The Ibutatu House, Isla Dzum
It wasn’t as if he never cried. Perhaps he’d have liked to be able to say so, but Aremu knew better. He’d wept like a child when Uzoji had told him Tom was dead, and the other man had held him tightly. He’d wept nearly as much when he’d found Tom again, and not exactly from relief. He’d cried since – thinking about it, Aremu thought grimly, was not helping.
It was the headache, he told himself. Perhaps he’d’ve had these thoughts regardless, but it was just because his head hurt that they seemed to ache so much inside him, that they seemed to threaten at every moment to stream down his cheeks.
He didn’t think he could bear Aurelie touching him just then, and yet at the same time he ached rather desperately for her to put her arms around him. He thought he’d have broken down if she had; he felt ashamed just thinking of it, mostly for how badly he wanted to. This was absurd; she was the one who had escaped from Brunnhold not a week earlier, who was calmly and cheerfully telling Efere a story, and he felt as if he was coming apart at the seams, battered apart by the waves and washed off into the distance.
Aremu hadn’t wanted to look; he did, when he heard her voice, turning to glance at her. Moisture gleamed in his eyes; he closed them, and blinked it away, his hand settled on his lap, and looked at her once more. I loved that story, she said, thoughtfully.
It’s for children, I know, Aremu wanted to say. I know, I know – I’m sorry to have – I shouldn’t have – lying, he thought, or the sort of truth which brushed up against it, would have been better. He felt desperately ashamed; he thought it could only get worse as she went on, but he didn’t dare interrupt, no more than she had.
Real to everyone, Aurelie said. Aremu nodded, mute. Of course, he thought to say. Yes, you’re right, and we’re not. It’s a foolish – it was just the way it struck me, that’s all. She didn’t keep on; she wasn’t sure, she told him, what it was about.
Aremu nodded again, mute; his head pounded, and he closed his eyes another moment, taking a deep breath and tracing his fingers along his temple, pressing them in just a bit.
“No, ah,” Aremu took a deep breath, when Aurelie left off after saying she ought to have picked something different. “Efere liked it. I liked it too. Too much, I, um," his face twitched, "I suppose."
I should go, Aremu wanted to say; I’m tired. I think I should lie down, before I embarrass myself more. He looked at her, instead; his voice cracked a little when he went on. “What do you think it's about?” Aremu asked.
He didn’t know if she’d want to answer; he didn’t know if he’d had any right to ask. He thought if he went now, however badly he wanted to – some door he wasn’t sure was open would close, and he’d lose his chance. His chance at what, he asked himself, and he couldn’t quite answer; he was busy looking at the small, intent frown on Aurelie’s face, the tight grip of her fingers on the arm of the chair.
Come here, he wanted to say; Aremu shifted, as if to make space for her, looking down at the edge of his chair, and then back at her. It’s all right, he wanted to say, here in the light – we don’t have to only be together in the darkness of the cave, or beneath the blankets when it’s dark outside.
Carefully, a little ashamed and a little unsure, Aremu extended his hand, palm up and fingers a little curled; carefully, more frightened than anything, Aremu would do his best to pull Aurelie a little closer, inviting but never forceful.