Broken Nose
Arama made her way carefully over the rocks that clambered over each other in their bid to be swallowed by the Colorado. Just past them was a smooth, flat beach where she could play in peace. The deceptively placid river flowed past her; a simple miscalculation in her footing and she would fall in and be swept away. Tied to her waist was a knife, which slapped against her bare thigh as the river roared in her ears.
She arrived at the beach and set about digging fervently with her bare hands into the wet sand. Buried shallowly within the damp soil was a filthy toy rocketship. When she unearthed the toy Arama clutched it reassuringly to her breast. She re-established herself at the beach, using her knife to cut crude yet expansive designs. She made intricate mandalas gouged into the wet earth, a complex geometry which defined imaginary landscapes and boundaries.
She played with her rocketship, pretending that it was flying all over the world with a crew of four, represented by rocks that she gathered. She picked the rocks for their distinctive shapes and named them. There was Dum-Dum the cook, Bruce the pilot, Merica the captain, and Chandy the gunner. Dum-Dum, Bruce, and Merica were all ladies, Chandy was the only boy. He stayed in his room in the spaceship while the ladies ate and cleaned and flew the rocket ship. When the ship encountered enemies Chandy would leave his room to man the weapons and then immediately returned to his room. Dum-Dum and Bruce were in a relationship, but Merica came between them, causing friction in the ship.
Occasionally the throaty ribbit of a gecko could be heard, but Arama wasn't scared. The tribe had lived alongside the geckos for generations, and in many ways the geckos reminded her of her own people. They were violent and pigeonholing, prone to attacking each other at perceived insults and to perpetuate the informal hierarchy. Both had primitive societies born from necessity. Much like an errant geppy, if Arama were discovered so far from home she would be smacked resoundingly and dragged back, but all for her own safety. The wasteland was brutal and demanded brutality in turn.
Arama's rocketship came under attack from unseen but aggressive enemies. Chandy valiantly sacrificed himself to save the rest of the crew, and they mourned his passing appropriately, with a traditional Twisted Hair funeral. Playtime was over. If she was gone too long, her absence would be noted and her grandfather would despatch searchers. If she didn't limit her time in her secret space, it would be discovered and she'd never be able to return again. She hated her grandfather.
She hated the other children of the Twisted Hairs, too. After she buried her rocketship and obscured her markings she returned to the tribe. She slipped past the camp guards with ease, well-practiced at eluding authority despite her young age. She similarly eluded the women who watched the children. They marshaled the tribe's young into the meeting circle in the center of the village every day, for safety and convenience. None of the other children had noticed Arama's absence, and she quietly hoped they would not notice her now that she returned. She spent most of her time trying to be inconspicuous, which was always interpreted as an invitation for harassment.
Her peer Big-Nose noticed her efforts to make herself smaller. He was large for his age, but dumb. Whenever he saw Arama the unnamed he felt confusing feelings. He felt like he liked her a lot, but he also hated her a lot. He was jealous of her, of how smart she was, of how pretty she was. He felt like he was unworthy of her attention. He decided to make himself feel less inferior by insulting her.
"Hey 'Rama, why don't you have any friends? Is it because you're smelly?" even if she weren't crouched on the ground, hugging her knees and trying to sink into the earth Big-Nose would have towered over her by nearly a foot. There was only one boy in the tribe aged eight who was taller than him and that child was certainly not Arama, who was uncommonly small for her age. She tried to ignore him.
"Yeah, is it because you're stuck-up?" a young girl named Paayu-hoya added her own criticism to Big-Nose's goading. She personally disliked Arama, interpreting her aloofness as snobbishness, but she and Big-Nose were soon joined by plenty of other kids who had no personal motivations. They were simply seizing the opportunity to gang up on someone smaller and weaker, a pastime common of children everywhere.
Arama, to her credit tried to ignore the childish taunts, but they soon became overwhelming. She stood up, looked Big-Nose in the eyes, and said, "Shut up."
Big-Nose pushed her into the dirt. The other children laughed but Arama was on her feet quickly, too fast for Big-Nose to block her swing. If it weren't for the rock clutched tight in her fist he wouldn't have even flinched, but as it was he fell to the ground with blood pouring from his nose. Arama took the opportunity and pounced on him, smacking him in the face again with the rock. She raised her fist to do it again but was restrained by a calloused, elderly hand.
"Fuck me with a knife, where'd she even get the rock!" her grandfather Harpy swore. He lifted his wayward granddaughter by the wrist bodily off of her bloodied and weeping victim and pulled the bloody stone from her fist, "You!" he barked at one of the young women tasked with watching the children, "Take her away!"
"I will talk to you later," he harshly addressed Arama.
Bitter Wind dragged the girl away from the other children. The elder's granddaughter always seemed to be the center of every problem among the tribe's young. Arama did not react at all, letting Bitter Wind drag her through the village by the hand without protest or even acknowledgement.
"I'm not dealing with you! We will find someone who will," Bitter Wind sighed, irritated. She had more things on her mind than taking care of the elder's spoiled granddaughter. She privately assured herself she would not allow her own children to behave so poorly.
They came upon Dark Mother's tent, a ramshackle yurt made of scraps of tarp and discarded hides on the edge of the village. Dark Mother was ostensibly the tribe's herbalist and healer, but that did not afford her much respect. Mostly she was shunned, which made her a perfect caretaker for the pariah child. Bitter Wind told Arama to wait outside the tent and then entered.
"Dark Mother, are you busy?" the inside of Dark Mother's hovel was smoke-filled from burning incense and leaves. The smell was overpowering, but could not entirely mask the scent of death and decay which hung over the woman. There were plenty of rumors that Dark Mother was a witch, and entering her tent, where small bones tied to the ceiling dangled at eye-level and smoke obscured everything besides, Bitter Wind could not help but feel there was truth to the rumors.
"I am not busy," Dark Mother replied slowly and after a long pause from her position on the floor. Bitter Wind couldn't tell if she was looking at her or not.
"Will you look after the nameless child? The granddaughter of elder Harpy? I have too many things to do or I would do it," Bitter Wind asked. It took a few moments again for Dark Mother to reply.
"I will watch the nameless child," Dark Mother answered. Bitter Wind dragged Arama into the tent and without so much as a goodbye was gone.
Arama took a seat on the floor next to Dark Mother. The yurt was less smokey closer to the ground, and her eyes stung less. Dark Mother did not look at Arama, and for nearly an hour they sat in silence. Arama liked Dark Mother. Unlike the other women of the tribe Dark Mother did not belittle her or chastise her, did not try to make her do work. Dark Mother simply sat with her, and even though it was boring it was calming. It did not take long for Arama to begin to fidget, though.
Dark Mother looked over at her with dull surprise, as though for the past forty minutes she had not acknowledged Arama because she did not realize Arama was there. Her movements were very slow, and she stared appraisingly at Arama for several minutes.
"You are the nameless one," she said.
"No, I'm Arama. My grandfather's Aram Harpy," Arama explained patiently to Dark Mother. Sometimes Dark Mother forgot things and had to be reminded, Arama knew. She stayed in the tent with Dark Mother for the rest of the afternoon, until her grandfather came to get her. He took her home, to his slightly more permanent and much nicer home made of clay.
Arama was not happy to be home with her grandfather. Her heart fluttered, scared of what he would say or do to her, but she swallowed her fear. He crouched down to her level, looking at her straight in the eye. He opened his palm, revealing that he still had the stone she had used to attack Big-Nose. Earlier in the day she had named it Merica, and now it was stained with the blood of her attacker.
"Do you see this?" he asked her. She nodded her head. He smacked her on the cheek with the rock, not as hard as he could have, but hard enough that it would leave a bruise. She looked back into his eyes with burning hatred.
"I know what it feels like to get hit with a rock," she said, small and defiant. He smacked her again, much harder, with the back of his palm.
"You will learn respect! You will learn obedience!" he roared. He was out of practice at disciplining a child, and Arama was much more difficult than her father. He had to resort to his most severe punishment earlier and more often with her, "You will go in the box until you are ready to apologize and be a good girl!"
He dragged her to an old wood cabinet, a pre-war relic, and locked her inside. She did not resist but as he shut the door he looked into her eyes like two small suns of fury and loathing.
Once she knew her grandfather was out of earshot Arama sobbed. She cried for hours, desperate choking sobs and a stream of tears that could not be wiped away no matter how hard she tried. Eventually she could cry no more.
After darkness fell the door of the cabinet opened.
"Hey 'Rama," said Heart. He could tell his little sister had been crying. He knew she cried a lot, and it always made him miserable. He wished his sister was happier. "I brought you some food."
He handed her some gecko meat and flatbread. Arama didn't realize how hungry she was until she devoured it all. She had missed lunch by escaping to the beach and she had missed dinner because she was locked in a cabinet.
"I was hunting today, with Raven and Xon and Kwey. We killed a pronghorn. Grandpa was proud," Heart added, embarrassed but proud. He could not help bragging, even though he did not want to rub it in that he was their grandfather's clear favorite. "I heard you beat up Big-Nose today. He looked pretty bad when I saw him."
"They'll have to change his name to Broke-Nose now," Arama joked proudly. Heart smiled but it was a sad smile.
"I wish you wouldn't get in so much trouble," he told her, "I wish you were sleeping in our room tonight. If anybody is mean to you, I'll beat them up, okay? Don't beat them up and get in trouble anymore. I'll take care of it," tears welled in his eyes. Arama could see them. She wished she could fit in with the rest of the tribe like he did. She wished she wouldn't have to defend herself so often, not for her own sake but for her brother's. He was maybe the only person in the whole tribe who actually cared about her, and she knew it made him sad that she was sad. That hurt more than all the rocks in the world. She felt like she was about to cry again.
"Okay Heart. I won't get in trouble any more," she said quietly. Heart hugged her and said goodnight, then closed the cabinet door and went to bed. Arama laid awake for awhile longer, resting her head on the cabinet wall and clutching herself tightly, trying to keep her brother's hug all through the night.