Skillful Death (12 page)

His hands were spinning the tool inside the lip of the pipe, cleaning out any burrs. He’d worked the tool on the end of the pipe so long, daydreaming about the beautiful woman, that he’d created a dangerously sharp edge. Dom glanced over his shoulder and then smiled at himself. He was no apprentice; there was no master to spot his mistake. He could run as fast as his feet would carry him in any direction and he wouldn’t find anyone with knowledge about copper plumbing. That fact was his blessing and his curse. Being the only practitioner, he had no competition. However, with nobody else to prove his worth, he always had to fight to assert the value of his work. The homeowners would simply continue hauling buckets of water if they deemed his price too steep.

This time when she walked by, he forced his hands to stop.

He took a deep breath as she carried a pail of milk back to the dwelling.

Dom set down his tools and brushed the debris from his clothes.
 

Outside, away from the dust and smells of construction, Dom found a beautiful day. The morning’s mist melted away and the sun warmed the rocks of the path up to the pond. He circled the water to a sheltered ledge of granite where he could be alone with his thoughts. After some gentle stretches, Dom set his body to work. Through contorting his body and holding uncomfortable poses, he hoped to open his mind. Denpa, his master, taught him that when he could understand how all things and nothing where the same, he could achieve anything he desired.
 

Denpa also taught him that when he could achieve anything he desired, he would reach the state beyond desire and achievement. This important caveat was lost on Dom, so he worked to open his mind.

“Your exertion shows on your face.”

The voice startled Dom, and he fell to his knees on the rock. He looked around and saw his friend, Pemba.

“At least I’m trying,” Dom said.

“You’re supposed to look like you’re not trying,” Pemba said. “First you look like you’re not trying, then eventually you won’t have to try.”

“And I should take advice from you because…?”

“Because I already have everything I desire.”

“Which is nothing,” Dom said.

“Exactly,” Pemba said.

When Dom had first arrived in town, Pemba had been the only boy his age who would talk to him. Pemba seemed to take ownership of Dom after he rescued Dom from a terrible beating.
 

When people had seen Dom for the first time they feared his bulk, his skin, and the terrible sounds that came out of his mouth. Pemba never seemed to care about any of that, and never seemed to care that for years Dom never answered him. Everyone else thought Dom incapable of speaking or understanding, but Pemba kept talking until Dom eventually replied.

“Why aren’t you working?” Dom asked.

“Why aren’t you?”

“I’m taking a break to collect my thoughts. Besides, I can set my own schedule.”

“Can’t we all set our own schedule? Who can prevent a man from mastering his own time?”

“That’s very intellectual,” Dom said, “but you’re going to be fired from the mines. Precisely as you were fired from the bakery, and the mill, and the school.”

“So it will be,” Pemba said.

“You’re not coming back to live in my room again. I’ve told you that before. If you can’t pay your rent then you’ll live outside with the dogs and freeze until your toes fall off.”

“So it will be,” Pemba said. “I’ve brought you some fish.”

Dom loved fish. His master, Denpa, wouldn’t allow fish in the house. Denpa thought that eating fish was bad luck, so Dom had to consume it in secret.

“I’ve found out the name of your girl,” Pemba said. He folded his legs underneath himself and dragged his bag into his lap. From the depths of the bag he retrieved a woven box, which contained a hunk of fish wrapped in flatbread. He handed the food to Dom, who took it gently, with his hands cupped as if in prayer.

“What is it?” Dom asked.

“It’s fish, I told you,” Pemba said.

“What’s the woman’s name?” Dom asked.

“Which do you care more about, the fish or the girl?”

“I will gladly shove this fish down your throat until you die, and then I’ll have neither the food nor the name. Would that answer your question?” Dom asked.

“Not at all, actually,” Pemba said. He waited and smiled while Dom scooped the flakes of fish into his mouth.

“Her name is Tara, and she’s a year older than me,” Pemba said. “She comes from the side of that mountain there.” He pointed off to the northeast where a ridge of mountains formed the horizon. “Do you see where that cloud looks like a finger? It’s pointing at the hill behind which she was raised.”

“Who told you this?”

“The speaker of the seventh sun breathed a smoky tendril into my ear while I slept,” Pemba said, waving his hands above his head. Dom frowned at him until he stopped. “My mom told me.”

“How did she find out?”

“I don’t know. How do moms find anything out? She probably talked to Chasa over the wall. You should take breakfast to her. She’s not seeing anyone here, and she’s not talking about being betrothed to anyone back in the mountains. I believe that she’s available for seduction.”

“Tara,” Dom said, tasting the word.

“Just make sure you clear it with your owner first.”

Dom finished the fish and threw the bread back at his friend.

W
ITHOUT
HIS
STICK
TO
defend himself and his snake, Constantine ran. His injured leg didn’t support his weight for long. After a couple of steps it gave out, and he found himself holding it off the ground while his other leg did all the work. Blood pumped down his calf and streamed from his foot. One of the horsemen caught him easily and scooped him up with an arm around his midsection. Constantine’s blows bounced uselessly off the man’s shoulders.
 

Constantine found his consciousness fading away as the man strapped him to the back of a horse and tied a piece of cloth around the puncture wounds on his leg. Another man tried to calm the horses as the blond man tied a rope around the snake’s neck. Constantine moaned as he thought of the clean snake hide being dragged behind a stupid horse.

D
OM
SLEPT
FITFULLY
AND
awoke early. Before walking downtown, he stopped at the bakery where Pemba had once worked for almost two weeks before being fired. There, for the price of a half-day’s work, he bought several breakfast breads and some yogurt. He sat in front of the dwelling and waited for Tara.

He’d considered only her arrival, and hadn’t anticipated how awkward it would be to sit there while all the other workers arrived at the dwelling. The men and older women didn’t make eye contact with Dom. They frowned and looked away as they passed him. He sat on the wall and let their silent disapproval wash over him. The younger women either laughed or sneered as they passed.
 

Finally, when Tara came down the path, Dom stood and greeted her.

“Hello?” he asked.

“Yes?” she said.

“My name is Dom. I was wondering if you’d like to have some breakfast with me?” he gestured at the bag of breads.

“I’ve eaten breakfast already, with my aunt,” she said.
 

“Of course,” he said, biting his lip.

“You’re quite bold, approaching me this way.”

“Yes?”

“Why is your name Dom? It means ‘bear’ where I come from. You don’t look much like a bear.”

“It’s just what they called me when I first arrived. I don’t know why.”

“I will eat a bite of your breakfast in exchange for a favor. Do you agree?” she asked.

“Yes, of course,” he said, reaching down and presenting her with the bread. She tore a corner of bread from the piece he held and pushed it between her lips. He watched with his own lips slightly parted as she chewed and swallowed.

“Can you meet me here after I’m finished working?” she asked.

“Of course,” he said.

“Good. Then I’ll tell you the favor you can do for me,” she said.

As she turned, she pulled her scarf up around the back of her neck, as if she didn’t want him to look at it while she walked away.

Dom sat back down on the wall and stayed there for several minutes before he composed himself enough to go to his own job.
 

His hands moved fast all day, as if they wanted to wrap up the job so they could move onto other tasks. As the sun descended past the windows, he scrambled to install the final pipes and test all the fittings. He took no break for lunch, and simply crammed hunks of breakfast bread into his mouth whenever he had a chance. All his labor left him sweaty and dirty by the end of the day, and he realized as he walked back down the path that he was far from presentable. Before he could turn and flee, she appeared, carrying a box.

Tara walked up to Dom and waited for the other women to walk by. They shot looks at the pair and whispered to each other as they continued down the path. Tara glanced over her shoulder to make sure they were alone before she spoke.

“This is the favor,” she said, holding the box in front of her. It was a small wooden box, just bigger than the delicate fingers which held it.

He reached for the box and she pulled it back, clutching it against her chest.

“I won’t give it to you until I have your word that you’ll carry out my task.”

“Of course, you have it,” Dom said.

“You don’t know what it is yet.”

“It doesn’t matter. I’ll do it.”

“It matters to me that you know the task before you accept it.”

Dom nodded. She walked up the path that led up the hill and he caught up and walked alongside her. She didn’t speak again until they stood at the top of the hill with the pond at their back, looking down at the rooftops of the village. Dom stood next to the trough which he’d dug to supply water to the tank that gravity-fed the pipes he’d installed. He was proud of the ingenuity he’d employed to create the water supply, and was about to boast about it when Tara finally spoke.

“Inside this box is a small knife. It’s a ceremonial knife, and it can only be viewed when it’s about to be used, so you must not open the box before the correct time.”

“Okay,” Dom said.

He waited for her to speak again, and when she didn’t, he began rehearsing a question in his head: “What’s the knife used for?” Before he could ask it, she answered the question.

“You really don’t know? You’ll use the knife to cleave my soul from my physical body,” she said.

“Pardon?” Dom asked.

“This knife, inside the box,” she said. She held it out in front of her chest.

Dom reached for it and she pulled it back.

“No, you can’t have it now,” she said. She wrinkled her brow and squeezed her eyes shut. “You do understand the importance of what I’m asking you?”

“No?”

“You don’t understand?”

“Yes?”

“I’ve made a mistake,” she said. “I thought you were the one I was supposed to meet. Tell me,” she said, stretching her words and leaving gaps between them, “do you have job?”

“Yes,” he said, cocking his head and wondering if he should be offended.

“What...is...it?” she asked. “Your job?”

“I’m a plumber,” he said.

“What’s a plumber?”

“I install pipes in houses to bring them water. This trench is one of mine. It feeds a dozen houses on this street,” he said, gesturing to the stone-lined trough next to where they stood.

“I’ve heard about you,” Tara said. “The man too lazy to carry a bucket of water.”

“Yes,” Dom said. He’d grown accustomed to the jibes from those who couldn’t afford pipes installed in their houses. Wealthy people understood the convenience he was offering. Nobody else did.

“So you work with your hands. You build things. You should have at least passing intelligence, yes?”

“I suppose,” he said. Dom knew himself to be good at figuring things out, but he’d never considered himself very intelligent.