Heretical Fishing

Chapter 47: Confrontation

Chapter 47: Confrontation

"No, Fischer—you lost!" Barry called back, exulting in the relief of knowing the fields wouldn't wash away.

He bent down, picked up the single stalk of sugarcane that had been lifted from the soil, and pressed it firmly back down.

"You fool!" Roger spat, stomping toward Fischer with sodden steps. "Do you know what you almost did? Do you know how much you almost ruined everything? Bloody heretical bloody idio—"

"Dad! You—" Maria began, but was similarly cut off.

"Roger!" Barry boomed, the strength of his voice making Roger pause mid-step.

He walked toward Roger slowly, adopting a softer tone.

"Come with me for a moment."

"You know what he almost just did! Are you really going to—"

"Roger." Barry said, something in his tone bringing Roger up short.

Barry turned and strode away, and with only a little grumbling under his breath, Roger followed.

As Barry passed Maria, she raised both eyebrows at him, clearly impressed by his wrangling.

She spun away, pretending to not notice her father walking after him as she studiously inspected the head of her shovel.

***

"Damn—Barry can be pretty intense, huh?" I asked.

"I've never seen him like that—neither has dad, I'm guessing. That's probably why he listened to him..."

"I've never seen him like that—neither has dad, I'm guessing.hat's probably why he listened to him..."

"Guess he finally cracked it over your dad's attitude."

Maria winced, shooting me a furtive glance.

"I really am sorry for that, you know—I try my best, but he never listens to me."

I waved her apology away.

"It's all good. You have nothing to say sorry for. I've dealt with worse, and I know it's all probably stemming from the stress over your situation."

"Oh, no—he's always been a giant prick."

I snorted a laugh at the unexpected confession.

"Though," she said with a smile, "I have to admit he's been way worse since mom got sick."

I nodded, figuring that to be the case.

Humans are volatile at the best of times, let alone when their loved ones—and very pride—are on the line.

"I'll win him over eventually—until then, he can call me whatever he wants. Sticks and stones."

She cocked her head.

"Sticks and stones...?"

"Yeah. You've never heard that? Sticks and stones may break my bones, but words will never hurt me."

"Wow—is that a common saying where you're from? It's quite profound..."

It was an effort not to laugh at the profundity of a children's’ rhyme. I hid my mirth by nodding sagely with pressed-together lips.

***

Roger glared his anger at the back of Barry's head.

The leader stopped on the spot between rows of sugarcane, turning a calm gaze on Roger.

Roger's face contorted at being ordered to do anything, and he fought down a snarl.

"Why are we letting this fool get in the way? He—"

"Roger," Barry said, cutting him off with a flat look. "I haven't known you for my entire life, but I think I've taken your measure pretty well over the years you've been here. The way you're acting now, lashing out at a man that's done nothing but help you, is entirely unlike you."

Roger felt a moment of guilt, but it quickly drowned beneath the weight of unbridled fury.

"He flies in the face of the gods themselves, Barry," he spat, leaning into whatever he could to justify his petulance.

"That's not what you're upset at, Roger. You know it, and I know it—I suspect Fischer knows it too, which is why he's giving you so much leeway with your constant insults."

"Then what am I upset at, Barry?"

"We both know what's got you so out of sorts, Roger. You're under an immense amount of—"

"Say it!" he yelled, cutting him off. "If you're going to challenge me, be man enough to speak it!"

Barry's mask of calm remained, and he slowly nodded.

"Alright. You're lashing out because Sharon is sick, and you're financially—"

"Dying," he corrected, his face trembling. "My wife is dying, Barry. I expect you'd be angry too if Helen wasn't long for this world."

"I would," Barry said, "which is why we're having this conversation, and why Fischer hasn't told you to leave, and still helps you—even through your outbursts."

The reminder of his actions, alongside voicing his wife's true condition, made guilt, hatred, and self-pity join the raging flames of fury within him.

He growled deep in his throat, picked up his hoe, and swung it with all his might.

The tool traveled through Barry's almost-mature sugarcane, snapping stalks and sending leaves flying.

He swung again and again, each strike wiping out swathes of the crop.

Finally, he swung it down into the ground, planting the hoe deep within the soil.

"So what do I do, Barry?" His voice was soft, his emotions deadened. "What would you do if it were your wife?"

"I don't know, Roger, but I think you need to work that out. I don't want you to come back until you've worked through your—"

"You'd cut me off? What will we do without the fields? We—"

"No," Barry answered, holding up a hand to forestall him. "Maria and I, and sometimes Fischer, will continue farming the land. I don't want you to come back until you've worked through your emotions—until you can genuinely thank Fischer and be around him without lashing out, I don't want to see you working his land."

"What gives you the right? Was this his idea? Is he not man enough to talk to me directly?"

"Again, no. Fischer is too kind, and would just let you continue insulting him endlessly. This is coming from me. Go spend time with your wife, Roger. Get your mind right. Then, and only then, should you come back."

Roger glared, wishing more than anything that Barry would swing at him. He craved violence, any outlet for the fire within.

Barry's face remained calm, and, if anything, held compassion.

Roger spat on the ground and strode toward Tropica.

***

Barry returned alone.

I raised an eyebrow.

"No Roger?"

"No roger," he confirmed. "I asked him not to come back until he sorts his feelings out. I've had enough of him lashing out at you."

"Oh—er—you didn't have to do that, mate. It's really alright—"

"No." Barry shook his head, his lips forming a line. "It's not alright, and I think he knows that too."

Maria sighed.

"Maybe that's what he needs. Sorry you had to deal with it, Barry. It shouldn't be your problem."

He smiled at her.

"It's fine. I'd expect him to do the same if I were acting out of character as much as he's been. We're neighbors, after all—right, Fischer?"

I grinned, my eyes crinkling.

"That we are, mate."

"Well," Maria said, picking up her shovel, "should we get back to finishing these trenches? Maybe I'll go pump the water, though..."

She squinted at me; I grinned back.

"Yeahhh. Maybe I should stick to digging..."

"I'll go work the pump," Barry said. "Are you two okay to finish the rows?"

I smiled at Maria.

"You reckon you and I can handle a little labor?"

She nodded, then swept the loose strand of hair back behind her ear as she looked at Barry.

"I'm sure we can manage. Don't worry—I won't let Fischer ruin anything else in your absence."

"Like that, is it?" I leaned back in mock affront. "Looks like the bad attitude might be a family trait..."

"Oh, too far!" She slapped my arm playfully. "Don't compare me to that old grouch."

"I'll leave you to it," Barry said over his shoulder. "Though don't spend too long being handsy with each other—the water will start coming as soon as I get there."

Maria blushed an adorable shade of pink, the blood visibly rising beneath her tanned skin.

"You know, you're pretty cute when you blush."

"Don't tease me!"

She slapped my arm again, harder this time, but still playfully.

"Is harassing innocent young ladies part of your heretical doctrine? Not sure I'd have farmed your land if I knew you were not only a heretic, but a deviant, too."

She did pretty well at hiding her smile, but an echo of it teased the corner of one lip, and I beamed a genuine one back at her.

"That's precisely the point! Hide your true nature until it's too late."

She let out an exaggerated sigh.

"Well, it is too late to turn back now, I suppose. You win this round... deviant."

She winked at me before picking up her shovel.

***

"I think that should be more than enough for the first watering," Barry said as he inspected the soil.

"Looks good to me, too," Maria said. "The stream you sent down was much more manageable than Fischer's river."

"Oh, c'mon! It can't have been that bad."

Barry took off his shoe and shook it; handfuls of sand and soil fell out, splattering wetly to the ground.

Maria did the same, and I frowned at them.

"Well, you're not supposed to walk in it. That's user error."

"We didn't!" Maria pointed at me. "A certain someone sent so much water our way that it flowed over the trenches and into our shoes!"

"That just tells me you were digging too slow, and weren't fast enough to get out of the way."

She blinked at me.

"Barry."

"Yes, Maria?"

"I think I'm beginning to agree with my dad."

He nodded.

"I'm certainly starting to see Roger's point of view."

***

Roger held his wife's hand as he thought of the distant past, of times when she was healthy, their family whole.

The sickness was a slow thing, yet in hindsight, had come on so quickly. It seemed like one day she was fine, the next, she was bedridden.

She slept most days away after ingesting the alchemist's elixirs; today was no different. She was so thin now, and as Roger held her hand in his, his heart broke anew.

The very world was wrong without her presence, and he longed for nothing more than her laugh to once more echo off the walls of their home.

His hand not holding hers balled into a fist, and he clenched his jaw.

It wasn't fair. None of this was as it should be.

Barry's conversation flitted through his mind, causing his thoughts to wander toward Fischer, and his lip to twinge involuntarily.

He had been taking out his emotions on Fischer—that, at least, he could admit—but wasn't it deserved? Weren't the other villagers the ones in the wrong for readily accepting a heretic?

He looked down at his wife, took in her gaunt face and pitted eyes.

The flame within Roger roared back to life.

***

The moon was mostly full, but a thick carpet of clouds blocked out its white light.

With the sun long ago set, and as darkness spread over the land, Barry began his work.

Before he could process his harvest, he had to oil and repair the machine.

It had sat unused for the last few years after one of its internal shafts snapped, and something had always stopped Barry from repairing it—until now.

He opened up the side, replaced the metal shaft with the one he'd bought from Fergus, and began oiling. He was careful with his application, removing each component and lubricating only where strictly necessary.

When he was finished, he closed the side panel again.

He picked up a stalk of sugarcane, wound the crank on the machine's side, and fed the stalk into it.

The sound of fibers snapping and metal cogs turning rang out through the night.

A soft trickle joined the symphony of sounds as the first drops of sugarcane juice fell from the juicer, collecting in an empty pitcher.

***

In the capital city of Gormona, in a seldom used room, a screen blinked to life.

Once more, there was no one present to turn it on, nor anyone there to witness the anomaly.

Still, it printed information out, screaming the words into the void.

New milestone! Barry has learned leadership!