But this time he was different. I can’t tell you how different he was—if I said he was pale as this or shaking like that, then you’d think that was the difference, that thing, and it wasn’t. Only that I hadn’t seen him like that before. He said, “Marinesha, you will have to tell him yourself. I can’t go back up there.”
“What is it?” I said. “What’s the matter with you?” His voice was so low. I mean, it isn’t as though I didn’t know what the trouble was. There probably wasn’t even a guest who didn’t know that he’d come all this terrible journey to find his girl, and then that pale, whispering little—well, I’ll just say that little thing—just turned away and pretended she didn’t even know him. I thought it was shameful, and I thought the other two put her up to it, the showy, arrogant pair of them, and I wasn’t the least bit shy about saying so. Which took the wind out of a certain stable boy, I can tell you, but what did I care for that? Tikat had manners, and if there is one thing in this world I respect, there you have it. Manners.
But all he said was, “I can’t—I am a coward—I cannot,” and he was past me and gone, almost knocking Shadry over as he came through, which made me laugh—I couldn’t stop myself. So after that there was nothing to do but smooth down Shadry, hide the bits of the broken porringer, and go up to Rosseth. He had just finished settling the oldest man I ever saw onto a straw mattress on the floor. The old man’s eyes were closed, and he was the color of old snow. I was servant to a hedge-doctor once—hardly more than a baby, I was—and I have seen dead people, many of them. I would have thought he was dead, except that Rosseth was talking to him. He was saying, ”There you are, sir, as comfortable as anyone at The Gaff and Slasher. I’m sure your friends will be returning by this evening. If there’s anything more I can do for you.“ But the old man said never a word.
“The only thing you can do for that one,” I said from the doorway, “is to ask him where he wants his body sent, and what sort of priests should meet the coach.” Rosseth spun around and glared at me, but I just smiled. Rosseth always hated it when I did that, just smiled at him in that way. I said, “And the best thing you can do for yourself is pray that Karsh doesn’t miss that spare mattress. He’d turn out your insides to stuff a new one.”
Rosseth gave that long, long, patient sigh that was always his way of annoying me. He said, “This gentleman has only come to see his friends. He won’t be staying the night.”
“He won’t last the night,” I said. Rosseth put a finger to his lips, but I certainly didn’t pay that any mind. I said, “Those three sluts will come back to find a dead man waiting for them.” Which suited me well enough, and I laughed right there, just thinking about it. “Poor things. The only kind of man they won’t be able to get any use out of. I don’t suppose.”
Oh, wasn’t Rosseth furious at me, though? I did it on purpose, I don’t mind telling you that. Because ever since those women came to the inn, Rosseth had been growing more and more impossible, especially in the last week or two. We’d been used to having our nice restful chats, when Karsh wasn’t around, and sometimes our little walks in the woods or even an afternoon in Corcorua— but now he couldn’t talk about anything except Lal’s beautiful hands or Nyateneri’s elegant ways, or how charming and friendly that Lukassa was, once you got to know her. So tedious, so tiresome. I’m afraid I’d just run out of patience with his daydreaming, that’s all.
“Marinesha,” he said to me—like that, through his teeth—“Marinesha, come here and sit down.” He sat down himself by the mattress and beckoned me over. I stood where I was, thank you very much, until he said, “Please,” really rather nicely. Then I went and sat across from him, on the other side of the old man, and I said, “Well?” Just that, you see.
Rosseth said, “You know something about healing. More than I do, unless it’s a horse. Tell me what to do.”
“I’ve told you already,” I said. “Ask him where he wants to be buried. He hasn’t eaten for days, by the look of him, and he must have gotten caught in that squall that came up over town this morning. And he’s very old. That’s all that’s wrong with him, but there’s nothing you can do about it.”
Well, Rosseth looked so stricken at that that I really felt sorry for him. Some people look nicer when they’re sad, and Rosseth was one of those. I asked, “Why should a stranger trouble you so? I’m sure he’s a good old man, but he’s no uncle of yours. Or is he?” I added that last because Rosseth is an orphan—I mean, I am, too, which gave us anyway that much in common—but at least I’d always known my parents’ names and where they came from, and poor Rosseth didn’t even know where he was born. So the man could have been a relative of his, you see, like anyone.
Rosseth said, “Look at him. He’s somebody, he’s important.” At that I got angry all over again, and I said, “Why? Because he’s a friend of theirs? That’s what it is, that’s why you’re going on like this, isn’t it?” But Rosseth just shook his head.
“Look at him, Marinesha,” he kept saying. “Look at him.” So finally I took my first real look at that old man’s face—I mean, past the smudgy, gappy old mouth, past the lines and wrinkles and scratches, and the dirt ground into them all, past the awful grayness, past everything, past the features themselves, if you understand me. And I don’t know—I don’t know—looking at him just started to make me happy, in a funny way. It made me want to cry, too, but it was the same thing. I don’t know, I just stared and stared, and Rosseth did too, and we didn’t talk any more.
By and by we heard Karsh shouting downstairs for Rosseth. I said, “You go on. I’ll just bide with him for a little.” So Rosseth looked at me a moment, and then he smiled and touched my shoulder, and he said, “Thank you,” and went out. And I sat there by the mattress, watching that old man, and presently I went and got a cloth to clean his face with a bit. Because there was no reason he ought to be dirty, even if he was old and sick and maybe dying. And while I was doing it, he opened his eyes.
“Oh,” he said. “Marinesha.” Just as though we’d known each other forever, and he was surprised to see me, but pleased, too. He had a thoughtful sort of voice, with just the least bit of an accent. He said, “My, I feel rather like a kitten getting its face washed by its mother. A refreshing way to wake up, I must say.” When he smiled, it didn’t matter that there were teeth gone.
I was very shy with him, all of a sudden. I couldn’t help wishing that he’d gone on sleeping, just a while longer. I stood up quickly, and I said, “Sir, are you feeling better? What can I do for you?” Just like Rosseth, after all.
He laughed then. I don’t know how to tell you about his laugh. A shaky little gasp of a laugh it was, this side of a cough, really, but you wanted to hear it again. He said, “Well, you could go on standing there in the sunlight—I wouldn’t ask for more than that—but I think my friends are on the stairs. I know you don’t much care for them, and I’d not want to shame you after such kindness.”