Survive

by Vera Nazarian

  “We don’t know that,” my Dad speaks up. “It’s possible Khemji found something nutritious outside, such as insects, which contain enough protein to subsist on them for quite some time. I can understand not eating in solidarity with your friend, but it would make better sense to keep up your strength for his sake. When Khemji returns, he will need a lot of your care and attention.”

  “Yes, at least drink some lvikao to warm you up,” I add, and go to pour Manala a mug from the carafe.

  “Oh, look what I found!” Gracie says suddenly, as she straightens over a cardboard box of our family belongings from Earth. “Gee One, is this yours? Wasn’t this the same thing you took with you in your bag to Qualification?” And she holds up a flat rectangular object wrapped in old brown paper.

  With a weird pang in my chest I recognize it, having last seen that familiar brown wrapping paper more than a year ago on Earth. . . . At once, so many memories of our home and Vermont rush in. . . . Memories of those intensely horrible days when we were getting ready for Qualification and carefully chose and packed our few, precious personal belongings.

  Seems like it happened in another life, an eternity ago.

  George looks up from his plate of food, swallows, and pauses with a thoughtful frown. “Oh, yeah,” he says. “That’s mine.”

  “You didn’t even unwrap it!” Gracie snorts. “So, what is this mysterious personal junk? Can I open it? Finally?”

  George shrugs. “Sure, go ahead. No big deal.”

  “Then why did you make it all secret? Wouldn’t even tell us what it was.”

  “Was just messing with you.” My older brother chuckles softly and resumes eating. “Also, didn’t want you to know what a sentimental fool I was being.”

  Gracie rips apart the brown paper and suddenly grows still. . . . Inside is an old-fashioned heavy photo frame of wrought iron, containing a family photograph on actual, non-digital, ordinary paper.

  A Lark family photograph—of all of us.

  I suck in my breath, because I recognize that old photo. It used to stand on our mantelpiece in the living room of our home in Vermont. And before that, in our home in California.

  In this picture there’s Mom and Dad, much younger, with three little kids, and Mom is holding baby Gracie. I think we had it taken at one of those mall department store portrait studios against an artsy background.

  Everyone in the room stops eating and stares.

  Dad makes a strange sound. “Oh, thank God! George, you’ve no idea how long I’ve looked for that picture, and forgot completely that you had it with you, that you took it with you originally. What a great surprise! Gracie, dear, please bring it here so I can see. . . . Such a beautiful portrait of Margot, so relaxed and genuine—I prefer it to many of her professional studio shots and performance images. And all of you so tiny!”

  Gracie takes the picture to Dad, and the rest of us Larks crowd in.

  “May I see it, please?” Manala says softly, behind us. “Is that your Mother?”

  I turn around with an emotional smile and beckon her—and Aeson, too.

  And then we all take turns passing the photo frame with its precious frozen memory from hand to hand.

  Xel alone continues eating, watching us politely from the sofa.

  Our family photo presents a strange but timely distraction from Manala’s mood of despair. When it’s her turn to hold it, the Princess examines the picture with immense curiosity and a smile comes to lighten her face. “Is that you, Gwen?” she asks, pointing to the little girl standing between her parents, next to a little boy with a mop of hair.

  “Yup,” I say. “And that’s George next to me, looking like a poodle. Gordie is the tiny one on the other side of Mom.”

  “And that fat little darling is moi,” Gracie says with a twist of her lips.

  “Not a poodle, but a Lhasa Apso,” George corrects me. “Different hairstyle, big difference.”

  “That’s right.” I laugh. “Straight mop as opposed to curly mop.”

  “Those were the days of hair madness.” George smirks.

  “Too bad you finally cut it off,” Gordie says. “Was easier to grab your head back then.”

  “Oh, please, like you ever could.” George narrows his eyes, and then finger-snaps Gordie’s forehead even as the other leans in, inches away.”

  Manala looks up at George and examines his current, medium-short, neatly attractive haircut. “Those are dog breeds, yes? Why did you wear your hair like a dog?”

  “Because I was a dog,” George replies, starting to shake with laughter.

  “Arf! Aroo!” Gordie mimics a howl.

  “Oh!” Manala’s expression is startled surprise.

  “They’re joking, Manala,” I hurry to explain to her.

  “Yeah, our brothers are idiots,” Gracie concludes, handing Manala her forgotten mug of lvikao.

  “My brother is not,” Manala says with shy pride, glancing at Aeson, as she receives the lvikao and takes a sip.

  And then, just like that, she remembers, and once again all joy leaves her eyes.

  Princess Manala sits down on the sofa, not too far from Xelio, who immediately sets down his plate on the nearest side table and pats the seat cushion next to him to indicate to her to come closer.

  Manala moves in slightly, looking wide-eyed.

  “So, my Princess Manala, am I correct to guess that you were upset the other day, at your Imperial Brother’s Wedding?” Xelio asks in a kind tone, looking at her with his head turned sideways. “It was about dancing and not dancing, I think. . . . Very possibly, apologies are in order, from me. You do understand that I would never do anything to upset my very dear Princess Manala, right? Sometimes it might seem that things happen for one reason when it’s another. . . . No slight was ever intended, far from it. You have my deepest respect and admiration always, being the most wonderful Imperial Princess that I know.”

  “I am the only Imperial Princess that you know,” Manala responds after the slightest pause, meeting Xel’s gaze. “There is no other right now.”

  “True, very true,” Xelio says with a soft chuckle. “And that is precisely one reason why sometimes it may not be possible to dance or otherwise engage your company for someone like me.”

  “Oh. . . .” Manala blinks. “I don’t know if I would agree . . . with such an implied assessment of yourself. You are Xelio Vekahat. You are—I would think you are—a great friend. Of my brother and me.”

  “I am,” he replies, choosing words carefully and glancing at Aeson before proceeding. “It is indeed so, yes—always. And—I appreciate you saying it, more than you know. But it’s just how some things are. . . . I am deeply sorry.”

  “I know,” Manala says softly. And then she adds, “It’s all right. It was wrong of me to be upset about a silly thing like dancing. But—no one ever asks me to dance except Aeson, and that hardly counts. Everyone is always too afraid. And just this once—on my brother’s Wedding day—I wanted to feel—I just wanted my friend to dance with me.”

  Abruptly, Manala stands up with a little smile and moves away from Xelio—who still watches her with what is now a complicated expression of concern and guilt. She then glances at all of us around the room. “I’m going to look for Khemji now,” she announces, and heads for the exit.

  With Manala gone, Xelio leaves soon after, returning to work, but not before exchanging some quiet words with Aeson. “She should be okay . . . thanks for trying,” I hear Aeson say.

  “I hope so, Kass. . . .” Xel sighs, then frowns slightly and becomes businesslike. “Okay, as far as the Tammuz Station reports, will keep you posted.”

  My family members watch the whole exchange thoughtfully.

  After Xelio leaves, Aeson approaches me with a serious expression and says, turning to address everyone. “Apologies for the family issues. My sister can get very emotional, and right now it is so good that she has all of you to visit.”

  “But of course,” Dad says, nodding with
emphasis. “Always, Aeson. Your sister is a wonderful young lady and she is always more than welcome. She is our family now, and so are you. Now—I just wish we could fast forward through all this stress and anxiety for her, and locate that missing cat, and all will be well.”

  After a quick eos bread meal, Aeson returns to the workroom for some pressing business, while I stay behind, just hanging out with my family, somewhat uncertain of what to make of today.

  Aeson and I had made all those plans earlier. . . . I suppose I should be thinking of the upcoming move to Phoinios Heights and then all the rest of the arrangements to be made and tasks handled—on behalf of my family first and foremost—before we can begin settling into our new married life and routine.

  But all I can think of now is that dratted cat and Manala’s tragic eyes. . . .

  We turn on the TV feeds and Dad and George watch everything with the curiosity of newly arrived tourists, trying to catch bits of the still-unfamiliar language, while Gracie, Gordie, and I translate.

  And then, after a couple of hours, close to Noon Ghost Time, Manala returns.

  She just walks into the suite living room with the familiarity of someone who lives here—which I find innocently comforting—and sits down on the sofa across from my Dad and next to Gordie.

  “I think he is gone,” she says in a dead voice, before anyone can ask her anything.

  “What? No!” I say with a frown, coming to sit on the other side of her.

  But Manala nods, stubbornly, looking ahead of her at the hovering smart screen nearby. “He is. He is.”

  “Come on, now,” George says, looking at her with a calm, unreadable expression. “Don’t give up. It’s only been what—a day? Two? That’s nothing. We’re all looking for him and will continue to do so until we find him.”

  Manala slowly shakes her head. “It’s no use. . . . Every person possible has been dispatched to search and they looked everywhere. He is gone from the Palace grounds, and now he is lost somewhere in the immense City of Poseidon. He will be hurt, and he will starve. Whichever comes first, he will face terrible suffering. And it is all my fault.”

  “Manala, my dear, everyone is still actively looking,” Dad says. “I firmly believe Khemji is hiding somewhere here on the premises. Cats are excellent at hiding in plain sight. He could even be on this floor! In fact, we should probably check all the rooms again.”

  “Good idea,” George says, getting up. “Gordon, let’s go.”

  Manala glances at him listlessly. “Don’t. It’s no use. You raise hope and it only makes it worse when you dash it.”

  “Hey, dashing hope is often my specialty.” George makes an odd sound. “But not today.”

  “Yeah, let’s do it,” Gordie replies, getting up from his seat next to Manala even as she stares at him with pained eyes.

  “You know what?” I say, getting up also. “Let’s all go look at our Wedding gifts! Supposedly they delivered them in a storage room which is only a few doors down the hall from here. We can continue looking for Khemji on the way there.”

  “Ooh, yes!” Gracie exclaims, jumping from her seat, then glances at Manala with some guilt at her own eagerness.

  “Excellent idea,” our Dad says, picking up the digital tablet in his lap and pushing up the spectacles on the bridge of his nose. “You kids go on, and I’ll rest a bit and maybe read a little from the Archives. . . . So much to learn there.”

  “Manala?” I say, using my big sister voice. “Come on, it will please me greatly if you join me for this, so let’s go!”

  A few minutes later, Manala and all of us walk down the corridor, turn a few corners, and arrive at our destination. George, Gracie, and Gordie examine all the rooms along the way, opening doors and peering inside, and making kitty calling noises. Meanwhile I hold Manala’s hand and lead her reassuringly.

  We enter the large storage chamber, which appears to be another living room, only filled with neatly stacked containers of our Wedding items from the Tree of Gifts, placed everywhere on tables and chairs and even on the long sofa. The servants boxed everything up before delivering it here, so it’s impossible to tell what anything is without opening the large boxes.

  There is a large wall of windows leading out to a balcony with an elegant balustrade, several of them open to the pleasant cool breeze outside which moves the translucent white curtains, billowing them gently. Meanwhile, Hel’s white glare illuminates everything, so no need to turn on the lights.

  “Oh wow, that’s a lot of stuff,” Gracie mumbles, entering ahead of all of us and glancing around quickly.

  “Sure is,” I say, looking around in some wonder. “That’s all from the entire Imperial Court right there.”

  “Probably very expensive stuff.” Gracie takes another step into the room.

  George and Gordie are a few steps behind us still in the corridor, but Manala is nearby and enters silently, stopping behind me. Her expression is bland and unseeing, even as she obediently follows, staying at my side.

  I turn to glance at her with a smile. “Isn’t it amazing, Manala? Look at all these boxes! What fun to discover what’s hidden inside! I can’t wait!”

  “Yes,” Manala replies in an automatic voice.

  In that moment a very deep, very low, very ghastly yowl comes from the corner of the room near the wall of windows. Then, a huge, black feline shape moves in silhouette beyond the curtain.

  The cat freezes for a moment, staring at us. Then, with another blood-curdling yowl, it takes one step closer, as though looking for someone to rescue it from the acoustic horrors of its own making.

  “Khemji!” Manala cries out in a joyful and desperate voice. “Oh, Khemji!”

  But instead of coming closer, Khemji bolts suddenly through the open window and jumps outside onto the balustrade. He pauses briefly on top of the railing to turn around and look at Manala, in a moment of feline uncertainty, then makes up his mind and takes a blind leap to the level below.

  Chapter 69

  “Oh no, no! Khemji!” Manala screams, and launches herself at the open balcony windows. “Khemji, please come back! Khemji, my sweet, brave Khemji!”

  We rush to follow her to the balcony and line up at the balustrade, resting our elbows on the polished length of stone. We all lean forward and stare at the floor below, where another balcony continues, covered with flowering green vines.

  “Can you see him?”

  “There, there!”

  “No, I don’t think so—that’s just a big flower pot—”

  “There he is!” Gordie cries, pointing to a streaking black shape as Khemji continues to climb and jump from balustrade to balustrade between Palace balconies in the fierce Hel sunlight.

  “Khemji, no, no, my Khemji!” Manala is absolutely distraught. She is once more bawling, and suddenly tries to climb the balustrade.

  “No, Manala!”

  “Hold her!”

  While George and Gracie take hold of Manala’s arms, I tap my wrist comm and call Aeson. In hurried words I tell him what’s happening, and he tells me he’s on his way.

  “Please send people up here and also down on the ground floor,” I say breathlessly. “So that we can corner Khemji, somehow trap him—”

  Meanwhile, Manala is hysterical. “He is gone! Again! I let him get away! My fault! All my fault! He was so s-s-scared, so h-h-hungry—I should die!”

  “No, Khemji is right there!” Gracie says, pulling Manala’s arm. “Look! We can see him from here, it’s great! Now we know where he is, it’s really easy, we can catch him!”

  “No!” Manala cries in a rending voice, twisting away from my siblings’ protective grasps. She steps back and starts to beat herself with her fists once again, shaking in a fever. Her face is contorted and she is gasping for air between sobs.

  “Oh man, what the hell—” George suddenly moves in and takes Manala by the shoulders. “Hey! Manala! Enough! Cut the crap!” he says, shaking her in his strong grip.

  Suddenly, ju
st like that, Manala freezes. She stops sobbing, stops breathing, shocked into utter silence, and goes completely still in George’s grasp.

  “What are you, a three-year-old?” George continues, speaking to her in a cool, hard voice that I’ve never heard him use before with anyone. “Doesn’t matter what kind of lonely snowflake you are, Princess, this ends now.”

  Manala’s mouth falls open as she stares at George, a torrent of tears still streaming down her face. Her sobs have quieted however, and she is breathing normally.

  “Good, continue to breathe and calm yourself,” George says in the same cool, rational voice, looking at her without emotion.

  The rest of us have frozen also, in amazement.

  Manala’s eyes grow wide. “You—you are—how dare you—” she begins to speak, glaring at George with impossible outrage. “You—you are horrid! You may not speak to me in this manner—”

  “Oh, please.” George shakes his head slowly in cool disgust.

  “But—but—what an awful, horrible person you are, George Lark!”

  “Yeah, I’m a total a-hole. But you’re going to act like an adult from now on, Imperial Princess M’nala, if you want to get Khemji back. Your cat is not going anywhere, but the more you wail, the longer it’ll take to catch him. You’re literally scaring the crap out of him right now with all your yelling, so he’s going to stay away until you shut up.”

  “How dare you! Are you telling me to shut up?” Manala is trembling again, this time with anger.

  “I am telling you to shut the hell up.”

  My older brother and Aeson’s sister glare at one another in a moment of fury. At this point I think George has gone too far.

  “George, please, that’s too much—” I begin to say. “It is unfair to—”

  But Manala takes the moment to escape George’s hold and steps away, whirling around to stare at me and the others. “I—I’m sorry, Gwen! I know he is your brother, but I cannot be in the same place as this terrible, heartless person!”