt lashed out from her own pain. Marja had buried her grief deep inside her: she missed her father terribly. That Marja was frustrated with her inability to commit to Kail wasn’t new. Though it was pretty close to the same conclusion she had recently come to about herself, Rena did not feel like giving her aunt the opportunity to stand with her hands on her wide hips and lecture her further.
“Kail wants me to go to Yyn for the Auster pageant next week.”
“Good,” Marja said shortly.
A buzzer saved both women from having to pursue the matter. Marja tapped a series of commands into the kitchen controls that unlocked and opened the ovens. Dozens of wire racks loaded with bun-filled trays glided out into the open air, accompanied by clouds of yeasty steam.
Marja lifted a few of the buns to check for readiness. “Give these a minute to cool and we can pack Fofen’s order.”
Without being told, Rena went to the rear of the kitchen to the pantry and retrieved the handmade rustic reed baskets and long lengths of coarse linen they had always used to pack the bread. Ten years ago, Rena, as a little slip of a girl, would help Topa and Marja deliver these baskets to market or to the Cardassian barracks. As she and Marja plucked the rolls off the trays, Rena wondered if Marja had similar memories. Once the baskets were filled, they loaded them onto a two-wheeled pull-cart that Rena would tow, a splintery wood handle gripped in each hand, across the hill to the boardinghouse.
As Rena wheeled the cart down the passageway to the courtyard, she passed by Topa’s old bedroom, finding his door propped open. She saw through her grandfather’s window that the sun was now high enough in the sky to shine down through the mist and make it the same colorless color and density as the spray of flour that pops out the top when the sack is first cut open. He would love a day like today.
Once outside, Rena squatted down by the cart wheels to make sure the axle had been repaired since the last time she’d used it.
“Excuse me?”
Startled, she jumped up. “Yes? What? Sorry . . . what?”
A tall figure stood in front of her, silhouetted against the mist, its hand extended to touch her shoulder, but not touching her. “I’m sorry,” the figure said. “I didn’t mean to scare you. Fofen sent me down to see if the bread was done—”
At the same time, both of them realized the other’s identity and startled, taking long steps in opposite directions.
“Jacob,” Rena managed to squeak out. To see him now, emerging from the mist, an otherworldly apparition . . . Rena struggled to shake off the shock.
“Uh. Yeah. Rena,” he sputtered. “I should have thought to ask if this was your family—I mean I had no idea that this bakery was yours—I, you know, ummm . . .”
The slap-slap-slap of leather soles on the wet rock pavement sounded; Rena and Jacob’s heads pivoted toward the lanky figure emerging out of the fog.
“Hey Jacob! Genn just heard from Marja. The bread is on its way . . . .” Fofen Parsh’s voice trailed off as he saw the pair. He looked from Jacob to Rena, then back again. Smiling shyly at her, Parsh dropped his eyes and said, “Rena—nice to see you again. Sorry I missed Topa’s funeral. He was a great old guy. If you ever want to talk, I’m always—”
“Thanks, Parsh,” Rena said, cutting him off. Avoiding further eye contact with Jacob, she stepped out from between the handles and offered the cart to the two men. “One of you want to take this up? I’m sure my aunt could use my help, since the customers will be arriving soon.” She crossed her arms over her chest, thrusting out her chin.
“You’d better believe Marja can use your help,” Marja boomed from behind.
Rena jumped visibly.
“Genn’s repair people aren’t available until after midmeal. In addition to our usual orders and what we need for drop-ins, Genn needs bread for meat and cheese bundles.” Marja stood beside Rena, scrutinizing both of the young men from their boots to their hair. “You’re looking well, Parsh. Being back in Mylea doesn’t agree with Rena, but it agrees with you.”
Rena inhaled sharply, flushing with embarrassed fury.
Squinting, Marja jabbed toward Jacob. “And this other fellow?”
Parsh, who had always been a little afraid of Marja, stammered an introduction.
Marja pursed her lips, studying Jacob for a long moment before turning to him with a sniff. “You’ll be coming back for the next order, Jacob?”
Jacob stood up straighter. “I expect so, ma’am.”
“Bring the cart back with you. It’s not like I can transport your food up the street.”
Parsh assumed Rena’s former position between the cart handles. “Why don’t you just stay here a little longer, Jacob, and wait for the next batch? I can handle this myself.” Lacing his fingers together, he stretched in an obvious attempt to show his muscles.
Rena rewarded Parsh with a tight-lipped smile.
Rena and Marja watched the young man dissolve into a curtain of fog before Marja pulled Rena toward the bakery. “Nice enough boy,” Marja said. “If Kail weren’t available, I’d tell you to accept Parsh.”
Rena refused to rise to Marja’s bait in front of Jacob. No need to give her aunt more ideas.
Marja pressed in the alphanumeric combination that unlocked the bakery’s business door, kicked the doorjamb into place, and raised a hinged section of counter, allowing her to step into the staging area. To Rena, she handed over trays of pale green nut puddings in fluted pastries, cookies erupting with candied fruit, and
whole cakes frosted in a multitude of colors, the bakery’s signature, a series of white, interconnected ovals, etched into the surface. Jacob asked Marja what he could do to help. She tossed an apron over the counter, shoved a bucket with cleaning solution at him, and told him to start wiping fingerprints off the windows and doors. The trio worked in silence until another buzzer from the kitchen announced that the next batch was baked. Marja excused herself, leaving Jacob and Rena alone in the storefont.
“Why hello, Jacob Sisko,” Rena said under her breath. “Makes sense that the son of the Emissary is moonlighting as a steward to ladies in distress.”
“Talked to Kail lately?” Jacob retorted.
“Not today. But if you stay around a little longer, I’ll introduce you when he stops by for his morning pastry.” Rena unfastened the display cases mounted in the street-facing windows and started arranging the showy dessert pastries.
In his efforts to reach a particularly smudged windowpane, Jacob stood behind Rena and reached over her shoulders to spray the cleaner. Crouched down, Rena stepped back to survey her work and bumped into Jacob’s chest. The pastry tray she’d been holding tipped, sending a dozen mousse-filled puffs skidding down the polished surface; her heart plunged to her knees. She shifted the tray’s angle, preventing the pastries from splattering on the floor. She steadied her nerves before saying, “I don’t know what you’re trying to prove.”
“I’m just a hungry man who came searching for his morning meal,” Jacob said, retiring the cleaning bottle to the bucket.
Marja appeared carrying a smaller bread basket on each of her hips. “You two. Take this to Fofen.”
A protest would reveal more about her connection to Jacob than she wanted her aunt to know, so she accepted Marja’s basket without complaint and started out the door to Fofen’s, Jacob following by her side.
In spite of the strain between them, Rena was surprised how easily she slipped into the cadence of Jacob’s walk, just as she had when they hiked for the River Road. She stole a glance at him and wished there were a way they could start again. Starting over long before yesterday would work, too, back when she left secondary school and marrying Kail had seemed to fit perfectly into her life. But she had to remind herself of her commitment to Topa. Live for Bajor. Live for Mylea. Don’t let our ways pass into history. Give them to my grandchildren, he’d said.
Only a nudge from Topa’s pagh could have served as a greater reminder of her obligations than hearing Kail’s voice through the fog. Rena gathered that he was discussing solstice at Yyn with Parsh.
As they came into sight, Kail smiled broadly. “My woman has brought me food. Excellent.” He reached into the basket and took a roll. Rena slapped his hand; in response, Kail placed a peck on her cheek. She wished he’d make less of a show of their relationship. Poor Parsh looked on wistfully; he’d been soft on Rena since they were schoolchildren, and Kail’s displays merely reinforced what Parsh would never have with Rena. When they were younger, Rena had found Kail’s possessiveness endearing. Now it seemed a little cruel. Or maybe she was being overly critical because of her frustration. After Kenda, I should have stayed gone.
Throwing a thick, muscled arm around lanky Parsh’s bony shoulders, Kail squeezed him good-naturedly, coaxing a pained flush in his pale cheeks. “I was just extending an invitation to Parsh to join our group next week. He’s never been to Yyn before.”
Rena rolled her eyes. “Parsh isn’t the only one.”
When Jacob materialized beside Rena, Kail scrutinized him, probably comparing the newcomer with himself. Rena made her own comparison, deciding that two men couldn’t be more different. Kail, with his ruddy, clean-shaven complexion and shoulder-length curly blond-brown hair, evinced the strength of an arena wrestler, while darker Jacob stood taller than Kail but had a ropy muscularity that suited him for springball.
“Of course you haven’t been to Yyn, or we’d have had our wedding night already.” He winked at her.
Jacob looked genuinely puzzled, so Parsh explained the custom that on solstice night a couple need only take one of the thousands of Auster’s candles lighted at the ruins to be granted the privileges of married couples. The “blessing” lasted only until morning, in accordance with the legend. Rena felt Jacob’s eyes on her as Parsh explained, in his usual delicate terms, that the tradition typically resulted in a host of births in late fall.
“Why doesn’t Jacob join our group?” Parsh asked. “He’s not Bajoran. He’s a writer. He might find a story at Yyn. Besides, Halar would enjoy his company.”
Without moving his eyes from Rena’s face, Jacob nodded. “I’d like that. Count me in.”
The prospect of spending solstice caught between Kail’s expectations of sex and Jacob’s mind games pushed Rena too far. She shoved her basket at Parsh and announced that Marja needed her back at the bakery immediately. Kail called after her as she marched back up the hill, but Rena ignored him. If he cared about her feelings, let him prove it. Let Jacob prove it, too. Through the bakery doors and down the hall past Topa’s room, she blew past Marja, and stomped up the stairs to her room.
“We’ll have customers soon!” Marja called after her.
“I’m working on Topa’s memorial,” she said, and slammed her bedroom door. Once inside, she threw herself down on the floor and pulled her art supplies—charcoal, pastels—out from beneath her bed. Then she cast them aside and settled on paints. No amount of searching uncovered a canvas or even a large sheet of hardcopy, so she yanked the plain sheet off her bed and tacked two adjoining corners to the wall with hairpins shoved deep into the plaster. Stretching the sheet out the rest of the length of the wall, she affixed the remaining corners similarly. The rising morning temperature started making the attic room uncomfortably warm. Rena didn’t care. She peeled down to her chemise and started painting.
She didn’t think about strokes or composition or colors as she laid down a thick layer of black-green, the color of Mylea’s ocean churned up by a storm. Blue—Topa’s eyes—came next, followed by angry reds and gashes of yellow. Flecks of paint stuck to her eyelashes: she brushed them aside with her forearm, leaving a rainbow of smudges on her skin. If Marja had called her, Rena hadn’t heard. The shadows lengthened with the changing light. If she felt hunger pangs or thirst, Rena ignored them. She knew only the demands of her brush and the shifting kaleidoscope of emotions pouring out in colors on her wall. At last she came to the browns—the warm, soothing brown of soil, soaked with water, peaty with leaves and dried moss. The color of her father’s skin, the color of Jacob’s skin, the color of her own. And when the last dab of paint left her palette, in the dimming of the day, she collapsed, weary, on the ground, and scooted back against the opposite wall to see what she had created. She had no idea what had been born of her brush, she only knew that she couldn’t go on without it being poured out of her body into something outside of herself. Jacob’s words returned to her. She cursed aloud. Why in the name of the Prophets did it keep coming back to Jacob?
. . . You weren’t screaming about preserving Bajor, you were screaming like someone who was having her soul—her pagh —torn out of her. Tell me again that you need to give up your art . . . .
She removed the duranja lamp from her knapsack and lit the flame. She watched the firelight shadows leap and flicker over her painting. She began the benediction to honor the dead.
“Ralanon Topa propeh va nara eshuks hala-kan vunek.”
But I want to honor you, Topa. She buried her face in her hands. Prophets show me the way that I might do both.
13
Asarem
“I’m sorry, First Minister, but the answer is no.”
Asarem stared at the monitor in the center of her office’s conference table, shocked into silence by Magistrate Sorati’s response. “Teru, I . . . I don’t understand,” she finally succeeded in saying. “You wanted this appointment. You didn’t flinch once when you appeared before the Chamber Selection Committee . . .”
&
nbsp; “Yes, for all the good that did me,” Sorati said wryly.
“ . . . but as I said, they’re no longer part of the equation,” Asarem finished. “Under the present circumstances I have unassailable authority to appoint the person of my choice to represent Bajor on the Federation Council. I’ve chosen you.”
“And I must respectfully decline, First Minister. My circumstances have changed.”
“May I know in what way?”
Sorati hesitated.
“Teru, please,” Asarem said. “At least tell me why. Help me to understand this.”
“It’s Herek.”
“Your husband.”
Sorati nodded. “Our marriage has been troubled these last few years. In truth, had my appointment to the Federation Council gone through last month, it likely would have ended us, and I was prepared to accept that. We had grown apart, and I knew Herek would not have wanted to leave Bajor. Nor would it have been fair to ask him to accept years of separation. But when the nomination failed . . .” Sorati seemed to grope for the right words. “ . . . we rediscovered one another. It felt like we were being given another chance. Our love is renewed, and I find I am unwilling to jeopardize it now for my career. I am truly sorry to disappoint you, First Minister, and I remain honored to have been your first choice for such an important post.”
Asarem mustered a smile. “You need never apologize for loving your husband, Teru,” she said finally. “My loss, after all, is Herek’s gain, and I’m content to be the one defeated in such a contest. I rejoice for your happiness, and I wish you both well.”
Tears formed in Sorati’s eyes. “Thank you, First Minister.”
Asarem closed the connection and sat back. Raising her voice, she called out “Theno!” and then looked across the table to see Ledahn frowning at her. “What?” she asked.
