Another gap in the record. I haven't marshalled words here since before Kerem's son was born, and now he's named.
Tibor Harvest Atamahara
I think he's a Cuthill Atamahara. He has that line to him. I could probably request tests, but... Kerem chose to conceive him as a festival child and it'd be cheating the deal to tell her which one was the father.
So, in summary, Kerem had a seizure a week before her due date. The clan argued about whether to intervene, while she slipped into a coma. This was not meant to happen. All my work for the clinic, and she shunned it until she was carried in there. He was delivered and drew breath while she dreamwalked beyond our reach.
The alliance was arguing about customs offices and rules of engagement.
And I was half trying to follow it from home, with all this, and with Maia, who is... small and increasingly stubborn as she explores her will. And looks to Kerem, not me. And with Kerem lying there...
The rhythm of life goes on. I know how it works for the young ones in the clan. I took up Kerem's role, for a few weeks, with Maako and Maia and the others. Even with Tibor.
A son. All this for another son. I could have wept, had there been time and a place for it. Can I stop Kerem killing herself to make a daughter within the traditions? And, like the elders arguing, should I intervene?
She believes: in selection and the necessity of failure; in the traditions, young as ours are. Should I respect her belief, even if it'll be the death of her?
I don't think she wants to die, but she wants to do the right thing, even if that may bring her death.
And I want her there. To disapprove of me and my "Gallente baby", while caring for Maia and raising her in the traditions. To be a touchstone of the way things ought to be, even as we each live our lives in other ways around her.
Why do I want her disapproval, while Jacob's was ultimately intolerable?
A third of a year. I still ache for him.
Grieving for Jonny came easily, and immediately. Grieving for Jacob... is something I still haven't really done.
We are civil. With thorns.
It was hard, putting out the news and having people assume we knew what we were doing and it would, of course, all be okay. Having them believe us. Wanting to rage, but having jobs to do.
No one's been closer than Jacob. I don't know that I want anyone to be. After that, everything else seems... mundane... banal. But also, those times with Jacob were the only times in years that'd taken me out of myself like that; that had made me willing to yield, and not just outwardly. And if what we had couldn't work, what chance has anything else?
So... poor Helmund, selected and sent to space to try to minister to me. I left him there to go and look after Kerem and the children, then made my way back to find him unsure how to deal with me. I agree to the physical disciplines: the body hacks. I limit the drugs he can use on me when I'm flying, and have limited my flying somewhat to give him a chance. And he... tries to get me to talk. I don't particularly resent him. I could tell him to go away. I just...
I have reservations of the mind. Easy to blame it on active duty; things he shouldn't see; opsec, even. I bat him away from the things that matter.
It's a bit like I imagine having a pet would be. Some creature to notice that you're there; to keep you to some sort of schedule; to need things from you that keep you human and a bit responsible; to stroke and keep you warm when there's no one else to hold.
And thinking that way, while true-for-me, makes me wonder if Bacch's ideas are rubbing off on me. And there is, really, no one I can talk to about that... except Bacch himself.
I don't use my real body now. It's there: a flesh ghost of who I was and who I might be again. It's not who I am. Even at home. Even...
And there's the other thing. What does it say that I choose the company of a non-Matari who rejects his own--and all human--culture? One who's red to us and who has ideas that most of my colleagues find abhorrent and a manner they find offensive?
I like sharing virtual spaces with him. It's grown familiar, for advice and venting and verbal sparring and... comfort. Astringency and concern. An antidote to groupthink and the weight of expectation.
I'm under no illusions. I think.
How many times have I said, over the years, that I wish him well... and well away from me and my people? And now his people's road trip has them dipping into our space, and we could meet. Breathe the same air, which we've done only once before, at Maia's naming.
I surprise myself at the strength of my reaction to the idea of sharing physical space with someone who--within limits--happily shares my mind. Helmund and Bacch have different parts of me.
Jacob, I let you in. We bruised each other with words and silences and ourselves. I miss the intensity. I don't miss the despair. I want to know: can I ever have one without the other?
Perhaps if we keep playing our parts I will start to feel mine is real.
But which one, of the parts I play?
