Two Grand Christmas

Two Grand Christmas
by
Bobby Derie

She wanted twenty-four hundred, but I jewed her down.

Christmas bells rang out, the churchgoers shuffling in for mass. I sat on the bench in the park opposite, watching the shadow of the steeple on the snow. Minutes ticked by, the doors to the vestible closed, and I was alone again. Then there came the familiar crunch of boots.

"Roger?" she said. I nodded. "I'm Kate."

The picture on Craigslist had done her justice: cute face, with just the trace of acne scars to give it character. The snowjacket she was wearing covered her too well, but she moved lightly and didn't have the puffiness of the face I associated with people that could stand to lose a few pounds.

I stood up, and we shook hands. Then I handed her the envelope, and she huddled closer for a minute to count it, and I could smell her perfume. Something musky, just a hint of citrus. She nodded and put it away.

"So." Kate said. "What do you want to do with me?"

*

Somewhere a church chimed one as Kate quietly opened the door to her apartment. The tree in the corner was a shaggy plastic thing, not even full-sized, but the lights burned and blinked red and green and white. The floor beneath it was empty.

Danny was on the couch, under a blanket, looking out the window. The lights of the passing cars illuminated his face, still awake. He looked up as Kate came in, took off her coat and boots. She couldn't quite supress a wince as she bent down a little. He went back to watching the cars, and she limped over and laid down on her side next to him.

"Hey," she said.

"Hey." he said.

"Did you have a nice day? Get something to eat?"

"Yeah. Where were you?"

"Mommy had to work, sweetheart."

"I thought everything was closed today."

"Mommy had a customer."

"Oh."

They watched a couple black and whites speed by, lights flashing, and an ambulance followed blaring its horn.

"I thought we were going to have Christmas together." he said.

"We are, baby." Kate said. "We're gonna get up early tomorrow and hit the sales, and I'll buy you a bunch of presents."

"It's not the same."

"I know baby."

"Why did you have to work today?"

"Some people don't have anyone else baby. Some people are all alone."

Kate worked her arms around the boy and held him close.

"Not like us?" he said.

"No baby. Not like us."

###

Eztli and the Nagual

Eztli and the Nagual
by
Bobby Derie

The moon had swelled and faded three times, and three babes had woken crying and pale in their mother's arms, when Eztli found herself in Oaxcaca, on the road to Yagul. The air was sweet, and she walked in moonlight along the road, and came in time to a well where a naked woman sat combing her wild hair, and at her feet was a pile of bloody bones.

"Hello mother," Eztli said.

"Say, sister, my dear. I am not old enough yet to be your mother." said the woman "But come, if you would, and help me comb my hair."

Eztli came closer, and with her fingers began to work the knots from the woman's hair, which was tangled and matted with dirt and blood, and took handfuls of water from the well to wash it out.

"It was a night like this," the woman said "When I washed my hair, and a young man saw me. He loved me by midnight, and we courted in the usual way - at festivals and dances. His family was wary, for I had no family or animals of my own, but I had some gold and jewelry that I made a gift of to them, and they thought I was a wealthy woman. So in the end, they did not object when we were married."

"But I had not told my husband the whole truth, until that night on his farm, in his house, in his bed, wrapped together. For though I am a woman, I was born on the Day of the Coyote, and the coyote was my tonal. My parents died when I was young, and I went to live with my grandmother, who was a nahuālli and a nagual, and she taught me the ways of both. So I ran with the coyotes at night, and raided the farms, and fought tooth and fang with the bitches of the pack, and protected their pups as if they were my own, and I knew I could not be happy simply as a woman, even his woman, though I loved him so."

"He was born on the Day of the Coyote too, and I could feel his tonal like mine - and my grandmother had taught me how to make someone else a nagual, either as a blessing or a curse. So I asked that he be a coyote too. At first he was afraid, but as he stared at me naked in the moonlight lust had its hooks in him, and he could not deny me. So I showed him how to shed his skin and hide it, and we loped off together into the night."

"It was hard for him, because he did not know the ways of the coyote. The others did not like him, and he did not like how the males sniffed at me, and said I did not snap my fangs at them as fast as I should have. He had been an honest farmer in life, and it did not sit well with him to steal his neighbor's food, and he was never a good hunter, so I had to hunt for us both. In time he had an encounter with one of his old neighbors - a childhood friend - and came back to me with his tail between his legs, and asked to be a man again. So I cursed him to manhood, and we went back to where our skins were, and he put his on again. We were no more husband and wife, though I stayed with him for a time."

"I have heard your story, sister," Eztli said, wringing her hands because her fingers were sore. The last of the knots had been undone from the nagual's hair, which was long and brown-black. "Yet I heard he came back later, and killed you with a knife, and lived an honest life."

"A lie," the nagual said with a smile "One his parents came up with to hide their shame at what he had become. Yes, he did try to kill me, as you would a dog. It was only at the end, when my teeth were at his throat, that he remembered a coyote is not a dog."

###

Eztli and the Tlahuelpuchi

Eztli
by
Bobby Derie

On her mat of woven reeds, Eztli listened to the breathing of the night. In the corner, her mother and father snored next to one another; beside her the twins Tupac and Coyotl breathed loudly through their mouths, as boys are want to do; and by the coals grandmother sat nodding. Outside the insects made their music, and bats fluttered between trees, and the jaguar walked in silence. Yet Eztli was awake, listening and waiting as the insect-chorus died and the clouds covered the face of the moon, and the pitter-patter of the first raindrops struck the earth. Then Uncle Ichtaca came out from the next room.

No one save the family knew of Uncle Ichtaca, and father and mother had forbidden Eztli to speak of him to anyone. He stayed inside during the day when the others worked, stringing beads and sharpening tools. In the half-light of the night he seemed lean and wild, for all that grandmother tried sometimes to comb out his hair, and he wore Eztli's father's old clothes. Eztli did not move as he stalked passed the children, not even turning her head, but kept her eyes narrowed to slits to watch him as he stood at the door and sniffed the night. When he stepped out into the rain, Eztli counted to five, then got up and slipped on her sandals and followed him into the midnight rain.

Eztli could not see well in the darkness, but there were few enough houses nearby, and only two with small children. She ran down the road toward the nearest neighbor. By the time she got to the house, the pattering rain had given way to the fine almost-mist that brought the sweat to the skin and stood heavy in the lungs. Something fluttered overhead, and though she could not see it her eyes caught the trailing glow, like the afterimage behind your eyelids when you look at the heart of the fire. Shaking her eyes, she crept up to the window and looked in.

The babe was just off the teat, and even by the dim light Eztli could see the tiredness in the eyes of mother and father; this might have been their first solid night's sleep since the child was born. Uncle Ichtaca crept forward on his knees and eased the child away from the mother with long practice. It was naked, and stirred slightly in his arms, but he rocked it gently into deeper slumber, swaying his body to and fro, every time his head dipping closer and closer to the child. Eztli saw his lips latch on to the nipple on that tiny chest, the cheeks hollow and bellow.

It might almost have been a playful kiss, save for the bruise left behind, and the bloody tongue that Uncle Ichtaca ran over his lips before he lay the babe back down. Eztli remembered the same strange kisses, until she had grown too old, and how her brothers would wake crying at night. She watched him waddle back to the window, still on his knees - and as he neared it she saw clearly that he had no legs below the knee.

He made a kind of leap, and the fire-echo seemed to flash before Eztli's eyes again. There on the windowsill was a turkey, the tlahuelpuchi, blood dripping from the beak of its blue head, a hazy aura hanging about its body. Eztli had always thought the bird looked like a rainbow trapped in darkness, the strange-colored feathers a sight of endless fascination. Without a word, the glowing bird flapped its wings and disappeared into the night. As it left, the babe gave out a wail, and Eztli slinked off into the night as the parents roused themselves.

Uncle Ichtaca had not left in the direction of their house, so Eztli took her time returning. She found her uncle's legs by the door to the house, right next to a pair of her father's sandals. Eztli picked them up and took them with her into the house. Everyone still snored, even grandmother, who had finally laid down on her side. Eztli picked her way through the darkness of the house, and found the obsidian knife her mother used to scrape skins and meat. Then she went and sat by the door to wait.

Uncle Ichtaca would have a territory, she knew; a hunting-ground where the other tlahuelpuchi would not come. He rarely spoke to his niece or nephews, save sometimes in the evening after they had all shared a meal and were ready to sleep. Then he would tell them of the tlahuelpuchi in other places, and how they would meet at night to do their business and resolve their differences. He had spoken of the tlahuelpuchi as the priests might speak of Hunahpu and Xbalanque, and how they might deal with the aluxob and wayob, and even the terrible xtabay. Always, always the clever and powerful tlahuelpuchi got the best of the nagual and other monsters, a hero in the night.

Outside the rain had stopped, and Eztli heard the flapping of wings and caught the flicker of his glowing feathers. She rushed outside to find the great turkey agitated, pecking about her father's sandles, looking for his legs. Eztli caught his neck with her one hand, and brought the glassy black blade down with the other. The blade cut deep, stolen blood spurting hot and thick on her hand, and Eztli brought the blade down again and again until the pale blue head fell to the mud. It was not the first time she had killed a turkey.

Grandmother's wail woke the house.

The old woman came forward on hands and knees, cradling the body of the bird that had been her cursed son to her chest. Eztli's mother and father were next to come out, but their grief was expressed in angry words; the twins crowded around their knees to see what was going on.

Eztli wiped the obsidian blade off on her shirt, and looked out at the night with different eyes. She remembered the night Uncle Ichtaca had been drinking with her father, and the two had quarreled, as brothers sometimes do. It had gone so far that her father had drawn his knife and held it at her uncle's throat, but the tlahuelpuchi had just smiled: for if a family member killed a tlahuelpuchi, then the cursed passed on to them. Now Eztli smiled as her belly rumbled, for now it was time to find out for herself if her uncle's stories were true.

###

Rain on Klatooine

Rain on Klatooine
by
Bobby Derie

Precipitation was rare on Klatooine, and even then mostly up in the mountains. It was a rare system of fat, wet, hot clouds that rolled down and deposited its moisture on the arid plains and deserts. Eiven Task had left the window open to invite the humid breeze in, and for a little while the whole world smelled like wet dog.

Laying next to him on the bed was Xasha. Like him, she was near-human; only the hint of elongated canines and the extra nipples budding down beneath her breast suggested the alienage in her ancestry. Naked in the afternoon light, she idly traced the Sith runes tattooed on his chest, then slid her fingers over to probe the puckered scar that ran down the left side of his body. On one side, flesh. On the other, plastic and metal ribs, artificial organs, a cold cybernetic arm.

Xasha bent over and caught one of his nipples in her teeth, teased it. Eiven tensed under her ministrations, broken out of his musings. Her intuition was incredible, her aura of sexuality and lust palpable; she could have been a Jedi, if they'd found her, though he'd never told her he knew she had the gift. Feeling the shift in his mood, she released his nipple and snuggled close into the crook of his flesh-and-blood arm, her breasts pressing into his side.

She knew he was spent, and only playing for time.

"You never told me how you lost that arm."

"Playing with lightsabers," Task said. "I won't tell you all of it, but the end..."

*

The rain beat down so hard and heavy that you couldn't feel each drop, only the torrent of water pounding down on. The lightsabers steamed and crackled audibly in the downpour. Two of them circled him, older students, their weapons blue-white blurs burning in the rain. Their quarry was younger, at least a head shorter, and he didn't have a lightsaber - but he held his hands low and in front of him, legs spread shoulder-width apart as the others came on.

It looked like a dance, but it was closer to a chess match. Where they were was only part of it, the rest of the battle is where they would be, move and countermove, Force-guided intuition seeking the future, who could out-predict and out-move the others. With the pouring rain, none of the three could see or hear very well, but they could feel their positions relative to each other. Like in training at the academy, wielding burning blades without any heft or inertia, you simply had to know where it was at all times.

One of the bigger students got too close, and the shorter one made his move - a forward roll underneath a clumsy swing; the little one stood up in a smooth motion, something sharp glinting in the palm of his right hand. The scream of the taller student cut the air, and he collapsed, hands cupping the red stain spreading over his crotch.

The short one stood over his fallen foe for only a heartbeat before falling backwards, the blazing, steaming arc of the remaining student's lightsaber cutting through the rain only centimeters from the shorter student's face. Faster and faster the lightsaber zig-zagged in front of him, the student retreating constantly to keep out of the deadly range. If anyone was looking that dark night, the swings might have looked wild and erratic, but they cut off every route of escape, every opportunity to duck or dodge around to the side, the taller one boxing the shorter one in. It was a losing fight, and both knew it. In less than a minute, the shorter student's heel was touching the back wall of the alley.

Reflexively, the shorter student tossed the blade into his right hand. He turned to present his left side to his enemy, the smallest possible target, his bare left hand raised in front of him as though he held a lightsaber ready to parry. The small handblade was in his right hand, level with his belly, pointed at his opponent. The assumption of the posture was rote, automatic; if the taller student could see anything besides the burning blade of the lightsaber before him, he might have barked a laugh. As it was, he did not hesitate to bring the blade down in a heavy, straightforward two-handed stroke.

The shorter student leapt forwards, bringing his left hand as close to the base of the blade as he could reach. There was a moment - an agonizing fraction of a second - where the blue-white plasma seemed to halt against some unseen force as the palm of the small hand touched its corona. Then the falling stroke came through skin and blood and bone, deflected only a fraction from its deadly course - but the burning strike that should have fallen square on the shorter student's head came down instead on the shoulder, and then down through the side of his torso.

Momentum carried the smaller body to crash into the taller one as his severed, burning arm fell to the ground. The last thing the older boy felt was the tiny handblade digging into his chest, punching through muscle and scraping against bone as it punctured his lung.

Eiven Task stood over his fallen opponent. The lightsaber had seared the wound shut, and shock was already setting in, but he willed himself to stay conscious as the older boy started to drown on his own blood. To feel his presence in the Force flicker and fade.

There had been a legend, Eiven knew, of Jedi who on death became one with the living Force, not even leaving a body behind. Staggering away from the scene, lopsided and unused to the new balance without his arm, he left two corpses behind him.

*

"You won't tell me why?" Xasha said.

"Some other time." Task said.

With nothing left to say, she move to straddle him, drawing the sheet over them both like a tent, and hugged him close to her. On his flesh-and-blood side, he could feel the line of her nipples rub against him.

"Another time?" she breathed in his ear "I'll take that as a promise."

Outside on Klatooine, the rain had come on again.

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