Ankūro

7

7

A problem remains,
Even with our eyes covered.
Waiting to be seen.
- Kangua.

He still had several shutters to board up and the rear door to the kitchen. All their valuables now hidden in the space under the fire pit that now had roaring logs within it. The fire would blaze until the next morning, even though, now the early rain season had ended, they did not need the warmth of the fire as much.

Wiping sweat from his forehead, Ajo surveyed his work so far. Every harvest time they had to do this and the chore now came as second nature to him. Now the village had brought in all the rice, the bandits would come in the night to take their share. They would hoot and holler as they ran through the village, banging upon locked doors, rattling shutters, calling for the villagers to come out and play.

At one time, many years ago, the villagers would fight the bandits and they would suffer for their stand. Villagers injured and, sometimes, killed for opposing the theft of their precious rice. After a time, the bandits and the village came to an accord. If the bandits stole too much rice, it would call them to the attention of Haūdo Ita's tax collectors and, in turn, the Haūdo's armies. Only taking half the harvest allowed the village to pay their taxes and have enough left to survive.

The bandits would not have to deal with the army, the Haūdo would receive his taxes and the villagers would not starve or lose members of the community defending their rice stocks. Of course, if the Haūdo fulfilled his obligations, none of this would happen, but the liege lords only cared for their own bellies and their own treasury.

Kaima village lived on the edge of poverty and famine while everyone else prospered. This was the way of things and Ajo, owning the Ka house that did not rely upon the harvest as much, followed everyone else's example. He cared only for Tiima and the few valuables they owned.

"Tiima, hand me more nails, girl." He sensed a movement behind him and held out his hand for the nails. A cluster of nails appeared in his palm and he continued to attach the board. "I don't think I'll ever get done here. I swear, we seem to gain windows between harvests."

"Foolish." The voice did not belong to Tiima.

Ajo looked down from the steps and saw the old woman, Ankūro, looking up at the boarding covering the shutters. She leaned, with both hands, upon her walking stick, back bent, shaven head reflecting the light of the afternoon sun. With her one good eye and the other, white and blind eye, she surveyed his work.

Three days since the altercation at the wedding, the old woman showed no signs of moving on from Kaima village. Sitting in the Ka house common room every night, saying nothing, scratching herself every so often and shrugging her shoulders. The woman seemed to have settled down for a duration that Ajo could see no end to. Often, Ajo would look across to see her eyes closed, only for them to open, as if knowing he stared, causing Ajo to look anywhere but at her.

"It may seem foolish, Ankūro-Sē, but it is a necessity." He placed a nail against the board and hammered it home. "It gives the village peace and security, of a sort. Resisting the bandits only causes more pain and suffering than they deserve. Life is hard as it is."

Ajo heard Tiima, then, within the Ka house. She sang to herself, soft, happy songs that made Ajo smile. Tiima had taken to singing more often since the arrival of Ankūro. For whatever reason, the presence of the old woman gave the girl a newfound joy. More than once, Ajo had found Tiima sat with Ankūro, talking to the old woman, receiving grunts and nods in reply and seeming content with that small interaction.

He couldn't feel anything but happy for that. Life, here in the village, remained difficult for her. She could not have friends. For certain, she could not engage in a search for a suitable husband and, most like, never would. It must be lonely for her with only her father for company and no prospects for a happy future. Those thoughts made him drop his chin in sadness.