Chapter 11
Dil was carefully writing on the slate the words that Anneke had dictated to him when suddenly she went “Oh!” and straightened up from the dough that she was kneading.
“What is it?” said Dil.
She put her hand to her stomach and pulled a face as if she’d stubbed her toe.
“Whoa,” she said after a minute. “Dil, I think maybe you’d better leave your lesson and go and fetch Berlo for me.”
“Is it the baby?” asked Dil, at once anxious and eagerly alert. He’d been aware all morning that every so often Anneke would go quiet and seem to be counting.
“Yes.”
“Then we shouldn’t leave you alone,” he told her. “I’ll go and get Charo to stay with you and then I’ll find Berlo.”
Charo wasn’t far away. He was just behind the plum-wine cottage – that had become its name by common consent – sorting out the woodstore. Yaret had told him to stay close to Anneke while all the others helped the new family from Byant clear out the houses by the mill.
“I’ll look after her,” said Charo immediately, and he followed Dil back down into the cellar. He began to get out the clean cloths they’d put aside ready, while Dil patted Anneke’s hand to reassure her, and told her he’d be back soon. She nodded, holding her stomach.
While he ran along the streets Dil thought about this baby. At first he’d looked forward to it coming because it would mean he wasn’t the youngest any more. But then two days ago the new family had arrived and that had made him the fourth youngest, all at once, because their children were five and six and eight. They seemed all right although the youngest one cried a lot. The grandfather kept telling him off. He was a very grumbly grandfather but perhaps that was understandable. Old people didn’t like the cold, and now, a full month after winterfest, it was colder than ever.
The snow that had arrived three weeks ago still lay thick on the ground. They had had to spend the first week of those three huddled in the cellars while the blizzard blew outside. It wasn’t too boring because Anneke began to go through his last year’s lessons. He found them surprisingly welcome. They played lots of games as well, and he started to learn the lutine. After Elket showed him where to place his fingers on the strings he found he could work out little tunes for himself, and was pleased when Shuli couldn’t.
The donkeys had been a worry. Dil had wanted to go out and check on them several times a day, and the others wouldn’t let him go alone. He understood why; for whenever he had ventured up into the street he had nearly been blown off his feet by the force of the wind and the blast of the snow. Without its former buildings to shelter it, the town soon filled with snowdrifts. It made walking around difficult. It ought to have been fun, but wasn’t.
However, to his relief the donkeys and the horse seemed to be all right in their own broken-down stable despite its lack of roof. Ondro shovelled out any snow and when the wind dropped cleared a patch of grass so Dil could lead them out to graze. Dil fed the donkeys red roots and amazingly they seemed to like them.
Once the snow had stopped falling, Ondro had cleared the routes between the inhabited houses. He never seemed to get tired. Yaret said that shepherds walked all day, and certainly Ondro always strode round at a great rate. Dil had to run to keep up with him.
Now he ran through the snowy streets towards the miller’s house. Beyond the forge he spotted Shuli practising her archery and shouted at her,
“The baby’s coming!”
Shuli turned round and lowered her bow. “Tell me when it’s over,” she said, before aiming at her target again.
Dil ran on to the houses by the mill and told his news to everyone there. Yaret immediately put down her wooden shovel.
“Berlo, Ondro, we’d better go,” she said. “Dil? Do you want to stay here?”
“I’ll come back with you to run errands,” said Dil. He didn’t care for shovelling ash. The new family from Byant would have quite a nice house, though, when it was done; it used to be the miller’s own house and once it had been cleared it would only need a new roof and a few repairs. They were clearing out a small, adjoining house next door as well. The grandfather wanted his own, apparently. A cellar wasn’t good enough for him.
He looked at the youngest child, Paro. Crying again. Dil went over to him and patted his shoulder.
“It’s all right,” he said. “Babies are usually all right.” In fact he knew this wasn’t true in his own family’s case, but he also knew he shouldn’t say that now. “I’ll come and tell you when it’s born. You won’t be the youngest any more then.”
Since that prospect didn’t seem to make Paro any happier he cast around for something else kind to say. “And you can give the baby a present. Look for something in the ash. If you find something bright or shiny, Anneke says babies like to look at shiny things.”
Paro gazed up at him silently, the tears running down his cheeks. Dil knew why he was crying, really. It was because his father had died back in Byant just before they came here through the snow. The older boy, Korli, had told Dil that his father had been badly burnt and had never recovered. The middle one was a girl called Frali. She had four braids in her hair. Now she came over and gave Paro a hug.
“Is Anneke a kind teacher?” she asked Dil.
“Yes. You’ll like her,” Dil assured them. “She’s really nice.”
“She won’t be teaching with a baby, though, will she?” said the grandfather testily. Everything was a grumble with him.
“I’ll tell you what happens,” promised Dil, and he ran after the others.
Elket and Lo and Renna stayed to help the children’s mother. The mother was very quiet, though not as quiet as Renna, who still hardly ever talked. Dil wasn’t sure how much use Renna would be at clearing up, although she did more now than she used to. He knew that Elket didn’t want to see the baby because of those sick babies of their mother’s. Dil found that he was hoping very much that this one didn’t die. The tight knot that had been slowly loosening inside him over the last few weeks seemed suddenly to have tied itself into new complicated coils.
Back at Anneke’s cellar not much was happening at all. However, Dil did not feel that he could wander off to play: duty kept him at his post by the fireplace of the kitchen that was open to the sky. They wanted warm water, probably to wash the baby in when it was born. So he looked after the bucket and stoked the fire and put some food on to warm as well.
Still nothing happened. Charo came out and sat with him and talked about this and that. Dil wasn’t really listening. They tried to play Look over there! but it petered out quite quickly. He could tell that Charo was worried too. Ondro came out and got some water and said everything was fine. He looked quite cheerful but then he always did.
After a while Dil ran over to the mill to give a report that nothing much was happening; but when he got back to the inn a lot was happening. He could hear Anneke groaning and crying out, and he was just worrying that he would need to tell everything to go away when Charo came up out of the cellar and said smiling that the baby had been born. And it was a little girl. And it was all right, and so was Anneke. And they were going to call it Royet.
Dil’s relief was huge. “Can I see it now?” he begged. Five minutes later he was allowed down to peep at the tiny bit of the baby he could see, mostly red cheek and nose as Anneke held it close and wrapped up. She sat up on the bed and gave Dil a kiss and told him what a big help it had been to have him there as errand boy.
So then he went to give the news to Shuli – who put down her bow at last – and the others busy digging with the Byant family. Paro wasn’t crying now, and when Dil told them about Royet he silently opened his clenched palm to reveal a coin.
“Is that your present?” Dil asked. Paro nodded.
“That’s a good present. We’ll polish it up.” Dil wet his finger and rubbed the sooty coin. Underneath it looked a bit like silver. “It’ll be nice and shiny. Where did you find it?”
“Frali found it,” said the older boy. “It was over there.” Dil went and poked in the corner which he was pointing at. The floor was thick with powdery ash that he thought might have been flour. At the bottom of the pile he could feel more coins.
He looked up at Frali.
“Better go and get your mother,” he said. “I think you might have just found treasure.” On seeing their eyes widen, Dil hoped that he was right.
So that evening there were plenty of Best Things for the council. Dil knew it should be called Thanks-saying; but now that the little children had arrived it seemed more sensible to stick with Best Things. They didn’t seem to have heard of evening council although Elket had explained it to them.
This evening they held it in Standard, because the new family did not speak Bandiran. Even though the children always seemed to understand him, Dil was not entirely comfortable with Standard. However, Anneke had told him it was important to keep practising. They had the council by the fire in the plum-wine kitchen, some of them sitting on logs, so that Anneke and the baby could be there; and of course the first thing was the blessing of the baby. Most of the Best Things were the baby too – although not all.
Shuli said, “The baby, and I hit my target three times in a row.”
Paro’s mother said, “The safe arrival of the baby, and the help with our two houses.” She smiled around at them. “Thank you all.”
Frali only said, “The baby,” although she had found the money. They had retrieved quite a lot of coins – thirty-four so far, mostly silver, some strange and foreign. It was Korli who said, “The baby and the treasure.”
Little Paro just held up his coin silently. At least he wasn’t crying – not until his grandfather said,
“Obviously we’re pleased about the baby. Can’t see that we’ve got much else to be thankful for.”
“The houses,” whispered Paro’s mother. “The food.”
“Hmph,” said the grandfather. “This is all very childish if you ask me.”
“We didn’t ask you,” said Shuli.
“Shuli,” said Yaret, and although it did not sound as if she was telling her off Shuli closed her mouth and looked down. “We will now say Oveyn,” continued Yaret, “which is our thanks and blessing to the dead who lie around us and who will not be forgotten. And to your dead also, who lie in Byant and will not be forgotten. I will say it in Bandiran and Lo will translate.”
Lo was good at translating. She could come up with exactly the right words quickly, which Dil found it difficult to do. But there were not so many words tonight because it was not the Ulthared version, just the ordinary one. Dil understood that this was not just because the new family were strangers, but because three of them were too young. He felt himself grow a little taller with his own knowledge of the Ulthared.
But at the end the grandfather said, “What use is this to anybody? It won’t bring any of them back.”
“We know that,” Yaret said. “That is why we honour them.”
“It’s gibberish.”
“You’re very rude,” said Shuli.
He looked at her and threw his head back. “And so are you, young lady, although I think lady is hardly the word. You should respect your elders.”
“And you should respect your hosts,” said Shuli.
“I didn’t ask to be here!”
“Then go somewhere else,” said Shuli, ignoring Elket’s attempts to shush her.
“Shuli,” said Yaret, and this time she was definitely telling her off. But the grandfather had already got up from his log and stalked out of the house.
Paro’s mother began to get up too, but Yaret said, “Stay. Let him have some time to himself.”
She sat down again. “I’m sorry. He’s grieving for his son.”
“Well, aren’t you all?” said Shuli. “I don’t see what makes him so special.”
“Shuli,” said Yaret for a third time.
“What? He needed telling.”
Then Yaret spoke some words in Bandiran which Dil was instantly sure were Ulthared although he had never heard them before. It was about how we cannot know the minds of others, but we ought always to try, even for the smallest thing. Be a child. Be a bird. Be a mouse.
Dil liked it. Be a donkey, he thought. It shut Shuli up, too, but now Paro was crying again, quite loudly, although his mother tried to quiet him.
He looked at Yaret and said, “Can I sit next to Paro?”
“If he wants you to.”
Dil looked at Paro. “Do you want me to sit next to you?” Paro gave the tiniest nod through his sobbing so he went and sat next to him on the log. Then he said the first thing he could think of that might cheer Paro up.
“Did you know that Yaret has a wooden leg?”
Paro stopped crying in mid-sob. He stared at Dil and then at Yaret.
“It’s quite true,” said Yaret. “Although it’s not my whole leg. It’s just from here down.” She touched her leg between knee and ankle.
“There’s a long story,” said Dil, “all about how she got the wooden leg, in a magic forest. It’s a story about the donkeys and the horse and other people too. Do you like my donkeys?”
Paro nodded.
“Would you like to hear the story?”
Paro nodded, again.
“Then I’ll start telling it to you tomorrow,” promised Dil, “and Korli and Frali can listen if they want.” He looked at Yaret. “It’s all right,” he said. “I’ll leave out the really gory bits.”
“Thank you, Dil,” said Yaret. “Shall we go on with council? Plans for tomorrow. I think we know yours already.”
So evening council went on, rather mutedly. Dil felt very protective of Paro, sitting small and warm next to him, and thankfully not crying any more. It made him think about his dead brothers – he thought that as well as baby Jeret there had been at least two others, from something Elket said, although he wasn’t sure. He hardly ever thought about them because he hadn’t known them. He usually forgot about them. But now he wondered what they would have been like, and what it would have been like for him to be a big brother.
It made him feel a little weepy, which was stupid. But maybe it wasn’t. He had never thought of those dead babies when they said Oveyn. But now he said Oveyn for them, inside his head, and found it was a comfort.
After the council was over, and because it was not yet dark, he ran races with the younger children in the snow-cleared streets. He was just wondering whether to let Korli win a race, when Korli won it anyway. Dil didn’t mind. He felt generous.
Korli made up a game called Bear – for Dil had already told them all about the bear – and they took it in turns to be the bear while the others joined hands and sang and shouted. Dil told Frali that she made a very good bear, which was true. She had the growl.
Then he showed them how to dance the Rannikan: they liked that. It was not the same as having Armendo with him, but he now thought that Armendo probably wasn’t coming back. Although sometimes he imagined that Armendo had found a safe place to live, more often now he knew he hadn’t. It made him ache inside.
Yaret had said they should put everyone in songs because songs were easy to remember. So they were making up new songs in the evenings amidst all the old rounds and ballads. It made him ache even more to put Armendo in a song. But it was also a bit like putting him in a safe place.
Once their mother had taken the three children away Dil ran home and on the way saw Yaret and the grandfather sitting on a wall and talking. They hadn’t noticed him so he sneaked along the inside of the wall to listen. He heard Yaret saying,
“We have all lost someone that we love. Some of us have lost everyone we love: Charo, for example, and Shuli, and Ondro.”
The grandfather just snorted. At least it sounded like a snort. After a moment Yaret spoke again.
“I know there seems to be nothing for you now but grief. But that will change. I know you don’t want to be here. But for the moment here is the best place for your family, and your responsibility is for them and not just for yourself.”
Still no answer. Just another snort.
“We will make a memorial to your son here, if you wish: or at his homeplace, in the future. Meanwhile we will honour him every evening at the council. We will look after his wife and children.”
The grandfather grunted something that Dil couldn’t catch.
“That is your prerogative,” said Yaret, and she stood up and walked away. Dil felt quite impatient with the old man and wondered if she did too. He didn’t seem to pay much attention to his grandchildren except to tell them off. Dil and all the others would have to make up for that.
Just because you were old you didn’t have to grumble. Be an old man, be a grumpy grandfather, he told himself, experimentally. No, that was too hard. He couldn’t be a grandfather. But the grandfather ought to be able to be a child, because he’d been one before.
And Dil knew what it was like to lose people, yet he didn’t grumble. Yaret was quite right. Charo had lost everybody but he didn’t grumble. Nobody grumbled. Well, Shuli grumbled, but not about losing people.
It occurred to him that surely Yaret too had lost everyone she loved. She hadn’t mentioned that. But of course Yaret loved her donkeys; although maybe not as much as Dil himself did, or she wouldn’t have made him their official keeper. Because you didn’t give up the things you loved so easily, without a tear.