Pump Six and Other Stories(37)

In the family haci, Raphel's mother worked at a celebratory feast made doubly joyful by the rain's arrival. Bowls of spiced mutton, cool yogurt, and thick red bean soup propagated around the hearth. She smiled at the rain, stirred pots over the fire and didn't complain that the wood gathered from the far hills had been dampened by the sudden rush of water. She reached out to touch Raphel often, a nearly superstitious movement that she repeated again and again, assuring herself that her son once again truly stood within her home.

In the afternoon, she sent him to fetch his grandfather. She sent him with an umbrella bought from a Keli trader, a big black thing. When Raphel protested that he didn't mind the rain, she clicked her tongue and sent him out anyway, saying that if anyone knew how to make an umbrella it should be the Keli and there was no shame in using it.

Raphel made his way through the village, dodging flooding alleys and the curtains of rain that poured off the haci roofs. Lightning flickered high above. Thunder rolled distantly. A young girl in black and red dashed down the alley toward him, smiling at his bare face, now unhidden by an electrostatic mask. His umbrella protected him from much of the dumping rain, but the girl was soaked, and clearly didn't care. Raphel turned to watch as she deliberately jumped into puddles and yellow flows, splashing mud and water and laughing at the wet.

His grandfather's courtyard was empty, its red chilies removed indoors. Raphel stood dripping outside.

"Grandfather?"

The rasping voice was surprised. "You're still here?"

Raphel pulled aside the curtain and slipped inside. He carefully shook his umbrella outside the door, and left it leaning there. His grandfather sat beside the hearth, working on another hook knife. Several lay around his feet, all of them gleaming with oil and sharpening.

"Bia' wants you to come for dinner."

The old man snorted. "She won't live in my haci but she invites me for dinner." He looked up and studied Raphel's uncovered face. "You've completed Quaran, then?"

"Today."

"You return and the land turns green. Auspicious. And you haven't left for Keli."

Raphel sighed. He sat on the hard-packed floor near his grandfather's feet. "I am Jai, Grandfather. Whatever you think, this is my home. I am here to stay."

"I suppose it's good to see your face. Despite your tattoos."

Raphel squeezed the wet hem of his robe. It was spattered with mud. Water ran out between his fingers. "I feel like I'm finally home." He looked outside to the gray curtain of water pouring off the haci's roof. "It amazes me that I ever hated the sound of rain. In Keli it rained all the time, and no one cared. Or else they hated it. I think it's the finest sound I've ever heard."

"You sound like a Jai. If you picked up your hook knife, I'd almost believe you belong."

Raphel shook his head and grinned. "Pasho are neutral, Grandfather."

The old man's laughter was mocking. He reached for his bottle of mez. "Drink with me then, Pasho."

Raphel climbed back to his feet. "This time, I will serve you. As I should have done the day I arrived."

"And break Quaran? I think not."

Raphel took the bottle from his grandfather and set the clay cups on the ground. "You're right. We should observe the old ways. It's what distinguishes us from Keli people. We are true to our history." The long sleeves of his Pasho's robes dragged around the paired cups as he began pouring.

"Don't spill," his grandfather scolded.

Raphel smiled. He tucked his sleeves out of the way. "I'm not used to my robes, yet." He finished pouring the clear bright liquor into the paired cups. He capped the bottle carefully and handed a cup to his grandfather.

They held their cups to the sky, poured drops to their ancestors and drained them together. A moment later, Gawar's cup fell from his nerveless hand. It shattered. Clay fragments skittered across the hard-packed dirt. The old man's jaw locked. Air whistled between his clenched teeth as he fought to breathe. "Mez?" The word squeezed out.

Raphel ducked his head apologetically and pressed his palms together in farewell. "Undistilled. A common enough death for a Jai. You were right, Grandfather. War never ends. You taught the Pasho that. They have not forgotten. Even now you squat in their nightmares."

His grandfather grimaced and forced words out between his clenched teeth. "The Pasho side with Keli?"

Raphel shrugged apologetically. "Knowledge must be protected, Grandfather—" He broke off as his grandfather spasmed. Spittle leaked from the corner of the old man's mouth. Raphel leaned close and used the sleeve of his white robe to wipe the shaking man's drool. "I'm sorry, Grandfather. The Keli are too soft to withstand a Jai crusade. You would have slaughtered them like goats and turned all the Pasho work to ash: Keli's libraries, its hospitals, its factories. We Pasho cannot afford an open war; mez seemed the best alternative."

His grandfather's eyes were wide, stunned. He grunted, trying to form words. Raphel held the old man's hand as another spasm swept through him. The old man strained. Raphel leaned close to hear his whisper.

"You betray us all."

Raphel shook his head. "No, Grandfather, only you. Knowledge is a Jai birthright as much as Keli's. Your bloody crusade would have left ashes for our children. Now, instead of war, I will teach our people to sink water veins and help them plant crops that weather the hottest days of dry season, and we will flourish. Never fear, Grandfather, I am still Jai, whatever you think of my Pasho's tattoos. Your hook knife has dulled, but mine is still sharp."