Skillful Death (36 page)

While he awaited their return, Dom spent as much time as he could watching Diki sleep. The attendants refused to let him hold his daughter because Diki seemed to sense the tension in his touch. She cried whenever he picked her up.

The men Dom hired as trackers came back alone.

“We tracked them to the river that comes out between the twin peaks,” the former messenger said. “It’s so swollen with runoff that we couldn’t cross. It’s likely that your wife did not cross either.”

“Then where is she? If they couldn’t cross the river, they must be hiding somewhere,” Dom said.

“We thought the same thing, but we couldn’t find any sign of them. They could have walked upstream through the shallows and come out at any point. If they suspected they might be followed, it’s unlikely we’ll find any trail of them.”

“Then go and wait for the river to diminish. Go with all haste to their village. You can intercept them there,” Dom said.

“If they make it that far, then we’ll never be able to bring them back. Lha-mo’s family is powerful there. It will take an army to compel them if they make it that far.”

“I don’t care about Lha-mo, just bring me my wife,” Dom said. His voice began to splinter from shouting.

The trackers left. Dom hoped they were leaving to follow his orders, but he suspected that they might just wander off. He longed to chase after Tara himself, but he knew he couldn’t leave his daughter.

Dom grew restless. Alone, but constantly interrupted by maids, cooks, and nurses, Dom began to take daily meetings with his factory manager. That led to more conversations with his franchise owners. He was still deemed too disruptive for direct contact with Diki, so he used work to fill his time, restricting himself to watching Diki as she slept. Her beautiful face would scrunch and then smile in her sleep, and Dom believed she was thinking of him. News of the lovers, Tara and Lha-mo, came one sunny afternoon while Dom sat on his balcony with the manager of his foundry.

“Sir, this letter came from the Constable,” the maid said, interrupting Dom’s conversation.

“Thank you,” Dom said, taking the paper. He couldn’t quite focus on the curvy black characters. His mind had stopped on the word Constable. He spoke it aloud, and it tasted funny on his tongue. Somehow the word reminded him of Denpa. “What’s another word for Constable?” he asked his foundry manager.

“Magistrate? Officer? Administrator?” the man offered.

“No, none of them are it. It’s like I’m thinking of the same word in another language.”

“Do you speak another language?”

“No. Maybe bear language,” Dom said. He smiled at the thought. He opened the letter and ran from the balcony as soon as he’d read the words.

Dom didn’t stop running until he had scaled the steps to the lake. This was the same lake where Dom learned to swim, and Denpa died. Tara had first talked to him at length here. Now, it was the lake where a group of men pulled fine-mesh nets to the opposite shore. The Constable stood at the water’s edge, next to a pile of scarves.

Dom walked slowly to where the Constable stood. He couldn’t make his numb legs move any faster.

“I’m sorry, Torma,” the Constable said. “When I wrote you, we had only found your houseguest. But I’m afraid there’s more bad news.” He pointed towards the men with the net. Dom saw what they had caught and he waded into the water to where they pulled the body.

“Don’t touch her,” the Constable said. “The river was rough on her. She’ll come right apart if you touch her.”

The men stopped pulling when Dom approached. Dom dropped to his knees and looked at her half-submerged, bloated face. Tara had been so gaunt in the face when she had left, the water almost made her look normal.

Gentle hands led Dom back to shore.

The men collected Tara’s body onto a blanket in the shallows and dragged her remains up to the shore, near Lha-mo’s corpse. Dom dropped to his knees between them.

“They must have tried to cross the river. It’s dangerous upstream this time of year. Many have died over the years trying that same crossing. It’s best to wait until summer,” the Constable said. “Was she returning home for a visit?”

“Yes,” Dom said. “She was pregnant again.”

“Then she shouldn’t have been traveling,” the Constable said. One of the men at his side put his hand on the Constable’s shoulder, perhaps to shut him up. The Constable was a fat man, more known for the good things that went into his mouth, than any good coming out.

Dom folded himself over, gripped his knees, and stared at Tara’s body. Her beautiful curves had been ravaged by starvation, replenished by pregnancy in certain areas, and now were bloated into distended riddles. He couldn’t recognize any of the curves as his wife. Only the face belonged to the Tara he remembered.

The men gave Dom a minute and then pulled respectful blankets over the bodies. Dom turned and looked out over the lake. The water pulled him; called to him. Somewhere beneath the glittering surface, dream-Dom struggled to claw his way back to the air. Perhaps if he waded out there, he could find himself in a dream and then drag himself back to reality. Dom rose to his feet and then turned west, to his little daughter.

D
OM
TOOK
OVER
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care of his daughter. For weeks, she cried whenever he held her, and bit his fingers whenever he tried to soothe her gums. Dom kept one wet nurse, and basic kitchen help. He held conferences with his employees on his balcony, so he could save one ear for Diki. His profits declined as the other manufacturers banded together to undercut Dom’s prices. Even Dom’s franchises, having no exclusive contract, began to buy their parts from Dom’s competition.
 

For a temporary cut in prices, they signed contracts with other manufacturers, only to see their shipments delayed or extra fees applied to the cost. Soon, several of Dom’s franchises went out of business, and Dom’s profits declined farther.

Tara’s aunt conducted her elaborate mourning in the circle below Dom’s balcony. After three days, local custom transitioned mourning to celebration. Tara’s aunt found a loophole. She told her friends that her niece’s soul couldn’t find its next destination because her soul was waterlogged and watching over her daughter. To others, she argued that Dom kept Tara’s soul in a wooden box. Tara’s aunt held her vigil in the circle and demanded to see Diki. Dom refused.

Eventually, Diki resigned herself to Dom’s care. She stopped biting him and stopped screaming when he came near. He transitioned her away from the wet nurse, and on to goat milk and solid food. Soon, Diki reserved her brilliant smile for Dom alone.
 

Dom was forced to let his kitchen staff move on to other jobs when he discovered he no longer commanded enough money to satisfy the payroll. His local plumbing business supported itself, but produced no profit. His manufacturing business generated just enough cash to keep Dom and Diki fed.

Sensing his weakness, Dom’s competitors launched a final offensive to crush his business. Dom was up all night nursing Diki through a bad cough when he spotted the flames reflecting off the pillar of smoke. He knocked frantically on his neighbor’s door and left his sick little daughter in their care. Dom ran up the hill and found a small group of masked men trying to rekindle the flames at Dom’s factory. Dom picked up a chunk of twisted metal and chased the men into the night.

The men had stacked wood and coal against the walls of the factory, and the black streaks of soot spoke of their limited success. They managed to smash most of the equipment, but their efforts to burn his factory to the ground had failed. Dom’s factory employed a sophisticated sprinkler system. The smashed equipment was soaked, but the walls of his factory still stood.
 

Dom picked through the wreckage as the Constable and his men arrived.

“Tragedy stalks you,” the Constable said. “When it finally catches you, our village will breathe a sigh of relief.”

Dom rose to his feet and turned to the rotund little man. A growl rose in the back of his throat, as Dom pictured choking the life from the Constable’s face. He imagined the man suffering for the next several minutes; suffering to take in a breath, the Constable would understand, if only for a moment, how Dom felt. Calm and peace spread in Dom’s mind as he realized that adding one more moment of suffering wouldn’t ease his own heart. Adding more pain to the world could only serve to add more pain.

From that thought, the salvation of his business began. He turned away from the Constable and walked back to his house, lost in thought.
 

Dom sold his beautiful house. Tara’s uncle, Jetsan, harassed potential buyers, but Dom held his asking price until his house caught the eye of an outsider who wished to move to town. The man met Dom’s price, and Dom purchased Denpa’s house for a fraction of the amount. He moved Diki into the tiny house just as she learned to walk. Dom was thrilled to find most of Denpa’s possessions still on the shelves. Denpa’s son had never moved into the house. He was holding on to the property, hoping the value would rise.

Dom sold his burned factory and the smashed equipment to the mine. The owner of the mine was looking for a location to process his carbide and metals.
 

Dom sold his interest in the local plumbing business to the man he had once employed to manage it. Once Dom’s interest was removed from the business, the suppliers cooperated and the business was able to thrive again.
 

Dom collected enough capital to fund his plan.

He tracked down his friend Pemba and explained his idea.

Dom trusted Diki to his former landlady one morning, so he and Pemba could talk to the third person they needed to bring on board.

Dom and Pemba dressed in their best business clothes and entered the cafe. Tashi sat behind his newspaper. Dom and Pemba sat down at his table.

Tashi lowered his paper and regarded the two young men.

“Torma, Pemba,” Tashi said.

“Please, call me Dom,” Dom said. “Torma died with the plumbing business.”

“So he has,” Tashi said. “My friendship with Jetsan should suffer the same fate if he knew I was here talking to you.”

“We’re here to talk business with you. I know that business means more to you than friendship,” Dom said.

“So it does. That’s exact,” Tashi said. “But your business has failed. You built it up to incredible heights so quickly, and so quickly it fell. What have you to show for it?”

“I have an idea,” Dom said.

“An idea can be very valuable. Or it can be worthless,” Tashi said. He took a nibble of his pastry and a tiny sip of tea.

“My business thrived briefly and then collapsed because it was built on suffering,” Dom said.

“Fresh water brings suffering?”

“No. But I built my business by stealing manufacturing techniques. I stole contracts from my former suppliers. I stole workers from my competitors. I built my business around decreasing the business of my rivals.”

“As business does,” Tashi said. “It is the way of the world.”

“I want to build a new business based on pulling people together instead of pushing them away.”

“That doesn’t sound profitable.”

“It will be.”

“I’m afraid you must have outgrown my tutelage. I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Tashi said. “And since I don’t see how I will profit from this conversation, I will ask you to leave before Jetsan gets word that I’ve betrayed his wife’s feud.”

“Listen, please, it’s a good idea,” Pemba broke in.

“And you, Pemba,” Tashi said, “you’ve finally got a good position at the mine. Why would you want to jeopardize that?”

“This new venture is based on Pemba’s skill,” Dom said. “He’s the only person who can make it a reality.”

“You’re starting a business to ensure the quality of mining output? I think they’re already doing that quite well. Besides, the mining business is moving on to more advanced products. They don’t care about selling raw materials anymore. They want to develop the products made from those materials.”

The waiter arrived to see if Dom and Pemba wished to order.

“I’ll have the breakfast special,” Dom said to the waiter. “If I can’t convince you of my idea before the meal comes, then you can eat my breakfast and we will find someone else to work with.”

Tashi glanced at the remains of his pastry and then nodded to Dom.

Pemba whispered to the waiter as he walked off with the order—“Take your time.”

Dom turned to Tashi. “In plumbing we have manufacturing, distribution, and installation. I had such a difficult time sourcing my parts, and finding reliable partners, that I tried to tackle all three disciplines. Eventually, the other manufacturers banded together to push me out of business.”

“You were poaching their business and their talent,” Tashi said.

“What choice did I have? And before that, I enraged the distributors because I went directly to their suppliers,” Dom said.

“Because you wanted a better price.”

“No, because I wanted a reliable supply. I didn’t begrudge their profit, just their incompetence. Given a choice, I would have left the manufacturers to build, and the distributors to sell. I switched my focus to manufacturing not because it captured my interest, but only because it was the most difficult part of the process. It required all my time, and when I didn’t have enough time to devote, it failed.”