The Strangers of Kindness (13 page)

When Pasha ran its fingers around the inside wall of the glass, Jared leaped up in horror. “Master! Your hand!” But the hot glass had no effect on the creature’s skin. It continued to stroke and smooth the metal dust over the interior of the bowl. Watching, disbelieving, Jared saw the colorless glass start to shine with an iridescent film. Blue, purple, green, gold—Pasha was making a rainbow in its bowl, murmuring under its breath as it did so. Jared moved closer. The words and sounds were meaningless, but the tone was reverential. Jared listened in awed silence.

In a few minutes Pasha straightened and took a deep breath, as though it was waking up. It smiled at Jared.

“My first
nalsha
in this place. Crude, but I will get better. And it feels good. Come upstairs, my friend, and cool off. This heat that I love is hard on you, I see.”

The next day Pasha took him to the market center. They went into a dry goods shop and the first thing purchased was a new set of clothing for Jared, both a finely-woven work-grade tunic and a deep blue robe. Since his childhood village had been raided and he was stolen by slavers, Jared had never had such good clothes. Pasha put the robe on him at once. The unaccustomed soft fabric caressing his skin started his eyes prickling.

“Do you like it?” his master asked.

“Like it? I’ve never had such a fine thing. Why should you spend this kind of money on me?”
 

Pasha’s eyes danced, admiring the young man’s looks. “I do believe,” it said, you are the most pleasing human I’ve seen here. Why not give you beautiful things to wear? Come now, I want to get something wonderful in which to wrap my wedding gift.”

It finally settled on a square of tapestry with gold and silver threads highlighting the rust, olive, and brown design of leaves and flowers. They took it home, and Pasha made a great production of wrapping up the little bowl. Jared watched with amusement.

Satisfied at last with the package, the alien held it up portentously. “You will please carry this for me. We shall present it now.” And it led Jared, beaming with humor, across the street.

Kriessa was at her usual post, at a table loaded with tea and sweets under the shop-front awning.

“Madame Kriessa!” Pasha Sands addressed her, and bowed formally.

She gathered her wits and hastily swallowed the wad of sugary treat she d only just stuffed into her mouth. Mustering her best grand lady manner, she simpered back, “Pasha Sands, how nice to see you. To what do we owe this honor?” Her eyes flickered to Jared and down at his robe, and a quick frown flashed across her face. But she smiled again, and exerted herself to turn her head an inch to the right to call back into the shop, “Kalda! We have a visitor!”

Kalda appeared at the doorway.

“Pasha Sands! Good morning!” His narrow eyes took in the brilliant bundle Jared held, and he added, “Do come in. I think Kriessa just made a fresh pot of tea.”

“Safe bet,” Jared snickered to himself.

Kalda ushered them through the shop, to the dwelling-rooms. They were small but crowded with furniture so that when everyone—except Jared—was seated, they were knee-to-knee. Politely accepting its cup of tea from its hostess, Pasha Sands explained its reason for coming.

“I was not here on the joyful occasion of your wedding day,” it said, “but knowing it was fairly recent, I wanted to express my wishes for your happy union. It has taken so long because we were building a workshop which could produce a gift fine enough for the occasion. Jared?”

Jared came forward and offered the wrapped present to Kriessa. When her fingers brushed his, he hid his revulsion with iron control. Then he stepped back behind Pasha s chair.

“Kalda!” Kriessa cawed. Look at this! Have you ever seen such a beautiful tapestry?” But her hands were busy, greedily unfolding the wrapping. When the bowl was revealed, however, her irritating voice was stilled. The room was well-lit with sunshine through the windows. The
nalsha
gleamed its hypnotic colors into the silence.

“Pasha Sands,” Kalda breathed. “But this is—what is it? I’ve never seen anything like it! Your other bowls don t look like this.”

Kriessa shifted uneasily in her chair. Her piggy eyes darted to her husband. Jared could almost read her thoughts: Witchcraft. He wasn’t sure himself that she wasn’t right.

“It is made in much the same way as my others,” Pasha said. “But with a fully-equipped workshop I can add a few nice touches now. I’ll be making more of them. Not many,” he added, and Jared saw Kalda s eyes register something; relief? Then he realized it was greed in Kalda s face. He waited, and the expected came.

“Pasha,” Kalda said, his voice now smooth as water, “will you be selling these special bowls? I have many contacts in other cities . . . perhaps we could make a business arrangement . . .”

“Oh, I probably won t be making them for sale. They re a great lot of work, you know, though their beauty makes it worth while. But they re really for gifts.”

Kalda subsided, and Jared thought he sensed disappointment. It only lasted a second, though. Kalda s gaze went back to the bowl and his face lit up again. “This is truly the best gift we have received, my friend. Never could we thank you enough.”

Just then Jared noticed a shadowy form in the parlor door, behind Kalda and Kriessa. He averted his glance so they wouldn’t know Anna was there. “The best gift,” he thought, “those ungrateful shits . . .”

“Your continued happiness will be more than sufficient thanks,” Pasha said, and it stood up. They were shown out amid cries of gratitude. Pasha paced rapidly back to its house, and Jared trotted along behind, puzzled at the haste.

His puzzlement grew when Pasha went to the little blue
nalsha
in the sitting room window, took it, and said, “Come with me to the workshop.”

Once seated at the table in the windowless workshop, Pasha placed the
nalsha
on the table and bade Jared pull up the other stool.

“Now we will see how our gift is really appreciated,” it said, and resting its hands on the table either side of the
nalsha
, it closed its eyes. A dim hum issued from somewhere in Pasha’s chest, and the little bowl began an answering hum. Jared felt goose-bumps break out on his arms when the bowl began to glow.

Then an unpleasant noise burst from the bowl. “—see the get-up he’s got that slave in? It was Kriessa s harsh rasp. A pair of unnaturals, that’s what they are.”

Jared gasped. “That’s Kriessa s voice!”

Pasha nodded and smiled, and put a finger to its lips.

“Never mind that,” Kalda’s voice said. “Look at this bowl! If we could get him producing these for sale we d make a fortune! ”

Pasha smiled to itself and nodded again.

“But he won’t! He said so. Don’t waste your time. What worries me is how he coddles that boy of his. I’m telling you, it’s trouble. This bitch of ours sees that, it’ll give her ideas.
 

Jared went still.

“That’s easily squashed,” Kalda again dismissed her agitation.

But she wouldn’t let it go. “It’s not right, treating ‘ un like an equal. Besides, he’s far too good-looking anyway. Even my friends have noticed. Altra only last week was teasing me about mating him with Anna.”
 

Jared s face went rigid. Pasha stopped smiling, watching his reaction. There was a pause in the other house, then Kalda said slowly, “It’s not Anna who’s bothered by the pretty boy, is it? It s you.”

Kriessa blustered, but he cut through. “No chance you’ d give Anna something you want for yourself, is there, my dearest?”

“How dare you—”

“Now Pasha Sand’s got his workshop done, maybe he’ll sell the bastard to us, eh? Give you something to do besides stuff your face all day?”

Jared turned appalled eyes to his master. “Master, you wouldn’t—”
 

Pasha put a mollifying hand on his arm and shook its head. “Never. Let’s just listen.”

Kalda’s voice seemed to come nearer. “If we could get him to make enough of these, my sweet social queen, we could buy all the pretty boys your appetite desires.” He paused again and there were faint sounds—he was handling the bowl. “I don t think they’ re lovers. Pasha’s a strange one but I don’t think his tastes run that way. But I’m glad you brought up Anna. Maybe there’s another way she could be useful to us . . .”

“What do you mean?”

“Pasha’s the right age to make a fool of himself for a young girl. Feed her up a little, lay off the beating so she’s not all marked up . . . put something fetching on her—he obviously likes pretty things. I bet he’d churn out the bowls all right if she wanted them, and made it worth his while.”
 

New interest sharpened Kriessa’s tone. “He’d never know, if we sold them in other cities. But he’ d want to just buy her outright.”
 

Kalda chuckled. “So what? We need her here. No, we’ll just be good, generous neighbors and let him amuse himself in the evenings. Go get the girl, my dearest. She ought to be happy with the new plan. It’ll be spoiling her but the rewards . . .”

Pasha stood up abruptly and the
nalsha
’s glow ceased, with the sounds. Eyeing Jared with a wry grin, it murmured, “Lovely neighbors I’ve got, no? Well, at least she’ll be better treated, sounds like. And you’ll be seeing more of her. This will be interesting, my friend, won’t it?”
 

For the next two weeks Jared kept busy learning the skill of glassblowing. Sweat and frustration. He felt like a fool; manipulations that Pasha Sands performed as easily as breathing seemed as far beyond Jared as flying. Half the time they spent cleaning up his messes in the workshop.

“I’m sorry, master,” he said for the hundredth time, when a deformed glob of half-cooled glass hit the floor and sagged into shapeless inutility.

Pasha merely scooped up the mess with a ceramic paddle and plopped it back into the clay pot for remelting. “It is only to be expected, when you are learning,” it said. “This is not an easy art. Believe me, Jared, if I didn’t think you had the talent I wouldn’t waste our time. Now, shove the pot into the oven and let’s try again.”

Jared appreciated his master’s patience, but started to wish it wasn’t quite so persistent. They worked from dawn until late at night. When at last they’ d close down the kiln for the night, Pasha would take him to the pump room and pour cool water over him, and continue with the encouragement.

“Your hands are getting much quicker, didn’t you notice? Really, Jared, give yourself credit, each day you’ re getting a little farther along in the process. You’ll have your first bowl before you know it.”

Jared shuddered with pleasure as the water cooled his over-heated hide. “I feel like I’m delaying your progress,” he said. “I know you’ d hoped I could help you get home faster, but I’m so clumsy and stupid. Maybe you should find another slave, trade me for someone more skilled. I won’t tell anyone what you’ve shown me, you know that.”

“Nonsense. I mean, yes, I know you’ d keep my secrets, but nonsense on trading you for someone else. I’m telling you, you’ re doing quite well! Trust me. I,” it added with an elegant flourish, “am the expert.”

In the evening of the fifteenth day after Pasha had planted the eavesdropping
nalsha
in Kalda’s house, they had a visitor. They were, as usual, in the workshop. Jared worked the blowpipe with increasing confidence, watching with pounding heart as the bleb of viscous glass expanded with his forceful but controlled blowing. Pasha stood next to him, keeping very still, smiling at the young man’s excitement as it began to look like his first successful bowl would soon be coming off the pipe. Over the hiss of the oven they heard a knocking at the front door up on the street level.

“Don’t stop, don’t break concentration—” Pasha fled up the ladder to answer the door. The nascent bowl on the end of the tube wobbled, sending Jared’s adrenaline surging, but he managed to control it with a couple of lucky nudges of the paddle. He blew; it grew. Daringly, he reheated it at the oven door, and continued blowing; it grew, and its walls thinned, making it look more like Pasha’s quality. His eyes blurred with joy. Where was Pasha?

Pasha was coming down the ladder, after Anna. It held its finger to its lips and positioned her off in the corner where Jared couldn’t see her, and resumed its place next to its student.

“Look, Jared, you’ve done it!” Pasha cried. “I told you! Your very first! It’s lovely! Now, very carefully and smoothly, let’s take it over here above the plate . . . that’s a boy. Now, let it down on its bottom, gently, gently. Good! Now hold the tube still, and with your other hand—you’ re way ahead of me, that’s right, the sharp spatula, don’t be timid now, just cut it where you want the rim to be. Don’t be tentative, okay, there’s one, now another cut, another . . . and look at your bowl! Look, Anna, he’s just made his first bowl!”

Jared spun around, shocked. The young woman stood back in a corner, wide black eyes uncertain and serious. Too afraid to join in the celebration.

“Anna,” Jared said, and stepped closer. She moved back, and he stopped. “Hello. I didn’t know you were here,” he added, and turned and hissed at Pasha, “Did you have to let her watch? I’m a clown down here, compared to you.”

Completely oblivious to a young man’s ego, Pasha merely beamed. “You’ d better smooth that rim while the glass is still hot and plastic,” it said.