from love or from anger. Or inattention. Or only from not knowing what
better to do. A baby isn't proof of anything between the father and
mother beyond a few moments' pressure."
"It isn't the child's fault."
"No, I suppose not," Nayiit said.
"'t'his is why you came, then? To Nantani, and then up here? To he away
from them?"
"I came because I wanted to. Because it was the world, and when was I
going to see it again? Because you wanted someone to carry your bags and
wave off dogs. It was only partly that I couldn't stay. And then when
you were going to see him, NIaati-cha ... How could I not come along for
that too? The chance to see my father again. I remember him, you know? I
do, from when I was small, I remember a day we were all in a small but.
'T'here was an iron stove, and it was raining, and you were singing
while he bathed me. I don't know when that was, I can't put a time on
it. But I remember his face."
"You would have known him, if you'd seen him in passing. You'd have
known who he was."
Nayiit took a pose of affirmation. He pursed his lips and chuckled ruefully.
"I don't know what it is to be a father. I'm only working from-"
"Nayiit-kya?" came a voice from the shadows behind them. A soft,
feminine voice. "Is everything well?"
She stepped toward the light. A young woman, twenty summers, perhaps as
many as twenty-two. She wore bedding tied around her waist, her breasts
bare, her hair still wild from the pillows.
"Jaaya-cha, this is my mother. Mother, Jaaya Biavu."
The girl blanched, then flushed. She took a pose of welcome, not
bothering to cover herself, but her gaze was on Nayiit. It spoke of both
humiliation and contempt. Nayiit didn't look at her. The woman turned
and stalked away.
"That wasn't kind," Liat said.
"Very little of what she and I do involves kindness," he said. "I don't
expect I'll see her again. By which I mean, I don't suppose she'll see me."
"Is she politically connected? If her family is utkhaiem ..."
"I don't think she is," Nayiit said, his face in his hands. It was hard
to be sure in the firelight, but she thought the tips of his ears were
blushing. "I suppose I should have asked."
He struggled for a moment, trying to speak and failing. his brow
furrowed and Liat had to resist the urge to reach over and smooth it
with her thumb, the way she had when he'd been a babe.
"I'm sorry," he said. "You know that I'm sorry."
"t~ or what?" she asked, her voice low and stern. As if there were any
number of things for which he might he.
"For not being a better man," he said.
The fire popped, as if in comment. Liat took her son's hand, and for a
long moment, they were silent. "Then:
"I don't care what you do with your marriage, Nayiit-kya. If you don't
love her, end it. Or if you don't trust her. As you see fit. People come
together and they part. It's what we do. But the boy. You can't leave