Healing
Chapter III
''
Cliegg Lars kept faithful vigil at the side of his dead wife that night. Beru brought him last meal and sat with him for a while. Owen joined them, staying on after Beru left, long into the early hours of the morning when Cliegg abruptly woke up from a sudden nap.
"You should have woken me," Cliegg grumbled.
"Mother Shmi won't let me."
It was neither meant nor was it taken as a joke.
At Cliegg's insistence, Owen left and Cliegg was alone with his wife for the last time.
Hours later, the first rays of the binary sun pierced through the window screens of the bedroom; shards of light flickered gravely on the old farmer where he sat with his face in his hands, shaking with silent sobs.
''
It was still early morning when Cliegg finally came down; yet apparently, aside from Padmé, he was the last riser. Beru, Owen and Anakin were sitted at the kitchen table, talking softly, in low voices. They looked up when Cliegg drew closer and fell silent.
Blast this damn chair. There was no sneaking up on people in the contraption.
"Father, we were just waiting for you." Owen said.
Cliegg zoomed to the head of the table as Beru got up and went into the kitchen. His eyes moved automatically to Anakin's face. The boy was pale and clean-shaven with an expression on his face that was far from happy but it was a big improvement from his apperance yesterday. Not quite peaceful but not closed off or furious.
Beru returned to the table with a glass of blue milk that she placed in front of Cliegg. There followed momentarily an awkward pause.
Anakin swallowed hard and then broke it. "I… I wanted to know if you've decided on arrangements."
Cliegg shared a glance with Owen. They had not precisely planned anything; there had not been the time or the inclination to yesterday. Of course, there were standard procedures that were native to the desert farmers but perhaps Anakin might want some Jedi ritual or even something peculiar to Shmi's origins to be performed. Both men had decided to just wait until Anakin was in a suitable state to discuss the matter.
He told Anakin as much.
Anakin's face twisted. "I appreciate that. Thank you."
For what? "You're her son," Cliegg said firmly. "You don't have to thank us."
Anakin looked down at the table. His fingers idly traced the markings that Owen must have made there at one time or the other when he was younger.
"What were you planning on doing? What would you have done if I weren't here?"
Owen spoke up. "We would have laid her to rest here on the farm. With just a short ceremony for the family." His mouth curved bitterly. "As it stands, every homestead is in mourning in one way or the other."
There was a flash of something on Anakin's face - anger, shame? - but it was gone so quickly that Cliegg could not swear that he had not imagined it.
"That's fine with me," Anakin said quietly. "She was happy here. This was her home." He raised his head and his eyes looked at Cliegg with transparence that reflected something other than suspicion or confusion or hatred. There was pain there, still, but it was tempered with something like gratitude. "I didn't think to tell you but I am very grateful that you freed her," he said quietly. "That you gave her something of her own before…" His voice trailed off.
Cliegg was struck speechless for a while, his heart lightening in his chest. Then he found his voice and said harshly, "She was my wife. You don't owe me anything." His voice shook. "I'm just sorry that I couldn't -"
Anakin shook his head fiercely and Cliegg stopped.
There was another pause. Then Owen got up. "We can have the ceremony today. I have to go to town this morning. I'll be back in a few hours." His eyes met Anakin. "If it's all right with you, we can prepare the grave together."
Anakin hesitated fractionally then he nodded.
Owen leaned down to give Beru a one-armed hug and he then left the house. Cliegg watched him go and turned back to see Anakin staring also after Owen with another strange - envious? - look but that also passed too quickly for the farmer's reckoning.
"Please do you have any wood to spare?" Anakin asked, suddenly.
Cliegg exchanged a surprised glance with Beru. "I'm sure we can find some around the house," Cliegg said. "May I ask what for?"
"It's for my Mother." The corner of his lip went up a bit. It was so much his mother's smile that Cliegg was actually startled. "It's one of the few things she ever told me about where we originally came from. We bury our dead with their faces masked and we keep copies for the family. Jedi are not allowed to own things but if you like, I could make a mask for you."
It was the longest speech the boy had made to them.
I could make a mask for you.
"What kind of wood do you need, son?" asked Cliegg at once.
''
Jen Dorr was ten years older than Owen. She had stayed in the Lars' farmstead for a year after the boy's mother had died and taken care of Owen during that time. He had always remembered her as a bubbling, warm presence that he had both resented and drawn comfort from during that time, more than he had from his taciturn father.
The woman that spoke to him through the force field barrier of the Dorr farm had to be Jen. She was the same height, had the same shape of face and the same colour hair. But those bright, sparkling blue eyes that had been a constant feature in that year of Owen's life had morphed into a unrecognizable dull, lifeless blue. There was no sparkle in this woman's face, only grim lines of determination and repressed sorrow that had aged her far more than time alone could have done.
"I hear you've started selling your harvest," she told Owen, as she switched off the force field and passed the shovels to him.
He threw back a yes as he carefully strapped his tools to the back of the speeder.
"So, hopefully you might be a little less busy on the farm today and lend us a hand here."
Owen's face burned with empathic shame. She spoke the request flippantly but Owen knew that it was a genuine plea for help. She couldn't afford to promise him wages and she wasn't doing so. It must be mortifying for her to ask at all.
"Sure thing," he threw back just as flippantly. She gave a grimace that might have been meant as a smile and switched on the force field. They cost the earth and the moon, these force fields, with their generators and solar batteries and perimeter surveying, and were a big factor in the sudden impoverishment of most of the smaller farmsteads; that, and of course, the loss of manpower they had all sustained after the fight.
The knuckles of his grip on the steering wheel turned red then white with renewed anger and Owen accelerated a little more than wisely as he made his way into town.
''
The prices had started dropping. Owen had had an advantage for over a week when he started selling before the harvest season. Now other farmers had literally flooded the market with their produce and the prices had come down. In fact, the prices had gone lower than usual. The retailers had learnt of the crippling of the settlement and they were going to exploit the situation as best they could.
Owen's hands shook when he counted the payment that was just over three-quarters of what a vat would have gone for last year and half of what he had got for it the previous week. He supposed he should be thankful that he had managed to make rather a great deal of profit last week. But this out-and-out cheating (the retailer he had sold to had been the only one to offer to buy above the three-quarter price) infuriated him on the behalf of his fellow farmers, people like Dorr who would need all the help they could get to break even and who were relying completely on this year's poor harvest.
He found his way back to the parked speeder and got in. His hands were still shaking so badly that he decided to wait a little longer before he started the engine. They really could not afford any more expenses. He wished Beru was here and he was glad she was not. She would never have approved of the circumstances surrounding his next stop. It was not her place to understand anyway. Owen had had to be the man after Father's accident and there were a lot of hard decisions that he could only make on his own.
The union needed to be revived. Most of the members were gone, of course. It would be chiefly young men of Owen's age that would comprise the majority and even then, they would still be a fraction of their original number. But that was the only way they would be able to survive the cutthroats in town.
How they would survive the cutthroats in the desert, Owen still did not know.
He had one more vat to sell tomorrow and then harvest season would end for the Lars. He recalled their account balance on his data pad. The figure was as expected. Paying off the loan would wipe off most of the money there but by the time he sold tomorrow and in a couple of months when Father Cliegg's hover chair could be sold and the medical expenses stopped, they would break even. Just.
His hands had stopped shaking. Owen put the data pad back into his pocket and restarted the engine. He had to pay a visit to a loan shark.
''
The being's snout hovered over the figures on the data pad. Owen wondered what the stalks on the top of its head were for if it seemed to need to examine objects with its snout but he kept that observation to himself.
It was a species that Owen neither knew nor cared to know. What had been important at their introduction three weeks ago was that it was not a Hutt and its 'office' had seemed respectable enough. Owen did not doubt for a minute that the respectability of appearances served to attract fastidious people like himself and when things went rough, the establishment would unleash its disrespectful elements. But fortunately, it would not come to that in his case.
Suddenly, Owen remembered Father's compliment from the day before and his face flushed, but this time, it was with shame. But he had not had a choice. He had done what he had to do to keep the farm. And it was over now; he would pay this creature its money and that would be that.
When the creature seemed to be - finally - satisfied, it threw the data pad at him.
"So, where the rest?" it asked.
"What?" Owen asked.
"The rest?" it repeated slowly as if it were talking to a daft child. "The rest? You pay the principal. What about interest, heh? You think I give money out of charity?" It must have smiled because all of a sudden, its snout lifted and Owen could see greying spikes the size of his fingers underneath its snout.
"Is this some kind of joke?" he asked coldly.
"Perhaps, you not understand, heh?" The snout went over the teeth and pushed towards Owen. There were two lights glowing in what Owen assumed to be its nostrils and he realized suddenly that the creature's 'snout' did indeed house its eyes.
"You come for money of so-so much and say you pay me back so-so date. Fine. We settle interest, we calculate amount, we agree, I give. You come so-so date. You pay. Simple, heh?"
"This is the amount we agreed on," Owen said through gritted teeth. "What the Hell are you trying to pull?"
"The amount, yes. The net amount, yes. No taxes. Where taxes? We pay taxes, see? We give Uncle Jabba his money, see?" It showed its teeth again.
"Then why didn't you say so at first!" shouted Owen.
The creature shrugged. Its upper limbs rose and fell from their joints. "There in our agreement. Besides," and its alarming canines flashed, "how you think I do business with such low interest if I pay my own taxes?" It picked up the datapad and scrolled down the display until the screen showed the copy of the transaction it had drawn up with Owen. Owen snatched the pad and looked at the figures. There it was, written in the smallest font, only readable with the maximum resolution:
'Borrower pays tax deductions on principal and interest according to current going rates.'
He scrolled through the data pad until the Anchorhead market figures came up.
'Current rates on loan principals and interest are 30. Assumed to rise after the moisture harvest.'
Owen lunged for the creature's snout. It slipped out from behind its desk and before Owen could turn around, it was behind him and its snout lifted over his arm.
"Aaaah!"
It let go of Owen and Owen could see three marks of blood where its teeth had dug into his arm.
"No worry! No worry!" it cried conversationally, "no infection, see," it showed Owen its bloodstained teeth, "my teeth - very clean."
"You little weasel!" gasped Owen, frantically dabbing at the wound.
"Me weasel!" cried the creature, affronted, "I beg your pardon! You not grateful that I not have collectors shake you up. You pay for their bill, heh?"
"How the Hell are you going to make me pay for this!" challenged Owen. "Cut off my arm with your teeth?"
The creature actually seemed to pause and consider this. "No, think not. Your arm not agreeable to my system. But you forget your collateral - you not read the small print, heh? You are good customer, I see. You place your farm as collateral. You not pay me, I get farm."
Owen felt the blood rush to his feet. "No."
"He say no," the creature said in surprise. "I say yes. My money or your farm... It is yes, see? Better I think, to leave now and look for money, heh? Grace period only 48 hours. And interest per hour after initial tenure is reached." He pointed at the data pad.
If Owen was pale before he was almost fainting from shock now. It would amount to almost the entire principal he loaned in the first place. The farm didn't have that much liquid cash. They'd have to sell off at least two vaparators to get the money and that would set them back permanently.
The creature was still talking, uttering its half-sentences with that simplicity that buried its cunning and ruthlessness.
"You're not going to get away with this," Owen managed and he walked out of the office.
"Always they say that," muttered the creature. "Can they not think something more original?"
''
The mask fitted perfectly. The smooth wooden visor looked so real that Cliegg actually reached out and touched it.
"This is yours," Anakin said quietly and he placed the second mask in Cliegg's free hand. Cliegg looked down at the equally perfect replication of his wife's profile.
"Did you make another one?" he asked suddenly.
"No."
"Not even for yourself?"
"Jedi don't own things."
"You don't have to be a Jedi anymore."
Anakin started. His eyes stared at Cliegg. Cliegg went doggedly on. He had dwelt on this during the better part of the morning and he had decided to say it, for better or for worse.
"You don't have to go. This is your home. You can stay here."
Anakin's face went red, his eyes filled and he looked away. There followed a horrifying moment during which Cliegg feared the boy would actually burst into tears. But when Anakin squared his shoulders and turned back to Cliegg, his eyes, though bright were completely and mercifully dry.
"I have to go back," Anakin answered heavily, "and finish my training."
"I'm not trying to misguide you son," Cliegg said gravely but firmly. "I just want to let you know that you have a choice. This is your home and you can come back here anytime you want." Cliegg smiled suddenly. "It's not like we can't use the extra help around the farm."
Anakin's face lightened fractionally.
"At least, think about it a while. There's no hurry, is there? You can stay here for a while longer."
"I'm not supposed to be here at all," Anakin said bleakly. "I'll a lot to answer to Obi-Wan when I get back."
"Obi-Wan?"
"My Master."
Cliegg made an irritated noise and Anakin looked up at him.
"He's a good man," Anakin said dully. "It's just that … he doesn't always understand." His face clouded again. "And I'll have to explain it to him."
"Then go back and explain," Cliegg said firmly, "and when you're done explaining, you come back here."
Long seconds of silence followed. From the look on Anakin's expressive face, the boy actually seemed to consider Cliegg's offer.
Then a bell-like noise sounded suddenly in the house. It was the warning sound that jingled whenever the force field was breached. Familiar voices came from downstairs. Owen was home.
The mood between the two men was broken with the silence. Anakin's shoulders slumped heavily. Cliegg knew without being told what decision his stepson had reached and Cliegg felt the disappointment more acutely than he had anticipated.
Anakin walked over to him and held out his hand. "I thank you for your hospitality and for your offer, sir." His tone was as formal as his gesture.
Cliegg clasped the hand firmly. "This is your home," he said firmly. "You owe me no thanks. And whenever you want to come back, you just walk through the door."
Anakin returned the pressure. Then he let go of his stepfather's hand and walked out the door.
tbc