A Fool's Goddess - Chapter Fourteen
My sleep was disturbed by the sound of someone knocking on the door. I was exhausted and zombified, but I forced myself to answer nonetheless. Slowly, I lurched to the front door and opened it.
To my surprise, it was Tzofiya’s son, Hed. Clearly unafraid of speaking with a stranger, he casually stood on my doorstep with a basket of food in his arms.
“Morning, Mr. Preacher. Mama told me to bring you this,” he said as he handed me the basket.
“Good morning, and thank you,” I groggily replied. “Who’s Mr. Preacher?”
“You, last I checked. Aren’t you some kind of missionary trying to spread belief in a new Goddess or something?”
“You’ve got it wrong, kid. I’m only trying to share her beauty with the world. People are free to believe in her on their own terms.”
“That sounds like what a swindler would say. ‘I didn’t cheat you out of your money, you just didn’t understand what you bought’.”
“For the love of the Gods, it’s too early for this shit…”
“It’s almost noon, Mr. Preacher.”
“It could be midnight and it’d still be too early. Look, I appreciate the delivery, but did it have to come with the complimentary smartass service?”
“Don’t worry, it’s free of charge. Wouldn’t want to run your bill any higher.”
“What? Tzofiya told you about that?”
“Of course, I’m her son. Mama said you’d be helping the whole village, but it’s running us a pretty sum in the meantime.”
“Well, I’m happy that you have such an open dialogue with your mother, but an adult’s finances are supposed to be private matters.”
“Your situation seems more like a public affair.”
“Last I checked, I was still entitled to choose who knows about my income and who doesn’t.”
“Considering that the money Mama’s using to get your business going is coming from the village’s taxes, I believe that your current financial situation doesn’t deserve the same privacy as a standard commercial venture.”
It didn’t even sound rehearsed.
How the hell was some backwater kid this good at arguing about things he shouldn’t have even cared to learn? When I was his age, I was too busy playing heroes and monsters to even know the word ‘economics’. I could have been wide awake and hearing this kid drop business ideology still would have left me baffled.
“Holy shit, are you really thirteen?”
“Dumbass. It doesn’t take a genius to understand that you’re pretty much a public works project that we’re fronting the cash for. We can’t even afford to import things like pottery, so you better be worth the money we’re spending on you.”
This kid was definitely Tzofiya’s. That piercing wit and foul mouth must have been hereditary. Only difference was that he was bitingly sarcastic where she was good-humored. And that he was only half a head shorter than me.
“Whatever. Why’re you here, anyways? I would have thought Tzofiya would run this to me personally, if only for a check up.”
“She asked me to do it, including the check up. So, on that note, how are you doing today, Mr. Preacher?” he said cheerfully.
“I was doing fine until a smartass kid knocked on my door.”
“Well, that’s rough, but you ought to get used to it. I’m already growing rather fond of you and wouldn’t mind coming by again.”
“Please, kid, people said I was cursed before. Don’t make me feel like I actually am.”
“I’d think this was a blessing, Mr. Preacher.”
“You’d think wrong. And can you drop the “Mr. Preacher” thing? I’m not a preacher nor do I want to be one.”
“Well, to be honest, I forgot your name.”
“… It’s Lior.”
“Hmmm. I don’t like that name. What else can I call you?”
Gods, grant me strength… “Lior and nothing else. And what’s wrong with my name?!”
“It makes me not want to trust you. It’s too close to ‘liar’.”
“Well, I don’t like your name either! It makes me feel like I’m getting a Hed-ache!”
“Feh. Not like I haven’t heard that one before.”
“Considering your attitude, I’m not surprised.”
“You could have at least tried to be more creative and said something like ‘well, you’re being a real dick-Hed’! That way, it’s sort of a double-meaning where it’s like you’re calling me a dick and addressing me, or you’re just calling me a dickhead. I just don’t get why everyone settles on ‘Hed-ache’ when my name is ripe for better things.”
And I thought I was being clever, especially since I had just woken up. Not only had he heard it before, he was even lecturing me on how to insult him better.
This kid was on another level.
I sighed. “Most people would be upset to have a name that’s so easy to insult.”
“Nah. If you let things like that bother you, people are just gonna keep using it to hurt you. Besides, even if it’s a bit odd, I’m proud of my name.”
“Your mom’s pretty uptight about it, though. She give you that name?”
“Nope. Comes from my dad. Technically speaking, I’m Hed the Fourth.”
“If you told me that first, I would have called you ‘Four-Hed’.”
“Hey, that ain’t bad! You’re pretty good for a man with brain damage.”
I decided to ignore that. “So, where’s your father?”
“He’s dead. Died a few years ago. And don’t bother offering sympathies or anything. I know you don’t actually care.”
I had my suspicions, but this was probably what Tzofiya meant when she talked about losing someone. Considering both her and her son’s rough reactions, it seemed Hed’s father wasn’t an easy subject to bring up. It wasn’t my place to try and console them, but I could at least use this opportunity to educate Hed on proper manners.
“Whether or not I care isn’t part of the equation. It’s only polite to show respect and offer sympathy when someone passes away.”
“Why not just say nothing then?”
“Because people live together and have similar feelings. When something bad happens to someone, they can understand that suffering, even if they’re not feeling it themselves. They want to help others feel like they’re not alone.”
“I don’t get why. It ain’t gonna change anything.”
“Again, you’re missing the point. Do you think indifference helps at times like that?”
“I don’t think it’s any worse than lying about giving a crap.”
“Then what would you do if you were standing at your mom’s funeral and someone said ‘eh, could be worse’?”
The young man’s face tightened. “… I’d kick the shit out them.”
“Exactly. Even if it doesn’t help anything, it’s good to be polite and respectful to those who have lost something. They’re already suffering, so there’s no point in adding to the pile.”
“Huh… I guess I didn’t think of it that way.”
“You’re still a kid, so I wouldn’t imagine manners would be on your mind much,” I said, yawning as the aftereffects of my sleep wore off. “When you get older, you’ll learn it’s important to do things only out of courtesy.”
“Did your parents teach you that?”
“No, not blatantly. I just sort of picked up on it as I grew up.”
“Yeah, you don’t strike me as the sort who’d take to lessons easily.”
“Little shit. Do you talk like this with every adult you meet or am I special?”
“You’re special. Mama pretty much owns you, so I know you can’t get too angry at me.”
I rubbed my temple. “I can’t tell if you’re smart or just an asshole.”
“I don’t think those are mutually exclusive, Mr. Preacher.”
“At least you’re honest. And I’m not a preacher, I’m a sculptor.”
“Sculptor?” he asked, tilting his head.
“Yeah, would have thought a wise guy like you would know what that was.”
“I thought you were a potter.”
“I guess I am one of those too, but I specialize in making statues and sculptures. I only learned to make pots to help out my masters.”
“Do you have any statues around?”
“Not right now. I don’t exactly carry them around with me.”
“Will you have some soon?” he asked excitedly.
His face lost it’s pompous smirk and instead looked at me with eyes wide with wonder. He seemed awfully enthusiastic at the prospect of my work. I couldn’t help but find it a bit endearing, even if he was a prick.
“Hmmm, well, I’m supposed to focus on making pots for your village, but I’ll see about whipping something up in my free time. Assuming I get any, that is.”
“Can I see it when you’re done?!”
“Maybe. I’ll think about it if you stop calling me “Mr. Preacher”.”
“Alright, alright… But you have to let me see it, Mr. Lior!”
“You’ll be the first to know when it’s ready.”
The kid was practically buzzing. “I’ll see if I can ask Mama to let you have some extra time for sculpting! I’ll tell you what she says when I come back tonight!”
“Hm, so you can be nice. I’ll see you then.”
“Later, Mr. Lior!”
Hed then ran back to the street and up towards Tzofiya’s home. Despite being an obnoxious, rude smartass, he seemed like a… no, he was an obnoxious, rude smartass. He just had a kid’s curiosity too. I closed the door and ate my breakfast/lunch before heading out to check for clay and other materials.
I started off by asking around the village, to see if any of the locals knew about clay deposits. My only lead was a hunter who said he may have seen some near the base of the mountains in the forest. That was a bit farther than I wanted to go today and not certain enough to make me eager to check, but I kept it in mind.
I then went towards the ocean to check the beach. The plain between the village and the sea took half an hour to cross, and I had to follow a path cut into the side of a cliff to actually get to the beach. Waves crashed loudly and the salty air stung my eyes, but seeing the coast for the first time was rather enjoyable. I spent some time simply wandering around and taking in the scenery before going back to the task at hand. As expected, there were plenty of seashells lying in the sand, so I gathered a pouchful for cement tests.
After wandering back to Tresety, I asked around to see if there was someone who would lend me a cart for tomorrow. Unfortunately, Tzofiya seemed to be my only option. The other villagers hadn’t warmed up to me yet, so I’d have to add another cost to my ever-growing tab. I needed to speak with her anyways about borrowing a blanket and pillow so I might as well accept that I was going to rely on her for everything for now.
I was, in a word, resigned.
As expected, the mayor was more than happy to lend me the requested items. I didn’t even bother asking how much she would charge me. I ended up also borrowing a shovel and pickaxe for tomorrow’s expedition and tossed them in the back of the cart. I noted that the little wagon was meant to be pulled by a mule, but Tzofiya kicked me out of the house after I asked if I could borrow her ass for the job.
Hed came by my house a few hours later with another basket of food. I handed him back the now-empty one he dropped off earlier and thanked the brat. He told me his mother would see about letting me have free time to sculpt after she saw how many pots I could make in a day. A fair consideration, though I had to wonder if Tzofiya’s expectations of me were high or low. Making enough pottery for this little village wasn’t the easiest task, but it was far from insurmountable.
I managed to fall asleep at a reasonable hour that night and rise fairly early the next day. I still had some leftovers from dinner, so I chewed on those as I trekked into the nearby forest. I was a bit concerned about getting lost again, but since I could see the mountains through the canopy and the cart I was pulling left noticeable tracks in the ground, I was confident I’d be able to make my way back so long as I made my path as direct as possible.
Mountain in front of me on the way there, mountain behind me on the return. Easy peasy. The cart bumped and rocked along as I pulled it through the chilly woods.
It didn’t take too long for me to arrive at the base of the mountain. Following the hunter’s description, I searched around for a pond and found it soon enough. I had never gathered my own clay, but Master Malka had made sure I understood where the material came from. She told me that knowing the source was important in drawing out the true potential of a sculpture. I took a moment to survey my surroundings.
The pond was fairly clear with small fish swimming within. A tiny basin of life, undisturbed by the movements of man. Ancient oaks towered above while thin clouds lazily floated even higher. The slope of the mountain was covered with boulders and pebbles alike, the white stones shining brilliantly in the morning light. The occasional breeze blew through, gracing my lungs with cool, earthy air.
Even though I wasn’t sure what it all meant, I felt confident in gathering my materials from this place.
I stopped my cart a few strides away from the water and grabbed the shovel. The clay in the pond would probably be more pure, but collecting it would be a pain and muck up the water. I instead started digging a dozen or so steps from the water’s edge, and once I got below the soil, there was a thick layer of clay. I eagerly dumped shovelfuls of it into the cart.
Next would be a stone sample. I had to walk up the slope a bit before I found a suitable outcropping of rock. The stone was off-white, almost beige, with a speckled pattern. It reminded me of marble but had a slightly different texture than the stuff I had worked back in Dostyn. With a few swings of the pickaxe, I carved out a chunk to take back with me.
As expected, pulling the cart back was a much harder affair. The weight sometimes made it difficult to get it over the roots and rocks, but I persevered, mostly out of fear of detouring and losing my way. It took the better part of two hours, but I eventually broke through the treeline again and rolled my cargo into Tresety.
After a break, I then more thoroughly inspected my findings. The clay was a little softer and smoother than what I was used to, but not enough to be a concern. The stone itself seemed durable enough for sculpting so I’d happily give that a shot too. Once that smith came by and set me up with a proper kiln, I could actually be in business. With enough luck, I might even be able to get someone to gather my materials for me down the road as well.
I smiled. Honestly, this all kind of felt like I was opening my own studio.
I went back to Tzofiya’s to report what I had found. She seemed pleased with the results, then told me to expect the smith tomorrow morning. Apparently business was slow for him at the moment so he had no problem departing right away.
“The smith also ain’t sure about converting an oven into a furnace, but he’s still willing to give it a shot,” said Tzofiya.
“Well, if he can’t, would it be possible for him to construct a kiln from scratch?”
“Maybe. Can’t imagine that’d be any easier. We’ll have to ask him what’s the better choice when he gets here.”
“In the meantime, I’ll see if I can convince him to go easy on the costs… Do you know if he likes statues of the Gods or things like that?”
“Not really. He’s never been the religious sort.”
“Then maybe he’d like it if I carved a butt out of stone and slapped it in front of him.”
“Pffft! Now why would you do that?”
“Because I feel like I’m about to hit rock bottom.”
After Tzofiya recovered from that awful joke, I sauntered back to the erstwhile bakery. In all seriousness, I did plan to sculpt something, just not an ass. That marble-esque stone would take too long to work, so I grabbed a couple handfuls of clay and decided to make a test figure of Tornara. Since I didn’t have any chairs, I had no choice but to work from the floor.
The clay’s softness was a welcome bit of nostalgia. The whole process of feeling my hands shape the clay was quite cathartic. I hadn’t realized how strange it felt to go days without sculpting until now. The muscles in my hands eagerly stretched out in anticipation of creating a new figure of my beloved Goddess.
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