CHAPTER ELEVEN

LOSS

“I feel your pain as I have never felt it before. It hurts deeply, yet I never knew him.” Anka put a hand on Pegre’s shoulder, leaving it there to warm him in his grief.

“I hadn’t admitted it, but he was another father to me, responsible for much of what has happened in my life.” Pegre looked at Anka with moist eyes, and saw understanding there, the understanding of someone old who had seen much death and become resigned to its inevitability.

“It isn’t right, but I feel jealousy. There are things you shared with the Hinchai I could not be a part of, and somehow I feel negligent in not giving all I could.”

They were sitting in the little grotto a few yards down-canyon from the main cavern entrance where they always went for private talks. Outside, the sun had risen only an hour before, and the cold made their breath a sparkling fog in the new light. They sat facing each other on a flat rock, Anka draped in a thin robe of deerskin, Pegre dressed in jeans and a heavy wool shirt. Both were shivering.

“There was nothing you could teach me about the Hinchai world, but all else comes from you.”

“You are as your real father, my brother, with the feelings of your mother.”

“Savas was my friend, but he never pressured me to tell where I came from, volunteered little about himself, even near the end when he realized how ill he was. I always felt his past was dark with happenings that caused him anger and fear. If he was threatened, he could be extremely dangerous, but with me he was patient and kind and openly pleased with my successes.”

“I’m sure you were a son to him, Pegre, as you have been to me. You have much to give to others, and I am learning to share you. Was his death a painful one?”

“I don’t think so. He had medicine for the pain; it made him drowsy. Sometimes he didn’t remember to eat properly, and near the end he wasn’t eating at all. I rode up every day or so to see him, and when I found him yesterday he was in bed, quite dead and already stiff. What bothers me is he died alone. I should have been there.”

“One cannot predict the time a spirit chooses to leave, whether Tenanken or Hinchai. You did what you could.”

“The body is being prepared in town by someone who is paid for such things. We will bury him tomorrow in a graveyard near the property he owned.”

“We? You do this with Hinchai?”

“A few who knew him: a banker, those who sometimes drank with him, and two others who do the burial. I got to know the banker because Savas had considerable wealth, and left it all to me. I share it with all Tenanken, Anka, by buying land for our homes and businesses that will make our place in the Hinchai world. Wealth is important to them, and Savas has provided it for us because I told him I wanted to bring my family to live in the valley, and he thought it was a good plan.”

“Ah yes, The Plan. Can such an ambition be realized?” Anka said this with some fear, for the idea of mixing Tenanken and Hinchai in one community was yet abhorrent to him. They were one species, and yet they were not. The cultures, spirituality, life ethics, all had diverged in a far distant past. How safe the Tenanken had been, isolated in wilderness for tens of thousands of years, since before the time of severe cold and great ice mountains only vaguely recallable from The Memories, and then the settlers had suddenly come, driving them fearfully to the caves.

“I will teach Tenanken the Hinchai ways, and it will not be difficult because we are one with them and should never have been separated. It is my intention that the newest generations of Tenanken will feel the heat of the sun as they work, and in this there cannot be opposition,” said Pegre.

“I will use all my influence,” said Anka, nodding sagely.

“Even with your own son?”

“Particularly with him. He will hear me, Pegre, and his motives are honorable. He cares only for the future of the Tenanken.”

“So he says,” said Pegre sharply. “I feel otherwise. Why does he dislike me so? In the years you raised us both, never did I strive to capture your affections only for myself, yet I sense a terrible and dangerous jealousy within Maki. If this is behind his opposition to The Plan I will gladly withdraw, and leave the leadership to someone else. Perhaps Moog. He has great intelligence.”

Anka shook his head. “No, you will not abandon your role in The Plan. I forbid it. Maki’s jealousy is a problem he must deal with, along with his ambition. I fear he expects too much as the only true surviving son of a Keeper, and I share the blame for that. But as you both grew up, I had no favorites, and I have no apologies to offer for that. Do what you must for the Tenanken, and Maki is sure to support you.”

“I want to believe that,” said Pegre. “I really do.” He picked up a small stone from the floor, and studied it. “I remember how I used to come here as a small boy, sit by the entrance and look down into the valley, wanting to climb a tree or run in the long grass, or throw myself into that icy stream, and always there was the strict law forbidding any of us to leave the canyon wall, and I’d wonder why we had such a law. What were we afraid of? Why were we hiding in dark and cold like common animals? I was afraid to go near a Hinchai until that first day with Savas, and later I discovered the stories they had made up about the dark skins who were here after us. Their children shivered with fear of strange savages who killed Hinchai without reason. They still tell such stories about a people whose lives they have forever altered. Fear is stupid, and we are all guilty of it.”

“Then prepare the way for us to be together. You have my support, and Tel’s.”

“I’m glad of that. We’ve never really become close.”

Anka offered a faint smile. “The bond between mother and the last son of her body is strong. Grief for Maki’s brothers nearly killed her.”

“I remember. Before that were happier times.”

“They will come again. You will see to it, Pegre. Get on with your destiny. Can you stay with us this night?”

“No, I have to return to town for more business with a man who sells land, and I left my animal some distance from here. If I don’t return soon, someone will search for me. Fear again, you see.”

“Then go, but with a promise. Promise you will never forget you are first a Tenanken, the Keepers of The Memories and The Mind Touch. We are special, Pegre. Not superior, but special. Preserve us.”

“The best I can,” said Pegre solemnly, “and I will never forget who or what I am.”

“One more thing,” said Anka quickly. “This thing you have learned from your Hinchai father, this use of symbols to record thoughts and events for others to see and understand without spoken words, I wish you to use this also for the Tenanken.”

“Writing,” said Pegre.

“Yes. I have concern for The Memories, Pegre. Their keeping is central to our identity, and a fragile thing. Keepers appear with increasing rarity among us, though now there are three: myself, Tel and Maki. I wish you to record The Memories for us, Pegre, with your writing. From this day on, when we meet, I will have something for you to record. Our identity is in The Memories; they must not be lost.”

“I will do this,” said Pegre solemnly, “but Keepers will arrive as they have before.”

“Perhaps,” said Anka, “but when we join with the Hinchai our blood line is certain to be diluted. We are too much alike to prevent inter-breeding with them, and The Memories could be lost forever. That is my fear.”

“I will record them for you,” said Pegre, “when we meet again. But now I must leave.”

They stood up, embraced stiffly, then Pegre turned and went out of the grotto, leaving Anka behind for quiet minutes to recall and put in vision-form a day in his robust adulthood when he felt the long grass beneath his feet, home was an earthen work dugout in a forest filled with running animals and birds, and day was divided between darkness and light.

Before the Hinchai came.

* * * * * * *

The day they buried Savas Parkos all clouds had disappeared from the sky, and an eagle soared above them, lifting their spirits for the ceremonies, a task made easier by the fact that the dead man had lived a long if somewhat isolated life, and his few friends had all arrived to send him on his way. Peter had made the arrangements with the aid of Reverend Nate Burgundy, pastor of Faith Baptist Church, at which a closed-casket service was held at ten o’clock on a Wednesday morning. Of the fifteen people attending the service, Peter knew only three: Burgundy, whose short eulogy he found contrived, banker Ned Bester, whose interest he had sparked with a single deposit, and finally one John Macavee, up from Quincy, having become a good friend of Savas after nearly being killed by him. It pained Peter to speak of the dead man, but speak he did, and gave birth to the story of his journey from Greece and then Reno to live with his uncle, the kindness he had received, the wisdom, et cetera, et cetera, until he was nearly sick from the lies. He marveled that the Hinchai God did not strike him dead on the spot, wondering if it was passive like the World Spirit of the Tenanken, preferring subjects to solve their problems and suffer their consequences. He spoke simple words with affection and sadness, moving some of his audience to tears, for without knowing it he had touched them all with naked grief directly from his mind.

Peter, John, Ned, and the hearse driver acted as pallbearers, carrying the plain wooden coffin sedately down the steps, and then the little procession of wagons and horses followed the remains to the graveyard south of town, neatly clipped and surrounded by a white, picket fence with a broken gate that creaked in the wind. The graveyard overlooked a meadow where some years later there would be a murder. Nate Burgundy read some words, and the coffin was lowered into the ground while everyone looked solemn. Nate offered condolences, and Peter paid him a ten dollar gratuity for the service, then the rest of the people came by to mumble their sympathies before returning to interrupted lives. Peter stood by the grave, a light breeze blowing black hair over his face as Ned Bester came up to him and put a hand on his shoulder.

“My regrets, Mister Pelegeropoulis. Hardly knew the gentleman, but he must have been a good businessman. You never know about some people.”

“Any problems with the gold?” Peter peered into the blackness of the grave.

“No, the quote is firm. You say the word, it leaves for Reno in the morning. In your position, I’d keep half at least; gold is certain to go up.”

“Send it.”

They walked away from the gravesite, and towards an awaiting surrey. “When can I start remodeling?” said Peter.

“Right now. The business was yours this morning, and a lot of folks are anxious to see what you’ll do with it. I’ll grant you it’s in tough shape, but you did get it for a good price.”

“An honest price, you mean.” Peter laughed, and Ned looked at him nervously. “Oh I’ll get it fixed up good, especially in the kitchen. New ovens, and fresh bread every day, Greek style. Every drink you can think of. The Athens Bar and Grill—after Savas. Greek flavors will bring them in from Quincy and maybe even Reno when the word gets around. You like Greek food, Mister Bester?”

“That’s Ned. Yes, I do.”

“Opening night you’ve got a free meal coming at The Athens. My treat, Ned.”

The man laughed. “Why it’s sure nice doin’ business with you, Peter.”

They shook hands as they stopped at the gate, then Ned turned and shouted over his shoulder, “Coming, Bernice?”

A young woman was at a far corner of the graveyard, hunched over a pair of worn, stone markers, picking grass away from them with her hands and replacing some dried up flowers that had been lying there. She looked up at them sadly. “Are we leaving already?”

“I should get back.”

The woman hastily pulled more grass, then stood up. She was tall, large boned but lean-looking. Blonde hair fell down her back and around broad shoulders. She wore a long skirt cinched in at the waist, and a tight, lacy bodice that somehow made her look fragile despite her size. As she walked towards them, Ned turned and whispered, “Her folks are buried over there. Takes good care of everything.”

Her eyes were blue, cheekbones prominent above a generous mouth. As she came up to them Peter suddenly realized he was staring when she looked straight into his eyes and smiled. Ned put an arm around her shoulders, and said, “Bernice, I’d like you to meet Peter Pelegeropoulis, Crosley’s newest businessman. Bought the Granville place, and he’s turning it into a bar and grill. Peter, this is Bernie Ekstrom, and she is Ekstrom lumber and hardware in Crosley. Ask her for help, and you’ve got it.”

“Well, I’ll certainly need it with all the remodeling I have to do,” said Peter, fighting a dry throat.

The smile again. “Stock’s limited, but I’ll do what I can. Sorry about Mister Parkos. He came into the store a couple of times for little things. One of the most polite people I ever met. I’m sorry.”

“Thank you,” said Peter, “and thanks for coming today.” He held out a hand, and she took it in a firm grip that seemed to shoot fire into his arm and chest.

“I’m glad I did,” she said happily, “and I look forward to doing some business with you.”

“So do I,” said Peter.