5. Vapas
5
VAPAS
S he cooked. And it smells like…
It cannot be. There is no way for this to be true. It is a trick of memory. Somehow my mind is filling in or overlaying what this food she has made actually smells like with the smells from memory.
I set the plates down. She is nervous and uncertain which bothers me more than it probably should, but it strikes at the core of honor. I hope to alleviate her concerns by setting my plate on the opposite side of the table. I move over to it so she won’t have to come too close to me.
I should not have surprised her. Shouldn’t have touched her hand. That was inappropriate. No wonder she is tense and on edge. The smells, the memories, they caused me to act when I should have kept back.
I take my seat then wait until she does the same. The medley looks delicious. So much like… no, memories will stay in the past. I am in this moment, now. She is a Star Person, not my beloved.
“This looks very good, thank you,” I say.
Kindness. There is nothing wrong with kindness.
On the edges of my sleepy thoughts are all the worries of last night. The Maulavi will be coming for her. Sooner than later unless I miss my guess. And what then? How will I protect her?
There is only one way.
There must be another. I cannot do that, would it not be a betrayal of my dragoste?
“Thanks, I hope it’s good. I didn’t really know what I was doing but…”
“But?” I ask when she doesn’t continue.
She shrugs and her soft, pale cheeks take on a pinkish shade.
“I don’t know. It’s silly,” she shakes her head. “It just… felt right.”
Felt right…
Memories surge but I push them down and away. No. It is not, cannot, be. Cooking by feel is exactly what my dragoste would say. Taking a deep breath the scents of the food fill my nose, fueling the memories. I blink rapidly trying to clear my head and focus.
I grunt without really meaning to. It slips out before I realize. Her soft pink color deepens further. Is that… embarrassment? I lower my head, unsure what to think, but I don’t want to cause her embarrassment.
She has lowered her head too, but I feel her eyes on me. Watching and waiting. My belly rumbles and I need to do something, so I try the food. The flavors are not exact, but so close as to not matter. The food layers over my tongue. I press my hands flat onto the table, closing my eyes, and savoring every moment.
I cannot hold back the memories. The food is too similar. The past wars with the present and in my exhaustion they blend combining into an amalgam. When I open my eyes, for an instant, it is not the human but her. My dragoste, returned to me. That is an illusion casting out from the shadows of the past. I shake my head and blink it away.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t really know what I was doing?—”
I hold up a hand to stop her. Taking the moment to finish swallowing, I clear my throat before trying to speak. Emotions rage around my head, stomping over rational thought with all the considerations of my heart, not my mind.
“It is delicious,” I say.
She smiles and my heart beats faster.
“You mean it?” she asks and though I am not familiar with the Star people everything about her exudes shyness and uncertainty.
Similar but not the same. Memory and reality are at odds. My dragoste was bold and certain. Phoebe is anything but that, yet so much is the same too. It is a crazy thought. She is not to return to me until the next world. I know of nothing in our history that says this can happen.
Yet…
“I do,” I say, staring at the plate because I can’t look at her.
I know if I do, right now, I’ll say something stupid. Something I shouldn’t say. It’s there, on my tongue, ready to burst out. I clench my jaw to keep the words from escaping into the world. Now is not the time.
If not now, when? How else do I protect her?
“I’m glad,” she says, picking up her own utensil and scooping food.
We eat in silence. There is a low tension between us. The unspoken thoughts and words are heavy, weighing on everything. I finish eating and only when she reaches over the table and takes my plate do I realize she is also done.
I look over at the door. Any moment, even right now, the Maulavi could return. When they do, it does not matter if they come in force or not, there will be nothing I can do. If I stand up I might stop them for the moment. I am certain I can take two, maybe three of them, but it will only delay the inevitable.
They would return. They would return with overwhelming force and then what? In all my tossing and turning I came up with nothing. No way to save her.
Except one.
Except one. Even that is a stretch. Will they honor the traditions? I don’t know. Not anymore. All that we Urr’ki were has been undermined and eroded by the influence of the Shaman. He is like a disease in the heart of my people. Slowly, inexorably, corrupting all that made us who we were.
Yes, we were losing the war. Yes we were desperate. I am no fool looking on some before time as if it was magical and so much better. If we had not been forced to retreat from the lizards so many times the ground would not have been fertile for him. His evil would never have taken hold and slowly ate away at all that my people once were. What I once was.
What I can be again. The choice is clear. I only have to make it. Will I hold to honor and my own integrity, or will I let fear of death and consequences stop me?
When it boils down to such simplicity there is no choice at all. I will protect her.
Looking up from the table she is cleaning the plates. She hums softly, a tune I do not know, but the similarities again calls to memory. I clear my throat, which has a lump in it. She doesn’t react so I clear it again, louder, but it comes out as an almost growl.
She stops her work, stiffening. She turns slowly, a towel gripped tight in her hands. Her face is pale, her lips a tight line.
“I have… an idea,” I say.
“Yes?” she asks while barely parting her lips.
“You will be my dragoste.”
Her knees give out and she drops.