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Authors: Susan Palwick

BOOK: The Necessary Beggar
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“I need to do this,” Zamatryna said. “I really do. And I want Betty to be my Necessary Beggar.”
“No,” Harani said. “I am your mother. I forbid it.”
“It is wrong,” said Erolorit.
“He is too far beneath you,” said Timbor.
“You cannot use Betty that way,” Macsofo said, and they all looked at him again. There was vomit around his mouth; he wiped it off on the back of his hand, looking ashamed. “Zamatryna, little Zama who is smart enough to be President, I have no problem with the rest of it. It is—it is a pretty story. The young man from a—let us call it a lower class. The young man who works hard to help you achieve something you want, do something you want, and in gratitude and because he is also sexy you fall in love with him, maybe even without meaning to, or maybe you cannot help yourself, and your family does not approve, but that does not matter. Because you are in love with him. Because he is the only person you can talk to about what is most important to you, and because your souls complete each other.”
His voice was an odd sing-song. Zamatryna felt a chill on the back of her neck, like the one she'd felt when Jerry talked about his dreams. “Uncle Max, what are you talking about? Have you been watching soap operas?”
He smiled thinly. “It is very like another story I heard somewhere. Never mind. Zama, it is a beautiful story, but it can end very badly. Very badly indeed. Listen to me: the Necessary Beggar cannot be someone you know. It is terrible luck to seek a Necessary Beggar you know, even in jest, or even if you are trying to be kind. You must pick the first person you see.”
“Yes,” Harani said irritably, “that is how it works in Gandiffri, where there are Mendicants on nearly every corner, and where being a Mendicant is a holy calling. That is not how things work here. If she insists on the charade, she might as well use Betty. What difference will it make?”
“Max?” Zamatryna said. “What difference would it make? According to this story you aren't telling us? What happened, in that story?”
Macsofo looked down at his bowl. “In that story, the person seeking the Necessary Beggar sought someone he knew, someone he loved. And it all went wrong. And the Necessary Beggar—the Beggar died.”
“He killed her,” Zamatryna said quietly. “It's Darroti. It was Darroti and Gallicina, wasn't it? They were in love. I knew it.”
“He didn't kill her,” Macsofo said. “She killed herself, and he took the blame. He believed it was his fault.”
Timbor was shaking his head. “What? What? They didn't know each other. They never knew each other! She was nobility! How—Macsofo, did Darroti tell you this? When?”
“During my, what does Lisa call them, my DTs,” Macsofo said sadly. “Last week.”
“
W hat?
” Erolorit said. “You are mad. Those are not real. They are hallucinations. You saw snakes, also.”
“The snakes were quite real, brother, believe me. Even if you could not see them.”
“No, Macsofo, I do not believe you. I do not believe—”
“I believe him,” Zamatryna said. “I believe him because Jerry's been having dreams, too.”
Harani squinted at her. “Jerry has been dreaming about Darroti and Gallicina?”
“No. Not exactly. He's been having dreams about—about us. The family. About Lémabantunk, and how we got here, and the camp. He knows things he couldn't possibly know, things I never told him. That's why—that's how—well, that's why we decided to get married. Part of it.”
“Because he is the only person you can talk to about what is most important to you,” Macsofo said.
She shivered. “Yes. Exactly.”
Max nodded. “Just as Darroti was the only person Gallicina could talk to about her dream of being a Mendicant. Little Zama—be careful. Because if you do this right, if you fix the story, if it comes out right this time, it will be a blessing indeed. But if you do not, we will be cursed anew.”
“Great,” she said in English, her mouth dry. “Terrific. Thanks a lot. No pressure.”
Timbor put his hands flat on the table. “I do not understand. Darroti is dead. How can he—”
“Ghosts,” Zamatryna said. Should she tell them about Gallicina? But Gallicina had never stopped commanding silence. Be careful, Macsofo had said. “Grandfather, the dead can speak to the living, here. There was never a Great Breaking, I guess. Anyway, people here see ghosts. Some people.”
“Ghosts speak in dreams?” Timbor said. “In dreams? Like the dreams I have been having since—since—but I thought they were just dreams. I—”
“Of course you did,” Zamatryna said. “You're from Lémabantunk. Look, can I marry Jerry, please? Are we all agreed on that much, at least?”
“What else do ghosts do?” Timbor said. “Do they weep into towels?”
“What?” Erolorit said. He looked at Timbor. “Is that thing still wet?”
“Yes. It has never dried. I did not tell you because, well, it was too strange and I was afraid that Stan would think it was the Devil, and—maybe it is. I do not know. Do ghosts weep?”
“Darroti's does,” Zamatryna said. She suddenly felt absurdly cheerful, the way she had when she heard about Aliniana's ridiculous affair. She felt like laughing. “Darroti's ghost cried on my face so Jerry would wipe the tears off and kiss me.”
“What?” Timbor shook his head again, like an animal trying to rid itself of fleas. “When?”
“This morning. That's—well, it's sort of what started all this. Look, Darroti evidently wants me to marry Jerry, right? So can the rest of you get on board? For Darroti's sake? Because we want to make Darroti happy, don't we? Oh, Grandfather, please don't cry—”
“How can I help it? How can you expect me not to cry? And I still cannot believe—Macsofo, you must tell me the entire story. About Darroti.”
“I will, Father. I was not sure I believed it myself, until now.”
“I kept having dreams too,” Timbor said, sounding bewildered. “Has he been trying to speak to me, then, all this time? But I cannot believe that. About him and Gallicina. I still—”
“You will believe it when you hear the story, Father.”
“I don't believe any of this,” Harani said tartly. “And there is still the issue of this marriage. Zamatryna, even if you were older, Jerry is not good enough—oh, someone get the telephone! And if it's a telemarketer, tell him to shoot a rocket launcher up his ass!”
“Ooooh,” Zamatryna said, reaching for the phone. “You're learning
excellent
idiomatic English at the casino, aren't you? Hello? If you're a telemarketer, I'm supposed to tell you—”
“Hey, sweetie, it's Lisa. You sound like you're in a good mood. Is everything okay there?”
“I guess so. A bit weird, but okay. Are you guys okay?”
“We're fine. But we're heading back to the house. I'm afraid there's a bit of a, well, a bit of a complication. We decided to call the hospital and see when Betty was getting out. She's already out. They discharged her today, right onto a bus headed for the camp. It's part of the first sweep.”
Zamatryna's throat tightened. “That stinks. She won't get very good medical care out there, will she?”
“Better than she would sleeping by the river. That's not the issue. The issue is that, once she's in there, we can't go in to get her out. They've tightened security up a lot, not that it was all that loose before. We could fill out a bunch of paperwork and go through a bunch of rigamarole six ways from Sunday; I mean, it's not Dachau, there is contact with the outside world, but it won't be easy. And I don't know how long it would take. And we're kind of living on borrowed time here anyway.”
“Right,” Zamatryna said, uncertain where this was going. “So—”
“So Jerry and I figured we should drive out there now, see if we can maybe, I don't know, head off the bus or something.”
“A high-speed chase of a county transport?” Zamatryna said. “That's wonderful. What a great plan. That's really going to increase our credibility with the INS.”
“I didn't say a
chase
. But if we can catch up with Betty before she disappears into the camp—look, if you think it's nuts, we won't do it. But then you may not see Betty again.”
“I'll do it,” Zamatryna said, resigning herself to the surreal. “It's no crazier than anything else that's happened today.”
“Okay. We'll be in front of the house in, like, thirty seconds.”
“Where are you going?” Timbor demanded when Zamatryna put down the phone.
“To the refugee camp.” She was already pulling on a sweatshirt. “To try to intercept Betty. It's a long story. I'll tell you all about it when I get home, if we don't get arrested or something.” If she got arrested, at least she wouldn't have to worry about getting married.
“What?” Erolorit stood up. “What are you talking about?”
Harani stood up too. “I'm going with you. What is this insanity?”
“We're all going,” Timbor said.
Zamatryna shook her head. “Why? So we can all be arrested?”
Timbor glared at her. “Because we are family, and that is what we do! We go places together! Especially if there is any danger!”
“We may wind up back
in
the camp,” Zamatryna said.
“Then we will be in the camp together. Is that Lisa honking out front?”
It was. She was in the SUV that she and Stan had bought after they gave the van to the family. It was big enough for all of them, and a good thing, too, because no one trying to follow them could have kept up with Lisa's driving. Lisa raced along at eighty-five miles per hour while Jerry filled the rest of the family in on the Betty situation; when he'd finished,
Erolorit engaged Jerry in strained conversation about accounting. Macsofo, between bouts of heaving into his bowl, gave Zamatryna anxious instructions about the Necessary Beggar.
“You must pick the first person you see. Even if it isn't Betty. Do you understand?”
“Yes, Uncle Max. I understand. Can I blindfold myself, or just keep my eyes closed, and have someone tell me when we find her so I can look? Or would that be cheating?”
“That would be cheating. It is already cheating for you to be seeking someone you know. This is making me very nervous, Zamatryna.”
“Okay,” said Zamatryna, head pounding. “So if I see someone else first, that person has to be my Necessary Beggar? But can we still give Betty the money for the operation?”
“Yes, of course! That is how any civilized country would do it, anyway. And you can give the Necessary Beggar something else.”
“With what money?” Harani asked. “Macsofo, just a little while ago, you would have been the one asking that question.”
“Aye. I suppose I would.” He was silent for a moment, running his finger meditatively around the rim of his puke bowl. “I wish Aliniana were here. She would know better than I how to advise you, little Zama.”
“I wish she were here for many reasons,” Harani said, her voice bitter. “And whose fault is it that she is not here?”
“Harani,” Timbor said. “Enough. That will not help anything.”
“Nonetheless, it is the truth. Macsofo, did these visions of yours teach you any lessons about mending your marriage?”
“Aye. Aye, they did.” He looked out the window, and Zamatryna saw him shiver. “They taught me that drinking and jealousy are both terrible curses. Like exile, except that sometimes a person can return from them. If he is lucky, and if it is not already too late.” He was quiet again for a few miles. When he spoke, his voice was almost too soft for Zamatryna to hear. “I must tell Alini that I am sorry.”
“You should have done that a long time ago,” Erolorit said.
“I know, brother.”
“Hey,” Zamatryna said, and touched his arm. “Hey, Uncle Max, she'll come back. I'm betting she will. Because even if she has a lover, like she says, she can't be real with him. She can't talk about Lémabantunk. She can't share her history.”
“Unless Darroti is sending him dreams, also,” Macsofo said grimly, and Zamatryna saw Jerry give them an inquisitive glance.
“You told them?”
“Yeah. It's okay. Uncle Max, somehow I don't think that's what Darroti's doing. Not that I'm an expert or anything.” Zamatryna rubbed her eyes. There was still Gallicina, the wild card in this mix: what was she up to? Zamatryna didn't think that Gallicina's spirit, sent into the beetle's body back in Lémabantunk, could leave it now, but how could she be sure?
“All right,” Macsofo said. “What has happened with Alini has happened. It will—it will be mended, or not. Right now we must think about you. Zamatryna, you must choose your Beggar properly.”

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