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19. ALMOST HOME: A Family Proposal. Home.
Talah = Alright (Okay).

We're almost there!

I've taken the lead again. Tinunh stops, drops back, smiles at me in passing. We brush left-hand fingertips, grin.

I'm worn the hell out! I want something to drink, something to eat, a shower and a place to lay it all down. The very thought of stripping off the baggage makes me want to lay it down in the desert and come back for it later! I keep trudging. Suddenly I'm aware, the girls aren't right behind me. I look back. They've stopped out there about fifty yards back. I start walking back. Eenunh turns her back to me. Tinunh looks in my direction, back up at her mother, touches her back consolingly.

As I step up from beside her, turn to face her, Eenunh is wiping tears off her cheeks! She looks distressed, again. She's kind of gasping for air. I'm afraid she'll hyperventilate and collapse, again. I look her in the eye. She looks away. She lets me take her in my arms. She folds her arms between us, holds them up our chests.

I shush her, "Shhhhhhhh."

Holding her, gently, with her head under my chin, we simply stand there, pack-bags and bedrolls, canteens and Sunstarset red. I look north, up the desert along the patio. We're almost home.

I see Tinunh, her face concerned but stern. She gestures, points toward the hive, turns and goes on. I watch her go up the slope, across the patio, into the pub.

After a few minutes Eenunh is breathing normally. She sniffles. I release her, put my hands on her shoulders, drop them to her waist. My thumbs feel her belly. My fingertips feel her back. She's hard and lean. She's strong. She looks at me, golden irises, touches my right cheek with the back of her left hand. I have leaves in my shirt pocket. She notices, takes one, wipes her eyes, dabs at her nose. She inhales, sighs.

"We're going to be okay, alright, okay," I say, in English. I find the word in Emoilihn, repeat it, "Talah. Talah." She smiles with her mouth, not with her eyes.

"I'm afraid," she says. "I don't know. We don't know."

"We can't know," I tell her. "We have to wait and see. Other people will decide. We have to convince them that what we want to do with our lives is the right thing for them to decide, and that they have to support us, respect us, respect our decisions... respect our family."

"I want to know," she says. "I need to know. I don't like... not knowing. Why can other people decide for me? It's mine to decide. Why don't they leave us alone?"

Eenunh's face clouds a bit, not into deeper emotional upset, but intellectual consideration. I see wheels turning in her pretty face.

"Sodaensus," she says. "Sodaensus can convince them. We have to think and help her think of words to convince them."

"Yes!" I say, gesturing with my right hand, index finger. "That's the same conclusion I have reached. We... you and me, Tinunh, are family. Sodaensus already put that idea into the record. It's a strong argument, isn't it, among the Emoilihn? Family is important. Family takes care of family! The Emoilihn value families. Families are the basic unit of Emoilihn society. People respect each other's families. People know that all families are valuable. The rich people in their blue suits and knit dresses know their children mean the world to them, and that it must be so with the poor people in their..." I tug at my shirt, go on, "ragged clothes. We are family."

"Emoilihn are family," she says.

In an impulse, I watch her face, as I kneel, take a knee. She tries to stop me from going down as if concerned that I'm falling. Her face is puzzled. I know what I'm doing.

"We should marry," I tell her. "We should marry by Emoilihn Law."

Her face goes rather blank, eyebrows up, mouth partially open, golden irises shuttering rapidly.

"Can you marry me? Will you?" I'm befuddled! I'm panting for air! There are stars in the sky above her head. Night has come creeping across the sky. Her face turns from concern to consternation. She's pulling at my hands. If I don't get up she'll pull me up! I get up. She touches my cheek. Suddenly she laughs! Tears come out of her eyes, but she's not crying.

"You," she says. And nothing else, grinning, golden irises.

She takes my right hand in both of hers, leads me toward the slope. The moon is rising over the hive. She lets go, climbs the single file path ahead of me.

An old singer said, 'One of the great pleasures of making love to a woman is watching her climb the stairs ahead of you.'

I'm thinking about that, watching her body beneath her clothes. Then I think about her reply, 'You.'

'That's not an answer,' I think. But I'm sure there will be an answer. I've asked.

A woman needs time to think.

Was it the wrong time and place? No. There's no wrong time and place. You shouldn't ask such a question from the toilet of course, or in a printed electronic communication, or by phone.

But, if you truly love someone, and are confident they... truly... love you... there's no wrong time or place.

From the patio I glance back at the desert, stop, turn to gaze back. The White Road. The forest. Swimming. Off to the west the Sunstarlight is orange, a low band over the blue mountains. The saguaros and barrel and beavertail cacti are rimmed in red.

I think I can pick out the thorn tree hill. Farther on the peaks of the hills, a dark silhouette are obvious, now that I've been there, now that I know what I'm looking at.

I wonder at the white road, the vehicle, the paw prints, the swimming hole. It's... it's a world of possibilities, and I choose to think they're positive possibilities. It was a... a great little... vacation... a break in the routine... a... a family getaway.

I turn to cross the patio. Tinunh is running toward me, arms flung wide! She slams into me with such force I nearly fall back down the hill! She's hugging me tightly, literally painfully tightly! She leans back, holding onto me, looks up, tears spill from the corners of her golden eyes. She's laughing to the sky, lets go of me, wipes the tears with her index fingers, the heel of her hands. She's laughing. She takes my right hand in both of hers. We walk toward the doorway. She stumbles!

"I can't see!" she says, in English.

I see Eenunh, sitting across the first table inside, painted orange in the Sunstarset light, then green in my shadow, a beautiful smile, breaks into a grin of perfect white teeth.

We come in just as the Blueboys come to the table, one with two blue bottles, graystone mugs, the good stuff. The other has a large platter with the rice-like dish, vegetables and bits of meat, steam rising from the top. The bottle guy sets three plates around the table, deftly, one, two, three, lays three sporks and a large wooden fork on the table.

They back away, stand looking at us, grinning. I'm grinning. I start to sit down, my sleeping bag and pack-bag still around my neck. The boys come, quickly, before I can sit, strip me of them. Eenunh's watching, grinning. Tinunh's grinning. I'm grinning. I start to sit, again, but Eenunh stands up, steps between my chair and the table, takes my face in her hands, offers her mouth. I take it.

"Neh," she says, in breathy human voice. "We can marry."

One of the boys runs back to the counter, comes running back with leaves. He sets them on the table, strips one off the top, hands it to me. I dry my tears. I dry Eenunh's. Tinunh dries her own!

Yes. We can marry.