When Abu had still lived at home, he often had wine with dinner. Usually this was just a glass, and on holidays there would be a bit more. Wine and other alcohols could be stored almost indefinitely when properly prepared whereas water posed additional problems. So, it was only natural that everyone had come into contact with the substance throughout their life. Despite the usual restraint adults used in giving alcohols to their brood, there were times when the rules stopped mattering. The most alcohol Abu had ever had was three years ago when a drought caused a great delay in the seasonal floods. There had been little food, only booze to drink, and not much to do other than try to slog through work in a perpetually tipsy state.
The distant, familiar feeling of tipsiness returned to Abu. The smooth, barrel aged rum sipped down, and many of the adults had joked was too good for his unrefined palate. It was something you could not drink. One savored rum of this quality in little, bird-like sips. One of Muhammad’s old friends, a man by the name of Jibriel, was all too happy to spread the good stuff around. Everyone was talking of Abu’s late sister. The tales were somewhat whitewashed, but that was the norm for these types of things. Tomorrow, she would be on display, and they could mourn. First though, they would remember the best of her so that there were no bitter goodbyes.
“Remember when she accidentally dropped the toad into your stew pot?” one of Abu’s younger brothers recalled with glee even as Constantina’s lips flattened into a thin line. That had not been one of Constantina’s favorite moments with her daughter. She had not planned on serving a steaming bowl of bufotoxin to her family that night. Despite the matriarch’s unamusement, everyone else was sharing hearty laughs at the recollection. Perhaps it was Constantina’s displeasure that was fueling the humor.
The night was alight with such humor. However, with this much alcohol and too few latrines, many were stepping outside to deal with the many ways the human body had to expel substances that took it out of equilibrium. Fortunately for Abu, the one his body chose was one of the more pleasant ones. The haze of alcohol caused him to stumble as he stood to exit the building. Rounding a corner, he found a dark corner behind the rubbish where he could discretely relieve himself. The young man heaved a sigh of relief as the pitter patter of liquid droplets hit the ground and clattered against the dry earth.
Abu’s brief moment of blissful reprieve was interrupted by an, “Ugh,” by a familiar voice. It was deep for a young woman but still sounded feminine.
A moment of vague annoyance broke through his foggy consciousness. He looked over to see one of his remaining sisters, the eldest, eyeballing him with a look of distaste. Out of spite, Abu maintained eye-contact and urinated harder. “Can I help you, or did you come for the show, Sara?” Abu stated in what was supposed to be a deadpan. Blinking through the haze of alcohol and the effects it had on the words diminished his cutting wit.
“Must you put yourself on public display?” Sara asked with a hint of contempt. She like everyone else had drank to excess, and it was audible in her voice and visible in her posture. Naturally, Abu was not impressed.
“You try to find space in the latrines,” Abu grunted out with a hint of grumpiness, “Or would you rather envy that the creative forces of the universe endowed me with the ability to go wherever I please?” He tucked himself away, self-conscious about his exposure now that his sister had made a thing out of it before stepping out of the alley with the rubbish. “How’ve your classes been?” he asked out of polite interest, not having had the chance to socialize with his elder sibling earlier this day.
“They’re going well,” she said, shifting into a less awkward conversation and refocusing on the conversation, “All the warnings they give you in secondary are terribly understated.”
At that, Abu laughed. “I’m starting to believe that applies to all domains of adult life,” he stated wryly, “Do you think you just get so used to it by the time you’ve got grown up kids of your own that you understate it, or- my personal favorite- that it’s a conspiracy because they know we wouldn’t believe it were they to tell us everything?”
Sara rolled her eyes. “You,” she stated with familial exasperation, “Be thankful you have income. I can’t donate any ova to the Sultanate because the downtime interrupts my studies. I get to work in the library with the Ladybas for less than minimum wage to afford my room and board.”
“Not entirely a free ride then, hmm?” Abu teased, “You should be thankful they let you guys do grunt work at all. Wouldn’t even have that job without the legislation mandating and subsidizing its existence.”
His sister gave a haughty sniff. “Same thing could be said for primary school,” Sara retorted, “but both prepare us for the real world.”
“Yeah,” Abu said with a sardonic smile, “the real world. It’s not as mysterious as they make it sound. Even so, would you believe I’d trade places with you in a heartbeat?”
“Yes and no thanks,” Sara said flatly, “I don’t care how much you’re making, It’ll be a pittance in the long run after all the shiny new toys you’ll need to buy just to keep up with those competing for the same hunting grounds.” She flashed her brother a bleached-white smile.
That stung a bit. It was a harsh reality, but even if it seemed that Tamers were rolling in dosh, tamer gear was not cheap, and it wore out constantly. Cheaply made products were all you could afford in the beginning if you wanted to eat well, and they broke left and right. The overhead was a trap, and many tamers actually left their career in debt after many futile attempts to stay afloat. “Not even for the endless, remorseless sex without risk of pregnancy?” Abu asked again ever so cheekily. Sara wrinkled her nose and almost gagged. It looked to Abu like she had made a mistake, a mistake of picturing someone she'd rather not have in the dirty deed. The Schadenfreude warmed Abu’s heart and masked the dread that in the end he would be another bankrupt man with nothing to show for the first half of his life
“It’s called taming you know,” Sara corrected, “We call it that for a reason.”
Oh was that what had crawled up his sister’s butt? Abu felt that if he contained his eye roll, his eyes might actually pop right out of their sockets from the strain. So, he did not restrain himself. He exhaled in exasperation and actually managed to throw himself off balance. His alcohol-impaired equilibrium could not withstand the force of his disbelief. “Seriously, sis?” he asked, “We’re not in city hall. That political correctness is empty and you know it.”
It looked like Sara took that about as well as an average avian pokegirl did when you pet their feathers backwards. “Pokegirls are tamed,” she bit out, stamping her foot for emphasis, “Sex with them is-” She tried to finish, but Abu cut her off.
“Nonononono,” Abu said rapidly, wagging his finger right in his sister’s face, “No. Just no.” He pinched his nose and shut his eyes, trying to blink past the blatant wrongness he felt in his sister’s words. He was too consumed in rejecting Sara’s incomplete statement that he did not quite realize that she was thinking the exact same thing about him. “Way back before either of us were born,” he began before his sister could overcome the insult of being interrupted by her brother, “they called it nak and nkh and the Hazzards called it sex and fucking. Trade with Indigo brought that pants-on-head retarded lingo over here, 'scratching their itch' and 'taming' and all that rot.”
“That’s rather xenophobic,” Sara sneered, “Indigo and other countries import a lot of e-stones from us, but that doesn’t mean they have some kind of conspiracy to control us linguistically.” She crossed her arms under her chest and flattened her lips into a thin line. Abu thought it made her look constipated, but he knew she was not going to hear it.
“Never said it was, sis,” Abu continued despite knowing she would pay precisely zero mind to anything he had to say, just as he would she, “The Sultanate panders to our international patrons for the sake of getting along. It's the same reason everyone puts their best behavior on at church and the town hall. It makes no sense to do it outside of formal environments unless you’re deliberately trying to piss people off by censoring them.” True, he had cut his sister off with no small amount of vehemence and venom earlier, but he was on a roll.
At that, Sara made an ugly frown. Obviously she disagreed but elected instead to change the subject. “It’s not even the same as it is between humans and pokegirls as it is between a man and a woman,” she claimed. She added nothing else. Was that the clincher?
“Really?” Abu said as he arched an eyebrow, ‘Cause I’ve been with both, and there was no perceptible difference to me.” That seemed to shock Sara. He had no idea why. It was hard to keep it in your pants at school when everyone is exposed to sexuality via pokegirls from day one of their lives. They exude it. Maybe Sara never got any? Abu figured it was more likely that she had repressed herself after school ended because supposedly good girls who go to college are not like that.
“You’d know better if you were at all educated,” Sara said, cutting her little brother to the quick.
And in an instance, Sara was eye-level with her Abu’s bared teeth. She stepped back in fright, not hearing his words. Abu was half a head above average and a full head bigger than she was. A jolt of adrenaline flooded her system. The corded muscle that had built itself on her brother’s frame in recent years quivered with bristling energy. Even more had piled on since he left home now that he was struggling in the wilderness on a daily basis. Even though it was clear that Abu was restraining any violent urges in his system to mere verbal assault, a spike of fear shot up from the back of Sara's brain. Instinctively, she knew the only way she could be in more trouble was if it were a pokegirl standing in front of her.
“... and do you want to know what an education is?” Abu’s shouts became perceptible to Sara in the middle of her freeze. Abu continued, “Do you know how this town is able to send people like you off to get educated?”
No matter how much taller and broader Abu was than Sara, Muhammad was bigger and stronger. With one hand around the back of his son’s neck, Muhammad’s calloused hands hoisted him up off his feet and planted him away from his sister. Now it was Abu’s turn to feel scared as he stared into his father’s beetle black eyes. They were devoid of their usual merriment, and his brow knitted tightly with his lower eyelids drawn halfway up his eyes. “Leave,” the older man said, and all the blood drained from Abu’s face. Muhammad then let go of his son and watched him stumble off.
Once Abu was out of sight, Muhammad turned to his shaken daughter. How to deal with this? She was his eldest, and he was so proud of her; but, he had to do something. Just because she was off at college most of the year now did not mean that she was no longer his baby.
“Daddy, he-” Sara began but was halted by Muhammad raising his hand in a ‘stop’ gesture. She fidgeted uncomfortably.
“I already know what happened,” her father said. He was still frowning, conflicted. His children had only been uprooting themselves and leaving he and his wife for a couple years now. Still, he had no clue as how to council adult children beyond his feeble attempts at steering them in the right direction.
“Hwa?” Sara respondedly with breathtaking wit.
At that, Muhammad gave his usual smile and reminded his daughter, “Remember? All mothers and fathers are gifted with x-ray vision when their first baby is born. You’ll see when you have your first.” He felt somewhat relieved when his daughter gave him a weak smile. The truth was he had been keeping an eye on any kids of his when they went outside. Muhammad's remaining children who were still in school were only allowed a single additional drink after dinner. Afterwards, they had been sent upstairs and away from the increasingly rowdy and liquored up adults. Yet, Muhammad could not give his adult children the same treatment. Had it been him at their age, he knew it would have been a terrible insult, effectively telling them that they were not yet men and women in his eyes. How could he do that to them when he had so much to be proud of?
Taking another breath, Muhammad began to speak. “Manners maketh man,” he said. Sara knew that he meant ‘man’ in the general sense of human beings. Indo-European and Semitic languages were like that with generalizations of gendered nouns, so there was no confusion as to what he meant. “They exist to spare others hurt feelings which create resentment,” Muhammad told his daughter, “When we forget them, we create enemies. Why do you think I treat even the auxiliary pokegirls so sweetly?”
Sara resisted the temptation to say, ‘so you can tame them.' Why did he? They were not members of her father and mother’s harem and certainly were not held in nearly as high of a regard or trust. Sara took a moment to think, and while she did so, Muhammad waited with the patience only a parent who had at one point had had sixteen children and a business to manage could muster. “To…” Sara began slowly, “keep them from becoming upset?” That seemed easy enough to piece together, but she was probably missing something; she could tell.
Muhammad gave her half a nod. “That’s part of it,” he confirmed, “but if they feel good about themselves, they do a better job as well. Even when they do a horrible job, I keep a steady voice and remain as I always do. It’s not that I don’t tell them they screwed up. No, I take them, and I show them. I tell them that I know they can do better and that I know they won’t disappoint me again.” There was a softness about him now, and Muhammad smiled at his daughter. “It doesn’t work for everyone, and you have to shape your wheedling to the individual,” came a warning of temperance and caution, “but abuse only ever breaks them down, and soon they won’t want to help you no matter and may only do so because some societal constraint makes them. Have many friends, even if you only have a few close friends.”
Sara bit her lip, not quite knowing how to take this. “I… agree,” she said tentatively, “the argument was because Abu did none of that.” It sounded good to her. She had seen it work. Some school teachers she had had in her advanced classes in secondary school had the ability to make an A- feel like a catastrophic failure and a C like a nobel prize. It was a way they had to inspire an eager want to do more. How could it work though if some had no such manners though?
“And I will speak with him as well,” Muhammad said, silencing that matter, “but even if someone has no manners, you cannot rebuke them in such a way that hurts their precious pride. A wounded pride only ever harms those who inflicted the injury. We live in a world where honor duels are not levied to women. They will find creative ways to get back at you.”
His daughter was a little confused to tell the truth. “So…” Sara said slowly, “you’re saying what I did was wrong?” Was her father calling out on her because she was the eldest and responsible one and the successful college student? That didn’t seem fair.
Muhammad shook his head. “I’m telling you how to be more effective in the future,” he said, hoping that clarified his advice, “We’re far past the point where I can tell you what to think, and whether I agree or disagree, you’ll keep thinking what you’re going to think anyways until you come around to another viewpoint on your own.”
Still hesitant, Sara mulled it over some more. “I think I understand,” she said at last. That was only half-true, but it was the correct thing to say in this instance. Maybe the full meaning would come to her later. It was apparent to her that Muhammad was clearly aware of her incomplete understanding, but he still nodded in acceptance of her statement.
“Good,” her father said, “Now I have to find Abu.” He sighed. “Take it easy on your brother. He was disappointed when he got his acceptance letter and knew he couldn’t afford to go.”