When I was a girl, I loved visiting my uncle Zell. He is my father's brother, but so different it's a wonder they're related. You see, the two came from a working-class Serbian family, and while my father moved "up" (so to speak), Uncle Zell worked a lot of "low-class" jobs: meat-cutter, farm-hand, truck driver, janitor, ditch-digger, factory worker, etc. A lot of people think he is thickheaded, but the way I see it, he is confident. He smoked. He rode motorcycles. He would pat his belly and say it was "half muscle, half beer." He always strut around like an action hero with those sunglasses and tight t-shirts that revealed those big hairy arms all the ladies swooned over….
"Walk like you know where you're going," he told me, "Will save you from more than you know."
Aunt Sofia told me he was just repeating lines from a movie.
—from the diary of Pearl Solstice
The Canadian Serb attracted a lot of stares. In Japan, why wouldn't he? He was a big man-- tall and well-muscled, with a cozy belly poking over his belt. Thanks to a low-cut, button-down shirt, everyone saw that coarse black hair covered his thick arms and chest, and he had a full head of black hair on his head. Thick, well-arched black brows and deep-brown eyes pierced the ladies' hearts, along with a stubbly cleft chin. There was no denying it; he was handsome. Handsome in that big, masculine way that most people saw in cowboy movies or on Brawny paper towels. Handsome enough to receive an English-speaking bartender, even when other tourists were rejected.
"Everyone looks down today," the Serb remarked, noting the red eyes and downward stares of other customers, "I wonder why."
The bartender raised an eyebrow, frantically scrubbing a glass.
"Oh, you didn't hear? Princess Achara, the Prince's Thai fiancee died-- poisoned after drinking tea before she went to bed."
"Who?"
"You know, the opera singer?"
The Serb's eyes bulged at the realization.
"Ohhh! Right, right."
"You like opera?"
"Yeah. I'm into some Rossini and Puccini, but haven't listened in a while."
"Tragic. The entire Imperial family's pointing fingers at each other-- losing their minds. And who knows how the Thai king's holding up."
"Poor thing. She was so young!"
"The cops seem convinced it was murder, but I dunno. It could have been suicide."
The Serb lit a cigarette and blew a soft, blue-gray puff of smoke.
"Suicide? A Princess?"
"Well...she was under a lot of stress when she died. Being forced to marry the Prince, having a big opera role coming up...."
"Huh! And she wasn't much younger than my niece. I can't imagine what would happen if...!"
"Now, now-- you can't make this about yourself."
"You don't understand," the Serb said, tapping his cigarette with an index finger, "That also means my niece is in danger."
"Your niece?" asked the bartender.
The Serb glanced over each shoulder.
"Maybe I shouldn't say this, but she's a royal journalist."
"What's her name?"
"Pearl Solstice."
"What a pretty name. I don't know her, but that name's lovely."
"Would've been Sankovich if those damn fool Canucks didn't insist they change it, all those years ago."
"I-I see."
"My name's Zell, by the way. Zell Sankovich. I don't do that Anglicization nonsense."
"I suppose not."
Zell leaned forward, revealing a golden chain nestled in his chest hair.
"Her parents sent me here. You see, I'm her father's brother. Professor Cap Sankovich is a busy man, and Amma is well...sort of busy. Amma's a pretty lady, very sweet-- but too sweet. Maybe Pearl got that from her. Anyway, Cap took it-- hook, line, and stinker!"
"So you think she's been traumatized by the Princess' assassination?"
"No. That just kind of happened...as sad as it is. Her parents wanted me to, uh, look out for her. They're overprotective, if you ask me."
"Not really. Being a journalist is dangerous these days."
"Not unless you're in like...at a president's dystopian Hooters birthday or something. It's safe compared to cops, or paramedics."
"It's still got some risk to it-- finding the truth can piss people off."
Zell shook his head.
"As is a Princess. The last I saw Pearl, she dreamed of being a Princess-- and this was, oh, one or two years ago. So not a little girl playing dress-up."
"Delusional!"
"Exactly. I don't trust her much. It's a shame-- when we played tea party, it was cute, but now? Terrifying."
"But, they say a broken clock is right twice a day."
"Yeah, but the hands fell off."
"Sheesh! That's harsh."
"Pearl's smart, really, but not in the ways you and I are. For example, no matter how much we want it, we're never gonna be King, so we kinda drop it. But she's creative. Not enough people give her credit for that."
"I see." The bartender noted a pinched indentation on the Serb's wedding-ring finger. "Does Pearl have an aunt?"
"She does." Zell's voice was tight and irritated. "But Sofia didn't want to go to Japan-- she's in San Diego looking at steampunk antiques or something."
"Oh. That's too bad."
Zell took a long swig of his beer. It was long, even the bartender stood back in shock. The big man's Adam's apple bobbed up and down like a fish. When he set down the empty glass, he burped and wiped his mouth with a napkin. The bartender blinked. Something about this big hairy man indulging himself was oddly sexy....
"Sorry to trouble you," he said, digging some Yen out of his pocket, "I need to get going. Her parents said she should be in this town."
"Yes. Good luck, sir."
"Thank you."
As Zell rose, everyone stared at him as if he was about to deliver a speech. He might as well have, with the smooth way he strode to the door and closed it-- not leaving room for even a whisper.
XXX
I cannot stop thinking about her. She is pretty, but most importantly, she has that good, quick, writerly mind and a gentle heart. I hope she feels the same way about me— but she probably won't. I'm short and pudgy, with plump pink cheeks and shaggy black hair. One of my eyes is bigger than the other, and slightly higher. I have a small nose and big lips that the Prince calls "fishy." I have had a girlfriend before, but she was full-blooded elf. Is there any way a part-elf human would like me?
I prefer the healthy glow of human (or mostly human) women, but many other halfies disagree. Trust me-- I survived high school, and even the half-elf girls didn't want to date me. Throw in some of the good old-fashioned bullies (male and female) who pointed out my weight, pimples, and poverty on a daily basis-- and you see where I'm coming from.
(Sorry...I'm trembling just thinking about their hard jagged laughter and wicked grins.)
Pearl knows I'm half-elf— I'm sure of it, I could see the knowledge in her eyes. That's why they got so big, a smoking elf (or half-elf) a bit of a paradox, given our connection with nature. Maybe that instinct was why she was so surprised that I smoked. I don't know— I'm not good at talking to girls. The Prince cares for her more than any other woman…though not in the right way. He likes Princess Achara's wealth. He says Princess Sadako "really likes fish" which is— I've heard —a rude slang for something. I'm not surprised.
The female elf allures humans more than she realizes, and more than they realize, too. Perhaps this is because intercourse with a giant or fairy is impossible, and elves are more humanoid than one knows. Or perhaps it boils down to one thing-- desire, and the sizzling hunger it leaves in the heart.
--Tadashi's notes on elf-kind
The Palace was more somber than usual. Maids sniffled as they scrubbed, careful to wipe their eyes before their tears stained the floor. Butlers stood stiffly, yet their lips twitched, and their eyes were rimmed with a soft, sad scarlet. The Emperor and Empress sat in the parlor and said nothing. They didn't cry; they couldn't. Nobody wants to see a crying King, so they sat and stared at the television— their dark eyes a glassy, yet prim facade.
But the Prince found it strange that, amidst this sorrow, he couldn't stop thinking about Pearl Solstice. He craved her body, her voice, the gentle way she lifted popcorn between two fingers as her eyes glazed to an episode of I Love Lucy. He liked to imagine her as his bride, a softly smiling figure dressed in white. He liked to imagine them in bed, caressing each other's smooth bare skin. He liked to imagine her pregnant with his child, her skin glistening as she stroked a spherical belly. He liked to imagine her holding a fat pink baby, singing him a soft lullaby. He liked to imagine them in old age, clutching gnarled hands and smiling crinkled smiles as a melting orange sun set behind them....
He sipped his tea. Pearl was sweet and softhearted. If she knew Achara died, she would welcome him with open arms. He knew it was messed up, but he had to do something big to get her attention. Besides, Achara irritated him. Fat. Loud. Terrible singer. Why did they call her "Olympia" anyway? After some doll? What a stupid nickname; dolls are made to be broken.
"Mother? Father?"
The couple looked up. Prince Hinata strode in, scowling.
"I-I don't know what to do."
"Well," began the Empress, "You can write your condolences to the King of Thailand."
"I already did that."
"And the press…they know?"
The Prince nodded gravely, lifting a teacup to his lips.
"Then there's nothing we can do," sighed the Empress, "But grieve."
"Yeah. She was so beautiful and funny."
The Emperor raised an eyebrow.
"You certainly didn't act like it."
"Excuse me?"
"Well," The old man pursed flabby lips. "You were with that Pearl girl the whole time."
"But, Mother," the Prince hissed, "You said I could have a mistress, and that mistress could be Pearl Solstice."
The Empress slammed her teacup so hard the table rattled. She clenched long, jagged teeth.
"Is this any conversation we should be having?! Achara's body is not yet cold!"
"That poor girl," sniffled the Emperor, "She tore herself apart, praying the shiniest piece would fall into your heart."
The Prince groaned loudly, struggling to forget his elegant, full-lipped fiancée.
"I'm sorry, Mother, but I was trying to think of our next steps."
"Our next step is to attend the funeral in Thailand. And if you are to keep this…Pearl." She folded her hands. "You will have to marry someone else. She is not fit to be a consort."
"But, Mother…!"
"Silence!" she shouted, raising a bony, brown-splotched hand, "You disobey me once more and…and…!" She glanced at her husband. "You will not inherit the throne!"
The Prince looked defeated. His mouth fell open, and his brow knit with sorrow. He turned to his father, who nodded firmly.
"Y-You can't do this!" snarled the Prince, "I am your only son and heir!"
"We can," snapped the Emperor, "For the same reasons."
The Prince rose and lunged at his brittle old parents with such force, even they recoiled.
"That's it! You might as well make the kitchen boy an Emperor! See how that suits you…let me find him…Tadashiiiii!"
The Prince darted towards the long wooden staircase. Once he was downstairs, he froze. A big, hairy white man chased Kanako down the hall. He wore nothing but a blanket, as did she. They screamed with laughter, before darting into a nearby room and slamming the door shut. The Prince squinted.
"Tadashi, what's going on?"
"Kanako has taken up with a man, on the first floor— ah, she says he's a Serbian, with the surname Sankovich."
"And?"
Tadashi tipped his head forward.
"Sankovich is the original surname of our girl, Pearl Solstice. He's her uncle, he says. Her parents sent him over, I think, and…."
"You do nothing else until I see that girl again! You find her this instant— with or without this…uncle. You understand?! I will not eat until I find her, I will not sleep…ohhh, Tadashi, I am in love!"
"No, you're not."
"What?! You dare contradict my statement?!"
The Prince wrapped a big hand around Tadashi's fat neck, causing the servant to pant and struggle:
"Your Imperial Highness, she is not…in love with…you."
"Then I will make her!"
The Prince let go of the servant, causing him to collapse. He dusted off his hands and set his hands on his hips.
"I don't give a damn if she's common, or white, or a witch, or Serbian Orthodox! I will spend the rest of my life with Pearl Solstice!"
"Only because you killed Achara," whispered the servant.
"I had to to!" the Prince whispered back, "She was so….arrrgggggh!"
Tadashi stepped forward, his mouth tight with rage.
"You did that for pity. You made it look like a suicide. You wanted Pearl to come over again and interview you— and be all sad and lovey-dovey! You're sick!"
He opened the drawer and pulled out the longest, sharpest knife he could find. Tadashi's eyes bulged in shock.
"Disobey me, and you'll face the same fate!"
"Y-Yes, Your Imperial Highness…."
His Highness dropped the knife on the counter.
"Don't go looking for me, if you know what's good for you."
As the Prince stormed outside, Tadashi darted upstairs, too scared to keep a secret.