Redemption in Indigo (3 page)

Driven by the mania of his obsession and blinded by the melancholy of loneliness, Ansige made his choices and boarded a five-hour omnibus to Makendha with nothing more than a small suitcase and a packet of antinausea, antacid chews. Then, because he still had quite a large amount of money, he hopped off briefly at the first stop to buy food, just in case his stomach recovered during the trip.

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Semwe headed Ansige off before he could come to their door and ushered him into the village's guest lodge. For the sake of his daughter, he tried to talk as if he were really glad to see Ansige. ‘How nice to see you again. Did you have a pleasant journey?'

It was the perfect trigger. Ansige unreeled the tale of his tribulations, thoroughly ransacking the truth and then dipping into the bag of embellishment and sprinkling with a free hand. He noted how Semwe's face grew agonised in sympathy at hearing that such a horrible experience could happen to anyone in a supposedly safe country. He was only partially correct. Semwe was counting under his breath with a kind of furious amazement at the fact that Ansige had been talking nonstop for twenty-five minutes with no more encouragement than a glazed look.

'You must be hungry,’ he interjected desperately.

It was the perfect distraction. Ansige choked off in midflow and murmured weakly that yes, he was indeed rather famished.

'I have the perfect solution. Come with me.'

Semwe led him from the lodge to the edge of his own field, where a young lamb was tethered.

'Yours,’ he told Ansige, untying the cord and hooking the loops over Ansige's eagerly outstretched hand. ‘It will make a good dinner. Take it, tie it in the court in front of the lodge for now. I must go tell Paama you are here.'

Off he went to find Paama and tell her about Ansige's arrival. It took him a while because Paama had already seen Ansige from a distance and didn't want to be found. Eventually she relented, to spare her family the shame of a grown daughter hiding like a child.

'Besides,’ she said to herself, ‘if I know my husband, it will not take him long to get into very deep trouble.'

She went to the lodge, but to her surprise he was not there. She began to wander through the village, looking for him with more duty than enthusiasm. Finally she made herself widen the search to the fields. By then twilight was deepening to dusk, so rather than go far, Paama decided she would only visit her family's lands. The moment she saw what was happening there, she clapped her hands over her mouth for one frozen moment of horror and then started to run.

So that you may understand what has happened, we must go back to the moment when Semwe left Ansige holding the lamb by its tether. You will recall that Ansige was supposed to take it back to the court outside the lodge. Well, he did take one step, but then his stomach snarled at him, and his thoughts ran thus:

He was really hungry.

If he took the lamb back to the lodge, he would be compelled by courtesy to share it with any other guests staying there.

He was practically starving, and he did not want to do this.

Semwe gave the lamb to
him
. Why shouldn't he enjoy it by himself?

He looked around, and there was a corner of ruined old wall, and in its shadow a space of blackened earth and stone. Someone had lit a fire there once, and so could he. Tugging the protesting beast after him, he went back and forth across the field, gathering sticks and grass and other fuel, and heaping them up by the sheltering bricks of the old, broken wall. Then he drew out his knife and rolled up his sleeves.

Anyone who has ever butchered an animal will not need to have the messy business described. They will, however, wonder whatever possessed Ansige to opt for hastily butchered, half-barbecued, unseasoned carcass of lamb when he could have had a proper meal shared with his fellow human beings. I will not try to explain his behaviour. I have already made it quite clear that the man has problems, and so we cannot expect him to act logically.

It was not even this scene that caused Paama's reaction. It so happened that after Ansige somehow managed to pick the lamb down to well-gnawed bones, he still felt cravings. He looked around for something to??ell??ot pack the empty spaces, for they were already packed, but to give his stomach that pleasantly stretched sensation without which he always felt slightly uneasy. His eyes anxiously scanned the flat lands from horizon to horizon until he saw a sheep, half-hidden amid a clump of tall khus-khus grass.

No, he won't, I hear you saying. Make him a glutton, make him a fool, but do not make him a thief, for we cannot believe that such a man would stoop to larceny. Very well, let me once again explain his thoughts, but I do not want to have to do this too often. He employs a twisted kind of logic, but one that still works when the will is looking for any excuse. Thus runs the train of his reasoning:

Thought 1: I am Semwe's guest.

Thought 2: It is Semwe's responsibility to feed his guest.

Thought 3: These are Semwe's lands.

Thought 4: The sheep is on Semwe's lands and is therefore Semwe's sheep, and so I can eat it.

Don't be startled at the galloping logic in the last thought. The will is usually in a hurry to get to the point of justification.

His blunted conscience nudged him slightly. Was that sheep really Semwe's? His whole argument swung on that point, and if the reasoning-out of his actions was not firmly grounded, the uncertainty might interfere with his digestion. He looked around for some way out of this difficulty and caught sight of a stick insect, commonly known as a godhorse.

The godhorse had perched itself on the top of the cracked remnants of the wall, downwind of the smoke from the dying fire. It wagged its head slowly from side to side and looked at Ansige very sternly. It was not this that made Ansige stare at it, however. It was the manner in which it sat: back curled like a young twig, lower legs lapped, midlegs bracing it as it leaned back, and front legs folded.

Ansige goggled a moment longer and then found his voice. ‘Pardon me, but—'

'Yes, these are Semwe's lands,’ said the godhorse in a solemn, almost bored voice.

'Oh. Then perhaps you know if—'

'And the sheep, as any fool can see, is standing on Semwe's lands,’ said the creature coldly.

'Oh. So then it is certainly Semwe's sheep.'

There was a tense silence while the godhorse glared at him. Finally it said, ‘That wasn't a question.'

'I??hat? But—'

'I don't wish to talk to you any more, you??ou??’ snapped the godhorse, but it was a tired attempt at scolding that trailed off as if it considered Ansige unworthy of the breath and effort of a proper insult.

It uncricked its joints and stalked away into the grass, where it soon disappeared among the sticks and straw of brown and gold. Ansige immediately forgot it had spoken. All he remembered was that someone had told him this was Semwe's sheep, so anything that he planned for it was bound to be in order. Conscience appeased, he jumped up from the scant leavings of his meal and went to grab the next course, but to his surprise it moved off, trailing a frayed line of cord behind it. He headed it off and made another grab, but it stepped out of the way. A slow-motion chase ensued, a parody of a hunt—full, lumbering Ansige after the sedate sheep, whose mission in life seemed to be to discover the most economical movements that would put it mere millimetres beyond Ansige's reach.

Panting, pouring sweat, he halted for a moment to catch his breath. He slowly turned around, surveying the fields, and stopped short at a horrific sight. There was a bird, a huge, sleek, colourful, bold-faced bird, picking away at the scraps of meat he had left behind! He was still staring at it, too appalled to move, when a thin, dry chuckle caught his ear. It was the arthritic godhorse, now seated on a low boundary stone nearby.

'I wouldn't take that if I were you,’ it mocked him, jerking a limb at the scavenging bird. ‘A fat bird like that should make a good meal, don't you think?'

With that comment, Ansige reached the pinnacle of frustration. He picked up a rock, hurled it, and whacked the thieving bird on its tiny brainpan. It fell dead instantly.

Now enter Paama. Poor thing. She came running towards Ansige, trying to scream out her dismay in a kind of anguished whisper.

'Are you mad? Where is the lamb my father gave you? Why have you killed the village peacock?'

Ansige looked at her, looked at the peacock, and looked at her again. The day's injustices seemed to pile up in his throat as he tried to explain to her that it was a perfectly natural mistake that anyone could have made, and why did she have to scold him for it? His emotions spilled out in an indignant bluster.

'Don't act as if you don't know me! I ate the lamb your father gave me, but it wasn't enough, so I saw the sheep and I thought he wouldn't mind if I had a little extra sustenance. He knows what a hard time I had coming here. And then this bird started eating the best bits of
my
leftovers that I hadn't really finished with, and anyway, if it was the village peacock, why wasn't it kept in a cage instead of being allowed to wander about stealing people's food?'

And Ansige put on one of his famous expressions, the one titled ‘I have been Unwarrantedly Injured and Unreasonably Slandered.'

Paama was far too accustomed to the look for it to have any effect, and too horrified at the sight of the dead peacock. ‘Ansige, the chief will have you punished for killing our peacock! This is a rare bird, a gift from a visiting prince. He has walked about the village unmolested for years, and you manage to dispose of him within one day of being here! I have to find a way to get you out of this.'

'Well, if you had fed me properly—’ he began petulantly.

'Be quiet,’ said Paama, looking around frantically. ‘See there? That horse tethered over there has not yet been broken in. You must take the peacock and lay him near the horse's hooves. Then I will scream loudly, people will come running, and we will tell them the horse kicked the peacock and killed him.'

Ansige grumbled and whined and was fearful of coming near the hooves of the wild horse, but Paama bullied and persuaded him. He crept closer with the bloodied body in his hands, but the horse moved skittishly aside and tossed its head up, scaring him into retreat. Then, just as Ansige made a rush forward and dropped the bird on the ground, the horse decided it had had enough. Neighing an indignant scream, it reared up at Ansige, who screamed in turn and bolted away. It was sheer bad luck that he tripped over the tether, and even worse luck that he knocked the peg out of the ground. The horse immediately took off at speed, dragging the hapless Ansige a short distance until the rope finally pulled free.

Paama let out a shriek of genuine fear and dashed towards the nearest houses. ‘Help! Help!’ she shouted.

People came running, crying out, ‘What is it? What's happening?'

'A terrible accident! The peacock went too close to our wild horse, and Ansige was trying to shoo him away when the horse broke free, trampled the poor peacock, and knocked Ansige down!’ As she explained, Paama pointed wildly at Ansige, who was trying to pick himself up; the horse, who had slowed to a walk; and the bundle of feathers that had once been a proud peacock.

Some ran to help Ansige to his feet, others hastened to capture and secure the horse. The rest looked sadly at the limp remains of what had been the village mascot. ‘Never mind, Paama,’ they consoled her. ‘It was just an accident. It could have been much worse.'

Ansige came limping to her side, rumpled and dazed. She took hold of his hand firmly. ‘We must go tell the chief what happened. Say nothing. I will do all the talking,’ she instructed him in a low voice.

The chief was out on his veranda enjoying the cool of the evening. He smiled at Paama and nodded to Ansige as Paama said her greetings and Ansige bowed stiffly, all too aware of the smudges of earth and bits of grass that still stained his face and clothing.

'Ansige, Ansige,’ the chief muttered. ‘Aren't you the son of Jeliah, daughter of Chief Darei of Hsete?'

'Yes, I am,’ Ansige acknowledged, putting back his shoulders a bit and standing taller at this welcome piece of recognition.

'Yes,’ smiled the chief, stroking his beard and looking very pleased with himself. ‘I remember now. Did I not tell you he would make an excellent husband, Paama?'

Paama gasped suddenly to hide her indignation. ‘Sir, I nearly forgot. We have some bad news to tell you. Makendha's peacock is dead! Ansige tried to save it, but it was trampled by my father's half-tamed horse.'

The chief sat up straight, dismayed. ‘What misfortune! Why did it go so close to the horse?'

'It was so used to roaming about freely that it probably never realised it was in danger,’ she said with complete if economical truth.

The chief stood, frowning. ‘This is terrible. I will go immediately to see what the situation is.'

'A very good idea,’ Paama agreed, and there was a strange hardness in her voice. ‘One should never rely on a secondhand report for something so important.'

Later that night, after Ansige had been settled in at the lodge, Paama had time for herself. She went to the yard at the back of her parents’ home and knelt down before a smooth river stone that had been set near the back gate. She eased it over, exposing a patch of smooth, hard earth. Dusting off her hands, she folded them in her lap and began to cry, carefully spilling her tears only where the stone had lain. After a few minutes, she squeezed out the last of her tears over the patch of bare earth, covered it back with the stone, and went inside.

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Semwe and Tasi wanted to comfort Paama, but it was very difficult to comfort someone who stayed so dry-eyed and unmoved. They compensated by buffering Paama from Neila's careless slights and self-centredness, and by praising the food on the breakfast table. At first Tasi had feared that she would be forced to invite Ansige to share the morning meal, but her husband reassured her that Ansige and his enormous appetite would not awaken until almost noon.