Markeem pondered the red stone in his hand. Was it a gift from the gods or a curse? “I have no money to support a wife.”
Jantu inhaled from a pipe connected to a translucent sphere at his feet. Metallic liquid swirled inside the globe. He lifted his chin and blew silver smoke in the air. “The gods favor you, my young friend.”
“I am not ready. The gods were wrong to give me this.”
“You are ready, or the stone would not have called to you.”
“Red,” Markeem said, “like blood. Like fire that burns flesh from bones.”
A dozen or so men sat at circular tables in the narrow passageway of the city, drinking tea and avoiding the afternoon heat. Sandstone walls of buildings blushed orange in the rays of the two suns. A fat man with three chins joined their conversation. “My stone was wrinkled and brown like the pit of a peach. Not much too look at, but oh did it smell wonderful: roast suckling pig, bread smeared with honey, and decadent fig pudding.”
Jantu sucked deeply from the pipe, blew smoke rings across the table. Freckles dotted his caramel-colored skin and a wide leather belt circled his well-toned waist covered by a maroon tunic. “I did not find my stone. I purchased it for a large sum. The stone was actually a clear crystal. Many tried to steal it. But holding the crystal was like holding ice that never melted. Why do you think I spend all my time here instead of my house?”
Markeem had only heard of ice, could not imagine anything so cold. “So you regret having the gods make you a wife?”
“I do not regret it,” Jantu said. “She is good for two things, giving me sons and the pleasure of making them.”
A man with greasy hair and a thin moustache stared at a wall. “A terrible treasure you have in your hand. It will bring you misery. My stone was green, the color of her eyes. I found it in the sea, traded it to the gods for a wife. She loved to swim, walk along the shore, and dig her toes into sand. We spent many nights on the beach with nothing but a blanket and each other to keep warm. But the stone had a crack. She drowned a year after being created, before giving me sons.”
Silence engulfed the table, each man lost in momentary contemplation. The fat man put a plump hand on Markeem’s shoulder. “Do not let his tale of woe disturb you. May her lips be red and soft, may your heart know true love. Those who are lucky enough to find such a gift do not sit around all afternoon with other men. They are home with their wives and children.”
Markeem closed his hand over the stone, felt its warmth. “Red like fire in the night, like their skin before they died. Red to remind me. It called to me from the ashes of my parents’ home. My father, mother, and brother … burned. I have no money to clothe her, no food. My inheritance, one hundred year old vines for making wine, gone. All that is left is a storage shed in need of repair and charred fields. I escaped the fire only to watch my family die. She is punishment given by the gods to blister me for my sins.”
The fat man patted Markeem’s shoulder and glanced downward.
“The gods gave you a stone,” Jantu said, “a choice. I know a merchant who will buy it. A red stone is a rare prize to many.” He stretched forth his hand. “May I?”
Markeem lifted the stone to his nose and smelled its fragrance. Vanilla with a hint of cinnamon. What kind of woman would she be? Her hair red like the rock? A feisty spirit hard to control? He gave it to Jantu.
Jantu puffed on the pipe while scrutinizing the stone. He returned it to Markeem. “It is worth much. The gods will surely give you another when you are better prepared for the financial burdens of a family.”
How could he support a wife now, a woman brought forth from the ashes of his misery? “Where can I find this merchant?”
Jantu smiled. “I’ll take you to him.”
#
Markeem held the reins of a camel hauling two baskets around its hump. The baskets contained blankets, seeds, tools, soap, bread, wine, dried meat, and pots for cooking. For the first time since the fire, Markeem felt hope with a new tunic on his back and new sandals on his feet. He led the camel to his family’s property — his property now — and arrived at dusk. The twin suns hovered low on the horizon, their circular shapes distorted by heat rising from the land.
Green growth intermingled with the blackened remains of the fire. Had he been gone so long? Coconut trees bent by wind and scarred by flames still had food to give. Young buds adorned almond trees. Grapevines sprouted from ground. A renewable oasis bordered by desert. Mother always said he worried too much.
Markeem retrieved a crescent shaped wineskin from one of the baskets then headed to three parallel mounds at the edge of the property. An acacia tree shaded the graves. His family did not deserve to die. It was an unforeseeable disaster, an accident, an electrical storm. A bolt of lightning started the fire and…
He took the stopper off the wineskin, poured deep burgundy liquor over the first mound. “Father, you have done well. Rest and know that I will continue your work.” Wine trickled down the sides of the second mound and seeped into the ground. “Brother, you are free from the labors of this life. I will miss you.” The half empty wineskin dropped from his hands onto the third mound. Markeem fell to his knees, bent at the waist until his forehead touched the grave. “Mother.” The words of farewell would not come but the tears did. He was free to weep without an audience, mourners and friends offering sympathy.
Crying cleansed him of sorrow. It was time to discard his cloak of grief and rebuild. The land would not go to waste. He would be like the vines, vigorous plants able to triumph over adversity.
He knew the business, worked with his father in the vineyard before he could write, threw dirt clods at his brother as they played in the fields, learned recordkeeping from his mother while sitting at a table in the kitchen.
Markeem brought two blankets into the dilapidated shed. A narrow bench would serve as a bed during the cold night. He folded one blanket for a pillow then covered himself with the other. Stars shone above from a hole in the roof.
Markeem slept and dreamt of a red flower growing up from ashes — plucked by the hand of another.
#
Lumbering elephants, ill-tempered camels, and noisy llamas lined the crowded streets. Markeem sold coconuts and other fare in the marketplace, thinking of the vines able to give grapes for harvest in a year. The work kept him busy and happy. He had made enough money selling food to buy the building materials needed to make a small dwelling. Her presence interrupted his thoughts. It was her. The woman. Her!
She stood among noisy venders and customers with a basket tucked under one arm. Her hair was not red but black, cut short to frame her regal face. She had high cheekbones and a flat nose. Her skin was dark like chocolate, and her lips were full. She wore a long linen dress and garnet colored sash fringed with beads, expensive clothing he could not afford to give her.
She walked toward him, elegant as a queen, and then looked over the goods on his table. “How much for the coconuts?”
Love and lust burned in his soul. She smelled exactly like the red stone he had sold. Smooth vanilla and spicy cinnamon. He remembered the warmth of the stone, wanted the warmth of her skin, the taste of her lips, the feel of her body in his embrace. Why was he so stupid to sell such a treasure? “What is your name?”
“Tamir.”
“Tamir, do you not know me?”
She gazed at his face and backed away nervously. Jantu approached and touched the small of her back. Markeem immediately visualized hacking off his hand with a saber.
“My young friend, I see you are doing well. I’d like you to meet my new wife. The gods have truly blessed me.”
A yellow-haired woman gave Tamir bolts of cloth to carry. Her blue eyes stung like barbed tail of a scorpion. “Tamir, come. Leave the men to their boasting.” The second wife followed the first.
Jantu grinned as he watched the two women leave. “Fire and ice.”
“May your flesh rot with a pestilent disease and your manhood shrivel. You tricked me.”
“I acquired the stone legally. You did not want it, remember, telling everyone she would burn you. If the stone did not blister your flesh, neither would the woman.” Jantu took a coconut, placed three coins on the table, then left.
Markeem threw the money into the street.
#
The cavern of the gods. The dark womb where men are called. Markeem waited at the entrance of the cave without a stone, ready for the gods to smite him yet determined to have his say. No beings came out to meet him, so he would go to them.
He walked into blackness using the rock wall as a guide. A light shone in the distance. Markeem breathed deep, for courage, then continued toward the glow. What did the gods look like? Were their teeth bright like pearls, skin crafted from bronze, hair spun from gold? Were they as tall as giants?
The light came from a dry riverbed of stones and gems, all different, beautiful to behold, and intoxicating. Heat rose from the rocks in the chilly cavern. He wanted to strip naked and swim in the stones. Markeem removed his tunic, knelt next to the radiant river, and basked in its enticing warmth. He touched the stones and a shiver coursed through his body. Whispers of women licked his ears, voices willing to fulfill his needs, wanting to bring him to ecstasy. He submerged his hands into the riverbed then curled his fingers to grasp the stones tight. Whispers changed into soft sighs. Among the multitude of rocks and gems, he noticed the skull of a man. Markeem glanced around the cave and became aware of other bones. Sultry voices begged him to slip into the river. A trap set by the gods.
His hands no longer throbbed with pleasure but burned with heat. Sanity returned. Markeem jerked upward, but the rocks would not release him. Blisters bubbled on his buried fingers. His hands sunk deeper until colorful gems, rocks, opals, and pearls, seared his skin to the elbows.
Trapped in the multitude when all he wanted was one. “Tamir.” He closed his eyes.
Come into the river. Let us use your love.
Just rocks, not real. “Tamir.” He thought of her face, her voice, the way she walked–hated himself for what he had done. Prickly pain pulsed through his body. “Tamir.”
His hands pulled free. No blisters marred his flesh.
“Very few escape the river of stone,” a small voice from behind him said. “Why did you travel so far into the caves?”
The boy seemed about five or six years old, only it was not a boy. It was a miniature woman with thin arms and no breasts. A female child? Such a thing could not be! The gods make women. Only boys were born.
A crocodile the length of two men rose out of the river. Rocks and bones clattered in the resonant cave. Markeem moved between the beast and the child, pushing her away from the animal that smelled like a squalid swamp.
The crocodile’s jaws opened. Jagged teeth cradled a thick tongue. It hissed then changed into a winged creature of light with the head and body of a lion. It had tawny fur, a white underbelly, and eyes the color of sand. The majestic creature’s wings stirred the still air.
“Leave us, little one.” The lion folded its wings on its back and sat proudly on its haunches. The child skipped across the river of stones, unaffected, then disappeared into a tunnel on the opposite side of the cave.
“She is inquisitive,” the lion said.
“You are one of the gods I seek. I have come to—”
“Silence, impudent man,” he roared. “You sold Tamir for new clothes and a camel? We took pity on you, gave you a great gift. Tamir suffers because of your decision. She is the second wife of a selfish man, nothing more than a servant, wanted but not loved.”
“I didn’t know what I was doing. I’ll give away the camel, the clothes, offer a portion of wine each harvest to the gods to get her back. Please.” Markeem crossed his arms over his bare chest and bent his head. “Please.”
“Hmmph,” the god growled benignly. “You were able to pull yourself out of the river, proving loyalty to Tamir. You protected the young one from the crocodile, demonstrating courage. And you came to meet the gods face to face, showing need. I can give you back Tamir, but you will not like what I have to say.”
“What is it? I’ll do anything. What?”
“Bring me the red stone.”
“I can’t. Jantu bought the stone then traded it to the gods to make Tamir. You have it here, here in this cave somewhere, hidden in the river.”
“The stone is in her heart. Kill Tamir, cut out her heart, take out the stone, then bring it to me. I will make a new Tamir.”
“No.” Markeem uncrossed his arms and gazed at the majestic beast, a demon with wings of an angel. “No!”
“Then suffer the consequences of your choice.” The lion opened its mouth, blowing air that stank of sulfur. The force of the wind threw Markeem backwards. He bashed into rocks then tumbled out of the cave.
#
Markeem brooded, sipping warm tea in the afternoon heat and sitting between two rows of buildings. This was Jantu’s usual spot of leisure, where he smoked and wasted time while his wives worked at home. Images of Tamir invaded his thoughts, them together, Jantu’s filthy lips fouling her perfect ones. Markeem reached down and touched the dagger hidden in the pocket of his pants. Cut out her heart, the demon-god said, a new Tamir created just for him, untainted by another man’s hands.
Jantu approached; his brow was furrowed in bewilderment. “Markeem? I am surprised you’re here.”
He couldn’t do it, wouldn’t kill the woman he loved. “I have come to … to give you thanks.”
Jantu surveyed the other men in the street and sat cautiously. “Your thanks?”
“I wanted to cut off your hands for touching her, castrate you.”
He winced at the word then picked up the slim pipe of the hookah already lit. Metallic liquid twirled inside the glass sphere. “My condolences, but I am schooled in self-defense, skilled with a saber. You are a farmer. No matter how great your envy, you will never be quick enough to cut me.”
Markeem forced a smile. “I do not wish to cut you any longer. As I said, I’d like to thank you. The gods have given me a gift far superior to one meager stone. Why suffer with a needy woman when I can have the love of many at once.”
“You’ve been working in the heat too long. It has affected your brain.”
“I traveled deep into the cave of the gods and found a river of women–women who desire only carnal pleasure.”
“Now it is you who are trying to trick me.” Jantu’s cheeks sunk in as he inhaled from the pipe. He leaned back in the chair then blew silver smoke from his nostrils.
“Keep Tamir,” Markeem said, “she is but one. I swam in a river of stones, beautiful gems, smooth rocks.”
“The river of stones is a myth. Every man knows that.”
“It is real, like being straddled by a thousand women at once. Such pleasure I cannot describe. A myth would not make me forget what I sold.”
“And why are you here with me, my young friend, if you know where the river is?”
“Sheer exhaustion.”
Jantu laughed.
“I went into the caves without a stone for a wife,” Markeem said, “ready to curse the gods for their cruelty. The river runs deep in the cavern, emits light and heat like many candles gathered together. I spent all day riding wave after wave and left only for food and rest. I will go back after tending my vines to take another swim. But you have two beautiful wives, what do you need with a river?”
“True.” Jantu gazed into the distance. “True.”
The seed was planted. Markeem touched the blade hidden in his pants, an ineffective weapon compared to a cunning tongue.
What had he done?
#
Markeem tended his vines, built the frame of a soon to be home, worried and wondered, went to the graves of his family, then visited the city when his guilt grew too great. Acid churned in his stomach and bile rose in his throat at the mere thought of seeing Jantu, but he was no murderer. Was he?
Jantu was not smoking in his usual spot, nor was he in the market. No one had seen him. Markeem went to the cave of the gods, the river of stones. The crocodile rose from the rocks, gulping the foot of a man down its gullet. Only a single boot remained at the edge of the river.
The crocodile changed into the winged lion. “Have you brought me the red stone so that I may make another Tamir?”
“Fiend. Evil spirit sent to tempt man. Where’s Jantu?”
“It is too late for regrets. Jantu did not survive the river.” The lion yawned and rested on its fat belly.
“If you know I goaded Jantu into coming here, then you know I do not have the stone. I cannot kill her.”
“You can kill her husband though.”
“Why did you curse me with that stone?”
The lion yawned again, its tongue curled in the cage of its mouth. “She chose you, not me. Tamir felt pity for you after the fire, told us to give you the stone. She does not remember. Only faint memories of her former life remain.”
“The gods make women for—”
“Open your eyes, Markeem. I am neither god nor demon. This cave is a tunnel between your land and another. I am a gatekeeper bound to devour all who are unworthy to pass.”
“You wanted me to kill her.”
“Did you? Could you cut out her heart? Not you, never. Tamir made the choice to enter your land and ease your grief. Perhaps she even loved you. I can no longer protect her, that responsibility fell to you.” The lion rose, stretched its wings, then called into the cave, “Come, little one, give him the gifts.” The female child entered, skipping over the river as before. She placed two stones at Markeem’s feet, one red and one crystal clear. Markeem picked them up. Fire and ice.
The child climbed onto the lion’s back then nestled between its wings, her small hands clutching the thick mane. “Take me flying. Please.”
“In a moment, little one. Markeem, tell the women their husband is no longer, tell Jantu’s two sons that their father is dead, tell them how he died if you dare. They are yours now, like the stones.” Lion and child disappeared into a tunnel.
So many lies. He wasn’t sure what to believe. If the gods did not make women for men, where did women come from? Where did the female child come from? Not gods but gatekeepers. Tamir choose him. Why would she choose a farmer with no house for shelter, no bed for comfort? The stones did not feel warm, cold, or heavy in his hands. They only felt like stones.
He went to Jantu’s property, a good-sized plot of land with horses, a camel, and a fine two-story building. Markeem knocked on the carved mahogany door and asked a servant if he could speak with Jantu’s wives. The servant ushered him into a large room with many windows and comfortable furniture. Both women entered the brightly lit space.
Markeem bowed to the first wife. She carried a young boy on her hip. The boy resembled Jantu but with eyes of blue. “Your husband fought gallantly with the gods and lost. He has passed from this life.”
Her gaze was harsh, skeptical. “I do not know you. Why should I believe this information?”
Markeem took the crystal out of his pocket, placed it in her hand. “Jantu bought your stone from a merchant. The gods gave it to me. I release you from your bond.”
She examined the crystal, put the boy down, told him to play outside, and then went to a window. She lifted the crystal to a beam of sunlight. Light separated into a rainbow on the wall at the opposite side of the room. “I…remember.” Tears fell down the skin of her cheek, and she clutched the crystal to her chest. Jantu’s first wife left the room, overcome by emotion.
He went to Tamir and bowed his head, unable to look at her face. He wanted to say he was sorry for selling her into servitude as a second wife, tricking her husband into the river, wanted to say he would always love her. He took the red stone out of his pocket, placed it in her warm hand. “I release you from your bond.”
#
Life went on without her. Markeem finished building the small dwelling above the ashes of his parents’ home, continued to sell food in the market, planted flowers around his family’s graves, kept busy, and pretended to be happy. He walked among the well-tended vines. There in the dirt was another stone, another chance for a wife, punishment for his sins.
What would she be like? Crystal clear and cold, fat and lazy, loud and brash? The stone was red. Markeem picked it up and felt its warmth. It smelled like vanilla and cinnamon. Tamir. For the second time since the fire, he felt hope.
He raced to the cave of the gods and waited. No being came out to greet him and take the stone in exchange for a wife. Markeem sprinted into darkness until he reached the glowing riverbed. The winged lion was there but not Tamir. Another trick? Another test?
“Few men are able to pass,” the lion said. “You have proved your worth already. Loyalty to Tamir, courage, need—”
“My worth? I am responsible for Jantu’s death. His wives are widows, his children orphans.”
“All make mistakes, Markeem, not all show regret. I brought Tamir back to the cave to give her a choice. She remembered the fire and you. She knows you sold the rock, and she knows you told Jantu about the river. Tamir waits for you through the tunnel.”
“To slap my face and make me suffer for what I’ve done.”
“Perhaps,” the lion said. “Perhaps not.”
His land and his business flourished. What good was it without her? Markeem stepped onto the stones.
The winged lion did not change into a crocodile the length of two men. No whispers of women assaulted his ears. There was no blistering pain. The rocks, gems, and pearls did not pulse with life. Crossing the river was as easy as walking.
“You cannot have sons in the other land, only daughters.”
“What are daughters?” Markeem said.
“Daughters are to be taught, loved, and then let go. The land is fertile. You can continue farming and making wine. That, you will not forget.”
“My property. I wish for it to go to Jantu’s first wife and his sons as payment for the wrong I’ve done.”
“I will make it so. Now you must give back the stone.”
Markeem tossed the red rock into the river with the others. He passed through the long tunnel without looking back. A woman waited for him at the opening of the cave. She had dark skin like chocolate, perfect lips, short black hair, and a regal presence. “Markeem,” she said, a slight tremble in her voice, “I wasn’t sure you’d come.”
“Who are you?”
“I am Tamir, your wife.”
White clouds floated in the blue sky. Giant trees with thick trunks crowded the terrain. Leaves rustled in the breeze and blocked the rays of the two suns. In the distance were mountains with white peaks. The cool air smelled unfamiliar, fragrant. A river of water trickled through the trees. It was all so strange.
“My father, mother, and sisters are waiting to meet you.”
“Sisters?”
She took his hand, interlacing her fingers with his. “There is a plot of land we can farm and a place for us to stay.”
Markeem remembered fire, family, faint feelings of loss, a stone. He remembered green vines supported by strong roots growing from the ashes of his former life. Then darkness, a river, a mistake, a choice. Memories faded until nothing but pieces remained, like broken pottery that could not be repaired into a coherent whole.
He wanted to kiss the woman and take her in his arms but squeezed her hand instead. Markeem would wait until it was right, until she was ready.
His beautiful wife, Tamir.
© 2009 Rhonda Porret
A latecomer to writing, Rhonda Porrett spent her early years playing sports, driving trucks, jumping out of airplanes, living in tents, and working in microbiology labs. She now sits in front of a safe computer screen to bang out stories and exercise her often neglected brain. You can view her musings here: http://aka-shakti.livejournal.com/
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