oat bag an’ petted him an’ named him Wolt ’cos he was ugly as my cuz, then gloomed hurtsome, wond’rin’ who o’ my kin was still livin’. True-be-telled, not knowin’ the worst is badder ’n knowin’ it.

A flutterby-thinkin’ touched me, an’ I asked Meronym why a Shipwoman rode horses as good as any Kona. She ’fessed most Prescients cudn’t ride no animal, but she’d lived with a tribe called the Swannekke what lived way past Ank’ridge an’ way past Far Couver. The Swannekke bred horses like Valleysmen bred goats, yay, an’ their littl’ uns could ride b’fore they could walk, an’ she’d learnt durin’ her seasons with them. Meronym teached me lots ’bout the tribes she’d lived ’mongst, but I ain’t got time for those yarns now, nay, it’s gettin’ late. We speaked ’bout the ’morrow’s route to Ikat’s Finger, see, one way was to follow the Kohalas’ razorback over Nine Valleys, but ’nother way was to follow Waipio River down to Abel’s Garrison first an’ spy what we’d spy. We din’t know see if the Kona’d slashed ’n’ burned then emptied the Valleys like they’d done the Mookini or if they was aimin’ to conquer ’n’ settle our dwellin’s an’ slave us in our own lands. Now I’d vowed to get Meronym to Ikat’s Finger safe ’n’ sound an’ reccyin’ ’bout Kona horsemen weren’t safe nor sound, but Meronym say-soed we’d spy the Valleys first an’ so the ’morrow’s way was settled.

Dawn fogged waxy ’n’ silty. It weren’t easy gettin’ the horse over the Kohala Ridge ’n’ thickets to Waipio Spring, not knowin’ if a Kona platoon was waitin’ thru the walls o’ cane we was noisesomely hackin’. Mostly we’d to walk ’n’ lead the beast, but we reached the spring fin’ly by noon an’ tethered him in a hollow upgulch an’ creeped the mile to Abel’s ’long the spruce spur. Fog turned ev’ry tree stump into a huddled Kona sentry, but still I was thanksome to Sonmi for the camo. We spied over the peerin’ lip an’ looked down on the garrison. Grim viewin’, yay. Only Abel’s gates stood shut, see, the walls ’n’ outbuildin’s was all charred ’n’ busted. A naked man was hanged off the gate bar, yay, by his ankles in the Kona way, maybe it were Abel an’ maybe it weren’t, but crows was ’ready minin’ his guts an’ a pair o’ ballsy dingos scavvin’ dropped slops.

Now as we watched, a thirty–forty-head roundup o’ slaved Valleysmen was bein’ shunted out to Kuikuihaele. I’ll mem’ry that sight till my dyin’ day an’ longer. Some was mulin’ carts o’ loot ’n’ gear. Kona shouts ’n’ say-soes ruckused an’ whips crackled. The fog was too swampy for me to make out my tribesmen’s faces, but, oh, sorrysome was their figures dragglin’ out t’ward Sloosha’s Crossin’. Ghosts. Livin’ ghosts. Watch the fate o’ the last Civ’lized tribe o’ the Big I, thinked I, yay, the result of our school’ry ’n’ Icon’ry, jus’ slaved for Kona fields an’ dwellin’s an’ stables an’ beds an’ holes in Leeward ground.

What could I do? Rush ’em? Some twenty Kona horsemen was convoyin’ ’em off the Leeward. Even with Meronym’s shooter I could maybe take out five o’ the twenty sentries, maybe more if I got lucky, but then what? The Kona’d spiker ev’ry Valleysman to death at the first whisp o’ knucklyin’. This weren’t Zachry the Cowardy knucklyin’ Zachry the Brave, nay, it was Zachry the Soosider knucklyin’ Zachry the S’viver, an’ I ain’t got no shame to say which Zachry vic’tried. To Meronym I signaled we was retreatin’ back to the horse tho’ tears was in my eyes.

Short-ass, get me a roasted taro. Mem’ryin’ that despair is hollowin’ me out.

Now backtrackin’ up to the Kohala grazin’ pastures, the mist slid b’low us an’ southly rose Mauna Kea from that ocean o’ cloud, clear ’n’ close ’nuff to spit at so it seemed, so I did, yay, I spitted hard. My soul may be stoned an’ my luck may be rotted but I can still cuss a cuss. From each o’ the Nine Folded Valleys black cobras o’ smoke was risin’ an’ ev’ry carrion winger ’n’ legger on Big I was crawk-in ’n’ feastin’ in our Valleys that mornin’ I reck’ned. Up in the pastures we finded goats scattered, some o’ mine, some from Kaima, but we din’t see not one goatherd, nay. I milked some, an’ we drank the last free Valleysman’s goat milk. Thru Vert’bry Pass we downed t’ward Thumb Rock, where Meronym’d sketched her map five moons b’fore, yay, over the heathery turf what’d cupped Roses under me six moons b’fore. Sun steamed the mist ’n’ dew away, an’ thru a fine-weaved rainbow I seen the school’ry was razed, yay, jus’ a black shell now, the last books an’ the last clock. Down we rode to Elepaio Stream, where I got off an’ Meronym helmeted up an’ loosely roped my hands so if we was spied it’d look like she’d slaved a ’scaped run’way an’ maybe win us a lethal beat. Down the track we walked this way to Cluny’s, what was the highest dwellin’ upgulch. Meronym dismounted an’ gripped her shooter as we creeped hushly as mouses thru the buildin’s, but my heart weren’t hushly, nay. A big knuckly’d happened there an’ gear was crashed ’n’ busted, but no bodies was lyin’ round, nay. We taked some fresh grinds for the journey ahead, I knowed Cluny’d not o’ minded. Leavin’ Cluny’s front gate I spied a cokeynut spikered on a stained pole with flies buzzin’ what was wyrd ’n’ unnat’ral, so we peered closer an’ it weren’t no cokeynut, nay, it was Macca Cluny’s head, yay, with his pipe still poked in his mouth.

Such barb’ric buggahs are them painted Kona, bros. You trust one once you’re a dead man, b’lief me. Macca’s head gived me furyin’ nervies as we trekked further down to Bailey’s Dwellin’.

A pail o’ curdlin’ goat milk stood in the milk’ry an’ I cudn’t stop ’maginin’ Sussy bein’ dragged away from that upbusted milkin’ stool an’ what’d been done to her, oh, my poor ’n’ sweet ’n’ dear sis. A possy o’ hoofs stamped the yard mud. Goats was all shooed away, our chicklin’s thiefed. So hush. No loom clackin’, no Catkin singin’, no Jonas makin’ nothin’. The stream an’ a laughin’ thrush in the eaves an’ nothin’ else. No horrorsome sight on the gatepost, I thanked Sonmi for that much. Inside, eggs ’n’ apricocks was spilled from the upturned table. Ev’ry room I was dreadin’ what I’d find but, nay, by the grace o’ Sonmi it seemed my fam’ly’d not been slayed yet?.?.?.

Guilt an’ sorrow whacked me.

Guilt ’cos I always s’vived an’ ’scaped despite my dirtsome ’n’ stony soul. Sorrow ’cos the ruins o’ my busted old life was strewed here ’n’ there ’n’ ev’rywhere. Jonas’s toys what Pa’d whittled years ago. Ma’s loomwork hangin’ in the doorways, swayin’ in the last o’ summer’s soft breathin’. Burnt fish an’ blissweed hanged in the air. Catkin’s writin’ work for school’ry still lied on the table where she was workin’. Din’t know what to think or say or what. What do I do? I asked my friend as I asked me. What do I do?

Meronym sat on a wood box Jonas’d made, what Ma’d called his first masterwork. A bleaksome ’n’ dark choice to settle, Zachry, she replied. Stay in the Valleys till you’re slaved. ’Scape to Hilo an’ stay till the Kona attack an’ be killed or slaved. Live in backwilds as a hermit bandit till you’re catched. Cross the straits to Maui with me an’ prob’ly never return to Big I no more. Yay, that was my all choices, no frettin’, but I cudn’t settle one, all I knowed was that I din’t want to run away from Big I without vengeancin’ what’d happened here.

This ain’t the safest place to sit ’n’ think, Zachry, said Meronym, so tendersome that fin’ly my tears oozed out.

Mountin’ the horse to leave back upgulch, I mem’ried my fam’ly’s icons in our shrine. Now, if I left ’em there to be axed by ’n’ by for firewood there’d be nothin’ to proof the Bailey’s Dwellin’ kin’d ever existed. So back I ran alone to get ’em. Comin’ back down the passage, I heard crock’ry fall off the pantry shelf. I freezed.

Slowsome I turned an’ looked.

A fat rat strutted there, stink-eyein’ me an’ twitchin’ its whisk’ry nose. Bet you’re sorryin’ you din’t jus’ cut that rope on the wall o’ my ’closure now, Zachry, yay? All this woe ’n’ grief you could o’ voided.

I din’t list’n to that liar’s liar. The Kona’d o’ attacked anyhow, yay, it weren’t nothin’ to do with me defyin’ that Dev’lish Buggah. I picked up a pot to hurl at Old Georgie, but when I taked aim the fat rat’d dis’peared, yay, an’ from the empty room to my left came a breezy sighin’ from the bed where I din’t see b’fore. I should o’ jus’ rabbited, yay, I knowed it but I din’t, I tippytoed in an’ seen a Kona sentry lyin’ there in a soft nest o’ blankies an’ skankin’ deep on Mormon Valley blissweed. See, he’d been so sure us Valleysmen was all rolled over ’n’ slaved that he’d blissed out, on duty.

So here was the fearsome en’my. Nineteen–twenty maybe he was. A vein pulsed in his Adam’s apple what was left white b’tween two lizardy tattoos. You found me, yay, so slit me, whisped that throat. Blade me.

My second augurin’, you’ll be mem’ryin’ an’, yay, so was I. Enemy’s sleeping, let his throat be not slit. This was the beat that augurin’d foreseen, no frettin’. I say-soed my hand ’n’ arm to do it, but they was locked ’n’ springed somehow. I’d been in knucklies ’nuff, who ain’t? but I’d never killed no un b’fore. See, murderin’ was forbidded by Valleysmen law, yay, if you stole another’s life no un’d barter nothin’ with you nor see you nor nothin’ ’cos your soul was so poisoned you may give ’em a sickness. Anyhow I stood there, by my own bed,

Вы читаете Cloud Atlas
Добавить отзыв
ВСЕ ОТЗЫВЫ О КНИГЕ В ИЗБРАННОЕ

0

Вы можете отметить интересные вам фрагменты текста, которые будут доступны по уникальной ссылке в адресной строке браузера.

Отметить Добавить цитату