Parhelion
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Chapter 1: The First Break
Anju marks time in terms of two men: she remained a girl until her father died, and she became an adult when Kafei returned. There was no in-between. The two events pierced her life on the same day.
:::
Mama is very capable. For longer than the twenty years of my life, she has managed the Stock Pot Inn alone. I have offered to take on tasks in the past, but she said I was too young and forgetful.
However, earlier this morning, I saw Mister Dolor in a hushed conversation with her; a few minutes later, after telling me, Sit at the front desk but don't touch anything and stop looking confused, Mama rushed out into the rain without an umbrella.
So for the first time in my life, I am left in charge of the inn, except today I want to go outside to find out what is wrong, and I can't. Instead, I am shackled to the lobby by my duty and by a reservations list that is nearly blank but for a single scribble at the top. The handwriting is Mama's small letters and I can barely make out the time written there. If it were not for M. K-- O-- who will arrive shortly, we might have closed the inn for a day.
After all, business has been slow, as is typical in December. During other seasons, we are generally well-off; these, however, are the months when we have to count the rupees in our wallets, use kerosene instead of candles, drink milk instead of wine. The rooms are almost always empty. Clock Town is too drab for tourists during the winter, drizzly instead of covered white with snow--but you should come one spring to see the carnival! Our town is beautiful, then.
Upon looking down I realize I have been drawing on the paper with a pink crayon. I think it is supposed to be a sketch of the carnival, but a stranger would probably say it looks more like a mess of tropical flowers. Mama will be upset that I am so easily distracted even when at work.
At this moment, the door opens; in my consternation, I hide the colored reservations sheet behind my back as I greet the guest, whose hat and raincoat are all but dripping rivers. "Welcome to the Stock Pot Inn. Um...may I take your coat and hat?"
I look more closely at the man. To my dismay, I know him. His jaw is stronger and a little unshaven, his voice is deeper, and his eyes are sharper than I remember, but I still recognize the round face and the ridiculous purple hair. "I'm only stopping by for a moment," says Kafei, but he tips his hat in a mock-gallant gesture, scattering water all over the floor, which I'd already mopped and dried.
"What's this," he teases when I make no move toward him. "I'm gone two years and you won't even say hello?"
I say the appropriate hello, but I suddenly don't have the energy to cope with his sudden arrival. I have a headache and my stomach feels like a black hole. Somewhere in my mind buzzes the mantra, Please-please-go-away. But I don't tell him to leave; instead, I offer, "I thought...wasn't it only one and a half?" My mouth moves on auto-polite.
Kafei laughs and shakes his head. "One and three-quarters. I left in spring, right before the carnival." He winks. "Which may have been a good decision on my part. Was the carnival really as garishly pink as that?"
It takes me a second to realize he's referring to the paper I hold in my hand. A little red myself, I say, "These are rhododendrons," which makes him laugh again.
"If they were flowers--"
The conversation could go on forever. "Hey," I interrupt. A little taken aback at my own forwardness, I forget for a second what I want to say, but Kafei raises his eyebrow inquiringly and I remember. "Do the others--well, your family--do they know you're back? Shouldn't you be going home? But I'm not kicking you out," I add hastily (even though I am).
For the first time he looks a little uneasy. "Not yet," he says, "although I do have some things to take care of." He hesitates. "Yes, I should go. But I'll have my room key first."
I don't know what the situation is that would make him avoid his own house, but I tell him I he's not on the list. "The only name written here is some--well, it looks like Oo....Ootou--Dotour? Oh dear, Mama's o's look like d's." I sigh, feeling more incompetent than usual. "I'm sorry. Here is your key, Mr. Dotour. Have a nice day."
My scatterbrained manner returns the grin to his face. "Thank you, Miss Innkeeper," he says, matching my formal tone. Then his voice is easy again. "If your shift is over, meet me at the Laundry Pool. Six o'clock."
Smiling disarmingly as though the past two years have not happened, he re-exits into the rain. It is all very abrupt; my mouth is still open to turn him down. I don't know why he returned today. I didn't even know why he left back then.
It is several minutes before my muscles relax and I am able to lean on the counter; even then, the inn reeks of tension. I'll meet him at the Pool, if only to relieve this unnamed anxiety that constricts my heart.
:::
Six o'clock comes. Mama isn't back yet. Hoping to hear some news, I stepped outside to purchase some milk. The whispers go that my father--but they are only rumors, lies....
Pitying eyes hounded me all the way back to the inn. Now I am standing alone in the kitchen with the door shut, the lights out, the stove off.
Six o'clock goes with the sun, a silent hour shrouded in black.
:::
Around seven (in the darkness I lost track of the time), Kafei steps into the kitchen. "Where's the light in here? Anju?" I hear him strike a match, and a gas-lamp flares to life. Upon seeing my face, which by that time is unattractively puffy, he makes a motion to put the light back out but checks himself.
Instead, he tosses his raincoat onto the counter, smothering my onions. "I couldn't find you at the front desk," he begins.
"I'm sorry," I mutter robotically.
He makes a noise of exasperation at that. In two strides Kafei is across the room, gripping my shoulders with such intensity that I fear he will shake me. But all he does is stand before me, looking angry and baffled and I don't know what. His hands are viselike and they hurt, but when I begin to squirm, he lets go and retreats a step.
We are both still for a moment. Then he nods to the door and says, "Close the inn and go to the funeral." I shake my head, saying something about managing the inn in Mama's absence. With a huff, he says, "Your mother should have taken you herself." Then, more coaxingly: "Prioritize, Anju. Come on, I'll go with you. Besides, I know I'm the only guest you have to worry about."
When I don't respond, Kafei makes the decision for me. He picks up his coat and drapes it over my back.
We leave the inn together, shivering in the drizzle. Even though I'm wearing a coat, my hands are numb from gripping the umbrella. Although it blocks the light rain, the air all around is moist and my skin and clothes quickly grow damp.
The guard of East Clock Town murmurs, "My condolences," as we pass him. I feel lightheaded. This is the first time I've ever gone to Ikana, where the night sky is darkest.
People in Clock Town say the graveyard is for those who lived quiet lives. The adventurous ones usually die abroad; or if they are buried, they become restless in their graves and haunt the living. Father left home when I was seven to explore the Great Bay; they say he joined up with pirates. I never thought he would return just to be buried. I imagine the East is too dry for him, anyway.
I've been following Kafei blindly, but at the sound of a dirge being played, I pause. "Let's go back," I whisper to him, whose hand is already on the gate to the graveyard.
"Now?" He is startled. "Why?"
"I just don't want to be there now," I say. At least, I almost say it, but my voice shudders on "want" and the remainder of the sentence flounders at the back of my throat. My saliva thickens so it's hard to swallow; my nose becomes all runny and gross and embarrassing. I don't want to cry in front of Kafei, but it's hard to dam the tears because they've been spilling for the last hour. Even as they water, my exhausted eyes itch and burn.
Kafei shakes his head uncomfortably, but he turns around and walks in the opposite direction with the same sure gait. He is silent as we return to Clock Town; I trail after him miserably like an animal, breathing shallowly and sniffling a lot. Yet despite my wet face, everything inside me feels so dry. I'm an empty well.
:::
Mama is very capable. For longer than the twenty years of my life, she has managed the Stock Pot Inn alone. I have offered to take on tasks in the past, but she said I was too young and forgetful.
However, earlier this morning, I saw Mister Dolor in a hushed conversation with her; a few minutes later, after telling me, Sit at the front desk but don't touch anything and stop looking confused, Mama rushed out into the rain without an umbrella.
So for the first time in my life, I am left in charge of the inn, except today I want to go outside to find out what is wrong, and I can't. Instead, I am shackled to the lobby by my duty and by a reservations list that is nearly blank but for a single scribble at the top. The handwriting is Mama's small letters and I can barely make out the time written there. If it were not for M. K-- O-- who will arrive shortly, we might have closed the inn for a day.
After all, business has been slow, as is typical in December. During other seasons, we are generally well-off; these, however, are the months when we have to count the rupees in our wallets, use kerosene instead of candles, drink milk instead of wine. The rooms are almost always empty. Clock Town is too drab for tourists during the winter, drizzly instead of covered white with snow--but you should come one spring to see the carnival! Our town is beautiful, then.
Upon looking down I realize I have been drawing on the paper with a pink crayon. I think it is supposed to be a sketch of the carnival, but a stranger would probably say it looks more like a mess of tropical flowers. Mama will be upset that I am so easily distracted even when at work.
At this moment, the door opens; in my consternation, I hide the colored reservations sheet behind my back as I greet the guest, whose hat and raincoat are all but dripping rivers. "Welcome to the Stock Pot Inn. Um...may I take your coat and hat?"
I look more closely at the man. To my dismay, I know him. His jaw is stronger and a little unshaven, his voice is deeper, and his eyes are sharper than I remember, but I still recognize the round face and the ridiculous purple hair. "I'm only stopping by for a moment," says Kafei, but he tips his hat in a mock-gallant gesture, scattering water all over the floor, which I'd already mopped and dried.
"What's this," he teases when I make no move toward him. "I'm gone two years and you won't even say hello?"
I say the appropriate hello, but I suddenly don't have the energy to cope with his sudden arrival. I have a headache and my stomach feels like a black hole. Somewhere in my mind buzzes the mantra, Please-please-go-away. But I don't tell him to leave; instead, I offer, "I thought...wasn't it only one and a half?" My mouth moves on auto-polite.
Kafei laughs and shakes his head. "One and three-quarters. I left in spring, right before the carnival." He winks. "Which may have been a good decision on my part. Was the carnival really as garishly pink as that?"
It takes me a second to realize he's referring to the paper I hold in my hand. A little red myself, I say, "These are rhododendrons," which makes him laugh again.
"If they were flowers--"
The conversation could go on forever. "Hey," I interrupt. A little taken aback at my own forwardness, I forget for a second what I want to say, but Kafei raises his eyebrow inquiringly and I remember. "Do the others--well, your family--do they know you're back? Shouldn't you be going home? But I'm not kicking you out," I add hastily (even though I am).
For the first time he looks a little uneasy. "Not yet," he says, "although I do have some things to take care of." He hesitates. "Yes, I should go. But I'll have my room key first."
I don't know what the situation is that would make him avoid his own house, but I tell him I he's not on the list. "The only name written here is some--well, it looks like Oo....Ootou--Dotour? Oh dear, Mama's o's look like d's." I sigh, feeling more incompetent than usual. "I'm sorry. Here is your key, Mr. Dotour. Have a nice day."
My scatterbrained manner returns the grin to his face. "Thank you, Miss Innkeeper," he says, matching my formal tone. Then his voice is easy again. "If your shift is over, meet me at the Laundry Pool. Six o'clock."
Smiling disarmingly as though the past two years have not happened, he re-exits into the rain. It is all very abrupt; my mouth is still open to turn him down. I don't know why he returned today. I didn't even know why he left back then.
It is several minutes before my muscles relax and I am able to lean on the counter; even then, the inn reeks of tension. I'll meet him at the Pool, if only to relieve this unnamed anxiety that constricts my heart.
:::
Six o'clock comes. Mama isn't back yet. Hoping to hear some news, I stepped outside to purchase some milk. The whispers go that my father--but they are only rumors, lies....
Pitying eyes hounded me all the way back to the inn. Now I am standing alone in the kitchen with the door shut, the lights out, the stove off.
Six o'clock goes with the sun, a silent hour shrouded in black.
:::
Around seven (in the darkness I lost track of the time), Kafei steps into the kitchen. "Where's the light in here? Anju?" I hear him strike a match, and a gas-lamp flares to life. Upon seeing my face, which by that time is unattractively puffy, he makes a motion to put the light back out but checks himself.
Instead, he tosses his raincoat onto the counter, smothering my onions. "I couldn't find you at the front desk," he begins.
"I'm sorry," I mutter robotically.
He makes a noise of exasperation at that. In two strides Kafei is across the room, gripping my shoulders with such intensity that I fear he will shake me. But all he does is stand before me, looking angry and baffled and I don't know what. His hands are viselike and they hurt, but when I begin to squirm, he lets go and retreats a step.
We are both still for a moment. Then he nods to the door and says, "Close the inn and go to the funeral." I shake my head, saying something about managing the inn in Mama's absence. With a huff, he says, "Your mother should have taken you herself." Then, more coaxingly: "Prioritize, Anju. Come on, I'll go with you. Besides, I know I'm the only guest you have to worry about."
When I don't respond, Kafei makes the decision for me. He picks up his coat and drapes it over my back.
We leave the inn together, shivering in the drizzle. Even though I'm wearing a coat, my hands are numb from gripping the umbrella. Although it blocks the light rain, the air all around is moist and my skin and clothes quickly grow damp.
The guard of East Clock Town murmurs, "My condolences," as we pass him. I feel lightheaded. This is the first time I've ever gone to Ikana, where the night sky is darkest.
People in Clock Town say the graveyard is for those who lived quiet lives. The adventurous ones usually die abroad; or if they are buried, they become restless in their graves and haunt the living. Father left home when I was seven to explore the Great Bay; they say he joined up with pirates. I never thought he would return just to be buried. I imagine the East is too dry for him, anyway.
I've been following Kafei blindly, but at the sound of a dirge being played, I pause. "Let's go back," I whisper to him, whose hand is already on the gate to the graveyard.
"Now?" He is startled. "Why?"
"I just don't want to be there now," I say. At least, I almost say it, but my voice shudders on "want" and the remainder of the sentence flounders at the back of my throat. My saliva thickens so it's hard to swallow; my nose becomes all runny and gross and embarrassing. I don't want to cry in front of Kafei, but it's hard to dam the tears because they've been spilling for the last hour. Even as they water, my exhausted eyes itch and burn.
Kafei shakes his head uncomfortably, but he turns around and walks in the opposite direction with the same sure gait. He is silent as we return to Clock Town; I trail after him miserably like an animal, breathing shallowly and sniffling a lot. Yet despite my wet face, everything inside me feels so dry. I'm an empty well.
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- Chapter 1: The First Break
- Chapter 2: Cobwebs
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