CHAPTER 5: OF GILLS AND GUTS

The art of preparing for dinner with the Chief.

“Gen, you’re early today. But I’m afraid we’ll all be heading to the marketplace, Tymas included,” Tymas’ Pa, Joele, said when he saw Gen strolling into their yard. He was in the middle of preparing the baskets that were needed for their shopping.

“Uncle Drewe says I can come along too. To help with the fish,” Gen replied.

“Well, if that’s the case, do help us select only the best ones,” Joele smiled.

“Yessir,” Gen nodded. A part of him felt that saving the best fish for Chief Wyer and the elders was a waste, and he supposed Tymas would agree.

A little while later, Tymas emerged from the house, arguing with his Ma as he went. He stopped when he saw Gen from the corner of his eye, then pulled a face and stuck out his tongue in defiance before strutting over to Gen.

“What happened?” Gen asked.

“I told my Ma it’s a waste to make such good food for Chief Whiner and the elders, they don’t deserve it. She said I’m rude and disrespectful.” He rolled his eyes.

Then Tymas’ Ma and Pa interjected and told them it was time to go.

“Where’s Uncle Drewe?” Gen asked.

“He’s already gone ahead of us to collect the first catch,” Joele replied, and Tymas’ Ma, Fiona, ushered them out of the yard, closing the gate behind her.

The build-up to the big dinner had caused quite a stir among the village folk and the family was waylaid by inquisitive market-goers more than once on their way through the busy marketplace.

Drewe met them near the spice section of the market and they parted ways to go about their respective errands - Joele and Fiona to purchase the spices, Drewe and the children to handpick the fish.

Gen and Tymas followed Uncle Drewe to a part of the market they’d never seen before. Both their families never needed to purchase fish from the marketplace; they would get them directly from Uncle Drewe when he brought some of the catch home.

“What’s this place, Uncle Drewe?” Gen asked.

“It’s where the men store and organise the catch before delivering them to the stalls.”

They continued walking, past rows of chaotic workbenches where loud and rowdy men in soggy tunics were hard at work. Some were battling with bursting nets of squirming fish, trying to empty them onto the tables, some were painstakingly unsnarling slippery weeds from the ropes, others were extracting the sky pearls from their shells. This wasn’t a pretty or pleasant place - it was damp, musty, grimy, and the sodden red earth seemed to be a shade duller than the rest of the village. The children couldn’t help but flinch and recoil each time something wet, slimy, or loud broke out on either side of the path. 

“You still want to be a fisherman?” Gen whispered to Tymas, and dodged a splash of sludge just in time. No wonder Uncle Drewe’s tunic always had strange stains and splotches…

“Of course, it’s the only way to get out of this place,” Tymas replied, drawing a deep breath and instantly regretting it. “Blech!” he gagged, quickly covering his mouth and nose. 

Uncle Drewe looked right at home, greeting his fellow men with friendly nicknames as he passed them.

Soon, they reached a quieter section of the fishermen’s quarter and Drewe led them to a table with a neat pile of fish - now completely dead, cold, and unmoving.

“Here, I saved us the best of this morning’s catch. We’ll need to select at least five good fish.”

“How do we know which ones are the best?” Gen asked, reaching out a finger tentatively to poke one of the slippery fish.

“That’s right, Gen, we poke the fish and make sure the flesh is firm. Did your finger leave a mark?”

Gen went in for a second poke, but this time more confidently and purposefully. He shook his head in response to Uncle Drewe’s question. Tymas was inspecting a fish of his own choosing too.

“Great! Now we check its gills. Lift up this flap. A good fish’s gills will be bright red,” Uncle Drewe instructed, then demonstrated on another fish. 

All three fishes passed the test. 

As Gen wrestled to get something slimy off his hands from the gills, he accidentally made the fish’s mouth hang open. Something rolled out to the edge of the opening.

“Is that…?” Tymas said, sliding up beside Gen, mouth hanging open just like the fish.

“Goodness, Gen! A sky pearl in the mouth of a fish, that’s one in a million! I’ve never caught one like this myself,” Uncle Drewe broke out in a dizzy smile and went in for a pat on Gen’s back but stopped in time when he remembered his fishy hands. 

Gen reached into the mouth of the fish and retrieved the shining pearl. This time, the adrenaline from such an extraordinary find made him less squirmish about the slippery feel of the cold fish.

“You can keep it, Gen.”

Gen’s eyes sparkled. “Can I really, Uncle Drewe?”

Uncle Drewe nodded. Gen wiped down the pearl on his tunic and was relieved he had worn the one with pockets (Ma’s new invention) today so he could keep it safe till he got home. 

“What are you gonna do with it?” Tymas asked.

“I’m going to give it to my Ma for her birthday.

What would you do if you found one?”

Tymas thought for a moment, “Show it to everyone at school.”

The trio continued handpicking the fish, following more seasoned tips from Uncle Drewe, till they had six good ones. Then it was on to preserving the fish so they remained fresh till dinner time; this process involved salt, a lot of salt, and a thorough scrubbing of it all over and inside and under each fish.

Gen was deeply engrossed in salting the fish that had produced the sky pearl. Now, more than a drum of slimy guts and weed, it was a prized vessel that carried with it treasure, and he wanted it to be perfectly preserved.

But his best friend was quickly getting bored and distracted.

“Uncle, this is disgusting,” Tymas complained, with a sour expression on his face, as he reluctantly reached under a gill with a handful of salt.

“Yes, but just imagine how fresh it would taste at dinner time with your Pa’s signature blend of herbs and aromatic spices,” Drewe replied, licking his lips in a show of the mouth-watering experience. 

Tymas huffed as Uncle Drewe only reminded him of the dinner with Chief Wyer and the elders, a dinner he wasn’t looking forward to. 

A lone dragonfly suddenly appeared overhead, drifting vagrantly, probably lost. The sunlight reflected off its wings gave it an iridescent quality. Dragonfly clusters are a common sight outside the village walls near the lake but seldom within. Enthralled by the unexpected visitor, Tymas immediately lost interest in the fish and began to follow it.

A few stuttering steps turned into leaping strides as he chased after its haphazard line of flight. The next thing he knew, his cheek was pressed against damp red earth, his vision blurry and unfocused, the sounds that reached his ears indecipherable, a cold sensation around his belly. Then black.

“Ty!” Gen cried out, and rushed with Uncle Drewe to where Tymas was lying unconscious on the ground, his torso in a puddle of fishy liquid.

“Help me get him on my back,” Uncle Drewe instructed with urgency, crouching down and lifting Tymas off of the ground.

Gen managed, with some difficulty, to get Tymas on Uncle Drewe’s back, and off they hared towards the market square.

It just so happened that they ran into Joele and Fiona at the intersection. Thankfully, or else it would have taken some time for word to reach them. Fiona looked ready to abandon the baskets of spices when she saw Tymas limp on Drewe’s back, but still she clutched them tighter in her hands and ushered Gen along as they returned home.

Along the way, Gen couldn’t help but steal glances at Tymas, as if hoping to catch his eyes open, or a wink, or the beginnings of a sly grin. Tymas remained out cold and there was even dribble down his chin, soaking up Uncle Drewe’s tunic at the shoulder. Gen had to hand it to him; that certainly was a realistic performance.

Back at Tymas’ house, he was left to rest in his room while the adults stayed in the living area waiting for the healer and fussing over the incident. Gen was in the room with Tymas.

“Ty, you can stop pretending now, you’re home already,” Gen whispered, gently shaking him. He was feeling rather uneasy that his friend hadn’t given up on the prank. Tymas didn’t stir.

Gen sighed and continued staring at him, willing him to get up, any second now. Noticing residue of dried earth on his face, he picked up the damp cloth that Tymas’ Ma had used previously to clean him up and swiped it over his friend’s cheek.

“What are you saying? The dinner must go on.” 

Fiona’s piercing voice reached Gen’s ears in the thick of the tension and he turned his head slightly in the direction of the doorway.

“What if he doesn’t get well by then? He might have hit his head from the fall.” It was Joele, sounding less measured than usual.

“Stop! It’s just the hot weather, he’ll be well after some rest.”

“You don’t know that. We should just postpone the whole thing - it’s not even that important.”

A moment of deep silence.

“You will regret saying that. We need this.”

“But our son -”

“Let’s wait and see what the healer says.” Drewe finally interjected, voice heavy and weary.

Thankfully, the healer arrived soon after. The adults’ conversation was getting uncomfortably tense, even heated, and Gen had almost gotten tired wishing he could tune it all out.

The healer strode into the room, phlegmatic in disposition, followed by the discomposed adults.

Gen was asked to step aside from the bed as he approached and picked up Tymas’ wrist.

The young boy’s mind wandered off, replaying the scene where they found Tymas on the ground in the market. The next thing he knew, the healer was leaving, having instructed Tymas’ parents about a concoction of herbs for energy and strength. 

Then Ma appeared in the doorway of the room.

“Thank you for taking the time, Halgar,” Fiona said, grabbing Ma’s hand, and she nodded with a kind smile.

“Ma, what are you doing here?” Gen asked. 

Just then, Tymas awoke with a groggy groan.

Ma sprang into action, picking up the bowl of ground-up herbs from the bedside table, “To take care of Tymas while his family prepares for the dinner,” she replied, stirring the mixture with a spoon. She then sat down on the bed and greeted Tymas.

“Ma, why is the dinner so important?” Gen asked, seriously, seemingly out of the blue. It wasn’t just that the Chief and elders were esteemed people; he’d heard enough of adult chatter to know there was some deeper, surreptitious significance about the affair.

“Gen, come and help Tymas sit.” Ma was swift in her command, as if she didn’t hear Gen’s question. If she did, well, she must have pretended not to.

Gen contemplated persevering in getting to the bottom of this whole ordeal, but held back, his mouth hanging agape like a door ajar, hesitant to swing wide open yet indignant to shut.

He obeyed and went over to help Tymas up, letting his friend lean on him.

“How do you feel, Tymas?” Ma asked, “Here, drink this, it’ll help you feel better.”

Tymas took a mouthful of the mixture and gagged. It was bitter, sour, and something else he couldn’t describe - something nasty, and he was sure it only made him feel worse.

He refused further spoonfuls of the medicine despite Ma’s coaxing.

“Ma, can I go get a nectar stick for Ty?”

“By yourself?” She asked, holding her breath.

“Please?” Gen directed his eyes to Tymas, who was now wilfully covering his mouth with his blanket.

Ma glanced at the feeble boy, then sighed and reached into her pocket, producing a few coins. She dropped it into Gen’s palm hesitantly, eyes bearing a heartfelt ambivalence.

Gen smiled, returning gratitude and assurance to her concern.

He made his way to the marketplace, easily. Approaching the stall, his eyes gleamed with delight at the row of nectar sticks displayed on the rack - their jagged, crystalline edges glittering and inviting.

Gen assessed the coins that Ma had given him against the sign. He had enough for two nectar sticks with a little left over.

Back at the chosen home of that night’s stately affair, preparations were underway. The brothers Drewe and Joele were in charge of the food while Fiona fussed over the setting and decorations. Everything had to be perfect.

Tymas was now hiding under his blanket, adamant about not ingesting any more of that horrid medicine. Ma was left helpless.

“Gen, where have you been?” Fiona’s surprised voice came from the living area.

When Gen entered the room, he was holding one nectar stick. After returning Ma the excess coins, he began to tug on the blanket to get Tymas to come out.

“Ty, you can have this nectar stick if you finish your medicine.” Gen twirled the treat before him.

Tymas peeked from under the blanket before uncovering himself. 

“Ma’am, can I have my medicine, please?” He sat up straight.

There was a smile on Ma’s face. Gen was the reason, though Tymas’ unwonted politeness was a close second. He’d done two things that impressed her today.

Instead of taking it by spoonfuls, Tymas took the bowl from Ma and slurped it up as quickly as he could. When he was done, he reached for the nectar stick Gen had been holding.

Gen sat by Ma as Tymas polished off the treat, fingers crossed in his lap, lips pressed together in a thin line. He must have been staring too hard at Tymas, for Ma took notice and placed a firm hand on his shoulder.

“Why didn’t you get one for yourself?” Curiosity got the better of her. She knew the coins she’d handed him were enough for two.

Gen recalled the scene at the market. He felt the weight of the coins in his hand, and saw with clarity the charcoal-written sign. He searched the scene and circumstances for why he’d only gotten one nectar stick when he could afford two. Clearly, he wanted it, badly. If he was afraid that Ma would find out, he could have finished it on the way home. Ma never counted the coins anyway, she wouldn’t have known. And it made sense - he was offering to run an errand, that deserved a reward, right? But alas he found no reason within himself - to his knowledge.

“It just didn’t feel like the right thing to do,” he said, quietly, averting his eyes, as if he was ashamed.

Ma hugged him, hurrying to dispel the unfitting guilt, “You did the right thing.

And sometimes the right thing needs no reason or explanation. You just know it in your heart.”

Then came a soft knock on the door. “We’re ready,” Fiona informed, walking over to check on Tymas. The boy was now fiddling with the nectar-less stick; it seemed his energy had returned.

Ma stood up and took Gen’s hand. Fiona walked them to the door. She thanked Ma again, giving her hand a grateful squeeze.

As Gen crossed the threshold of the gate, he turned around and saw Tymas standing by the door, a disconcerted look on his face. They stared at each other for a few moments before Gen felt the tug of Ma’s hand.

He glanced up at the sky. It was almost evening, but the hues in the western sky ran a shade darker than usual days.

A storm was coming.