Fifty-One
I remembered to ask Thkela about how people were buried on Csilla.
"Of course they are not." The mere idea seemed to surprise her. "Where did you get that idea?"
"Nowhere," I admitted. "I was just wondering." Come to think of it, I hadn't seen a single funeral. There had been obituaries. There might have been family gatherings to remember the deceased. I didn't know. I hadn't known any of the dead as yet, so I would not have been invited. And tact forbade asking.
"The bodies are cremated," Thkela explained. "Depending on the wishes of the deceased, the ashes will be taken to the location of his choice to be scattered."
"How do you remember them?" I tried not to think of all the Chiss planets abounding in bits and pieces of dead people.
"Time is set apart for that when we visit Copero." She said it as if it was obvious. "What did you think we were doing there the whole time? It is not a holiday." Her lor'kina curtailed the statement a little. Not all holiday, but not all work either.
I wondered if I'd ever get to experience it. Well, considering my plans, I'd better. Though certainly not this year and probably not next year. Private family business was private and no matter how well I did publicly, this was a subject I would not touch.
Everything else? Which Chiss would even know the tells of a lying human? And who would tell them, they were looking at the wrong indicators? Certainly not me. My job right now as to be a white elephant. I snickered at the thought (and etymology) as I tugged my robes into compliance. Chaf'ris'stan would get a tad more than he had bargained for.
It was probably not my fault that I had more time than anybody else to do meticulous research on other people's events. I just didn't have a day-job. So I was pretty optimistic I had some of the evening's texts right and would do good arguing about them. Reception history and oral tradition was one of the more boring fields I had recently occupied myself with so I really hoped it would pay off.
It was a relief that Storm would not be around, due to aforementioned day job of which he had one. Sometimes I felt too watched, not to mention too tempted to banter with him to work efficiently. Something was not quite as it seemed with him and though he did such a great job at hiding it that usually I forgot, I had written an actual note to myself and used as as desktop background.
That mystery had to wait for another day, or probably year. I didn't want to endanger my friendship for a secret that I didn't feel was targeting me specifically. He was sincere in his actions. It was just the given reasons for it I had my doubts about.
On my way out, Rukh attacked me several times, just to make sure I had my act together and the dagger under control. He would stay with Sarah mostly because I had no reason to bring anybody, much less my bodyguard. Still he was unhappy with the solution. I was also pretty sure he was sometimes following me back home after an event. It was difficult to tell but the silence of his shadow was something I felt I could hear by now.
The recital went well. And surprisingly fast. Those things had a tendency to drag on forever, like yearly meetings where everybody with half a word to say took the right to say it for half an hour. At least. And the droning got to your head and made you drowsy. Falling asleep here would have more bitter consequences, though, so I was happy I hadn't even been tempted.
"I didn't think you would recognise Chaf'amb'inak," Firss said.
"It was mostly a guess," I replied. "He does use the imagery of light on ice a lot and in combination with the perspective it did resemble his later reflections that utilise the landscape directed inward."
I was doing fine. Well, actually I had no clue how to discuss literature, but I was certainly better at it then I let show. There would be no learning curve to speak of at the beginning, so I'd rather show the learning of things I already knew. Who'd suspect anyway? Storm was not here.
"It is interesting to see how well you grasp to some of the intuitive aspects." That was Attal, my main target for the day. He was the most rebellious Csapla around and that was saying something. Not that I could see him run a red light or anything. To me, he looked like just another epitome of the well-established First Family.
I bit my tongue, metaphorically. Had I done that literally, they would have known even with my mouth closed. Grasp of language, my eye. Sometimes I missed writing things painfully. Sometimes even so bad I actually sat down and wrote things. A no-go, considering my art, but letters should be fine. I wondered what 'he' thought when I had dumped another of those on him. Maybe I should add more drawings on the margins.
I would have liked to get lost in that thought for a while. But there was business at hand. "Maybe my mindset is not that far from what you'd expect," I replied. "Or it is just the inward landscape of ice and light I understand well." Let them chew on that for a while.
"But that was from the Diasporan Era." Attal's questioning fingers almost waggled. "The meaning and perception of ice has changed greatly since then."
"This is true for you. What makes you think my ice is the same as yours is now and not closer to what it was in the Diasporan Era?" Naturally this triggered an extended discussion and comparison of perception now than and alien. As I said, I was doing well.
Due to my acceptable intelligence and excellent shock factor, Attal would remember me the next time he would perform. Or the next time he let perform. His art was poetry. Naturally I envied him a lot and wondered if I could not encroach on that.
But since we were already on the topic of perception, I wondered aloud if a simple change in font couldn't alter the meaning of the whole by creating a different reading?
It was a good sign that my targeted Csapla actually took the time to consider it. "For the highly accomplished poems that may be true," he finally said. "But usually the words are not that compressed. There is still enough of each word to see. The existence or absence of a serif will not matter."
I did not launch the discussion on whether great poetry could be measured by the number of fonts I could take a different meaning in. I was tempted. Damned, this poetry talk was fun. "Have you ever consciously tried to used this as a device?" I asked him. Oh yes, I had done my research.
"Not yet." he made an explanatory pause. "There are some ideas that need closer inspection before I can transcribe them. Poetry can be – intractable."
Tell me all about it. Or better don't. The urge to smother him in sonnets and decorate the heap with a haiku or two might become too strong.
On my way home, I was sure the grey silence was following me, but still Rukh almost surprised me when I trudged up the stairs bedwards.
"You are getting better, but I would have killed you."
There was no excuse, not being tired, not having a long day, not knowing it was him. He would have killed me and I would have been dead and everything over. I hadn't even started. Or maybe I had. If Attal actually did remember my interest, which I had overdone as to have it more easily detected, I might have found my way into House Csapla.
And though there was definitely no hierarchy among the Ruling Houses, you just did not disregard an esteemed guest of the First House, or a not so esteemed guest. Well, somebody who was at least tolerated within the walls. I got the impression that my plan did need some more working on.
Well, that would have to wait for another day. And this is the reason I fell into my bed face-first and didn't update here.
