by CK Collins
23 February
* * *
Liashe, Masalay
Out for lunch with Kistulo — she’s been neglecting him so — Tchori has missed the call from Sule. “That’s twice now that this has happened.”
“But think of the joy it gives me to tell you.”
“The call is meant to be at three.”
“He had news. Are you going to sit?”
“Fine, yes. Please tell me he’s found her.”
“He has.” Checking his notes to be certain: “She is called Callie Voros. American. Twenty-seven years old.”
“American? Alright. And Voros, is that Spanish?”
“Sounds like a job for your Google.”
“Straight away, yeah. Twenty-seven?”
“Twenty-seven.”
“Bless it, I wonder if she’s on Facebook.”
“I shall avoid asking what that is. As we speak, Sule is endeavouring to obtain a copy of her travel visa. Presuming she has one.”
“And the father? I told you what I found researching the Murais of Jaya — few attractive options.”
Carodai consults his page. “Yes, and your money was on . . .?”
“Rika.”
“Indeed.”
“He’s the one who’s gone missing, you realise?”
“Yes, Sule is looking into that as well.”
“Very worrisome.”
“Agreed.”
“Where is she living?”
“A home in the Jaya Hills.”
“Nice. Tell me that Brigade orphan has gone somewhere.”
“He is living with her.”
“Bless it. Does that seem safe to you, Brother? It doesn’t to me.”
“He saved her life, recall.”
“Colour me dubious. Alright though — we’ve done it. If she is the one.”
“She is the one.”
“She fits the qualities — but that doesn’t guarantee she is.”
“Unfortunately, Aarum believes she is.”
“No.”
“She is well under watch.”
“Shit.”
“Indeed.”
“Shit. I’m sorry, but — shit.”
“Sule is assessing. It appears they’re using three-person teams rotated throughout the day. Well armed, no doubt.”
“Unbelievable.” She looks up at the ceiling, shaking her head. “You might have started with that. It’s buggered, it’s utterly buggered. We’ve lost.”
“I wouldn’t go that far, child.”
“No — you said our only hope was to outsmart them. And you were right. We just didn’t get it done.”
“Let’s not underestimate Sule.”
“Brother, unless he’s Batman . . .”
“It’s not as dire as that.”
“They’ve the advantage in every regard. They could take her tomorrow. And probably will do.”
“Sule sees no sign of their preparing to move. On the contrary, they appear to be settling in.”
“Yes, but once they see him there.”
“Sule will not be seen.”
“Fine. So we watch her whilst they watch her?”
“For now.”
She’s quiet a time, reviewing her regrets. “And I know it doesn’t matter but . . .”
“Yes?”
She sits forward, elbows on her knees, and sighs. “Honestly, could she not be named something more dignified than Callie?”
2 March
* * *
Jaya, Masalay
Cricket.
Weird sport. I’m addicted. I totally blame Ephraim.
One good thing — tangent — the TV has given up on trying to drive me out by acting all poltergeist. Putting up menus that I couldn’t make go away, making the sound go out of synch, only showing the channel where they recite Masalayan poetry. But I’m stubborn. I broke its spirit. I proved I’m willing to unplug all the boxes as many times as necessary and that I’m not above smacking. It’s mended its ways now and all I get is a gentle flashing of this one red light, which can feel like a friendly wink.
And it’s decided to give me back the channels with American shows. Just clicking around the other day, I got, in descending order of kill-me-now: The Apprentice; Murder, She Wrote; CSI; King of Queens. And Star Trek — for some bizarro reason, Masalayans are way into that show, especially the original one (Rika included, judging from the action figures lined up in the study). Finding: the more melodramatic a show is, the funnier it sounds in Masalayan.
I went in the grocery yesterday, the one near the Buckingham, and there in front of me, honest to god: Crest. After all these months of brushing with licorice-flavored spackle. I picked up three tubes, I was so excited. But you know, dammit, I got home and it didn’t taste right. I have not stopped loathing Masalayan toothpaste. But now my old stuff doesn’t work either.
You could say it’s a kind of homesickness — a backwards kind, because backwards is just how I roll — but it’s more like I’m becoming a different person. The baby takes up so much space now that there’s no room left for the older pieces of me.
Do I even want to go home anymore is a question. There’s a thousand things here every day that remind me of how much I don’t belong. But when I think about home — going to the places I used to go, talking to the people I used to know — it all feels like what an imposter would do. I’m not that person anymore.
So cricket. It’s our steady companion.
And the thing about Ephraim — he actually understands the rules. He groans and flicks his hand all dismissive, just like Dad does for the Phillies. (I like seeing him show emotion.) It’s an interesting kind of teamwork with us, too: He gets the intricacies in a way that I don’t, but when it’s the India feed I actually understand the announcers. Between the two of us we make one complete and comprehending fan.
It used to bug the crap out of me how weird-shaped and different from each other all the fields are — like they were all designed with broken protractors and loads of iirik — but now honestly I kinda dig it. The JCG, right downtown, is probably the most irregular of them all, and I’ve gotten attached to the oblong strangeness of it. It’s got character. Not like that big corporate stadium they have in Sagaro (they’re such smug jerks on that team, it fits them). Rika’s got a Jaya Cricket Club t-shirt that fits my huge belly perfectly, and I wear it with pride, oblong in my own special baby-bearing way.
We’re not just local supporters, though, no no. We spent most of last Saturday and Sunday watching Sri Lanka against West Indies for the semi-finals of something important. Right from the start, I was totally in the tank for West Indies. Ephraim too. I think he’s got something against Sri Lanka. And they pulled it out, those plucky Windies — they’re actually called that, how could you not pull for them? — it was very exciting.
Sometimes I think about what Rika would say if he could see the two of us. But I do it less than I used to. I still want him to come home. I want him to be okay. It’s just that I don’t feel the same kind of longing anymore. I absolutely want the baby to know his dad. But we’re going to be great with or without him.
I keep waiting to hear something back from the Ashmanists about Ephraim. Obviously I’m going to need to figure something out long term. But it’s good right now. It’s funny, I mentioned the whole katraam custom to Bidaan, kind of saying that Ephraim could be like that for me. He was nice, very diplomatic — but he basically told me that the katraam thing is this bullshit way for Runai families to take advantage of Talid kids and pretend its charity. Ah, Alimi. Oh well. I ain’t a Runai, and I can adopt the non-bullshit parts if I want.
What I really wish: that Ephraim would quit worrying about me so much. Always checking the windows like there might be something coming. Keeping an eye on me at the hotel. It’s sweet and all that, but he needs to let it go.
At least he doesn’t get freaked anymore by my appetite, and it’s nice not to hide it like I used to, so he gets to witness the splendor tha
t is second-dinner and what I like to call midnight breakfast. (The Buckingham, they should never have given me free access to that buffet. The servers can never figure out why they keep needing to refill the canapés, and they probably think there’s a leak in the hollandaise tub.) I’m not trying to be a glutton — never have been before — it’s just that this baby is not ever full.
It’s not like I’m becoming obese or anything. Even though my belly is kind of ginormous. And my boobs are way bigger than I ever would have thought possible (and a sweaty nuisance, to tell the truth). But I feel totally in-proportion and balanced and strong. A few hours of sleep and I’m good. Read Anna Karenina in three days (in addition to digging cricket and calories, the baby has a thing for tragedy). And then there’s that other need, the sexual one. Oh dear.
Sometimes I feel like it’s getting less, but all it really does is sink deeper down. Maybe that’s why I eat like I do: it’s the one hunger I can do something about. I tell myself there’s nothing wrong having an appetite this strong. But the truth is, I don’t have an appetite, the appetite has me.
* * *
Pashi’s going to be here soon. I scoop out the tea leaves — you do not give Pashi a tea bag — and start cutting cucumbers. Trying not to feel anxious that yesterday’s groceries used up the last of my stash. First hotel paycheck is tomorrow, so we should be alright. If I had to ask for another handout I’d retch.
There is stuff I need help with, though. I haven’t seen any utility bills, for instance. Is that normal or are the lights about to go off? Am I supposed to be paying this yard crew? And, wait, here’s one: how exactly am I going to pay for the delivery? And, um, what’s the plan for supporting myself and a kiddo and (maybe) Ephraim?
The hotel gig is easy enough, and Roz is cool enough, I can probably make it work. But it ain’t gonna be easy. And I can’t live here forever. I’ve got this truce with the Murais until the baby comes, but after that . . .
Okay, here she is. Ephraim sees it and scoots out to the garden. Making himself scarce while she’s here — I never told him he needed to, but it’s probably best.
We have tea in the little nook next to the kitchen. She doesn’t mention Rika. So I don’t either. I think we’re both tired of repeating the same conversation. She asks about the hotel and seems genuinely impressed at me being able to get a job all on my own. I tell her I like helping people, even if it is mostly dehydration and bug bites.
I go to the kitchen for more cookies and there’s a knock at the front door. Pashi answers it for me and when I come back she’s holding this very official-looking envelope. “Government courier.”
I put down the cookies. “Could you . . .?”
I’m so sure it’s going to be horrible that I almost don’t register it when she grins. “What?”
She pulls a cream-colored envelope from inside the bigger one. “Callie, it’s a letter from the PM.”
“The who?”
She turns it around to show me: The Most Honourable Caida Daar, No. 7 River Circle, Sutcliffe, Republic of Masalay.
“Is it bad, do you think?”
“Unlikely. Caida does not attach her name to unpleasant news.”
She slips a red fingernail under the flap and makes a clean slit. There’s a matching cream-colored card with emerald calligraphy. She bursts out laughing like I’ve never seen from her. “Callie, you . . .”
“What?”
“She’s invited you to tea.”
“Why?”
“And, Callie, not in Sagaro either — her estate.”
“What does she want? The last time I went to tea it sucked.”
She hands me the card, which doesn’t have any explanation. “A courtesy, I expect. Because of Rika.”
“Huh . . .”
“The Colonel will not fancy this,” she says, giddy. “Right then, shoes on — we’ve shopping to do.”
Afternoon
Liashe, Masalay
“The Minister of Studies will see you now.” His secretary, the ice elf, presents the fact as if it may be the undeserved zenith of young Tchori’s life.
The office is large and furnished in muted tones of burgundy and chocolate. Her feet, accustomed to the rough stone of the college, sink pleasingly into the plush Persian rug. She hasn’t worn her novice robes, only a lay skirt and blouse, a calculated risk. “So professional this afternoon,” he remarks. “Sit, please.”
The deep leather yields with indecent ease. “It was kind of you to see me, Minister.”
“Not at all — my policy is open door. Iirik then? Whiskey? It’s gone three.”
“Very kind, but no thank you. I’ve still a lot of work ahead.”
“Yes, I’ve heard so many comments, from so many people, about the terrific job you’re doing with Brother Carodai. Working so hard.”
“It’s my honour to serve him.”
“He’s wonderful, isn’t he? How is his health? I was ever so concerned a few months gone, when he went to hospital.”
“He’s much improved.”
“Wonderful, I’m relieved. He’s just such a terrific asset to the Church and the University. The whole nation, in my opinion.” As much as she hates what the Minister has done to Brother Carodai, the accumulated indignities, one can’t but admire his skill at lying with conviction. “I so strongly believe that Brother Carodai is the best amongst us.”
“He’s a great man.”
“So true. Now, how can I be of assistance?”
“Well, you may not recall, but when I first took position with Brother Carodai, you were kind enough to have me for tea.”
A sly smile of anticipation crosses his small face. “I do recall. We had a lovely chat.”
“You were anxious that I should keep an eye out — for any kind of difficulties Brother Carodai might be having. Trouble with his accounts, that sort of thing.”
“He operates under great burdens. We must do whatever we can to watch out for him. You haven’t noticed anything untoward, one hopes.”
“I wouldn’t say ‘untoward.’ But perhaps some slight concerns.”
“I see.”
“I don’t want to speak out of turn. But he is going through some struggles.”
“He must learn to relax.”
“Well, he was talking Monday last about a manuscript. A Second Empire edition of the Iliisen Confessions. It perplexed me, of course. I wasn’t aware of there being a Second Empire edition of the Iliisen Confessions.”
“Ah.”
“It would be enormously valuable if there were.”
“Would it then? Well of course, yes. The Iliisen Confessions, Second Empire. You’ve . . .”
“Well, I’ve checked the High Archive twice over, Minister. There’s no record. None whatsoever.”
“How irregular. It’s delicate, of course, but there have been certain rumours through the years.”
“Rumours?”
“An archive maintained by Brother Carodai that exists outside the proper spheres of authority. Objects of considerable value to the Church.”
“Hard to believe.”
“Indeed.”
“Would you want me to continue to keep an ear out?”
“Oh, I would consider it a great service.”
“He did mention something about Jaya.”
“Did he?”
“He suggested I might collect a rare document for him.”
“You should enquire further. Without arousing suspicion, of course.”
“I’ll try.” The next step is the one that has worried her — the fear of making the quid pro quo too overt — but he is clearly a man who relishes exchange. “There is . . . one favour you might do me.”
“Ah.”
“It could help in multiple regards.”
“Well then you mustn’t be shy.”
“Jaya is home to several Church offices, I believe.”
“More and more so. Can’t run everything out of Liashe in this day and age.”
“
It’s occurred to me that my novice year will be ending in only a few months’ time.”
“Must think about the future.”
