One Heartbeat

Karatau Meiyenesi came to the apartment this evening. Nurannyi let him in as I returned from the market. Incense still burned on the household shrine when I walked in. She helped me in the kitchen with the groceries, taking them out of the bags with shaking hands. I have always remained silent about Aneti when you couple with her here, but I draw the line here. One of them at dinner is all right, but here? Why here?

I turned away from her and opened the pantry closet’s door, putting away fruit and bags of nuts and noodles. I don’t know.

He made offerings in our house. Get him out of here before he offends one of our ancestors. She shoved the fish and meat into the refrigerator and leaned her head against the closing door. My Gods, where do you meet such people?

Neither of us had heard Karatau Meiyenesi move out of the common space, but he now stood in the doorway with his arms folded across his chest. I saw anger and pain in his eyes, but he made no move against Nurannyi. She had not noticed him. His gaze followed the flow of her hair down her back and over her neck; he cataloged her shuddering shoulders and shaking midsection without a hint of desire or contempt. Salus Niksubvya and I met at one of the light shows. I apologize for coming, Akah Nurannyi.

She turned around slowly until the two of them locked eyes. Be careful, Nitannyi. He may devour you with the mouth in his chest.

That’s not even remotely true, he said without hesitation. His hands made a washing motion. Salus Niksubvya, I need to speak with you. In private, if possible.

He shrugged. I would prefer not to begin the conversation that way, but … no … he told me not to come. May I sit?

All right. I made room for him on the bed. He picked up a quarter of the alahara and removed his piece of core with the knife. How would you like to begin?

Karatau Meiyenesi bit into the alahara, chewing slowly. He eyed the loose pieces of paper on the desk and traditional inks on the desk, but made no attempt to take them. I have a proposition that I want you to consider.

I raised a piece of fruit to my lips. In the kitchen, I could hear Nurannyi chopping ingredients—some kind of soup, I remembered, with cubes of fish added at the end so they remained deliciously raw on the inside. Imagining the taste of dinner was infinitely preferable to the current conversation. Karatau Meiyenesi made me remember that shameful conversation with Likua and the discarded smart paper, which made me think of the bugged dreadlock cuff resting in one of my drawers.

Dreadlock cuffs reminded me of the night I met Kelis, all frightened and afraid in in the orchards. Someone had been watching me.

I don’t know.

An honest answer. He took another quarter of the alahara, cleaning it the same way as before. You know the company I keep. Someone said that you found a photo of a woman who looked like you. I know who she was. I can give you a name. Details. How much is that information worth to you? His tone sounded so polite that I almost pledged to give him everything.

Telling him that it meant the world to me would have made me sound desperate, negating my bargaining position and giving him license to abuse my desires. Not that Karatau Meiyenesi would … but it pays to be careful. However, denying the value of that information could have made him retract the offer. It means something, I suppose. Depending on what you want me to do.

His breathing rhythm faltered when he heard that, but he smiled and put his thumb over his lips. I … want you to use the bug again and write on smart paper. That’s not incredibly demanding, is it? He stood and linked his hands behind his back, pacing in front of the bed. His hepteri vest was patterned with groups of three criss-crossing feathers in red thread, the color of fading life and death on tile floors, of broken carapaces in the grass. The black background reminded me of the night sky. I think that’s a fair trade.

What if I refuse?

Then I will have to call someone to threaten you because I’m not good at it. He shrugged his shoulders and rested his fingertips against the open window’s frame.

Red dresses and flowing gyena filled my head, along with moonlit rendezvous and golden engagement presents. Tell me … what does Likua do for you? How did he get involved?

Karatau Meiyenesi poked his fingers through the translucent curtains, breathing in slowly. The spice-filled air made him cough and push the window open farther to let in the drizzle-damp air. He moved silently, like the villain in an opera, but w hen he tried to speak, he could only choke out air.

Are you all right?

Yes. I … Likua is a freelance hacker. No more, no less. We’ve known each other for seven years or so. He … provides information sometimes. He laughed, maintaining eye contact with his reflection in the mirror, as though looking away gave it license to murder him. Men like Likua need to be treated delicately. We offer enough incentive for him to consider us his preferred customers, you might say.

I put the final piece of alahara in my mouth and stood. My feet felt numb against the freezing floor. Karatau Meiyenesi watched my reflection move closer and closer to him. Several steps away, I spat two dark brown seeds onto the floor at his feet. Treat me as you would treat him, I said.

I don’t—

Give me that woman’s name. I spat again, hitting his left sandal with the final seed. I can find everything else myself. And … I will use the bug and journal as long as we observe some rules.

Like?

None of that information leaves Equilibrium Nexus’s hands without my permission.

That’s a fair amendment. Anything else?

Let me take care of Aneti on my own.

He reached beneath his hepteri vest and unsheathed a small knife, holding it in front of me for a few moments as he cauterized it with a small lighter. Something in his eyes made my stomach knot. Let’s seal the deal. Give me your hand?

What?

Archaic, I know, but I’m superstitious. He reached forward and grabbed my shaking right hand, slicing through the palm before I had enough time to object. As my nerves caught on fire, he cut his own hand. The blood welled up, redder than crimson, deeper than scarlet. Without a word, he pressed our hands together.

His blood burned against my skin like acid. I closed my eyes and told myself to be a big girl, that women like me couldn’t cry, but the tears still rolled down my cheeks and my heart fluttered. For a brief, panic-stricken moment, I wondered whether he could give me the muakanua through this because the fire seemed to travel up my arm and burn through my heart.

Just as I thought the pain had become unbearable, he pushed our hands away. My palm had begun to swell. Something in Karatau Meiyenesi’s blood had prompted an allergic reaction. The palm-cutting friendship ritual had not felt anything like this. I wiped away tears with my good hand and felt my hot forehead with my wet fingertips.

Karatau Meiyenesi hugged me, smearing his hair with my tears. As our bodies melted against each other, I began to wonder who he had left behind when he caught the muakanua—whether they had felt betrayed by him—whether the loss of his presence had destroyed them. Perhaps Likua had sent him because he knew I needed company from someone who had lost much and cried often … someone who understood betrayal.

Kidis Karoumo-Nitasë Kaleso, he whispered.

And then he faded away.