He turned to Phyro. “Hudo-tika, what about you?”
“Da, I’m busy. Thanks but no thanks.”
Kuni laughed out loud, and more water spilled from the buckets. “I see. And what are you busy with?”
“Captain Miro promised to see me and tell me more about how he got those scholars to start drinking instead of rioting, and I want to ask Auntie Gin and Uncle Théca for tales about the Hegemon.”
Kuni nodded and waved him away also. Phyro is a lot like me when I was younger, but he’s too attached to the romance of daring and war. He’s had a life of ease, and I do not know when or how he will learn the patience necessary….
Finally, he turned to the girls. “What about you, Rata-tika and Ada-tika? Are you busy as well?”
“I love playing in the dirt!” Fara yelled, and ran over to hug Kuni. She was so fast that Kuni had no time to set the carrying pole down, and more water spilled as Fara wrapped her arms around her father’s legs. Then she let go and happily ran into the empty rice paddy and splashed around, careless of how the mud and water soaked her opulent dress.
“Father.” Théra came up to Kuni and gave a low bow in jiri. She glanced at the buckets. “I think we might as well go back to the stream and refill these.”
“You’re right,” said Kuni. “Your brothers and sister managed to make me spill most of the water.”
He set the carrying pole down and released the two buckets, handing one to Théra. Father and daughter walked back to the stream and refilled them. Théra struggled with the heavy weight as she followed Kuni, and as the water in the bucket matched the rhythm of her steps, it sloshed over the edge.
“Here, let me help you,” said Kuni. He bent down and picked up a small wooden plank and set it to float in the middle of Théra’s bucket. “Now try.”
This time, though Théra continued to struggle with the weight, the plank dampened the waves in the bucket and water didn’t spill out.
“Being a ruler is a lot like carrying a bucket of water,” Kuni said. “There are always competing forces that threaten to make waves, and it is the ruler’s job to find a way to balance the various forces from spilling out of control so that the land may be irrigated and the people fed.”
“Why not just set the bucket down so that it wouldn’t be agitated?” asked Théra, her breathing becoming labored.
“Then we’d be left with a bucket filled with dead water, and nothing would grow. Forward motion is essential, Rata-tika. Change is the only constant.”
Théra couldn’t help but feel that this speech had perhaps been rehearsed and intended for her brothers. But she was glad to have this moment with her father. She had always enjoyed listening to him talk about politics and economics, and he had always stopped whatever he was doing when the children wanted to spend time with him, though she tried not to bother him often.
“Are there a lot of people pushing on you, Father?”
“Too many to count. The nobles want more independence; the civil ministers want more uniformity; those in the College of Advocates want more say in policy; the generals want more money to pay their soldiers; the veterans want more land to settle on; the merchants want more spent on fighting the pirates and competent magistrates—I’ve even had to revive the profession of paid litigators; the farmers want more aid for irrigation and reclamation; everybody wants somebody else to be taxed more. I am a kite buffeted by the winds from every direction, and it’s all I can do to stay aloft.”
Théra imagined her father flying through the air like the legends of the Hegemon, and she felt a wave of tenderness for him. Not pity, exactly, but it was strangely moving to hear that her father, who had always seemed so sure of himself, didn’t know everything.
“It’s good that you have so many wise ministers and generals to advise you.”
“Ah, but they all see but a slice of the whole, and they depend on me to keep them in balance. That is why, Rata-tika, I designed my crown to shield my face so that they cannot see my expressions as I struggle to figure out what to do. Half of my work is hiding what I think so that I won’t be manipulated too much.”
They made it to the vegetable garden, and with Kuni’s guidance, Théra used a ladle made from a calabash cut in half to gently water the baby shoots and sprouts just poking out of the soil.
“Rata-tika, do you know why we don’t plant the vegetables with the rice, or mix the climbing vines with the taro patch?”
If this question had been addressed to Timu, he would have replied that it was a matter of keeping each plant with its own kind to ensure respect for their natural places in the chain of being. If this question had been addressed to Phyro, he would have replied that it was a matter of preventing the plants from fighting each other. But Théra somehow understood that it was a test.
She looked at the way the emperor’s garden was laid out, which seemed rather careless: The rice paddy was irregularly shaped; the taro patch was much too tiny to yield more than a few meals; the vegetable garden had a mix of beans and melons and leafy vegetables in apparent disarray; and beyond the vegetable garden was a weedy area where wildflowers like dandelions bloomed in abandon.
No real farmers would do things this way, right?
She walked around the garden, looking at it from every angle. Though she had walked by it countless times and even examined it up close a few times, she had never realized that… wait, that’s it! The shapes of the different crop patches reminded her of the Islands of Dara.
Cautiously, she said, “Because different plants require different nutrients and different amounts of water. A rice paddy needs to be inundated, while the vines do best with plenty of air and little water. And even the weeds are a part of your domain, and they have their own needs.”
Kuni nodded, apparently satisfied. “Different policies are needed for different regions.”
Théra’s heart thrilled. I was right! The independence given to the nobles is meant as an experiment. “And perhaps when planting a new crop, it’s best to try to plant it in different plots subject to different regimens and see which one works best.”
Kuni laughed. “My daughter has a talent for farming… and perhaps much more.”
“I could come out and farm with you more often.”
“I would like that,” Kuni said. Then, after a pause, he added, “It was clever of you to remember to help the pana méji and Master Ruthi save face after what Captain Miro did at the Palace Examination. If only your brothers had your sense.”
Théra’s face flushed, pleased at the compliment. “What did you think of Zomi Kidosu’s proposal?” she asked, eager to hear her father’s views concerning her protégée.
Kuni glanced at her, curious. “Do you know her?”
“Um… no. But she was so striking.”
Kuni continued to look at her but did not press the question. “Some seeds would thrive only when the soil is prepared properly.” He did not elaborate.
Théra pondered this answer as she continued to water the garden with her father.
Plunk, the gourd scraped the bottom of the bucket and came up empty. Théra stood up and wiped her forehead with a sleeve. “Shall we go back and get more water?”
Kuni looked at her sweat-drenched face, and his face softened. “It’s all right. You’ve already helped me a great deal. Girls shouldn’t get all sweaty and sunburnt. You can take Ada-tika to play in the shade of your mother’s part of the garden.”