CH2.01: Astronomical Odds (I)  【Vi】

Mom was right about the riverside pathway; it was beautiful. Vi leaned against the stone balustrades that lined the edges of the path, his gaze lingering on the river. Despite its much thinner volume due to the horrid heat, the river managed to live somehow. The water streamed around rocks and stones; danced over felled logs, and ran along tree-lines. Come rain or shine, it always made its way to the sea. And if it ever dried up, it would come right back with a vengeance once storm-season hit.

You just never give up, do you, Vi wondered as he straightened up. When you meet the sea, please tell her and the sky to send some rain our way.

Within the next half-hour, he found himself strolling along the bustling tree-lined streets of Vriya City’s commerce district. Hundreds of red-tile-roofed shops, pop-up-stalls, and towering stores peeked from behind trees and foliage. A sea of candy-colored name-boards drew-in the eyes of curious customers.

Hands firmly in his pockets, he dodged and swerved past streams of shoppers along the footpath. The scenery constantly shifted from tea-shops and textile stores to handicraft shops.

Hand-stitched purses, wood-carved pens, and hand-painted notebooks greeted his eyes from behind glass windows. His gaze fell on the notebooks, and before he knew it, his fingers inside his pocket grazed the hardcover of his own little book. Briefly wondering if there was a time when his book ever looked like that, he continued on his way. Probably not, he thought to himself. But maybe I’ll get one of those covers for it one day.

In truth, his ‘secret diary’ of a little book was not exactly his to keep. It’s story went back to his time in juvenile jail; serving time for having beat the living daylights out of a man. Several months into his three-year sentence, he’d fallen into a painfully boring routine of school-work, chores, awkward meetings with counseling officers, and the occasional violent jail-fight. Going to the jail’s library felt like a field-trip every time he was on library-duty, and that was where he ‘met’ the little book.

Discarded and crumpled up at the bottom of a ‘used-books’ box, no counselor could’ve warned him of the absolute buffoonery he’d find within its pages. Because first of all, it was not a printed book.

It was a particularly small notebook full of handwritten lesson-notes, with any and all identifying pages ripped out. No name, no age, and no gender that he could figure out of its owner. But just from the lesson topics in there, he guessed that the owner must’ve been in the ninth grade or so. Everything else was a solid mess. Between the chicken-sh*t handwriting, unhinged metaphors, some of the most horrific-looking doodles he’d ever seen in his life, and a weird fascination with…buses, a part of him was convinced that no human being, regardless of age or emotional state, could produce such a cursed piece of writing. He still remembered how hard his heart beat as he looked around to make sure no one was watching before he stashed the book into a dark, dusty corner-shelf in the library. Away from the prying eyes of wardens, bunkmates, and jail-mates alike.

A place where only he would find it. And he did, over, and over, and over again. That singular, downright goofy book got him through some of the darkest times in his life.

His jail-fights took a nosedive, and he went out of his way to break up many of the more gruesome ones. No more half-assing work; he rushed his chores left-right-and-centre just so he could get away from the wardens’ watchful eyes. No more naps during class-time; he glared daggers into the chalkboard and finished all his assignments and homework right on time.

All that in exchange for more time at the library, where he could read that stupid, godsdamned notebook.

Most of the time, he hid it behind a massive hardcover while he read it. If the librarian wondered why Vi smiled like an idiot while reading a hardbound Physics book, he sure didn’t show it on his face.

Vi sought the little book like a child sought their favorite blanket, and it consoled him all the same. As soon as he’d slip it back into its secret spot and leave, he’d miss it. As if it it were a cute animal, or a kind friend. All that, for a tattered, torn up, squiggle-fest notebook. He knew it was utterly ridiculous. Just as ridiculous when one day, he was released from his sentence far earlier than expected on exceptional behavior.

Finally, the little book sat safe and snug under Vi’s shirt as the eldest jail-warden escorted him towards the main exit. Freedom and his family were just a few doors away. Until the old warden behind him pat his shoulder.

“You’ve been a good kid,” The warden said to him. “Didn’t take you for a book-thief, though.”

Despite everything he had been through until that point in his life, it was the old warden’s words that had terrified him the most. Although he willed his face to remain straight, his eyes quivered under the warden’s wary gaze.

Sht! They’re going to punish me, Vi’s mind whirled. They’re going to punish me again, and they’ll take away the book, sht sht sht what do I do—

“Keep it,” the warden muttered with a sigh as he ushered him out, “in return, make sure that you and that book will never return to a place like this again.”

Back home, he hardbound the little book with a boring, deep red fabric, and it soon became an indispensable part of him. It traveled with him across every city, job, and ride. It brought him so much more comfort than the dozen amulets and bracelets his mother made him wear. A small, hopeful part of him carried the book around in search of its true owner; if nothing else but to thank them. But he knew the odds were astronomically low. A boy could dream though, couldn’t he?

Fast-forward to the present, he knew the little book inside-out; every word, page, scritch, scratch, and botched-up bizarre doodle. It was his little best-friend, regardless of its feelings towards him. If it ever came to be possessed or sentient, he’d be happier for it.

Presently, he continued his stroll, taking note of possible landmarks from the directions on the map. He was getting close, and he almost didn’t like that. It really was nice to be outside like this, despite the hot weather. Something about trees, the smell of wood and paint from craft-shops, and the sound of wind-chimes and chatter; it was truly nice. And of course, his silly little book.

Some amount of silly was necessary to keep living. Silly still, he believed he’d be alright with the little book in his pocket. Even if his Uncle worked him to the bone; even if he never found real friends again, and even if he could never run away and try to find a greater meaning to his existence, he’d be alright. As long as he had his precious pile of cursed papers on him.

Not the time for an existential crisis, he warned himself, taking a deep breath. Not now. The store should be right about here—

In the distance, the light, muffled hum of a song drifted along from one of the shops. It sounded vaguely familiar, until the lyrics reached his ears.

“…a golden-rain tree. You’re mine…”

He darted his gaze towards the music as he recognized the melody. It was an ancient folk-song from around those parts, often sung by heartbroken lovers, or by children too young to understand its lyrics.

It was called ‘Sunshower Grove’, about foxes marrying under a golden-rain tree. It was popular enough that he’d read it in the unhinged depths of the little book as well. Here in Adita, the story entailed that it was two foxes that got hitched. But he remembered Mom telling him that back in Jāla, the belief was that foxes married cats. Other cultures believed it to be foxes marrying dogs instead. Sometimes it was jackals. Sometimes it was mythical creatures. But they all sang about the same thing: sunshowers.

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