Maitimo

I stop by the living room to see if Findekáno wants to join me in my visit, but he is pinned to the sofa by Aikanáro.

'I utterly hate and despise school,' Aikanáro is telling him firmly, his eyes flashing dangerously.

'Whatever for?' Findekáno asks, running his hand through the boy's short hair, and Aikanáro licks his lips thoughtfully.

'Because they all hate me there,' he decides, burying his face against Findekáno's neck, trying to push the blue turtleneck down with his nose.

'They can't all hate you,' Findekáno reasons, sounding very fatherly and kind.

'They do,' Aikanáro insists.

'How could they?'

'They do!' He shoves his face hard against our cousin's neck with a very determined grunt.

Findekáno looks up at me hopelessly, and I shrug my pity and head back to the hall.

The stairwell is dark already, and, as usual, the hall light is not working. I make my way carefully up the steep steps and creep down the narrow hallway. It is eerily quiet, but I can make out the scratches of pencils on paper indicating that my younger relatives are quite busy with their homework.

Ñolofinwë and Anairë's room is at the end of the hall, right across from Arafinwë and Eärwen's room. The door is closed, and I turn the knob carefully. The hinges squeak loudly as I push the door open.

I wait a moment before saying anything, looking around their room with interest. It is not often that I come here, and the room smells musty in a strangely inviting way. It is very small, and their bed takes up most of it. It is a simple iron-framed bed with a dark blue coverlet, wrinkled terribly. Their clothes are kept in a bulky dresser painted a faded, peeling white that is shoved against a windowless wall. The rest of the room is empty except for the stacks of books and papers that march along the bottom of the left wall. The bluish light of a streetlamp lights the room, casting strange shadows through the lace curtains onto the creamy, floral walls.

'Arakáno?' I whisper, taking a step forward.

'Yes?' comes the answer.

I sit down on the edge of the bed and look down at Arakáno, who is curled up in the middle of it, the blankets clutched in his tiny fists and tucked under his chin.

'Have you been sleeping?'

'Yes.' He yawns. 'I had a wonderful dream.'

'What was it?' I ask, lying down beside him and looking into his huge dark grey eyes.

'I dreamt that we were back in Aman,' he says, edging up to me and pressing his nose against mine.

'What was it like?' I ask him, twisting my fingers through his hair.

He blinks at me and a shy smile spreads over his face. 'It was beautiful.'

'It was.'

Arakáno was born here. In the first tumultuous months after our arrival to this strange world, Anairë delivered him under the light of the quivering stars. He has not seen the light of Aman, but still he says always that he dreams of it. I wonder if he does, and if he can even begin to imagine the beauty and splendour of our lost home.

A hand touches my shoulder, and I look up to see Makalaurë bending over us. He sinks down next to us and slides his arms around my neck from behind, his lips whispering quiet notes into my hair. He smells like ink and almonds, and his breath is warm and tickles my ear.

I rub his arm gently, and he draws closer to me, looking down at Arakáno over my shoulder.

'Hey, baby,' he sings softly.

Arakáno draws the blankets up to his nose and flutters his lashes at us.

Makalaurë and I break into laughter together. His laugh is deep and musical, rolling like the playful waves that break, sparkling, on the white shore. Mine is higher and rises in sweeps like leaves dancing on a forgetful wind. Arakáno joins us, his giggles quick and uncertain; he watches us to see if he should be laughing.

I push Makalaurë away from me gently and gather Arakáno up into my arms. Makalaurë kisses him tenderly, and he curls up comfortably against my chest. My brother laughs again and turns to making the bed.

I carry Arakáno into the bathroom so that he can use the little plastic potty that Anairë got him. When he is done, I lift him up to the sink, and he washes his hands.

The moment we get downstairs, Arakáno wriggles away from me and scurries off to the kitchen to see his parents. I step into the living room to see if Findekáno has freed himself from Aikanáro yet.

Aikanáro is no longer in the room, and Findekáno is reading a history book to himself, his eyebrows scrunched in concentration as he taps his finger thoughtfully against his teeth. Beside him on the sofa sits Artanis, who is scratching at the collar of the fuzzy white jumper she has on. Beside her sits Tyelkormo, who is carefully filing his nails and muttering something about the bitterness of life.

I plop down onto the lumpy armchair my entire family seems to have chosen as their arch enemy and glare menacingly down at the little faded blue flowers intertwined so merrily with stained yellow roses. Since that does me no good, I quickly stop and look at the clock, wondering if dinner will ever be ready. It is 6:00 p.m., and I am very hungry.

Findaráto is sitting across from me in the recliner, the most coveted chair in the house. His copper hair sticks out like a flame against the dark blue fabric, and he gives me a slight smile as I adjust uncomfortably on my seat. I give him a quick glare, and he looks innocently back down at the magazine he is holding.

Ambarussa climbs suddenly onto the armrest of my chair and drops mischievously onto my lap.

'It is an evil Ambarussa,' he says in a low, supposedly threatening voice before unceremoniously attacking my neck with harmless bites, growling fitfully the whole time.

'Not now, Ambarussa,' I groan, holding his wriggling body away from me. 'I do not feel like wrestling.'

He pouts and tosses his head indignantly, widening his eyes at me pleadingly.

I kiss him gently and put him down. 'Why do you not play with Tyelkormo?'

Tyelkormo looks up with a sigh. 'I can't. I am too depressed.'

'What happened?' asks Artanis, looking up at him with great interest.

'It's none of your business,' Tyelkormo scowls.

Artanis looks very hurt and disappointed. 'I only wanted to help.'

'It is something you would not understand,' Tyelkormo says and turns back to his nails angrily.

With a sigh, I lift Ambarussa back onto my lap and cuddle him gently, drawing him up into my arms like a little baby. He looks up at me hopefully, and I nod my consent. His eyes light up, and he attacks my neck with renewed vigour. I tackle him back, twisting him up and tickling his feet so he shrieks with laughter.

'The evil Ambarussa is no match for the evil Nelyo!' I cry, standing up and swinging him upside down by the legs.

Artanis is looking up at me with great interest and excitement, and I know that she wishes she were the one being swung. Ambarussa is practically screaming with laughter, and I grin as I snatch him back into my arms and nibble on his toes.

Findekáno closes his book and stands up, nodding towards the doorway.

I turn my head.

Artaher is standing there, smiling at us in bewilderment. 'Dinner is ready,' he says quietly.

I give Ambarussa one last nip on the ear before we make out way into the dining room, which is crowded as it normally is and echoes with the clamour of our three families.

'What happened, Turko?' I ask my brother as we wait in line for Arafinwë to ladle us our meal.

He looks at me as if he would rather not speak about it, but shrugs and says, 'It's…well…I…' He breaks off and looks down at his feet. 'Why do you want to know?'

'Turko, I'm your brother. I do not want you to be upset about something, and telling someone will help.'

He looks over at Artanis who is taking a roll from the basket her mother is holding and trying not to look like a conniving, little eavesdropper.

'I'll tell you after dinner,' he says.

I take my food and move to the table, cramming Findekáno, Makalaurë, and myself onto two wooden chairs that wobble at the same time in conflicting directions. The roast is perfectly spiced, and drips with aromatic oil and curling golden onions that catch the light like amber where they lie softly over the browned potatoes.

I lift a forkful to my lips and blow on it just as my father sits down at the table across from Findekáno, drawing Curufinwë up onto his lap.

My father's hair is caught back in a tight braid, but a few black strands have worked their way free and are falling across his sharp face in a tangle that he blows at with impatience, shifting Curufinwë in his arms. My little brother turns around and smoothes them into place gently.

'There you go, Father,' he says.

I did not often sit on my father's lap when I was his age, but Curufinwë insists on it, clinging to Father as if his very life depended on it. He also has the excuse that there are not enough chairs for all of us. He picks up his glass of milk and takes a long sip of it, watching me deviously from over the rim.

My father's sharp eyes watch Ñolofinwë, who is fidgeting on his seat, Irissë held fast in his strong arms. She twists around unexpectedly to look up at him, and he momentarily loses his natural poise and spills some milk onto the table. With a critical raise of his eyebrows, my father leans over gracefully and dabs at the spill with his napkin. Ñolofinwë's cheeks burn as he mutters his thanks.

)()()()()()()()()(

Dinner is over, and Makalaurë is trying to find away to get up without knocking us all over. Of course, it is futile, and Findekáno, he, and I are forced to stand up together. Unfortunately, our timing is a little off, and our two chairs fall over, clattering noisily as they hit the floor. My father gives us a rather chiding look, and Ñolofinwë hides his amusement behind his napkin. I quickly bend down and pull them back up, straightening them precisely and trying to look as if nothing of the sort had ever happened.

Makalaurë ducks away into the kitchen and soon returns with a platter of frosted almond cookies. He sets them on the table, and I snatch up a couple and my empty milk glass and nod towards Tyelkormo.

With a sigh, Tyelkormo gets up and follows me into the kitchen, where I refill my glass.

'Do you want some?' I ask, offering him the jug, but he shakes his head, looking down at the floor as he shifts from one foot to the other. I shove it back into the refrigerator and close the door. 'What is it?'

'I would rather talk in private,' he says. 'Can we go to your room?'

We walk silently up to the attic. It is a large room that seems to remain perpetually dark, no matter how many lights we put in it. Mattresses, clothing, books, and loose sheets of music are scattered across the wooden floor, and the walls are plastered with posters and photographs arranged in a rather haphazard fashion. I sit down on one of the mattresses and place my food on a nearby book. Tyelkormo sits down cross-legged opposite me and twists his hair about his finger, looking past me at a photograph of Amarië that Findaráto took in July.

I fold my hands under my chin and take a deep breath. 'All right, Tyelkormo, what is it?'

He sighs and swallows hard, picking up a record lying beside him. He stares at it numbly for a few moments before turning to face me. 'There's this girl I have been seeing. I like her a lot, she's really funny and playful, but I think that she is falling in love with me. The thing is, I am not in love with her. Not anyways near it, in fact. She is a good friend to me, but I think that she wants me to be her lover, and I don't want that, but I don't want to loose her,' he gushes out at once, nearly incoherently, before falling into a brooding silence.

'Are you certain that you are not falling in love with her?' I ask quickly.

He nods. 'I am certain. She is not…my type.'

I have a vague feeling that means she is not beautiful enough to catch his eye in a romantic way, so I nod silently.

'Tyelkormo,' I say finally, 'I think that you should continue your friendship the way that it has been going, and, if she does not want that, there is not much that you can do. Of course, you could always be wrong.'

He shrugs and gives me half a smile. 'I suppose so.' He stands up. 'Well, I have to take Huan out. Good night, Russandol.'

'Good night, Turko,' I answer.

)()()()()()()()()(

My bed is warm as I slide down under the covers next to Makalaurë. He turns around when I touch his back and smiles at me in the semi-darkness. He yawns slightly and stretches against me, tucking his head under my chin. He is humming a quiet lullaby, and I let myself sink into the peace of the moment.

''Timo?'

'Mmm?' I turn my head a little to look at Findekáno, who is lying on his mattress tangled up with Angaráto and Aikanáro. Their golden hair is gleaming madly against his dark tresses where the moonlight slips in through the window.

'Have you finished your research paper yet?'

'What?'

'The research paper that we are supposed to do for English, have you finished it?'

'No, Finde, I haven't.'

'Oh.' He smiles slightly. 'Neither have I.'

'I've finished,' Makalaurë sings without breaking his melody.

I draw him back into my arms and give him a squeeze to express my annoyance. 'Of course you have,' I whisper.

He smiles ever so slightly as he turns his face away, and I draw the blankets up to my chin and listen to my brother's song, the gentle breathing of my cousins, and the omnipresent rumble of cars in the distance.