The Semaphore

Thick, warm raindrops woke them.

The stars were gone, and the sky went on in darkness forever. Ien was groggy, and Pontis guided him down the stairs to his apartment, where, at the door, he threw his arms around Pontis and held him for a long moment before he slipped inside.

Pontis made his way home. The lanterns along the street reflected orange pools in the wet sidewalks. When he reached the plaza the sky opened in earnest, and sheets of rain thundered down. He paused beneath the trees and waited a few minutes for the worst to pass. When it didn’t, he sprinted the short distance from the plaza to the tenement and hurried through the atrium, only slowing when he reached the staircase.

He didn’t know what time it was. His Ma never returned from work until after sunrise. Still, he closed his apartment door softly behind him and tiptoed through the dark kitchen. He pulled a wash towel from the rack to dry his face and arms. Through the window over the sink, the city was awash in rain, the lanterns blurring.

“I was expecting you through a window.”

Pontis whipped around. Varia stood at the mouth of the hallway, a candle in one hand and a book in the other. Her face flickered in the dim flame.

“I was starting to worry, even,” Varia said, setting the candle in a holder on the kitchen table. “Not for you. For what I’d have to tell Doctor Inoue, was she to come home and find you gone.”

Pontis fished his voice pad from his pocket. ‘I’m sorry,’ he wrote. ‘I fell asleep.’

“Did you have fun at least?”

Pontis nodded.

“Good.” Varia sat at the kitchen table and propped her legs up. She placed her book on her knees and slid the candle closer. “Go wash and get to bed. It’s later than it looks.”

Pontis started for the hallway, then paused, placed his hand on his lips, and extended it toward Varia.

“Back atchya, lovey-boy,” she said. “Now go. You want to at least look like you put the whole night in bed, come the time your Ma walks in.”

Pontis put his wet clothes in the hamper and climbed into bed. He lay on his back and looked up at the ceiling, where, in one corner, a spider tended to its web. The rain whispered outside. There was a flash of lightning followed by rolling thunder far away. He started to doze off, seeing Ien standing in the sun at the shore of the pond, his back to Pontis, his sopping wet hair and the freckles like bits of dust across his shoulders. Pontis touched his back and he turned slowly, his mouth twisted, his eyelids two vacant, gaping holes.

Pontis sat up. His stomach roiled. He tried to push the image aside, to restore Ien’s face and its deep brown eyes. The rain chattered against the windowpane. Pontis tried to picture the pond itself, with its lily pads and dragonflies, its films of algae and occasional lazy turtles, the swallows and the frogs, and finally, after some time, he slept.

#

When he woke up the rain had subsided to a drizzle. The sun was up, hidden beyond the thick ceiling of white clouds. He heard someone moving around in the kitchen. He had probably slept only an hour or two. His eyes were heavy. If it rained all day he would try to find time for a nap.

He shuffled down the hall. The sound of pots and pans scraping on the stove and the smell of brewing coffee lured him toward the kitchen. His Ma made the best breakfasts. Pontis had barely eaten yesterday. His stomach rumbled.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

But his Ma was not in the kitchen. Instead, Varia stood at the stove, two eggs in one hand and a spatula in the other, her black hair tied back from her face, her shirt covered in flour.

“Morning,” she said, pouring a glob of batter into a pan.

Pontis frowned and shrugged.

“Couldn’t say,” said Varia. “Something at the hospital, I’d guess. She’ll walk in any minute. Meantime, you poor souls get to enjoy Varia’s famous country breakfast.”

She poked at the batter with a spatula, splattering some across the counter.

Pontis sat at the table and watched Varia flail around the kitchen. He grinned when she burnt the toast, and clapped when she overflowed the coffee onto the counter. But beneath the table his leg jounced. Last winter, a fire had broken out in an apartment across the plaza. People were badly burned. But his Ma had still made it home with the sunrise, tired but ready to make breakfast with her children. She never missed breakfast.

Her eyes, Fiorla… They took her eyes…

Harper appeared in the doorway, her hair tangled and her face lined from her pillow. “What’s burning?” she asked, crawling onto Pontis’s lap, where she promptly fell back to sleep for a few minutes until Varia delivered two plates to the table.

“Now I know it’s going to be delicious,” Varia said, her face flushed, surveying the mess she’d made of the stove and sink. “But don’t eat too fast. We don’t want any stomachaches this morning.”

Pontis dug in. It was not remotely delicious, but it was edible, and he was famished.

Harper took a bite of a pancake and chewed morosely. She frowned and looked around the kitchen. “Where’s Mama?” she asked.

Varia wrestled with a greasy pan in the sink, sending a fan of soapy water across the wall. “Running a little late is all,” she said. “Home before you know it.”

As if in response to the statement, the apartment’s front door opened and their Ma entered, slow and heavy. Her braid was in disarray. There were creases around her eyes and mouth that Pontis had never noticed.

“Mama!” Harper leapt up and embraced her Ma’s legs.

“My love.” Ma let a hand rest on Harper’s head, all she could seem to manage. She looked at Pontis, then Varia. “Sorry I’m late.”

“That’s alright, Doctor Inoue.” Varia smiled from the sink, her shirt covered in soap and water. “Went ahead and made breakfast. Would you like some?”

Ma’s mouth curled downward and her nose wrinkled. “I’ve no appetite.” She leaned against the door, Harper still clinging to her overalls. “And I’m sorry to say it, but I can’t stay long. None of us can.”

Pontis and Varia exchanged a frown.

“There’s an emergency meeting in the Hall, within the hour,” Ma continued. “We’re all needed.”

“What’s happened?” Varia asked, her expression suddenly hard in a way that reminded Pontis of her father, the Mayor of Lowood Den.

Ma shook her head. “Help Harper dress. All of you be ready to leave inside half an hour.” Her gaze moved across the kitchen, though her stare seemed to continue on past the walls. “You can deal with all this later.”

Varia nodded.

Pontis watched his Ma disappear down the hall. He looked at Varia. Varia frowned into the dirty sink. Harper sat back down and resumed attempting to eat her breakfast, though she managed only another couple of bites.

#

Pontis tried to clean the kitchen a little while Varia helped Harper get dressed, though he could barely make a dent in the mess and abandoned it soon after. He threw on a clean outfit and started down the hall toward the bathroom, pausing outside his Ma’s room when he heard a sound he had never heard before.

Crying.

It was quiet and stifled, but it was unmistakable. He tapped on the doorframe. The crying stopped. He took a breath and then entered.

His Ma sat on the edge of her bed. She had changed into fresh clothes and unbraided her hair. She looked up at him with red eyes, her mouth a thin line.

“Forgive me,” she said.

Pontis sat and put his arm around her.

“Your father used to say a one lives two lives,” she said. “The one before they’ve seen their folks cry, and the one after.”

Pontis squeezed a faint smile at his Ma and placed his chin on her shoulder. In the next room, Harper argued with Varia about her outfit.

“I had a hard night of it,” his Ma continued. “You’re going to hear things today that’ll scare you. But you need to hear them, and you need to be brave for your sister.”

Pontis pulled his voice pad from his pocket. ‘I’m here to help,’ he wrote.

His Ma read the note slowly, as if it was somehow difficult to parse. “I know you are,” she said finally, sweeping Pontis’s hair back from his forehead. “I know.”