He's mibli Kao-a so su-Yilakili : The Sound of a Few Words Ringing
The Memoirs of Kilomela-Jann Urmonaxi
A Saiyan Among The Korud-Jin
IX.
Bones of the Favored Son: Te'telli-a Atu so-Semrin
Nittei's father, Gisi Attin-Remdo, died of his prolonged illness six weeks before the turn of the new year. His only son, Krair-Varu, breathed his last a day and an hour later. While his trembling body writhed and seized on his parents' featherbed, the battles Krair-Varu had endured on the Kanassa front played over and over on the brittle canvas of his mind. I was told that he shouted the names of his slain comrades before he finally fell silent, his eyes open wide in fear. Their battalion's water supply had been poisoned with biochemical agents that had taken effect shortly after victory had been declared. As a result of this tragic incident, sixteen hundred and seven new casualties would be added to the official count two years after the war was said to have ended.
The Royal Office of Public Health, founded by the current king, saw a perfect opportunity to exercise its authority and took away both father and son before funerary rites could be enacted. The corpses were split from neck to navel by the examiners, every cavity violated by curious hands. Immediately afterwards, doctors and researchers descended upon the region like a cloud of locusts, rudely demanding that the people of Urmon answer their lengthy questionnaires and submit samples of their blood, hair and spit for analysis.
Out of respect for their compatriots, the reservists refused to cooperate unless the dead were interred according to custom. The patriarch barred the doctors from our property, but they pounded on the front door nevertheless, hoping that the old man would have a change of heart.
"This is sorcery disguised as science," declared the patriarch, slamming the window shut. "How can we yield to their demands? The surgeons have condemned our neighbors to an eternity of anguish, their insides leaking out here, there, and everywhere in the afterlife."
The men of the house nodded in agreement. Attin-Remdo and Krair-Varu would never be able to ascend to heaven if their vital organs had been carelessly damaged during the autopsy. My father's body had been ritually dismembered to produce the opposite effect, made to wander blind, deaf and mute through the bowels of the underworld. If the same fate were to befall a respected member of the community, the spiritual repercussions would be severe for all concerned.
Mama took part in the traditional outpouring of sympathy by preparing sweets and pastries to feed the mourners. Nittei, now considered the executor of her father's will, had little time to properly entertain relatives that had come to pay their respects. Despite Jann-Run's protests, Mama recruited me to accompany her to the Gisi estate. We wrapped two hundred sugar-glazed cakes in waxed paper and set off along the dirt road, hurrying past the tents erected by the doctors.
The bare trees in the yard had been strung with green banners and paper flowers, a symbolic imitation of a verdant summer. A number of lanterns burned cheerfully on the porch and in the windows, warding off any demons that might be attracted to the misery of the mourners. As we approached, Nittei had already begun to spread salt at all of the entrances, a barrier that would keep the ghosts of her father and brother from leaving the house before they were properly buried.
"Bidu, Nittei!" said Mama. " We are very sorry to hear that both your father and your brother have passed away. Please be glad that their long suffering has ended, and that they look forward to an eternity of bliss."
"Bidu, neighbor Aiek!" said Nittei. " It is so good of you to come! As you can tell, I am bit short-handed." She wiped her hands on the front of her dress, leaving white fingerprints on the blue cloth.
"My husband is very busy and could not come with us today, but he apologizes for the unpleasantness that occurred three weeks ago." Mama was a skilled teller of polite lies. "Let me commend you for your level-headedness. My brother-in-law's former fiancée is a sore subject for us all."
Nittei rested the can of salt against the railing. "I see you have brought along your son instead. We have met once before, but I did not catch his name. Your father-in law has so many nieces and nephews, it is difficult to tell one from the other." She brushed a strand of hair away from her face.
"My name is Kilomela-Jann." I said.
"Kilomela-Jann." Nittei repeated. "A little bird who loves the written word, I'll wager."
Mama laughed uncomfortably. " I can hardly tear him away from his books. No doubt he will score high marks on the school entrance examinations. My father-in-law is much invested in his education."
"Indeed," said Nittei. " His progress must bring you great satisfaction, as my brother's successes brought great joy to my father. He always said that he loved the king first, Krair-Varu second, my mother third, and then after them, his dogs."
" And you?" I asked. Nittei turned her father's seal ring round and round on her finger.
" Until now," she replied. " I was even lower than the dogs."
Inside the front rooms, a mob of relatives struggled to bring itself to order among a mess of luggage and furniture. Attin-Remdo's three dogs wandered through the sea of legs and feet, their wet, beady eyes searching tirelessly for their master. I fed them cake crumbs, but the forbidden treat only livened their spirits for a short moment. Although the dogs had been bred for hunting and tracking, they had been spoiled by table scraps and lazy days in the sun. I followed the animals into the kitchen, where they retreated to a warm corner behind the stove.
Nittei's mother, a small, wiry woman with nervous hands, scrubbed a kettle with unnatural fervor as the mourners cautiously milled around her. She drummed her fingers on the blackened surface. Ting-tap.Ting-tap.Ting-tap.
" I'm sorry, I did not notice you standing there," she said, looking over her shoulder. She studied my face for a moment, squinting. " You must be Kalis-Peis. It has been several years since you last visited. I am amazed at how much you have grown."
" No, madam." I explained. "Kalis-Peis is my cousin, three years my senior."
" Oh, forgive my forgetfulness. You are Tsi-Jann, perhaps."
" No, madam." I protested. " I am called Kilomela-Jann. My parents are Jann-Run and Aiek-Hi."
The kettle fell into the washbasin with a foreboding clatter." Is that so?" she demanded. I could see the red capillaries pulsing in the whites of her eyes. She had not slept in many days.
" Yes, madam." I replied. I had become accustomed to telling half-lies.
The widow shook her head. "That isn't possible. You couldn't be. The child ten years ago…"
"What child?" I asked.
Suddenly, Nittei's mother reached into to the pocket of her apron and threw a handful of salt into the air. Before I could ask her to explain herself, she struck my cheek with the back of her hand. Disoriented, I stumbled backwards and fell to the floor. Looking up, I studied my assailant. Her startled expression mirrored my own.
"Oh! Forgive my rudeness!" she pleaded frantically. "I am tired and must have been imagining things. I am not quite myself today, you see. I am not myself at all."
As Nittei's mother shuffled into her husband's study for a few moments of repose, I brushed the salt crystals away from my clothing and out of my hair. Mama entered, carrying a ceramic teapot in both hands.
"Kilomela-Jann," she asked. "Are you feeling well?"
"I feel fine." I insisted. "I was only startled by one of the dogs."
She raised an eyebrow. "Don't embarrass us now, little bird. Your father and Talarin have done quite enough damage already."
On the way home, a strong wind began to blow, causing the red dust to rise in waves above the road. While the winters in Urmon had been cold and dry for as long as anyone could remember, the end of 738 brought a sea of dark clouds that hovered ominously over the landscape, swollen with water.
"Little bird," said Mama. "Let's quicken our step. The wind is angry today."
We arrived safely at our own front door moments before the storm began. The wooden shutters flapped open and shut, open and shut, the mischief of malevolent spirits searching for the dead in every house. The gaslights flickered, casting ugly shadows with long, spindly arms and greedy fingers. The patriarch covered his two young daughters with a white bedsheet, and told them to remain perfectly still until the danger was over.
"Father," protested Talarin. "Demons only eat badly behaved children."
Nai and Rev giggled audibly. "That is precisely why they should remain hidden," said the patriarch.
Ting! A few hailstones tapped at the window glass. Ting-ting-ting! The rattle escalated into a terrifying roar. Ting-ta-ting-ta-tap! The tiles were torn away from the roof and shattered to pieces on the ground. Kring-ting-ta-tap! Apuru howled. Aieeee!Ting-ta-tap!
It was then that the wind began to speak. "Friends! Friends! Please let us come inside."
A shriek escaped from underneath the sheet. Jann-Run drew Mama close, certain that we would be all be carried off into the underworld. Talarin closed his eyes and thought of his beloved Kikivi-Yek. Kalis-Peis hugged his knees to his chest and buried his face in Tsi-Jann's tunic. Only the patriarch did not seem alarmed. He rose from his seat and bravely unlocked the door.
The visitor was no demon, but two young doctors from the Office of Public Health. In the hailstorm, their tent had collapsed and their documents and specimens had been scattered and ruined. All of the neighbors had refused them shelter, and their colleagues could not return for them until the roads had been cleared. The doctors looked so ragged and frightened after an hour of wandering from house to house, that even a man as superstitious and stubborn as the patriarch was compelled to show them pity.
"Quickly, Quickly! Come inside!" the patriarch commanded. "It is you who have upset the dead, and the ghosts of Attin-Remdo and Krair-Varu will hunt you until you set this situation to rights. But you are both young and foolish, and I will not be responsible for your demise."
The grateful doctors shed their coats in the vestibule, revealing the red trimmed robes that were a mark of their profession. They bowed profusely to the patriarch and his two younger brothers, keeling and touching their palms to the floor.
"Get up! Get up!" snapped Ruk-Sagri, the father of Tsi-Jann. "Groveling won't save you."
"Your ancestors must be angered by your shameful actions," said Peis-Uzkoa, the father of Kalis-Peis. "If we had not let the two of you inside, the wind demon, Eki-Eki, would have made a hearty meal of your souls!"
The taller doctor accepted a warm cup of tea from Mama. "Bidu. We thank you for your hospitality. I am Yaritisi Har-Furiza, and my companion is Brixi Girsak-Jann."
Talarin scowled. "You've taken the name of the prince."
"It was my father who chose it for me," Dr. Yaritisi explained. "I was born on the prince's eleventh birthday."
"I see." said Mama. "So young, and yet so accomplished."
Dr. Brixi blushed. "You are too generous with your praise. We graduated from the Tuparin School of Medicine only last year, and we have been working for the Office of Public Health ever since."
"I wonder what sort of alien nonsense they teach you in Tuparin," grumbled the patriarch. "Concoctions that make you grow two new fingers where one was cut off. Switching the organs of people and animals and growing kidneys in a jar. I have heard of such repulsive things happening in the cities."
Dr. Brixi laughed. "I do not mean to be rude, sir, but the beliefs of our ancestors only hinder our people's progress. The technology acquired in Prince Furiza's conquests will certainly better our quality of life in the future."
"Our families are very proud that we serve the public good," added Dr.Yaritisi.
"Even so," argued Jann-Run. "You know only of bones and brains and sinew, and nothing of the soul. How can you protect the public from illness and death when you've angered the gods so irresponsibly."
"Surely as scientific men, we cannot be expected to share your superstions," said Dr.Brixi. "The era of ignorance is swiftly coming to a close."
The wind shrieked, demanding swift justice.
"Ah," said the patriarch. "But listen to the storm. If nature were without consciousness, as you believe it to be, could it cry out with such vengeful fury? Listen to the storm. Can you hear it? It is calling for the two young doctors from Tuparin."
The doctors exchanged fearful glances. The patriarch had outwitted them, planting the infectious seeds of doubt.
Two days later, Krair-Varu and Attin-Remdo were carried to their gravesite by a parade of officials, eager to make retribution. The storm had felled tree branches in the road, shattered windows, and smashed fences to the ground. Now that it had passed, the sky was clear and only a chilly breeze reminded us that it was still winter.
Two pits were dug in the frozen ground, thrice as deep as a man is tall. Nittei's father and brother were set down at the bottom of each, wrapped in the fine white cloth once worn to distinguish the men of the Gisi patrilineage from all others. Attin-Remdo was followed by hand-drawn maps of his property, a treasured knife with a gold handle, several books on the subject of military history, two medals for valor, and a box of his favorite sweets. Krair-Varu, having achieved little in twenty-two years, took only his sketchbook, and a photograph of his mother and sister.
Nittei, still wearing her father's seal ring, was responsible for the completion of the funeral rites. No other leader had been decided upon, and it was feared that she might assume Attin-Remdo's position indefinitely. Her shrewdness and serious manner were qualities highly valued in men, but never in women.
"Oh, my father, free yourself from this broken body!" shouted Nittei. "Oh, my brother, your flesh is returned to the earth!" A bottle of van'am was smashed over each headstone, and the dead were appeased.
As the mourners dispersed, I noticed Nittei standing alone in the shadow of a tree whose branches had fallen in the storm. She began to clear away the twigs and shriveled leaves in search of something underneath.
"Have you lost something, Nittei?" I asked.
"Ah, I did. But now, it has been found!" A round stone, the size of melon, sat inconspicuously in a nest of debris.
"What is it?" I wondered.
"When I was twelve years old," she explained, "A young woman called Aiek-Hi was sent from a far-away town to marry the neighbors' son, Jann-Run. Like you, I hid in the reeds and watched her from distance. While I was plain and ordinary, the new bride was luminous. Even her name began with the two pictograms that stand for fortune and joy. I envied her happiness, and wished that my father would send me away to marry some nice man with strong arms and kind eyes."
"When Aiek-Hi gave birth to a son almost year later, my mother and I were the first of the neighbors to hear of it. We came up the road with our matching umbrellas, skipping through the summer mud. I had never seen a newborn child before, and I was eager to congratulate the woman I so admired."
"Did you see him?" I asked.
"I did. He had pink cheeks and curling dark hair as soft as down feathers. His parents decided to name him after the flitting birds that nest by the river in the wet season. Aiek-Hi placed him in my arms, and I thought that this was what I should aspire to. That night I dreamed of husbands and babies and sunlit fields in a far-away country."
"And then?" My heart leapt into my throat.
"Jann-Run came to our door early in the morning and woke my parents. In the night, the perfect baby boy had stopped breathing, and was now pale and limp in his mother's arms. In my nightdress, I followed them, my parents, Jann-Run and Aiek-Hi, to this tree, careful to stay twenty paces behind. A very old man, shriveled like a prune, was waiting there. I did not hear what he said after that, but he wrapped the child in a yellow sash, and placed him gently in a basket."
She wiped the dust away from the stone with her glove. "The child's uncle, then a senior student at the school, encountered me here in the afternoon. We placed this stone here together, although it is against custom to mark the resting place of a child or an unmarried woman. For ten years, my knowledge of your death has been our secret. We do not speak of it, but when the child's uncle shook my hand on the beach three weeks ago, it was because he remembered that I could be trusted."
"It is good to hear the truth." I said.
"Here are your bones, Kilomela," whispered Nittei. "It has been a long time, but I did not forget you."
The outline of a bird had been carved into the surface of the grave-marker, its wings folded, eyes closed in eternal sleep.