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**** CORRECTED****. I am so sorry! I didn't realize that the wrong content was posted for this chapter.
Don't look at me dumbstruck Tarble. I remember the first time I traveled this way. It's like watching Trunks assemble and take apart his Legos. One little brick always falls out of alignment or gets lost. The gagging will stop soon enough once your body realizes it's still intact.
"What a small island," Tarble works up after his stomach settles.
The two-acre patch of dirt is barely a sand bar in the choppy cyan ocean. Scrubby palm trees mark the perimeter of the thatched cottage in the middle of the isle. They are pathetic, sparse things, needing a drink of water. It's a wonder that this speck survives strong thunderstorms let alone hurricanes.
"Who would be foolish enough to build a hut on this little blip?," I think aloud.
"This is Baba's place," Kakarot says.
"Out here…in that?," I say.
"Yeap," he responds casually, "She and Master Roshi both love the ocean."
"I'm sorry, who is that? What does he have to do with-," Tarble tries to speak up.
"She's his sister," Kakarot tells Tarble and I, like it was common knowledge.
I feel my jaw falling despite my efforts. It all makes sense now. The little pieces of useless conjecture now feel necessary. That's why you had to go see the turtle hermit first, Kakarot. He knew where to find her.
"Well, what now?," Tarble begins, "Looks like no one's home." He adds as he peeks between the janky gaps of the cottage wall.
"Nah, she's home," Kakarot says and shrugs his shoulders.
Leave it to you Kakarot to stroll up to the door like you own the place. I'm not surprised in the least. You had the audacity to sit on my bed with your filthy shoes and to comment on Bulma's 'boobies' after you startled her in her own home.
The oak door's centerpiece glints under the pacific sun. It is a tangled metal octopus, easily the size of my fist. It is a briny thing, haggard by the wind and waves. A big brassy ring is enmeshed in its tentacles.
Why does the bronze door knocker captivate you Kakarot?
"Um," Kakarot says as he covers the ornament with his hand, "I think it goes like this."
Kakarot turns the octopus head down and pulls a single tentacle down like a lever. The invertebrate's eyes glow green like emeralds.
"Waddaya want?," a raspy female voice erupts from the octopus.
"Heya Baba, it's me Goku," Kakarot answers and props his hands on his hips.
A tired sigh radiates from the door, "What's wrong now?," she asks.
"Nothing's wrong per se," Kakarot says, "But we wanted your help with something."
"Who is we?," she asks.
"Um well," Kakarot giggles like a nervous child, "Do you remember Vegeta?"
"Absolutely, and the answer is NO!," her static filled voice rings.
Of all people- I'm being judged by a witch. Go figure. We'll see about that. I march right up to the door certain that my bold gesture is welcome. If not, too bad.
"Vegeta speaking. I'll make this quick. I know you charge a steep fee for your… services. I'm prepared to pay double your normal rate. My brother has traveled a long way to get answers."
"Oh, fine," she snaps at me, "You've got a deal prince."
The oak door rolls away for us. Tarble reluctantly follows the clown and I inside.
What is this place?
Tall, imposing walls stare back at us. Plush, royal blue carpet line the hallways. Swirling black and white marble flooring dresses the parlor. Twin wooden staircases mirror each other before us.
"Woah," Tarble gulps as he rubs the smooth, round plaster ball decorating the end of the stair rail.
"Don't touch anything," I tell Tarble.
"Gee Vegeta, I didn't know you're superstitious," Kakarot adds.
"Superstition my ass. I just have enough common sense to not poke around," I say.
Kakarot pays me no mind- never does. His orange gi plagues the left sided staircase like a bright orange abomination. He's so out of place-a radish- farmer hick romping around in a mansion.
What's the matter Kakarot? The squeaky wooden steps unsettle you. Perhaps you too are realizing that every inch of this house is probably charmed or cursed or what ever she does to it. This hut, or what ever the hell it is, draws us deeper into the unknown. It's a master illusion at best, begging to answer, 'what am I hiding?'.
"What are you doing Kakarot?," I ask.
"Going to see Baba," he says, a little startled by the seemingly stupid question.
He takes a long look at me with his head drifting over his shoulder almost as if he's concerned.
"I know that! You can't just barge in and wonder around-"
"Are you coming or not?," Baba's agitated voice echoes among us.
Tarble don't even bother looking over your shoulder; the witch is nowhere to be found.
"Ma'am, come where exactly?," Tarble answers.
"Up the stairs and to the left," she says as if she's tired of our antics. Like we're the ones causing silly shenanigans in this fun house she built.
Kakarot thunders up the stairs first, Tarble gingerly follows him with his hand gliding up the rail. For once in his life, Tarble is taller than me as he ascends the stairs. It would be a lie to say that I've never questioned it: what would have been if he was the first-born son, the heir? The old king sent him to some outer world due to 'physical weakness'. How then, would Tarble have managed the throne being the weakest link in the family chain? The royal court would not have obeyed. Mutiny would have been inevitable. Who then would have sat on the marble throne? Would he have carried out the deed assigned to him at birth; could he slay father in his old age?
The hall ends abruptly. A floor length mirror marks the end of the passage. Our washed-out reflections greet us, like seeing a hint of a silhouette in a dirty window.
"This way," Kakarot says without pause.
He high steps his right leg inside like he's crossing a fence. The mirror's surface ripples like a pool or molten silver. In a breath he's gone, passing through to some other wrinkle in reality. Tarble reaches a single, longing arm out before he side steps inside on his tip-toes. I duck inside, head and shoulders first.
A balmy breeze nips at the back of my neck. A humid mist of saltwater settles on my skin. The darkness of night fall hurts my adjusting eyes. The brim of the sun peaks over the horizon, giving the planet one final beam of light.
Tarble leans over the side of the white gazebo that shelters us in the middle of the sea. Curtains of tule fabric drift with the whims of the wind. There she is- Baba. She's front and center under the last fleeting rays of the sun. They highlight her wrinkled face in suave pink and orange hues. She's pint sized, riding her floating crystal ball like a feeble person riding a cart in the blasted supermarket. Surely Kakarot would be aware if her senority would be a problem. I hope it doesn't affect her performance. Then again, practice makes perfect; wisdom of the aged may be an advantage in her line of work. Her round body is covered with a black dress. A pointy, wide-brimmed hat tops her head. A band of bright red fabric accents the base of it, making her look like a bulbous pimple.
"Welcome saiyans."
"My name is T-"
"Tarble," Baba finishes the statement with an eye roll.
"Pleasure to meet you, too," Tarble says.
"And you Vegeta," she grabs my attention, "How old do you think I am exactly? Humor me."
"What?," I stew in confusion.
"I'm over five hundred years old," she says to me slowly, "To answer your question, I'm not subject to senility. Many years provide much wisdom to master my craft."
"It's obvious you're a seer of some sort," I tell Baba, "You know why we're here then?"
"Don't be hasty," she warns me before licking her lips.
Baba stretches out her empty hand. Not a syllable crosses her lips. She stares Tarble down with an unbreaking gaze. Tarble renders the leather bundle beneath his arm to the floor. He kneels and dutifully unrolls it with both palms. The neat creases from the folds are perfectly settled in the fabric as if they were ironed in. The artifacts of a world lost and a whole race of forgotten people, greets us again.
Tarble plucks the signet ring from the cape and wads the necklace's chain up in his fist. He presents the relics to this strange little woman like an offering of sorts.
"Can you tell us what the paper tags say?," Tarble asks her.
Baba hasn't bothered to look up at us yet. She mulls through each item, passing them between her pale hands. Her crepe skin barely clings to the bone. Her jowls are like pockets sagging from her bull-dog face. Her narrow beady eyes finally settle on Tarble.
"Not without calling someone, I can't," she sighs as she passes the relics back to him, "Where did you get these?"
Tarble sits the ring and necklace back on the cape and says, "A servant girl showed up at my home. She tells me that she's traveled a long way on behalf of her master Varouk-"
"Just give me your hand," Baba interrupts him.
"What?"
"Your hand," she repeats.
Tarble offers her the back of his hand. I see a fleeting glimpse of royalty. How many times have I seen the low-class kiss my father's knuckles and grovel at his feet- kiss that damn ring?
Nappa's shoulders swallow my mother. He kneels before her sporting a full head of hair before it was lost to time. A sparse mustache dirties his upper lip. She still has to tilt her chin to look into his eyes. A white crocheted veil exposes only her chin and mouth.
"Thank you for returning the prince," she says to him.
"Always, your grace."
"You've made a fine royal escort," she compliments him.
"Oh, thank you- thank you your grace," he says with a nervous thin-lipped smile.
"Indulge me, take the rest of the evening for yourself. It's well earned," she hums with a sincere nod.
"With pleasure," Nappa says.
He formally scooped up her hand and pecks the dainty ruby band on her finger with his lips. My mother cups her mouth at the sudden blinding flash. She braces me with her left arm. The smell of Nappa's roasting flesh lofts to my nostrils. Smoke evaporates from my father's hand as his chest heaves with rage.
"Hands off my wife!," he yells.
His voice rumbles in my chest despite mother's scolding.
"Vegeta, have mercy! He meant no harm," she says with a disappointed sharp edge on her words.
Her soft hand, somehow, holds the steely rage in father's chest at bay, allowing Nappa to crawl off, out of sight.
Baba flips Tarble's hand palm up, returning me to the present.
"Glove off," she says dryly.
Tarble slips his white glove off and wads it inside of his pocket. She squints her weak, beady eyes and tosses her pink bob-length hair out of her face. She traces the lines of his palm with her long pointed nails and hums a tune to herself while Kakarot and I study her. Whether it is some incantation for her practice or mindless harmonizing- I'm unsure.
"Okay," Baba talks to herself, "I see now," she says closing her eyes, "You sought out your brother…"
She drops Tarble's hand like its burning hot. Her eyes raise to me. She reaches her shriveled fingers out to me expectantly.
"Come on," she hurries me, "Get with the program," she laughs.
She takes my hand. I resist pulling my arm away while her nails scrape my skin. The sensation is somewhere beyond a tickle, yet not enough to consider it painful either. Her drawn on eyebrows pinch the skin between her closed eyes.
"You were…," she began
"Asked for help," I finish her sentence.
"Included," she says in a correcting tone, "He brought his girls to see you," Baba smiles.
Her tone shifted and her face smooths at the thought of Tarble's rag-tag family. It was pleasant, lacking apathy or irritation- pleased even.
Come now Tarble, why does blush paint your ears as you try to shrug off her comments?
"Awe, he wanted to show you his favorite people," Kakarot laughs, reminding me of his presence, "He's probably pretty whipped with two women around, if you know what I mean."
"For once, I think you're onto something," I say.
A frown marks Tarble's face, but he doesn't say a word.
"I'm glad Chi-Chi's the only girl I have to deal with," Kakarot says.
"Kami knows one Bulma is trifling enough," I say, "I couldn't handle more."
"What are you talking about?," Kakarot teases me, " 'My Bulma'," he hollows and deepens his voice to mock me.
"How bout I bitch slap your woman and see how you feel," I defend myself.
"Enough, enough!," Baba scolds us with a grin on her wrinkled lips, "One Bulma," she starts to snicker. The slow snippy laugh grow into throaty cackling. Her big pink gums and her tiny snaggle tooth is on display. Her amusement hushes us.
"What's so funny? Know a good joke, witch?," I say.
"Go home and ask your wife, prince," she brushes me off.
What could she possibly be yammering on about? She wants to keep it a mystery- so be it.
"Now, I know Goku didn't bring you two here to give me a good laugh," Baba says to Tarble and I.
Baba closes her eyes. A pungent green haze clouds her crystal ball. Her hands curl on her legs as they relax. She looks as if she's meditating rather than calling on a world unseen. The chatter of hushed whispers gather around us on the gazebo.
"Many are willing," Baba says in a trance, "But we must find a trustworthy spirit," she says.
Baba flutters her eyes open. They settle on Kakarot. Even he appears baffled and unhinged, standing a little closer to us among the fumbling spirits and disembodied voices.
"Goku I think it's best you take your leave," Baba says cooly, "She wants to speak to them in private."
"Oh, okay," he says, "I'll catch you back at your place later," he tells me.
Kakarot turns on his heels. His brisk feet have him in front of the mirror within moments. The back of his gi became an orange shimmer in the portal. Just like that, he's gone.
"Do what now?," Tarble says to Baba, " Who's here?," he asks her as his black eyes met my gaze.
I told you this was a bad idea, Tarble, who knows what she's mistakenly conjured.
"It's not who's here- many are. It's who wants to speak," she says.
"We need a Saiyan, not some bored spirit or damn poltergeist for that matter," I tell Baba.
"Who do you think I called, some sort of riff-raff?," she spat at me before tidying her dress with frustration.
Don't flinch Tarble. The best way to deal with Earth women tirades is this: stay firm and keep your mouth shut. Trust me; I know.
"The one called Nappa is willing to translate for you. I asked for your father, but Yemma would not allow his binds to be loosened," Baba says matter of fact.
"Nappa?," Tarble asks in disbelief.
"Yes," Baba replies, "Also, there is another. Your mother is here… Raksasha."
As always, thank you for reading.