Rebel Heart
Page 36
He stands in front of me. Gimme yer hand, he says. I hesitate. Then I hold out my right hand. The one that Lugh crushed in his anger an hurt. It’s tender. Bruised.
Slim gimme this, says Tommo, as he unscrews the lid of a little pot an scoops out some goatweed unction. He takes my hand an starts to spread it over the bruise. He only uses one finger. He’s so gentle, I feel a lump rise in my throat.
He looks at me. He shouldn’t of hurt you, he says.
I hurt him, I says.
He gives a funny little smile. Is that how it works? he says. One hurt fer another? He drops his eyes. Concentrates on what he’s doin.
Tommo’s eyes was the first thing I ever noticed about him. Such a deep brown, they’re almost black, with long dark lashes. Eyes like a deer.
When I first met him, back at Ike’s, he was a boy. A pale bony jumble of elbows, knees an feet. He ain’t that no more. Somehow, over the past months, he’s growed to his man’s body. He’s tanned an lean. Thick, dark hair tied back from his face. Strong cheekbones. He’s good-lookin an no mistake.
The deaf boy. Take heed, Saba. He’s in love with you.
He stops what he’s doin. He knows I’m starin at him, he can feel it. A flush creeps along his cheekbones. He don’t lift his eyes as he raises my hand to his lips. He touches ’em to the bruise. I feel his breath on my skin.
I would never hurt you, he says.
Now he looks at me. He holds my eyes with his. Intent. Serious.
No. No no no no no.
Tommo, I says.
He takes in a breath.
Jest as Slim calls out, How many eggs? One or two?
One of Slim’s patients gave him a cured leg of bristleboar in trade fer yankin out his ingrowed toenail. He carves thick slices an fries ’em up with pigeon eggs. Everybody waits, eatin tins at the ready, mouths waterin, while he tends his big frypan. Tracker crowds so close that he sits on Slim’s foot. He don’t move his eyes as Slim turns the meat, spoons fat over the eggs. His nose twitches. Drool hangs down in long strings.
Hungry, eh, my friend? says Slim. Don’t worry, there’s plenty fer everybody, man an beast. Never heard of a tame wolfie before. Never heard of one with blue eyes neether. You had him from a pup?
No, says Emmi. He belongs to our friend Mercy, but we think she must be dead.
Well, we all gotta die, he says. You jest gotta hope you die good. Some folks wanna go in a blaze of magnificent splendour, like the sun itself. Others pray to go in their sleep. You think about these things when you git to my age. You know when I wisht I’d died?
When? says Emmi.
In my twenny first year, on a soft summer night, by the side of a sweet-runnin stream. I lay with a beautiful girl in my arms. An she told me that she loved me. A moment of pure joy.
That does sound nice, says Em.
Best moment of my life an I didn’t even know it, he says. Sometimes that’s the way it goes. Okay, grub’s up. One line, no shovin.
There’s a rush of feet, muttered thanks, then nuthin but the scrape of spoons on metal as we shovel in Slim’s tasty food. I try to remember the last time I et. I cain’t. My belly groans with relief. When we’re done, we swipe our tins clean with our fingers. Emmi lifts hers an starts to lick it with little snufflin noises.
Emmi, fer shame! says Lugh. Yer a girl, not a beast, so don’t eat like one. Good grief.
Slim was jest about to lick his too. He froze when Lugh barked at Em. He winks at her an they share a guilty grin. We all put our tins on the ground. Tracker goes around, polishin ’em with his long pink tongue.
Nero caught hisself a mouse earlier. A swoop, a squeak an a swallow. He’s already fast to sleep in the branches above, his head tucked unner his wing.
Thanks fer the meal, I says. It’s decent of you, considerin.
Even hijackers git hungry, says Slim. He stretches out his legs, settles more comfortable in his low slingchair an starts pickin his teeth with a twig.
You git hijacked much, Slim? says Emmi.
This is my first time, he says. It ain’t half bad, neether. I’m glad of the company, Moses don’t give much conversation. Nope, despitin our rocky start, this foolish old man is perfectly content.
Is that what you are? I says. A foolish old man?
His one eye gazes at me. Watery. Mild. Not too foolish to know that you don’t want this young fella comin to the notice of the Tonton, he says. He nods at Tommo. A boy who cain’t hear ain’t safe. If they got hold of him, they’d kill him.
Tommo’s flushed. His jaw set.
Nobody’s gittin hold of Tommo, says Emmi. I’d kill ’em if they even laid a finger on him! She collects the eatin tins to clean.
That’s the spirit, he says. You got a fierce champeen here, son.
I ain’t yer son, he says. An I can take care of myself.
I’m sure you can. Now . . . I can tell that you three’s kin. Slim points his finger at me, Emmi an Lugh. An Red here, well . . . it ’ud be plain to a blind man how the land lies between you two. You cain’t stop lookin at each other. He glances between Lugh an Maev. Oh, don’t sit there blushin, he says, git on with it. Life’s too short. Take her off in the bushes, my friend, an make her yer own. If you don’t, somebody else will. Hell, I might jest make a play fer her myself. That ’ud put a rocket in yer pocket. Ha ha! How’s about it, Red? You an me.
Shut yer mouth! Lugh glares murder at Slim. Hot colour scorches his cheeks.
Slim jest cackles an slaps his knees. Oh, I hit the mark there! Naw, you ain’t my type, Red. I like a hefty hen, a gal with a bit of meat on her. Slim turns to Tommo. As fer you . . . I gotta tell you, you innerest me very much indeed. You ain’t no kin to these, you ain’t got the look of ’em. Still, yer a helluva handsome boy. Gonna be a real heartbreaker. The moment I laid eyes on you, you put me strongly in mind of somebody. Who spawned you?
Emmi calls over from where she’s scourin the eatin tins with pine needles. His pa’s dead, she says. His ma too. It was a long time ago, but he don’t like to talk about it.
Slim leans in, peers at Tommo by the firelight. I never fergit a face, he says. Cain’t afford to in my line of work. Gotta remember who I deal straight with an who I deal crooked. Ha! I see a person once an I remember. The shape of the face, the set of the jaw, noses, eyes. Yuh, I’m sure I seen somebody. Not one of my customers but somewhere on my travels—
Tommo leaps to his feet. My pa’s dead! He flings hisself on the ground at the foot of a tree. He curls up, his back to us, his jacket bunched unner his head. Emmi goes over. She lays down facin him. The quiet murmur of her voice starts to drift our way.
Slim shakes his head. Didn’t mean to upset the lad. Still – nope, it’s gone. Never mind, it’ll come to me. He heaves hisself to his feet. Well, think I’ll have a little zizz. He waddles over to the Cosmic an squeezes into the back. Then it’s jest me an Lugh an Maev. Light from the full orange moon spills down into the clearin.
Maev sits in a copper pool of moonlight, gazin at the fire. She glows. She gleams. Her skin, her eyes, her hair. She looks like she slid down to earth on a moonbeam. She don’t look real. I glance at Lugh. He’s watchin her. An . . . oh my. . .
His face.
The look on his face makes my breath catch in my throat.
The hopeless longin.
The helpless yearnin.
He might as well lay at her feet an bare his throat.
Slim gimme this, says Tommo, as he unscrews the lid of a little pot an scoops out some goatweed unction. He takes my hand an starts to spread it over the bruise. He only uses one finger. He’s so gentle, I feel a lump rise in my throat.
He looks at me. He shouldn’t of hurt you, he says.
I hurt him, I says.
He gives a funny little smile. Is that how it works? he says. One hurt fer another? He drops his eyes. Concentrates on what he’s doin.
Tommo’s eyes was the first thing I ever noticed about him. Such a deep brown, they’re almost black, with long dark lashes. Eyes like a deer.
When I first met him, back at Ike’s, he was a boy. A pale bony jumble of elbows, knees an feet. He ain’t that no more. Somehow, over the past months, he’s growed to his man’s body. He’s tanned an lean. Thick, dark hair tied back from his face. Strong cheekbones. He’s good-lookin an no mistake.
The deaf boy. Take heed, Saba. He’s in love with you.
He stops what he’s doin. He knows I’m starin at him, he can feel it. A flush creeps along his cheekbones. He don’t lift his eyes as he raises my hand to his lips. He touches ’em to the bruise. I feel his breath on my skin.
I would never hurt you, he says.
Now he looks at me. He holds my eyes with his. Intent. Serious.
No. No no no no no.
Tommo, I says.
He takes in a breath.
Jest as Slim calls out, How many eggs? One or two?
One of Slim’s patients gave him a cured leg of bristleboar in trade fer yankin out his ingrowed toenail. He carves thick slices an fries ’em up with pigeon eggs. Everybody waits, eatin tins at the ready, mouths waterin, while he tends his big frypan. Tracker crowds so close that he sits on Slim’s foot. He don’t move his eyes as Slim turns the meat, spoons fat over the eggs. His nose twitches. Drool hangs down in long strings.
Hungry, eh, my friend? says Slim. Don’t worry, there’s plenty fer everybody, man an beast. Never heard of a tame wolfie before. Never heard of one with blue eyes neether. You had him from a pup?
No, says Emmi. He belongs to our friend Mercy, but we think she must be dead.
Well, we all gotta die, he says. You jest gotta hope you die good. Some folks wanna go in a blaze of magnificent splendour, like the sun itself. Others pray to go in their sleep. You think about these things when you git to my age. You know when I wisht I’d died?
When? says Emmi.
In my twenny first year, on a soft summer night, by the side of a sweet-runnin stream. I lay with a beautiful girl in my arms. An she told me that she loved me. A moment of pure joy.
That does sound nice, says Em.
Best moment of my life an I didn’t even know it, he says. Sometimes that’s the way it goes. Okay, grub’s up. One line, no shovin.
There’s a rush of feet, muttered thanks, then nuthin but the scrape of spoons on metal as we shovel in Slim’s tasty food. I try to remember the last time I et. I cain’t. My belly groans with relief. When we’re done, we swipe our tins clean with our fingers. Emmi lifts hers an starts to lick it with little snufflin noises.
Emmi, fer shame! says Lugh. Yer a girl, not a beast, so don’t eat like one. Good grief.
Slim was jest about to lick his too. He froze when Lugh barked at Em. He winks at her an they share a guilty grin. We all put our tins on the ground. Tracker goes around, polishin ’em with his long pink tongue.
Nero caught hisself a mouse earlier. A swoop, a squeak an a swallow. He’s already fast to sleep in the branches above, his head tucked unner his wing.
Thanks fer the meal, I says. It’s decent of you, considerin.
Even hijackers git hungry, says Slim. He stretches out his legs, settles more comfortable in his low slingchair an starts pickin his teeth with a twig.
You git hijacked much, Slim? says Emmi.
This is my first time, he says. It ain’t half bad, neether. I’m glad of the company, Moses don’t give much conversation. Nope, despitin our rocky start, this foolish old man is perfectly content.
Is that what you are? I says. A foolish old man?
His one eye gazes at me. Watery. Mild. Not too foolish to know that you don’t want this young fella comin to the notice of the Tonton, he says. He nods at Tommo. A boy who cain’t hear ain’t safe. If they got hold of him, they’d kill him.
Tommo’s flushed. His jaw set.
Nobody’s gittin hold of Tommo, says Emmi. I’d kill ’em if they even laid a finger on him! She collects the eatin tins to clean.
That’s the spirit, he says. You got a fierce champeen here, son.
I ain’t yer son, he says. An I can take care of myself.
I’m sure you can. Now . . . I can tell that you three’s kin. Slim points his finger at me, Emmi an Lugh. An Red here, well . . . it ’ud be plain to a blind man how the land lies between you two. You cain’t stop lookin at each other. He glances between Lugh an Maev. Oh, don’t sit there blushin, he says, git on with it. Life’s too short. Take her off in the bushes, my friend, an make her yer own. If you don’t, somebody else will. Hell, I might jest make a play fer her myself. That ’ud put a rocket in yer pocket. Ha ha! How’s about it, Red? You an me.
Shut yer mouth! Lugh glares murder at Slim. Hot colour scorches his cheeks.
Slim jest cackles an slaps his knees. Oh, I hit the mark there! Naw, you ain’t my type, Red. I like a hefty hen, a gal with a bit of meat on her. Slim turns to Tommo. As fer you . . . I gotta tell you, you innerest me very much indeed. You ain’t no kin to these, you ain’t got the look of ’em. Still, yer a helluva handsome boy. Gonna be a real heartbreaker. The moment I laid eyes on you, you put me strongly in mind of somebody. Who spawned you?
Emmi calls over from where she’s scourin the eatin tins with pine needles. His pa’s dead, she says. His ma too. It was a long time ago, but he don’t like to talk about it.
Slim leans in, peers at Tommo by the firelight. I never fergit a face, he says. Cain’t afford to in my line of work. Gotta remember who I deal straight with an who I deal crooked. Ha! I see a person once an I remember. The shape of the face, the set of the jaw, noses, eyes. Yuh, I’m sure I seen somebody. Not one of my customers but somewhere on my travels—
Tommo leaps to his feet. My pa’s dead! He flings hisself on the ground at the foot of a tree. He curls up, his back to us, his jacket bunched unner his head. Emmi goes over. She lays down facin him. The quiet murmur of her voice starts to drift our way.
Slim shakes his head. Didn’t mean to upset the lad. Still – nope, it’s gone. Never mind, it’ll come to me. He heaves hisself to his feet. Well, think I’ll have a little zizz. He waddles over to the Cosmic an squeezes into the back. Then it’s jest me an Lugh an Maev. Light from the full orange moon spills down into the clearin.
Maev sits in a copper pool of moonlight, gazin at the fire. She glows. She gleams. Her skin, her eyes, her hair. She looks like she slid down to earth on a moonbeam. She don’t look real. I glance at Lugh. He’s watchin her. An . . . oh my. . .
His face.
The look on his face makes my breath catch in my throat.
The hopeless longin.
The helpless yearnin.
He might as well lay at her feet an bare his throat.
