Migrations, Volume I : Don't Forget to Breathe Page 2

“Are you sure you don’t want more potatoes?” Yuri asked them for the third time, “They’re fresh from Upper Bahlia! Better I’m sure than that awful stuff you folks are forced to eat out there in the mountains.”

  The boy stared blankly across the table at Bunnu, who was now wrapped in blankets and laying next to the fireplace with a bladder filled with cool mustard oil on his forehead. Meanwhile, the Mumta father flipped through a small book with tattered pages that he’d produced from his pouch. He got out a wooden compass with a quill attached and drew arcs over hand-drawn maps he had on each of the pages. Neither he nor his son had so much as taken a bite of the food that Yuri had put in front of them.

  “A map-maker, are you?” Raju inquired as he sat back in his rocking chair with his pipe. He was a short, but stocky man with salt and pepper black and gray hair, a dark Vasallan complexion and a big belly like that of a bear that Bunnu often liked to use as a pillow when they would lay out in the fields on a warm spring day. “Quite a future in that, let me tell you. Had a friend who used to do that back in the old days in Vasalla. That’s where I’m from. That’s why I might seem a little different from the rest of these backwards folk in Bahlia.”

  “Papa!” Bunnu cried as he sat up and leaned on his elbow, “We should take them up to see the Outlander. He’d have lots of maps he could show him.”

  “The last thing we want is that old fool scaring them away. Anyway, he’s no doubt undertaken his evening prayers. See? It’s a full moon.” Raju motioned back towards the window behind him. The Karakaze was still howling outside. Amidst the whistling, they could hear the rustling of the grass and leaves.

  Raju turned back to look at the untouched mounds of food sitting on the dinner table in front of the two Mumta. He licked his lips as he said, “The chap upstairs is a bit batty. Not a member of this family, really. A friend of my late father-in-law: apparently they fought together in the same legion under Lord Ieyasu-13, so now there’s this lifelong association that exists between the two that appears to even transcend death. But we certainly can’t turn the man away. Common sense would assume that he’d have left of his own volition years ago, but apparently, that’s not how things were in his time. He’s become a sort of surrogate grandfather, so he feels it’s his obligation to stay for Bunnu’s sake. So, it looks like we’re stuck with each other. Bit of a strange one, though. Chose a ‘7’ rather than an ‘8’ to go with his moniker of Rakesh. What’s wrong with calling yourself Rakesh-8? Why the ‘7’? Can’t say I’ve ever heard of anyone using anything but an auspicious number with their name.”

  Yuri put another blanket around each of the Mumta and placed another cup of hot ocha next to the other 3 untouched cups that sat before them. “Enough Raju! Let them eat. They must be hungry after their long journey!” Despite her reprimanding tone, she smiled at the Mumta warmly, while intermittently diverting her attention to her husband long enough to cast upon him momentary scowls with lasting effects.

  Yuri had a very petite frame, which, despite its fragile appearance, radiated a kind of indescribable vigor, as though her spirit were fighting the form. At first meeting, many people might look at her and dismiss her as the shy and frail type, being protected by a strong and domineering Raju…but after some time passes, one begins to notice the remonstrative look in her eyes when Raju has tipped too much for the apple delivery, or the way she paces impatiently behind him as he chops more wood for the fireplace, or even the icy demeanor she seems to project toward him whenever Bunnu has disobeyed her.

  Today had been no different as Bunnu had returned home with two unannounced dinner guests, along with a terrible fever and sore throat to boot. If the boy had had a better role model than this big-bellied fool and the cretin upstairs, he’d have obeyed her when she’d first called him in for dinner, instead of running off into the cold.

  Of course, despite her initial annoyance, she was now trying to make the best of the situation. And the scowls she was now casting toward Raju? Well, they were clearly not because he was interrupting the Mumta, but more likely because it was all his fault that she was being forced to resort to such measures. He had, after all, turned to her with a smile after Bunnu had asked permission to have the Mumta for dinner and said, “You know, honey, it’s been years since-“

  “Yes it has. I’ll take care of it…” she had responded instantly, despite knowing full well how much trouble she would have to go to in preparation for the meal. But of course, Raju never thought about these things. He only thought of himself and that big belly of his!

  “How about some more green rice?” she now asked the Mumta sweetly with a smile, as she went over in her head, once again, how she would go about killing her husband that evening. This was nothing new as Yuri had made numerous attempts on Raju’s life in the past. Her lack of success probably stemmed from the fact that she wasn’t very good at planning these things out and had very little experience plotting murders. The tricky part was, obviously, to make it look like an accident so as to avert suspicion.

  The first time she tried to kill him was when he was drunk. He had gone upstairs after a long night of drinking some of the Laughing Magenta he’d brewed from his own still. While he was passed out across their bed, she loosened a wooden floorboard on the staircase and called to him from the kitchen. Unfortunately for her, as the Laughing Magenta had come out particularly concentrated, this time, her husband was in too deep a sleep for her calls to elicit a response. Bunnu, on the other hand, awakened almost instantly by the noise, came plodding down the stairs rubbing his eyes. “Bunnu! Nooo!” was all she could say before he was facedown at her feet at the bottom of the stairs with a broken arm and a twisted ankle.

  Early the next morning, as Bunnu was being bandaged by the doctor in the kitchen, Raju repaired the floorboard and Yuri was riddled with guilt. She began to feel terrible about her decision to kill Raju. Perhaps, it was temporary insanity, she thought to herself. She didn’t want to believe she was annoyed enough with someone to feel like killing them. The truth was that she loved Raju very much. It was just little things that bothered her. The way his jaw hung open when he read. The way his nose would whistle in his sleep, especially when he was drunk. The way he always shrugged his shoulders indecisively when asked simple questions such as: Are you hungry? Or: What day is it today? As well as, the inevitable: Are you even listening to me?

  After lacerating herself over the matter for days and weeks on end, she finally decided to seek the counsel of O-bousan-34, a local priest. She had heard of him from some of the other village wives at the marketplace in Bahlia. He was known for giving very sensible advice, when it came to difficult matters, and was said to keep sensitive information private, which is perhaps a good reason why he had won the confidence of so many.

  “And he always gives the most tasteful funeral services,” one of the wives had told her, “I call upon him whenever my mother passes away… and he always guarantees me a special place in heaven for her. Apparently, at quite a discount, too. Mmm-hmm.” The woman nodded her head blissfully, “Oh yes, he is a bit more expensive than the other O-bousan around, but he’s one of the few who accepts jewelry, in addition, to money. A cut of the inheritance isn’t just money, after all. Oh…he really is such a wonderful man! And so handsome! Why, if I weren’t married…”

  Yuri visited the temple after one of the services and asked one of the boy apprentices where she could find O-bousan-34. “In the office through the gate. I can take you there.” He smiled calmly and turned to walk with her. Yuri was very impressed as the young boy seemed very well-mannered and refined. He was maybe the same age as Bunnu, but seemed a lot older in his mannerisms. That just shows what a good environment can do for these kids, she thought to herself, Imagine if Bunnu had grown up in this sort of environment rather than around that drunk buffoon!

  They entered the office building, which was elaborately decorated and laid out so immaculately
that it was far beyond the level of cultural sophistication Yuri deemed possible for people as simple as the Bahlians. The walls were of marble with an inlay of emeralds, rubies, and precious stones of the like in the shape of remarkable designs. Lining a ledge along these walls were various gold and silver receptacles designed for holding the ashes of the deceased. In the middle of the room was a set of silver chairs with silk cushions set up around a square wooden table with a gold engraved center. Seated in these chairs was a group of O-bousan engaging in seemingly delightful conversation. “Your Holiness, O-bousan-34,” the boy announced to the group ceremoniously, his arms at his sides. The group looked up in attention. “Someone is here to see you.”

  “Thank you, Takeo,” the one directly facing them said with a twinkle in his eye. “Right this way, please, madam.”

  He led Yuri into a smaller office that was a great deal less luxurious than the reception area. He motioned for her to have a seat as he sat down behind the desk. Yuri sat down to find that the chair she was sitting in was more a bench than a chair and that the desk that O-bousan-34 occupied was quite utilitarian—no bigger, it seemed, than that of a schoolboy’s.

  “I gather you are here for advice,” he said with a pleasant smile.

  He had a boyish face, round with doughy features, which Yuri imagined, must have gone a long way to win the affections of the women who came to seek his counsel. In addition to the shiny rings that adorned each finger, he wore numerous gold chains of varying length and thickness that hung down overtop a robe of the finest purple Wormdrool silk. The longest and thickest of them had attached to it a large medallion with the number 34 engraved into it.

  On the wall behind him was a chart with the names of all the O-bousan with a series of red X’s next to their names. His name had the most next to them. The Chart Read: Month-to-Date.

  “How did you know?” she asked.

  He exhaled through his nose loudly as a look of amused complacence crossed his face, “Oh, you know…you do this sort of thing long enough. You can read someone the moment they walk in the door.”

  “Well, it’s a rather serious matter. I wasn’t sure who to go to about this…and I’m not even sure you can help me, but I feel terribly guilty about it.”

  “I’m listening.”

  “My son…his name is Bunnu. He’s about the same age as Takeo. Is…er…Takeo your…uh…your-?”

  “He’s the son of O-bousan-13. I’m unmarried.” He said quickly, all the while biting his lip. “Please continue.”

  “Right…um…well, like I said, I have a son. And because of my selfishness, he ended up getting injured.”

  He leaned forward, eyes widening, “Is it serious?”

  “No, no,” she said, starting to wipe tears from her eyes, hunching slightly forward with her head in her hands, ashamed to show her face. “It was serious, at first…but it’s been a few weeks and he’s begun to heal.” The O-bousan exhaled from his nose as he leaned back in his chair again, slowly. “But actually, it was my husband I wanted to hurt.”

  “What do you mean?” he said with a sigh. He slumped forward lazily over the tiny desk, relaxing his chin against the knuckles of his right hand. He stared out into space and sighed again, this time louder.

  “I mean…I really wanted to hurt him. Not just emotionally. I think…I…I…wanted to kill him.”

  There was a brief silence. Still hunched forward with her head in her hands, she finally heard the O-bousan lean closer and say in a nearly inaudible whisper, “Really?” She nodded quietly as she sobbed. He continued slightly louder. “Does your husband have a lot of money?”

  She shrugged her shoulders. “I guess we do alright. Don’t get me wrong, O-bousan! I’m not that terrible of a person. I’m not after his money.”

  “But you still do want to kill him, don’t you?”

  “Well…yes…I think so. That feeling still hasn’t subsided.”

  “And you haven’t thought of leaving him and taking your son along with you? I mean, if you don’t love your husband anymore-“

  “It’s not that!” she cried looking up again with eyes full of tears. “I still love him! I really do! He’s a good man. He picked me up off the streets and saved me from having to live my life as a prostitute. I’ll always be indebted to him for that. It’s not at all because I don’t love him that I want to kill him.”

  “Then?” he asked impatiently.

  She continued in a loud voice, “He’s just so annoying! I feel like I’m going crazy sometimes. He just won’t stop with that nose whistling! I can’t even get a good night’s sleep! And that incessant shrugging: I don’t think he’s even listening half the time!”

  “And you want to kill him because of this?”

  “Great! Now you’re judging me.” She said spitefully, quickly wiping the tears with a sweep of her hands. “I knew it was a mistake coming here.” She was about to stand up when he held out his hand in a motion for her to stop.

  “Hold on,” he said calmly and she froze, as if powerless to respond. “That’s not at all what I’m doing. Anything you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence. I’m here to help you. I want to be here as your guide on the path to knowing yourself. That’s what life is all about, after all, isn’t it? Knowing oneself well enough to know one’s limitations. Do you know yours…um…I’m sorry I didn’t catch your name.”

  “Yuri,” she said as she sniffled, now slightly calmer than she had been a moment earlier.

  “Yuri…right. Yuri, do you know your limitations?”

  “I’m not sure what you mean.” She said, settling down in her chair again.

  “Don’t worry. You will. But let me ask you a little bit more about your husband. What does he do exactly? I have to say that he must be doing very well for you to be able to afford such beautiful earrings. They really are marvelous, by the way. Is that red pearl?”

  “Why yes it is! You’re very observant, O-bousan!”

  “Like I said earlier, you do this sort of thing long enough…” He had a self-assured look on his face as he leaned back in his chair. In doing so, his large belly pushed the tiny desk slightly forward in the direction of Yuri.

  “My husband grows the Magenta spice. He’s kind of new to the business. I’m told there’s a great demand for it. Back in our hometown of Vasalla, he and his father raised Lesser Bison for their jellied eggs.”

  “Magenta’s a growing industry. Very profitable business, I’d say. Fortunately, His Majesty Bunnu-5 has not yet imposed any sizeable taxes on Magenta farmers either.” O-bousan said seemingly impressed. “Your husband must be doing quite well then. I should have known. Your taste in clothing and jewelry show a certain refined elegance.”

  Yuri giggled, “Why thank you!”

  O-bousan smiled. “Not at all. Just an observation. For what it’s worth…”

  “That’s very kind of you,” she said reassured, “But what do you think I should do? These feelings won’t seem to go away. Should I kill him?”

  “You want to know something, Yumi?”

  “Yuri.”

  “You want to know something, Yuri? I’m going to tell you something that might sound a little crazy to you…but you asked, so I’m going to give it to you straight. This bloodlust of yours: it’s not going to disappear on its own. You are going to have to realize your limitations by pushing yourself further and further in the direction that you seem to be resisting. A path must be made to understanding. And it must be followed a step at a time. The first step is to let go of our hesitations. To throw caution to the wind, as it were.”

  “Are you saying what I think you’re saying?”

  “That you should work through your feelings? Yes! That you should understand them clearly and not resist the temptations that have been plaguing you? Absolutely! Frankly speaking…um…Madam, until you take yourself right to the edge of what you’re capable of doing, you w
on’t be able to get to the root of whatever it is that’s causing you to feel this way. I’m guessing that it must be some kind of deep-seated anger.”

  “Yes. My husband seems to think it’s a result of a childhood trauma.”

  “You mean your husband is aware of your intentions?”

  “Yes.”

  “And he hasn’t done anything to retaliate or escape?”

  “Like I said, we love each other.”

  “Huh…Sounds complicated,” O-bousan remarked, stroking his chin.

  “It is!” she replied and with that, she took her leave of O-bousan with a whole new set of suggestions about how to go about killing her husband. His ideas primarily involved the use of farm equipment in setting up the accident, as some of the new machinery being shipped in from the cities was advanced beyond the common farmer’s capabilities.

  “This may sound a little strange,” she had told the O-bousan before leaving, “but I think I would be rather sad if my husband actually died. What if one of my attempts is successful?”

  O-bousan-34 thought for a moment before saying slowly, “Well, I suppose we’ll cross that bridge when we get to it…”

  Dinner