Today's Cameos: Tohru's mother, whom I've renamed Noha. I don't recall if she actually had a name in FB. Arisa becomes Zhula, and Hanajima is Hanadzima. Just to make it clear, the city Lhasa has several neighborhoods: Mhagenu, where the Shoma estate is, is one, and Gashuni, which appears in this chap, is another one. Todhazi is also in Lhasa. This chapter starts a segment that flashes back into the pasts of the original FB characters. Don't despair—if your favorite character hasn't appeared yet, that will change soon:)
Disclaimer:
FB ain't mine, doo wah, doo wah
Nor is anything else
You recognize, doo wah
Chapter 21
Haku
Noha. Mileshi Noha.
That was her name, the name of the black-haired woman I'd drawn, grinning broadly and flashing three fingers in a common gang symbol, in the cheap painted wooden frame Lhoru treasured as her dearest possession. She had been called the "Wind of Fire" in her gang leader days, because of the brightly-colored reddish-orange cape that would flare out behind her when her masculine scooter roared down the dark streets of Lhasa. Her brown eyes could burn with an intensity like no others, yet they invariably turned doting whenever Lhoru appeared. The Wind of Fire was a devoted mother. Somehow or other, she'd manage to turn away from the gang life and marry the politest, sweetest, and most wholesome man, whom Lhoru was the spitting image of. His name was Mileshi Dhozu.
The death of Dhozu. One night both Dhozu and Noha had arrived home from trying days at work, and they were exhausted and in foul moods. A tiff over grocery shopping mushroomed into a screaming fight. Dhozu stormed out of the apartment, forgetting the harithe warnings forecast for the night. Immediately after the icy high wind started screeching, Dhozu ran back through the front door, Noha throwing a warm blanket over him.
But it was too late. The brief exposure led to Dhozu's death, a week and a half later, of pneumonia, gasping and drowning in his own lungs. Lhoru was only two and a half years old then. Even now, Noha's devastated screams reverberate, bouncing off the walls of my cranium. She disintegrated, barely able to perform the daily functions of life without crying.
One night, about two weeks after the funeral, heavy rain pounded the tiny balcony of the apartment Noha and Lhoru had moved to, because it was more affordable. Harithe warnings had been broadcast. Lhoru lay napping on the floor in front of the beat-up sofa that Noha sat upon. Noha stared into space, entranced by the rain.
"I can't do this," she muttered. "All by myself…moving…I'll have to take two jobs to support me and the baby, pay the rent. Deal with those relatives. I can't do without you, my darling Dhozu. Dhozu…" She stood up shakily, walked over to the balcony's sliding door. Noha opened the door, stepped out into the rain. "I'm coming, Dhozu…" Leaning over the balcony, smiling.
"Mama?" The high-pitched voice carried over the rhythmic tapping of the rain and the far-off soft rumble of thunder. "Mama?"
Still leaning over the balcony, Noha stopped. She straightened up, turned around, and saw an alien child sitting up, her green dress slightly wrinkled.
"Mama!" The child smiled.
Lhoru, it was little Lhoru, Dhozu's child…What had Noha been thinking, that she'd just been about to abandon her dead husband's baby? Noha walked inside, soaked socks squishing onto the mildewed carpet, and swept Lhoru into a bonecrunching hug.
"What did you just say, bitch?" demanded a junior-high version of Zhula to a beaming, proud Lhoru. The visions continued their tendency of jumping from one episode to another, although by now I sensed a common emotional string running through them. It took me a long time to figure out, but it was the desire to be accepted, to be loved, to be part of a family. That was why these visions were always hard on me—because it was a desire that I felt keenly in my heart, even if I couldn't articulate it at first.
Zhula and Lhoru faced each other in yet another school hallway, their junior high, I assumed. Rather than the ugly cream-colored uniform, Zhula wore full gang regalia: orange cloths wrapped around both hands, a long, dark brown shirt, and a somewhat too-tight tank top with a leather jacket covering it.
"Yes, "Wind of Fire" was my mother's nickname when she was still a gang leader," repeated Lhoru, nodding her head. Zhula stared at her incredulously, then grit her teeth.
"The Wind of Fire's daughter wouldn't be a fucking goody-goody," growled Zhula, raising her right fist, "she'd be a real gangster, someone tough and good with a knife, not you." She spat the last word out. "You keep mocking me, you going to learn what a punch from a gang girl feels like."
"Please, come and meet my mother!" Lhoru said, bowing, oblivious to the threatening fist. "You want to meet her so badly, and I couldn't possibly keep you from that!"
I could not believe it when I heard Lhoru say that. Personally, I'd be running away from an angry gang member, or else siccing Faran-Zhuku on him.
Zhula's mouth dropped open, and she reluctantly agreed to accompany Lhoru to her house after school. The neighborhood Lhoru and her mother lived in was a decent one; I'd been driven through it before. It contained a mixture of small houses, apartment complexes and family stores. Mostly middle- and upper-lower-class people lived there. Lhoru skipped happily along the sidewalk—it'd just been de-iced from the most recent ice storm—and Zhula followed, glancing around her self-consciously.
Lhoru lurched as a woman wrapped her arms around Lhoru and swung her in the air. "Lhoru, Lhoru! My little girl! What luck we met on the way home!" exclaimed Noha, planting a loud smack on Lhoru's cheek. Noha's hair was now short; in previous visions, she'd had chest-length, flowing hair.
"Now, now, who's this?" Noha said, noticing the gangster girl close by, who'd frozen into a stiff upright posture, arms folded defiantly across her chest.
"This is Zhula from school," Lhoru said. "Zhula, this is my mother, the Wind of Fire. She always wanted to meet you, Mom, so I invited her over."
"Hello, Zhula, you must come in for a little while." If Noha felt any reservations about her daughter being with a gangster, which she must've, she didn't show it. "So terribly cold today, you must have some hot cocoa. Lhoru makes the most wonderful hot cocoa."
"Oh, Mom, that's not true," Lhoru said, blushing.
"Nonsense, Lhoru, you must stop being so modest once in a while," chided Noha, unlocking the door that led to their apartment complex. Once inside the apartment, which was cramped and a little dingy, but well-kept, Noha installed Zhula at the table, and went into the kitchen with Lhoru. Zhula looked around. She saw clothes drying on a rack. Pictures of Noha and Lhoru filled every imaginable niche. Occasionally a man with a gentle smile appeared.
"I wonder if that's her father?" Zhula wondered idly. "What happened to him? As if I care."
"Hot cocoa for everybody!" announced Lhoru, carrying a tray with three steaming mugs. "Here, Zhula! I hope it tastes good enough, I might not have put enough sugar—"
"Now, now, Lhoru, sit down and enjoy your cocoa!" ordered Noha in a playful tone. "Please forgive the laundry, Zhula, I'd meant to take it the Laundromat, but then the storm came…"
Images of the Wind of Fire from yore flickered through Zhula's mind, the stories her older gang mentor, Feni, had told her. Noha wearing her famous cape, cigarette in mouth, flying down the street to beat down some upstart girls. Now the Wind of Fire does laundry! She works at a real job! She's a loving mother! Zhula watched as Lhoru and Noha became utterly drawn in with each other, smiling and laughing. This was too much.
"I came here to see the Wind of Fire! What the hell happened to you?" yelled Zhula, standing up abruptly.
"Guess it was time for a change." Noha shrugged her shoulders philosophically.
"I gotta get home anyway," mumbled Zhula lamely, attempting to cover her shock.
"Your parents need you?" asked Noha.
"Yeah, as if they would." Zhula blinked as she realized what she'd let slip. She rushed through a door, only to find herself in a bedroom. There was that man again, in a photo sitting on the nightstand by the bed. She sat down on the bed, shoulders slumped. What had come over her? Why the hell did Noha and Lhoru bother her so much? That feeling between them…the loving feeling. They had each other, could depend on each other, Noha was there for Lhoru…
The tears snuck down her face. She'd never had something like that! Her mother had left for another man when Zhula was in first grade. Now her father was just another sad fucking drunkard, just sitting in front of the TV and not giving a shit about her, Zhula, his only child. Joining a gang in fifth grade had been the most natural thing to do. Feni and the Wind of Fire were her idols, and now the Wind of Fire…
"Fuck, it's not fair," cursed Zhula, brashly sweeping away large teardrops. She didn't hear the door open.
"Growing girls need their cocoa." Noha tiptoed in. "Don't let yours get cold."
Zhula raised her head, intending to give Noha a dirty look.
"Would you like to see my cape while you're here? I still have it." Noha smiled, a smile that told Zhula she understood the complex undercurrents of gang life. "I've taken good care of the cape."
"R-really? You'll let me see it?" Zhula asked.
"You can even touch it!" laughed Noha. "And you're welcome here whenever you need to get away from your gang for a little while," she added in a softer undertone.
After that, it was a foregone conclusion that Zhula and Lhoru would become best friends, although no one at school could believe their friendship at first. And of course, Zhula had to pay the gang's price for going straight. She was badly injured in the kickout. Feni, who felt strongly that Zhula should have a good life if she wanted it, snuck away and alerted Noha. The first time Zhula opened her eyes during the kickout, she saw the Wind of Fire, standing tall, poised to take on the girls, an expression of unforgiving determination on her face. The moonlight made her body's contours gleam.
When the other gangsters fled her onslaught, Noha carried Zhula back to the apartment and nursed her wounds.
"Don't move, you're badly injured," said Noha as Zhula attempted to sit up on the springy old sofa. Lhoru rushed back and forth, collecting towels and first-aid supplies. Noha inspected Zhula's legs, arms and face.
"You're very lucky, you know," Noha whispered, "to have a mentor who cared enough to help you. Most girls don't escape with such minor injuries in a kickout."
"Was it bad for you?" mumbled Zhula. Noha must've been kicked out, too.
"No, I was never kicked out," the older woman smiled, as if reading Zhula's thoughts. "They were too scared of me. After all, I was the Wind of Fire. Mind you, I'm not proud of myself for beating off a bunch of young girls tonight. But you needed help, so be it." She smiled broadly at Zhula, who returned the smile.
Another former gang girl had just become an honorary member of Noha and Lhoru's small family.
Not unexpectedly, Lhoru became a target of teasing for her unusual relationship with Zhula. Luckily for Lhoru, Zhula remained by her side, to fend off the gossipy girls. She might not be in a gang any more, but Zhula still knew how to intimidate people. A certain stance, or a well-timed glare, usually got the message across, and the offenders would slink away.
In the second year of junior high (only once in a while did Faran-Zhuku think to give me chronological references), Shatha Hanadzima transferred to Lhoru and Zhula's school. The two first encounted Hanadzima sitting under a tree in the courtyard, her back perfectly erect, reading a book. Even in this calm pose, stormy blue eyes capable of piercing one's soul looked out from under black hair gathered into one plait down her backside. Students instinctively gave her a wide berth, uncomfortable under the all-knowing eyes.
"She's wearing a black choker, and black nailpolish, too," Zhula whispered to Lhoru.
"Oh, she must be a new student," Lhoru said. "She shouldn't be alone, someone should welcome her." She began walking before Zhula could stop her.
As the girls approached the solitary reader, a cold, crawling sensation passed through Zhula's body. She shivered slightly, but kept pace with Lhoru, who showed no signs of being similarly affected. Hanadzima finally looked up from her book, her face expressionless.
"Hello, welcome to Gashuni," Lhoru bowed, "my name is Mileshi Lhoru, and this is my friend, Zhula." Locking eyes with the new student, Zhula considered her for a long time. She smiled, realizing that this girl was on the fringes of junior high society, just like she and Lhoru.
"Hi there," Zhula waved one hand. "What's your name?"
The mysterious girl also smiled. "Shatha Hanadzima."
"Where you from?"
"Todhazi." A pause. "I caused a little trouble there last year."
"Oh, what happened?" Lhoru's face crinkled into a concerned frown.
"One of the boys had been teasing me, and I zapped him with my electric waves," Hanadzima answered bluntly yet dispassionately. Her countenance took on a meditative appearance. "I do believe he might've come out of his coma by now. I might've been a tad harsh on him."
Zhula laughed. "Electric waves? Girl, you'll fit right in with us. Lhoru here's the world's most unbelievable sweetheart, and I'm a former gangster."
"Yes, my waves told me that you had good hearts." The hard glint seeped away from Hanadzima's eyes. Yes, she could trust these girls. Lhoru was simpleminded, but Hanadzima had rarely sensed so much compassion in an individual. The ex-gangster would never turn on her friend and had good instincts about character. Her heart was also large, but in a different way from Lhoru.
"What are these waves of yours?" Lhoru had never heard of such things before. There were rumors of people who possessed spiritual or magical abilities, but Lhoru didn't pay attention.
"I possess the ability to sense the electric vibes of humans," explained Hanadzima. "I can detect one's emotions and dark thoughts, and send out vibes of my own, as I did with the boy I told you about. Such abilities run in my family. My brother, Hozo, for example, can curse people just using their names. My grandmother, who lives with me, my brother, and my parents, is able to move objects with her mind. Very useful for housekeeping, indeed. My father, alas, is a completely normal human being. He lacks any special aptitude for such things. He does not mind, though, of that I am certain."
"What a fascinating family!" remarked Lhoru. "Hanadzima, we'd be honored if you'd allow us to show you around the school."
"You must excuse her," Zhula rested a hand on Lhoru's head, "she's excessively polite. It comes from her late father." She winked at Hanadzima.
"Oh! You must come over to my apartment, so you can see more of the area. Todhazi's far from here. We wouldn't want you to get lost," added Lhoru.
"Beware, Hana," Zhula intoned in a mocking voice of impending doom, "once you enter Lhoru's apartment, it is almost impossible to escape her caring clutches."
Hanadzima replied with a small smile. Lhoru looked slightly confused. Now Lhoru had a second best friend and protector. Harassers of Lhoru quickly felt the effects of Hanadzima's waves and Lhoru lived out the rest of her junior high existence in peace, with her mother, Zhula and Hanadzima to keep her company.