Skillful Death by Ike Hamill Page A

ledge of granite where he could be alone with his thoughts. After some gentle stretches, Dom set his body to work. Through contorting his body and holding uncomfortable poses, he hoped to open his mind. Denpa, his master, taught him that when he could understand how all things and nothing where the same, he could achieve anything he desired.  
    Denpa also taught him that when he could achieve anything he desired, he would reach the state beyond desire and achievement. This important caveat was lost on Dom, so he worked to open his mind.
    “Your exertion shows on your face.”
    The voice startled Dom, and he fell to his knees on the rock. He looked around and saw his friend, Pemba.
    “At least I’m trying,” Dom said.
    “You’re supposed to look like you’re not trying,” Pemba said. “First you look like you’re not trying, then eventually you won’t have to try.”
    “And I should take advice from you because…?”
    “Because I already have everything I desire.”
    “Which is nothing,” Dom said.
    “Exactly,” Pemba said.
    When Dom had first arrived in town, Pemba had been the only boy his age who would talk to him. Pemba seemed to take ownership of Dom after he rescued Dom from a terrible beating.  
    When people had seen Dom for the first time they feared his bulk, his skin, and the terrible sounds that came out of his mouth. Pemba never seemed to care about any of that, and never seemed to care that for years Dom never answered him. Everyone else thought Dom incapable of speaking or understanding, but Pemba kept talking until Dom eventually replied.
    “Why aren’t you working?” Dom asked.
    “Why aren’t you?”
    “I’m taking a break to collect my thoughts. Besides, I can set my own schedule.”
    “Can’t we all set our own schedule? Who can prevent a man from mastering his own time?”
    “That’s very intellectual,” Dom said, “but you’re going to be fired from the mines. Precisely as you were fired from the bakery, and the mill, and the school.”
    “So it will be,” Pemba said.
    “You’re not coming back to live in my room again. I’ve told you that before. If you can’t pay your rent then you’ll live outside with the dogs and freeze until your toes fall off.”
    “So it will be,” Pemba said. “I’ve brought you some fish.”
    Dom loved fish. His master, Denpa, wouldn’t allow fish in the house. Denpa thought that eating fish was bad luck, so Dom had to consume it in secret.
    “I’ve found out the name of your girl,” Pemba said. He folded his legs underneath himself and dragged his bag into his lap. From the depths of the bag he retrieved a woven box, which contained a hunk of fish wrapped in flatbread. He handed the food to Dom, who took it gently, with his hands cupped as if in prayer.
    “What is it?” Dom asked.
    “It’s fish, I told you,” Pemba said.
    “What’s the woman’s name?” Dom asked.
    “Which do you care more about, the fish or the girl?”
    “I will gladly shove this fish down your throat until you die, and then I’ll have neither the food nor the name. Would that answer your question?” Dom asked.
    “Not at all, actually,” Pemba said. He waited and smiled while Dom scooped the flakes of fish into his mouth.
    “Her name is Tara, and she’s a year older than me,” Pemba said. “She comes from the side of that mountain there.” He pointed off to the northeast where a ridge of mountains formed the horizon. “Do you see where that cloud looks like a finger? It’s pointing at the hill behind which she was raised.”
    “Who told you this?”
    “The speaker of the seventh sun breathed a smoky tendril into my ear while I slept,” Pemba said, waving his hands above his head. Dom frowned at him until he stopped. “My mom told me.”
    “How did she find out?”
    “I don’t know. How do moms find anything out? She probably talked to Chasa over the wall. You should take breakfast to her. She’s not seeing anyone here, and she’s not