Jade War

“I can’t.” Anden wanted to. The idea of six weeks alone with Cory was appealing in the extreme. But he was already registered to continue with the IESOL program through the summer, he didn’t have either the funds or the days off from work, and he wasn’t about to abuse the generosity of either the Hians or his cousins by asking them for money. Also, he imagined the Dauks would suspect his reasons for suddenly wanting to leave behind his obligations and travel alone with their son.

“What would your parents think, if they knew about us?” Anden asked.

Cory made a face. “What does it matter what my parents think?” In Kekon, queerness was considered a natural, if unfortunate permanent condition afflicting unlucky families, not unlike stone-eyes and children with birth defects. Cory explained that in Espenia it was commonly thought of as a sign of weak character, similar to addiction and indebtedness—a situation that some susceptible people were predisposed to fall into if not careful, but might recover from. “Bad luck can be turned around,” was Cory’s wry assessment of the prevailing attitude among Keko-Espenians. “Look, crumb,” he explained to Anden, “I know my da. He’s a traditionalist from the island, like you. What he cares about is that his son wears jade. He’ll let me get away with just about anything else, but wearing jade, being true to our roots—that’s an absolute must for him. I suspect at some point, my ma will start making noises about me getting married and having kids, but come on, I’m twenty-four! Plenty of time to think about that later.”

The summer days were long and hot and smelled of dock fumes and piss. Seagulls wheeled in the sky and left shit on lawns. Tourists crowded the transit system. The streets swelled with traffic and street vendors, petty crime and road construction. Port Massy was an expansive world-class city in a league above even a burgeoning metropolis like Janloon; after living in it for sixteen months, Anden still felt as if the place completely defied familiarity. At times, it seemed to him that the sheer size and cultural scope of Port Massy only made his life shrink, made him want to take refuge in the routines and people he felt he could trust.

The Fifthday evening before Cory’s departure, they played relayball as usual in the high school field. Anden was keenly aware of his friend’s presence at all times. He felt as if he were a small planet caught in the gravity of a star, circling at a helpless distance from its radiance. He watched Cory scramble and leap for passes, laugh and joke, push his hair out of his eyes, and perform the silly dance he did when he put the ball between the point posts. Anden fumbled the next pass and the ball flew into the net. He cursed under his breath.

When they went to the grudge hall afterward, Sano, the doorman, clapped Cory on the back and said, “Last we’ll see of you for a while, heh? Travel safe, and don’t forget about us in Southtrap when you’re a big shot attorney.” Downstairs, Cory’s friends had pushed several tables together. Derek’s mother had baked a cherry spice cake, and people were signing messages in a notebook for Cory to take with him. Anden had no idea what to write in the book, so when it was his turn, he wrote, in careful Espenian: Thank you for your friendship this year. You made me feel at home in Port Massy. Good luck in law school!

and then felt wretched about it. He turned to look for Cory again and saw him with his arm thrown over Derek’s shoulder, laughing uproariously at something Sammy had said. Jealousy stabbed into Anden like a talon knife to the gut. At Watersguard, Cory would be immersed in new experiences and surrounded by new friends, confident young fellow Espenians. Anden turned away and took a piece of cake.

There were no duels in the grudge hall tonight, merely the usual entertainments. Dauk Losun and Dauk Sana were nowhere to be seen, perhaps so Cory could enjoy one of his last nights in Port Massy away from the watch of his parents, but Rohn Toro was present, sitting by himself at a small table by the door, quietly enjoying a drink and nodding to people who touched their foreheads in silent salute as they passed him.

“Did you hear about Tim Joro?” Anden overheard a man nearby talking to two others. “Died from a sudden heart attack. Only fifty-four years old. He was always drinking and getting in trouble with the law, though, so I guess I’m not surprised.”

“What about his poor wife?” asked a woman.