We Leave Together, стр. 54
“No,” said Jona.
The father took his son’s shoulders and led him into the study. Mounds of paper burned in a trash bin. Heaps and heaps awaited the fire, upon the desk.
Old Lord Joni led his son past the burning papers to the open window. Smoke from the fire leaked into the sea air. The sea breeze carried the smoke into the city beyond the garden. He picked up his son so the boy could see the ocean in the distance. “We owned ships,” said Lord Joni, “They used to be some of the best ships in the world. Now, they are all at the bottom of the sea.”
“Ships don’t belong on the bottom of the ocean,” said Jona, “That doesn’t make any sense. Ships sail on top of the water, father.”
“Of course, they’re supposed to stay on top of the water,” said the old Lord. Tears welled up at the corner of his eyes. “Unfortunately for us, our ships were sunk at sea. Every man on board was killed. Every pebble of coal was lost, and now the king is very upset with me. Swords and arrowheads cannot be made without coal. Armies cannot fight without weapons. This was a terrible blow against Dogsland. And, because they are my ships, I must bear responsibility for them.”
Jona looked up, and tears burned at his father’s collar, melting the edges of his fine shirt. The man cursed. He abandoned his son in the window and leaned over the fire in the trash bin. Each tear that fell flashed like a firecracker in the fire.
“Father?” said Jona. Jona reached up and touched his father’s belt. “Don’t cry, father.”
The man breathed hard. He choked down his tears. He placed his hand on his son’s head. “We may hate the king, but he is the king and we must respect him no matter what. Do not hate these men that came for me, son,” said Lord Joni, “Are you listening to me, Lord Joni?”
“I am,” said Jona, “Don’t be sad.”
“Where is your mother?”
“I don’t know.”
“Go find your mother. She will already know. Just find her, and stay with her. You’re going to have to take care of her while I’m gone, Lord Joni. The household and everyone in it depends on you, now.”
“I’ve always been the man of the house,” said Jona.
“Good boy,” he said, “That’s my brave young man. Before you go find your mother, make sure all these papers are burned. Do you see all of these papers?”
“I do, father.”
“Burn them all. Let no one enter this room until all this paper is burned, not even your mother.”
Jona watched his father stroll out the door. He thought about how scared his father looked, with shaking hands. The door closed too loudly. Jona sat at his father’s chair behind the desk. The chair was far larger than Jona was. Jona clutched at his stomach, and rocked a little. He watched the fire burn. Eventually, he stood up, and tossed more papers into the flame.
Dinner had been such a habit, that it wasn’t until the table had an absence that young Jona remembered anything.
Servants were missing. Food was a thin soup, with barely any meat and fewer vegetables. The house was still full of fine furniture. The lands hadn’t been sold, yet.
And his mother leaned over her soup, and she had her head in her hands, and she wept unabashed.
Jona watched her, confused. All he had asked her was when his father was coming home and now she was crying.
That sick feeling in his stomach came back. He didn’t feel like eating his soup. He pushed his bowl across the table.
Jona’s mother, through her tears, collected her breath long enough to speak. “Jona,” she said, “Eat your soup.” The last word trailed off into her sobs.
Jona pulled his soup back over, and picked up his spoon.
“I don’t like it,” he said. He took a bite of it. His eyebrows crossed. He wondered why he had to eat bad soup and how come his father wasn’t here, and why his father had taken all the servants with him.
Eventually, his mother said, “I don’t like it, either, Jona.”
“Who’s Jona?” he said.
“You are now, little one.”
“I’m Lord Joni. I’m the man of the house until father comes back, so I’m Lord Joni.”
“I know, my Lord,” she said, sadly. “You are also no longer my little Taba. Now, you are the man of the house, and your new name will be Jona Lord Joni, for you have no father to give you a name. You have only a title. Your father is already home. He is dead, and we buried him very quietly under the house. We couldn’t risk a funeral.”
“I don’t understand.”
“I like your new name. It is a strong name for a strong boy. Have you finished your soup?”
“No. Can I have dessert?”
“No dessert tonight, Jona. If you’re done, help me with the dishes.”
Jona picked up his bowl of awful soup and threw it across the room. The bowl shattered into tiny pieces and the soup splattered like red paint.
His mother said nothing.
If she had had any tears left in her, I imagine she would have cried again.
Jona stomped off towards his room. He slammed the door to the dining hall, the door to the stairs, and the door to the hall. In his room, he left the door open. He wanted to wait for someone to come by so they could hear him when he slammed it shut.
No one came all night.
***
A father is not remembered in a picture, or a voice. He’s remembered in a smell, and a way of moving. This man, Jona’s father, Lord Severa Joni, smelled like flecks of iron, rich garlic butter, and ink stains on his fingers and sleeves like a printer.