Late Night, 35 Ophus, 2701
Imbala Boys Dormitory, Thul'Amat
Imbala Boys Dormitory, Thul'Amat
Aremu could not sleep.
The other boys were snoring. They were four, in the small room, with one bunked bed sideways against one wall and two sticking out from the other, space between them. Three of them had wanted the top bunk, but Aremu had won the mad dash up the ladder in a flurry of elbows and bare feet. His nose still hurt, but that was not the problem.
He was hungry, but that was not the problem. He had learned about hunger; he had thought it was the same as being told to go to bed without supper. It was not so, and now he knew. Ada’na Rayowa always gave him enough food when he went to Uzoji’s house. He could sit in the kitchen and eat as much as he liked.
But that was before, and now he was at Thul’Amat, and everything was different once more. Aremu did not know where to go if he was hungry in the nighttime, or even if it was allowed. He could have eaten more at dinner. The older boys who had tripped him – the food splattered across his front – the feeling of amusement that had rippled through their fields – it should not have mattered. His shoulder still hurt, where it had banged against the table, but that was not the problem.
Aremu shifted again on the mattress; it creaked, and he went still, and curled his face into his pillow, and huddled beneath the warm, scratchy blanket. Someone was opening the door; he could see a thin shaft of light trickling into the room. He did not breathe, not but scarcely. Footsteps, quiet, and through peeked open eyelids Aremu could see an older man checking on them; his hand brushed the heads of the sleeping boys in the beds. He came over to the bunkbeds, and Aremu pretended to be asleep, because he could lie now.
The footsteps grew softer again, and the door shut, and Aremu sat up, and rubbed at his eyes with his hands.
He squirmed out of the bed, down the ladder; he froze at the bottom, because he thought he might have woken the boy below him, but Kago just muttered and went back to snoring. Kago pez Iato, Aremu remembered, and he rubbed his eyes again. He went to the window, and peered outside through the glass; it was cold, but not too cold, not for him, not really.
Aremu glanced around, and then he eased the window open, slowly and steadily. He had seen outside earlier – they all had, because Dzuro had come in earlier shouting about an important politician walking onto the campus, and they had crowded around the window to see. And Aremu had seen – next to the thin ledge – a long pipe that ran up the side of the building.
Aremu pulled himself up onto the inside of the window ledge, and crouched on it, and wriggled his way through the bottom of the opening. He leaned out, and eased one hand to the pipe, first, finding the fitting where it joined to the wall. He tucked his fingers into the space there, and then he shifted, and eased one bare foot out as well, pressing it firmly against the fitting just below. And then, because it was no different, really, than all the things he had climbed before, Aremu slid himself off the window ledge and onto the pipe.
He clung, at first, but there was wind and it tore at his bedclothes, and so Aremu began to climb. He went up and up and up, hand over hand, toes pushing at the pipe and the wall, and then it was over, and he was a little sorry, crouched on the flat roof. He sat on the edge of it, feet dangling off the side, and looked out at the city, Thul Ka, spread out in the distance, lit by the stars and the moon, and here and there, a glimmer of lights. In the distance – yes, Aremu thought, that was Cinnamon Hill, the bulge that rose up and shone over the city. The lights were too bright, and that was why his eyes were stinging wet.
Aremu flopped down, and lay with his back on the roof, and stared up at the stars above instead. They made shapes, he thought. He knew that they had names, those shapes; people in the desert had used the shapes to figure out where they were, when they were lost in all that sand. Aremu could imagine it, because he wasn’t a baby and he’d been outside in sandstorms before. Like that, only more – so much more – and thicker and higher, like it would swallow you up.
But Aremu didn’t know the names, and he didn’t know who he could ask. He extended his arm out, and squinted, so that he couldn’t see much beyond the tip of his finger. That one looked like a leaf, he decided, and he traced the shape, slowly. Not just any leaf. It would be a sacred leaf of Vulker – a very important leaf – a leaf that had fallen as Vulker walked beneath a tree, one day, and brushed his shoulder, and because he had stopped to look at it, something very bad had been averted.
Only a little leaf, Aremu decided, and the Gods had not even thought to notice it, but they had, and it had done wonderful things, and they had given it a home in the stars, forever.
Aremu sniffled, and kept looking, slowly. There, he thought. It was a turtle, that one, and –
Aremu pulled his hand back, and turned his face to the side, and then his whole body came with it, and he curled himself up on the hard flat surface of the roof. He closed his eyes, and he covered his face with his hands, and he breathed, slowly and carefully and deeply. He had heard Tsuko sniffling into his pillow when he had thought everyone was asleep.
Slowly, Aremu rolled back onto his back, and blinked until his eyes were clear. A turtle, he thought fiercely, when he found it again. A turtle.
Aremu kept looking. This one was a man, he thought. He couldn’t find the man’s head, but there were his arms – one stretched out in front of him, and the other raised up over his head, and there was the bulky shape of his body, and two legs, going down. Yes! And there in the raised up arm, another shape, like a knife, a line that extended up from it. It was a man, and he was a warrior; he was very strong, and he never cried.
Or maybe he did sometimes, Aremu thought. But not for himself. He cried for other people, sometimes, when bad things happened to them and they could not fight. But he didn’t cry for himself, because he could fight off all the bad things that happened to him. Because if he cried, he wouldn’t have time for fighting, and it was better to fight than to cry. But sometimes he did, for other people, and then it was all right. Aremu traced the shape of him out again, just to be sure, but the man shone bright against all the rest of the stars, and Aremu knew his name without having to think about it.
Aremu stopped squinting, and turned his head, slowly, taking in all the stars across the sky. There were so many of them – and so many shapes, hidden amongst them. It would take a very long time to name them all. Maybe, he thought, he should find a place to start, a corner of the sky, so that he would not forget. Like a diagram, a proper one. He sat up, and went to the other edge of the roof, and crouched there, and he squinted at the horizon over the heart of the Turga, and drew his gaze slowly, steadily up. There, he thought, when he found the first bright star, and the rest of the shape it belonged to, like a hammer. He would start there, and he would make a map of them, and he would know their names.
It was hard work, finding all the stars, but Aremu was not scared of it. He had meant to work all night, and he tried, but sleep snuck up on him when he lay down again. It wrapped its arms around him and drew him beneath its waters, and Aremu woke up to a sticky face and the faint glimmer of distant light, gray against the horizon. He hurried back to the edge of the roof, and he placed his feet on either side of the pipe, and he climbed down, one hand at a time, until he saw the little open window and the ledge beneath. He shifted over, and wriggled back into the room, and sat on the ledge until he was sure all his roommates were still asleep. And then he shut the window, and he crawled back up to the top of the bunk, and he shut his eyes.
His hands were cold, and his face too, and all the rest of him, but that was not a problem. Aremu burrowed beneath his blankets, and sighed into his pillow, and he thought of each of the constellations he had found, and named them one by one until he fell back to sleep, with a smile on his face.
The other boys were snoring. They were four, in the small room, with one bunked bed sideways against one wall and two sticking out from the other, space between them. Three of them had wanted the top bunk, but Aremu had won the mad dash up the ladder in a flurry of elbows and bare feet. His nose still hurt, but that was not the problem.
He was hungry, but that was not the problem. He had learned about hunger; he had thought it was the same as being told to go to bed without supper. It was not so, and now he knew. Ada’na Rayowa always gave him enough food when he went to Uzoji’s house. He could sit in the kitchen and eat as much as he liked.
But that was before, and now he was at Thul’Amat, and everything was different once more. Aremu did not know where to go if he was hungry in the nighttime, or even if it was allowed. He could have eaten more at dinner. The older boys who had tripped him – the food splattered across his front – the feeling of amusement that had rippled through their fields – it should not have mattered. His shoulder still hurt, where it had banged against the table, but that was not the problem.
Aremu shifted again on the mattress; it creaked, and he went still, and curled his face into his pillow, and huddled beneath the warm, scratchy blanket. Someone was opening the door; he could see a thin shaft of light trickling into the room. He did not breathe, not but scarcely. Footsteps, quiet, and through peeked open eyelids Aremu could see an older man checking on them; his hand brushed the heads of the sleeping boys in the beds. He came over to the bunkbeds, and Aremu pretended to be asleep, because he could lie now.
The footsteps grew softer again, and the door shut, and Aremu sat up, and rubbed at his eyes with his hands.
He squirmed out of the bed, down the ladder; he froze at the bottom, because he thought he might have woken the boy below him, but Kago just muttered and went back to snoring. Kago pez Iato, Aremu remembered, and he rubbed his eyes again. He went to the window, and peered outside through the glass; it was cold, but not too cold, not for him, not really.
Aremu glanced around, and then he eased the window open, slowly and steadily. He had seen outside earlier – they all had, because Dzuro had come in earlier shouting about an important politician walking onto the campus, and they had crowded around the window to see. And Aremu had seen – next to the thin ledge – a long pipe that ran up the side of the building.
Aremu pulled himself up onto the inside of the window ledge, and crouched on it, and wriggled his way through the bottom of the opening. He leaned out, and eased one hand to the pipe, first, finding the fitting where it joined to the wall. He tucked his fingers into the space there, and then he shifted, and eased one bare foot out as well, pressing it firmly against the fitting just below. And then, because it was no different, really, than all the things he had climbed before, Aremu slid himself off the window ledge and onto the pipe.
He clung, at first, but there was wind and it tore at his bedclothes, and so Aremu began to climb. He went up and up and up, hand over hand, toes pushing at the pipe and the wall, and then it was over, and he was a little sorry, crouched on the flat roof. He sat on the edge of it, feet dangling off the side, and looked out at the city, Thul Ka, spread out in the distance, lit by the stars and the moon, and here and there, a glimmer of lights. In the distance – yes, Aremu thought, that was Cinnamon Hill, the bulge that rose up and shone over the city. The lights were too bright, and that was why his eyes were stinging wet.
Aremu flopped down, and lay with his back on the roof, and stared up at the stars above instead. They made shapes, he thought. He knew that they had names, those shapes; people in the desert had used the shapes to figure out where they were, when they were lost in all that sand. Aremu could imagine it, because he wasn’t a baby and he’d been outside in sandstorms before. Like that, only more – so much more – and thicker and higher, like it would swallow you up.
But Aremu didn’t know the names, and he didn’t know who he could ask. He extended his arm out, and squinted, so that he couldn’t see much beyond the tip of his finger. That one looked like a leaf, he decided, and he traced the shape, slowly. Not just any leaf. It would be a sacred leaf of Vulker – a very important leaf – a leaf that had fallen as Vulker walked beneath a tree, one day, and brushed his shoulder, and because he had stopped to look at it, something very bad had been averted.
Only a little leaf, Aremu decided, and the Gods had not even thought to notice it, but they had, and it had done wonderful things, and they had given it a home in the stars, forever.
Aremu sniffled, and kept looking, slowly. There, he thought. It was a turtle, that one, and –
Aremu pulled his hand back, and turned his face to the side, and then his whole body came with it, and he curled himself up on the hard flat surface of the roof. He closed his eyes, and he covered his face with his hands, and he breathed, slowly and carefully and deeply. He had heard Tsuko sniffling into his pillow when he had thought everyone was asleep.
Slowly, Aremu rolled back onto his back, and blinked until his eyes were clear. A turtle, he thought fiercely, when he found it again. A turtle.
Aremu kept looking. This one was a man, he thought. He couldn’t find the man’s head, but there were his arms – one stretched out in front of him, and the other raised up over his head, and there was the bulky shape of his body, and two legs, going down. Yes! And there in the raised up arm, another shape, like a knife, a line that extended up from it. It was a man, and he was a warrior; he was very strong, and he never cried.
Or maybe he did sometimes, Aremu thought. But not for himself. He cried for other people, sometimes, when bad things happened to them and they could not fight. But he didn’t cry for himself, because he could fight off all the bad things that happened to him. Because if he cried, he wouldn’t have time for fighting, and it was better to fight than to cry. But sometimes he did, for other people, and then it was all right. Aremu traced the shape of him out again, just to be sure, but the man shone bright against all the rest of the stars, and Aremu knew his name without having to think about it.
Aremu stopped squinting, and turned his head, slowly, taking in all the stars across the sky. There were so many of them – and so many shapes, hidden amongst them. It would take a very long time to name them all. Maybe, he thought, he should find a place to start, a corner of the sky, so that he would not forget. Like a diagram, a proper one. He sat up, and went to the other edge of the roof, and crouched there, and he squinted at the horizon over the heart of the Turga, and drew his gaze slowly, steadily up. There, he thought, when he found the first bright star, and the rest of the shape it belonged to, like a hammer. He would start there, and he would make a map of them, and he would know their names.
It was hard work, finding all the stars, but Aremu was not scared of it. He had meant to work all night, and he tried, but sleep snuck up on him when he lay down again. It wrapped its arms around him and drew him beneath its waters, and Aremu woke up to a sticky face and the faint glimmer of distant light, gray against the horizon. He hurried back to the edge of the roof, and he placed his feet on either side of the pipe, and he climbed down, one hand at a time, until he saw the little open window and the ledge beneath. He shifted over, and wriggled back into the room, and sat on the ledge until he was sure all his roommates were still asleep. And then he shut the window, and he crawled back up to the top of the bunk, and he shut his eyes.
His hands were cold, and his face too, and all the rest of him, but that was not a problem. Aremu burrowed beneath his blankets, and sighed into his pillow, and he thought of each of the constellations he had found, and named them one by one until he fell back to sleep, with a smile on his face.
