Sand and Ash

Chapter 9: Indecision

A difficult decision means there are more questions to ask.

—Kyōti proverb

Uncomfortably aware that he had been agonizing over the feathered combs for an hour, Rutejìmo couldn't walk away. He had gotten his choices down to three pieces, each one as beautiful as the others. They were arranged on a cheap white cloth spread out over a splintered board that made up the stall's counter. Unfortunately, despite staring at them for an hour he couldn't choose one or even two of them.

He tapped the cloth next to the first choice, a white comb with bright red feathers. He pictured Mapábyo wearing it, though he felt an uncomfortable pressure around his heart whenever he imagined her in any detail.

"A lovely choice," said the older woman behind the counter. Sitting on an old crate, she spoke in the same flowery tone that she greeted him an hour before and, somehow, that made him feel guiltier for taking so long. "It will look lovely in your pretty girl's hair."

Rutejìmo pulled back his hand. He didn't have a girl. He didn't even have a female friend beyond Chimípu and maybe Mapábyo. He wasn't even sure why he was standing at the stall, trying to make a choice over jewelry. Kiríshi's words echoed in his mind and he shook his head to clear it.

The second comb, a plain-looking one with brown teeth and feathers that reminded him of Shimusògo, would have been the obvious choice for Chimípu. Over the years, he had given her little gifts to show his appreciation for saving his life or simply running slow enough for him to keep up. It was small and insignificant, but Chimípu kept every gift he had ever given her on the shelves in her cave.

His lips pressed into a thin line. Chimípu had become his big sister when Desòchu stopped treating Rutejìmo as a brother years ago. It still left a sour taste in the back of his mouth, a reminder that he wasn't good enough for his sibling. The event at the fountain was one more example of how Desòchu continued to pull away from Rutejìmo and treated him as a stranger instead of family.

He glanced at his last choice knowing he would never buy it. For three years now, he had seen it on the old lady's table. The dark colors of the comb contrasted sharply with the white cloth and the other combs. The black and blue swirls along the bone ended with a single feather tied at one end with horse hair. It was the colors of the night, which ensured that very few people would even consider purchasing it. Whenever he saw it, though, he thought of Mikáryo.

"Excuse me, Great Shimusògo."

Rutejìmo looked up.

"We are coming to sundown, and I need to pack up soon." She waved to the stalls around her, most of them already partially disassembled. There were only a few final shoppers left strolling through the lane. In less than an hour, the street would be empty and hollow.

He sighed. "How much again?"

Her hazy, green eyes narrowed for a moment before the smile came back with just enough tension he could tell it was faked. "Eighteen for one, two for thirty-four. Three for forty-eight. Same as it has been every time you ask and every time you've purchased from me before." He could tell she was talking through her smile from the way she hissed.

Returning his gaze to the combs, he ran his fingertips along the feathers of the black one. He couldn't choose because he didn't know why he was buying them. He should buy the red one for Mapábyo since Kiríshi gave him the coins, but when he had the choices before him, the answer wasn't obvious.

"If you tell me about your girl, maybe I can help?"

He shook his head. "I-I don't know."

"You don't know your girl?" He could hear the question in her voice and felt his cheeks warming. "You've always bought my pretties for her," she tapped the middle comb. "Though you keep staring at this one," her wrinkled finger waved over the darker comb. "A forbidden love? A girl of the moon?"