Chapter 10

Eleanor, Robert’s sister, was not happy that the guest was staying past a month and without apparent interest of moving into the village proper. She was further angered by the fact she was pregnant.

“Who is the father?” Eleanor demanded.

Before Kea could answer, Bob asked: “Who do you think?”

“You think by fathering a child with her, you’re going to gift this property?” Eleanor asked.

“The Council will decide who acquires this property,” Bob said. “Regardless, you do know you will not be getting it.”

“I am chief elder in the outer circle and I determine the outer…”

“There is no circle of elders here. There is you and me…”

“Oh, fuck your semantics. I own the circle,” Eleanor said.

“You hold the circle,” Bob corrected.

Eleanor turned to Kea. “If it is female, I will see a mark on her as clear as your daughter holds,” Eleanor said. She departed without further ado.

Bob sighed and went back to his work in the garden. Kea came outside to him.

“Why did you lie to her?” Kea asked.

“She doesn’t need to know your business,” Bob said.

Kea sat on a stone by the garden. Tay was holding her hands out to butterflies near the gazebo that was near a pond.

“Why are you so kind to us?” Kea asked.

He paused in his work. He was on his knees, his hands dirty, a basket with tools and collected fruit. He sat back on his legs. “I am grateful for your presence.”

“Are you so desperate for company you would claim a child that is not yours?” Kea asked.

“I do not own the air I breathe, but I graciously take in and breathe out,” Bob said. “Likewise, I do not own the sun, or the rain, or you. I accept you as you are and release as you will be, no expectations.”

“No one is this loving,” Kea said.

“Even after all this time the sun never says to the earth, 'You owe me.' Look what happens with a love like that. It lights the whole sky,” Bob said.

“The Given?” Kea asked.

“Specifically, Haffiz,” Bob said.

Kea dwelled on it. She had to look away from his stare. She had to wipe her cheeks of tears. She got up and left the rock. Bob returned to his gardening. That night, Kea moved into his bedroom. He did not turn her away.

निर्मित

“Papa?”

Lester didn’t look up from his workbench, where he was setting a jewel into a ring. The magnifying glass was supported by a mechanical arm. It projected a light that helped illuminate his work.

“Papa?” Fersia asked again.

Fersia was a human cat hybrid and depending on how you came at her she was either extraordinarily cat like, or human like, or both in such a way that people were often confused in their reporting of her in the same way most witnesses to a car accident are confused about the details and become quarrelsome about how anyone could have failed to see something right before their eyes. Her dress and boots were furry, clearly not her- but definitely her style. The clothing conformed to her as if it were a second skin, and her ‘fur’ from her head was long enough it blended into the shaggy fur of her dress. Her arms and legs were bare. Her hands were gloved in matching fur. Her fur was a blending of pastels, heavy on purple and pink. It was invitingly shaggy and people just wanted to rub on her to see if it were real or articles of clothing. Some wanted to rub her the wrong way, hands going to private placed to determine if it was all cat. Depending on who and where, one either got slapped, scratched, or bit. Sometimes all of it. She was the answer to the old question, ‘does it hurt to rub a cat the wrong way.’

Lester was an elderly person of Asian descent, white hair, white beard and mustache, reasonably trimmed, and dressed casually in jeans, and a coat with elbow patches. He didn’t quite fit in with the locals based on dressed, but he was accepted. The City of New Tamaria was likely the most diverse group of people, with the most diversity in appearance. His cane was in reach of the table.

“Call me ‘Papa’ again, and I swear there will be a human sized cat-bag sinking in the river,” Lester said.

“You have a customer,” Fersia said.

“Tell whoever it is I am busy,” Lester said.

“I can pay. Gold.”

Lester relinquished his work with a heavy sigh and pivoted his chair about to look at the man. He appeared to be in his twenties. He was dressed well, better than average, trousers, clean shirt that hung freely above his britches, and a jacket. His hair was wild and probably would go into shock if it were combed. The shirt was a Barong, stiff in collar, and was either made from rice or coconut pulp. It was too thin to weather a winter, suggesting he was from the south. There was evidence of an undershirt. His jacket was likely made of hemp. There was no evidence he was suffering.

“Sorry,” Fersia said. “He pushed through without asking.”

Lester and Fersia had established their crafting tent in a small bazar outside of the largest cities of New Tamaria. They had a small home in the retired folk’s perimeters, and Lester was now a recognized Elder. Lester was well known for his craftsmanship and exuberant prices. His prices kept people away. It was the way he liked it. If people entered his tent at all, they usually saw the pricing of any merchandise and left, or they remained to flirt with Fersia. She was happy to entertain flirting, and a good scratching behind the ears, but a good showing of cat teeth usually ended the mood and people withdrew. She had no lack of attention from their elderly neighbors, who were more than happy to have her company in exchange for a good bowl of rice and fish and a glass of milk. The way she made rounds, Lester was amazed she hadn’t gained weight since coming to this ‘abysmal planet.’

There was a long, thin table between the man and Lester.

“I hear you are antisocial,” the man said. “Do you want gold, or not?”

“Not,” Lester said. “Feel free to leave.”

The man sat a weighty bag down on the table and sat. He picked up Lester mug, tasted it, and spit out, and poured the remaining content out. “I think you should at least hear my proposition before you dismiss me. Bring us both a glass of wine, Puss.”

“We don’t serve alcohol…”

The man took her hand and pushed a gold coin into it. “Go fetch it, then.”

“I am not a dog…”

“Go buy a descent bottle of wine, glasses if you don’t have any. Make sure they’re clean, and take your time about it. But not too much time. Puss.”

Lester nodded. For much of her fur being clothing and all, there was evidence her fur was riled up. She took a moment to acknowledge Lester and then departed to get the wine. As she exited the tent, she flipped the sign around that alerted people to being temporarily out. Most people here respected the sign.

“Asocial,” Lester said.

“What?”

“I am educating you. Asocial are people who would rather avoid company, stay at home, not be bothered. Antisocial, on the other hand, well, you exhibit the traits. You dismiss social protocols, you demand service even after it was clearly communicated that your business is not wanted. You yourself provided a choice, and didn’t abide by your own binary proposition. You treat my associate with disrespect,” Lester said.

“Fuck you, old man,” the man said. “You should be grateful I am bringing you real coin.”

“The society here is at such a level of affluence that your gold here is meaningless,” Lester said. “There is no one in the entire city so desperate they would put up with your shit just for coin. I would wager heavily you already know that or you wouldn’t be in my sphere of influence.”

“You want shit? I’ll shit right here on your table.”

“I bet even the attendant that pays out copper at the public restrooms wouldn’t want your piss and shit,” Lester said.

The man grimaced. “This place is disgusting,” he said. “People literally buy piss and shit.”

“Lots of products are made from waste, and not just fertilizers for gardens and orchards,” Lester said. “Lots of piss pour people here, but happy, well-adjusted, piss pour people here. You’re not that. I will do business with you if it gets you on your way. What’s your name?”

“You don’t need to know,” the man said.

“No name, no service,” Lester said.

“You will either accept my commission, or when your pussy comes back, you can watch me pound it. Never fucked a cat before,” he said.

“Lucky for you, I don’t discriminate against gay people,” Lester said.

“Ha, I think I will fuck her just to spite you,” he said.

“Good luck with that,” Lester said.

“I am telling you, I am going to mess her up,” the man said.

“Have you watched cats mate?” Lester said. “Go ahead. Have fun. I don’t think you have the hide for it.”

“You can call me Ben.”

“I could, but I want a real name,” Lester said.

“Todd,” the man said.

“My price goes up for every lie,” Lester said.

“Do you performs readings, too?” the man asked.

“I don’t need Tarot cards to know you’re going to get fucked,” Lester said.

The man reached for Lester and received a solid punch in the face. The flurry of action was difficult to follow. The man quit his aggression, his head on the table, and jewelry pliers attached to the inner nose.

“Finished?” Lester asked.

“My name is Afansy,” he said.

Lester let go. Afansy withdrew to a respectful distance on his side of the table.

“What’s your Sir name,” Lester asked.

“I don’t have one,” Afansy said. “I was orphaned, grew up in charity house, ran away at six and lived off the streets.”

“That explains a lot,” Lester mumbled. “What do you want with me?”

Afansy opened his bag and placed an item on it. A wooden, flat top pyramid, with grooves on the steps descending to base.

“Tell me about this,” Afansy said.

“Hand me a gold piece,” Lester said.

“For information?” Afansy asked.

“For education,” Lester said.

Afansy pulled out a mint and slapped it on the table. Lester examined the mint, recognizing the city of origin and its purpose for raising funds for the guard. He laid it on the top of the pyramid. The coin rested in the flat space, not touching the edges of the square. Lester picked the coin up and then stood it on one of the steps. The groove kept it from falling. Each step down could hold several more mints of the same size than the step above.

“That’s it?” Afansy said.

“It’s a display for coins,” Lester said. “What did you think it was? An alchemy circuit?”

“I stole it off a witch,” Afansy said.

Lester shrugged indifferently.

“You don’t believe me?” Afansy said.

“I believe you stole it,” Lester agreed. “Even if she were a witch, it doesn’t make it what you think it is. Also, you don’t look like a guild member.”

“I am not in the guild,” Afansy said.

“Rejected by thieves?”

“I don’t want to belong to no dues paying club,” Afansy said.

“My esteem for the club just went up,” Lester said.

“What does that mean?” Afansy said.

“It means, I bet you applied and were rejected and you’re the worst kind of liar, the kind that lies to himself,” Lester said.

“Do you always insult your guests?” Afansy said.

“You’re not a guest,” Lester said. “And there is always a dues, kid.”

“You’re a guild member. That’s how you afford this merchandise, and the reason for your inflated prices,” Afansy said.

“It’s not worth anything. They’re just things until someone places a value on it,” Lester said.

“This coin has gold in it. This pedestal has gold weaved into it,” Afansy said.

“You assume it has greater value than it has. You assume it’s magical. You assume all the previous people who you tried to pawn it off on were lying and cheating,” Lester said. “That’s one of the problems with being antisocial. You lack the ability to trust, and you assume your judgment is greater than anyone else’s.”

“I have been in charge of me all my life,” Afansy said. “I know what’s best for me.”

“You’ve survived,” Lester said. “But you’re miserable, and so full of hate and revenge you want to bring everyone down to your level of misery.”

“You’re an ass.”

“I am not the one with the problem,” Lester said.

“This item is magical. I can’t get rid of it. I sell it for a copper or piece of bread, and the next morning it’s in my bag. I give it away, and I wake up with it in my bag again. I bury it and I ride off, and the next morning, it’s in my bag again,” Afansy said. “I bury it in my bag, and the bag and the pedestal and the coin return to me. I can’t get rid of it.”

“And you think I am going to make it leave you alone?” Lester said.

“Melt it down for the gold. I will pay you,” Afansy said. “The pedestal is bulky and weighs me down. The coin, well, it doesn’t fare well with the people I associate with. I have pulled it out of my pocket at unreasonable times. I don’t even keep it in my pocket. I tell people I acquired it through a robbery and I am told to get rid of it and it comes back like a damn cat. Speaking of cats, where is that bitch?”

“Maybe you could return it to the witch,” Lester said.

“If I knew where the bitch was, I would,” Afansy said.

Fersia arrived with the wine. She poured it into two glasses. Lester thanked her. He held the glass under his nose. He decided to let it breathe some. Afansy drank his glass down.

“What the hell did you buy? The cheap stuff?” Afansy asked. The click of pliers made him bring a down a notch. “So, how much for you to properly fence this or destroy it?”

Lester scratched his chin. “I don’t know. How much does it bother you?”

“What?”

“So, these sort of things are costly. You will pay what you think it’s worth, and if it’s even a half ounce less, you’re bound to find this accompanying you again,” Lester said. “Further, if you discover it back and you initiate a new arrangement, you start from scratch. You pay me to keep it, and it comes back to you, you need to return to me and pay me more.”

“You’re fucking kidding me? What kind of racket is this?” Afansy asked.

“Your other option is to settle down, open up a trade kiosk, and make this a display in your business for the world to see,” Lester said.

Afansy sighed and put a bag of coin on the table. “There’s ten gold in here, miscellaneous silver and copper,” Afansy said. “Keep it. And your pussy’s change for the cheap wine. Is that enough?”

“You realize, it’s bad luck mixing different metals in a bag?” Fersia asked.

“Is it enough?” Afansy said.

Lester shrugged. “Only the morrow will tell.”

Afansy got up and departed the tent.

“Asshole,” Lester muttered.

“I don’t like the way he used bitch. It sounded disparaging,” Fersia said.

“Kind of like the way I just said asshole?” Lester asked.

“Yeah,” Fersia agreed. “Why do people hate their assholes? People would die without asses and assholes.”

“There is that,” Lester agreed. “Put these items on the shelf out front, please.”

He returned to his work. Fersia commented on how nice the coin look.

“I wouldn’t get attached to it if I were you,” Lester said. “It doesn’t belong to us. Also, bank this coin, will you?”

“Yes, Papa…”

“God damn it, stop that,” Lester said.