VIII

When we went back to school the following autumn, a surprise was waiting for us in the form of Syoro Toripe - a young music teacher. There had been some change in the curriculum or something, and we now had to learn music. Immediately, Dogo rejected the idea as stupid - his gang agreeing with him through the pressure that always exists in such groups - and thus was going to set about disrupting music classes in the future. However, Syo. Toripe had them worked out.

"It seems our friends down here do not want to learn about the beauty of music -" they smirked at his words, "- so, until they are eager, they will only play the roneco."

The roneco is nothing more than a stick with four wooden balls attached to one end of it, which crack together when hitting the hand with them. And for a decent sound to be produced, it has to hit hard, often inflicting pain; sweet revenge on my part.

After giving them a roneco each, he continued, "Now then, I have other instruments that you may like to learn to play. This is a wagalbo."

He produced it from his Mana Storage, something we had all learnt to do by then.

"And, it sounds like this."

He then pulled the akutapa - sort of like a bow - and played a little tune that sounded like a violin with a metallic timbre and a tinny resonance.

"Who wants to learn?"

Ark put up his hand with a number of other people, and was given one.

"I like it," he said as he leant over to me, and I examined it and gave it my elder-brotherly approval.

Syo. Toripe showed off one or two more instruments before he said, "And now, we have my favourite instrument: the potosa."

He produced a recorder-like instrument, made up of a mouthpiece and two barrels, a small thick one at the top and a longer, skinny one at the bottom that ended in three bells like a trumpet, tripled.

"It sounds like this."

He put it to his lips and blew a note that sounded like an oboe with a recorder over the top, and proceeded to play a tune. It felt as if I was being blissfully smothered with its beautiful, rich sound. When he stopped, I was left longing for more.

"So, who'd like to learn it?" he smiled.

My hand shot up, and looking around, I saw that about four other people agreed with me.

And then, I was given one, and I held it like something precious and breakable. I still thought I'd have to give it back, so it was no wonder that, after I'd looked up the three bells and placed it carefully on my desk, he said, "It's yours, now, not mine."

I discovered later that he had some Left Path training, so he probably "heard" my mind.

After he had given everyone an instrument, he called the potosa players to the front of the class. He let the others watch as he taught us about the parts of the potosa. He got us to open it, showed us how the small barrel was double-bored, with the flue bore three or so times smaller than the reed bore, got us to take the reed out and put it back in and so on.

He then said, "Now, put all your fingers on a hole each, left hand at the top and right at the bottom."

I did.

"Now blow."

We blew, and instead of the perfectly unison note he was expecting, there was one that was above the pitch. Mine. The rest of the class was laughing at me. As we kept blowing, he looked over at me and got everyone to stop.

"Well, this is something I haven't come across before. You don't seem to have enough fingers."

I looked at my hands as they held the lower barrel, and saw one extra hole at the bottom my three fingers could never reach. I had it taken from me, and was given a roneco to play for the rest of the lesson, which went to lunchtime. My hand and my feelings were hurt - even Ark could still play his wagalbo, though he had to hold his hand differently.

That lunchtime, that feeling was escalated when I came across Dogo and his stinging remarks.

"Missing something, Lich?" he sneered. "Did a fish in the waterhole bite it off? Or did you get too close to mummy's knife when she was chopping stuff?"

Such remarks went on, and I became fed up, and stormed into the school building - I didn't want to go home because my parents were angry with me for some reason I forget. I sat down at my desk and put my head in my arms and sobbed, feeling alone and inadequate - I had Heratu's Syndrome, and I had only three fingers on each hand, and I could do nothing about either.

"It's painful being different, I know," Syo. Toripe's voice surprised me.

I didn't even realise he was still in there. I looked up and saw him and Syo. Yarapren standing at the front of the room. I had obviously disturbed their conversation. Embarrassment mixed in with all the other emotions, but I buried my face again.

I heard the grating of a chair across the floor, and soon he was seated backwards on it, to my right.

"Syoro Yarapren and I were just talking about you."

Great, I thought.

"You're a very promising student from what I hear, Dyluck, is it?"

I nodded, my face still buried.

"It's a wonderful name, Dyluck."

"I wish it was used more," I muttered from within my hands, having to repeat it when prompted with my head up.

"Oh, how come?"

"They all call me Lich."

This prompted another outburst of tears.

Syo. Yarapren walked over and started muttering to Syo. Toripe, "His middle name's Thanatos."

"Thanatos?" Syo. Toripe said, taken aback, sucking in air through his teeth.

I nodded. Syo. Yarapren offered a tissue, and I took it reluctantly. I was used to this routine: sometimes, in class, everything would just get too much for me - my ice cubes came out as puddles, or my water jets misfired, and this would prompt my crying.

"Well, I can say that you and your brother - Ark? Yes, Ark - are the first Yoshies I've met…moved here with your parents?"

"Hatched here," I muttered.

"Hatch…oh, you must have come from an egg?"

I nodded.

"You must feel very lonely at times, with no other Yoshies…well, there's your brother, but only your brother?"

I nodded again and sighed, "I'm lonely everyday."

Funny how the want of pity can exaggerate the truth.

"Oh…"

"And then my parents…well, they…"

"Say no more, they're doing the best job they can," Syo. Yarapren snapped, but calmly and quietly.

I was used to that answer, so I changed tack, "I am different to everyone, even my family - I've got Heratu's Syndrome. I went to Yamauchi in the summer and came back, and I got sick each time I went through the warp. But the others didn't."

"Your brother is a Yoshi, and your mother is a Yoshi, and your father is a Yoshi…you're a Yoshi…so why say you're different?" Syo. Toripe asked.

"I don't know," I sighed.

I saw him smile briefly before he said, "You'd make a really fine musician. I sense your potential. From now on, I won't get you to play the roneco - that was a big mistake of mine, and I'm sorry - and I'll see what else I can get for you."

I then muttered, "I want to learn the potosa."

"Pardon?" he asked.

I looked at him in the face.

"Potosa. I want to learn the potosa."

"But you haven't got enough fingers, Dyluck," Syo. Yarapren told me.

"I want to learn the potosa," I muttered.

I was going to learn how to play it, even if it was the last thing I did.

"Well, there's the pakasi, you only need three fingers to play that," Syo. Toripe suggested.

"Potosa."

"Timarpos?"

"Potosa."

"Seems you've got a very determined student there," Syo. Yarapren chortled.

Syo. Toripe nodded glumly in agreement. My heart was set, and as soon as my heart is set on something, it is very hard to shake me.

"Unless you grow an extra finger, I can't teach you it, I'm s…" his voice trailed off as he saw the levers of the kinto.

He then looked at me with renewed vigour.

"We start next week."

Hope had returned to me, and throughout the next week, I was looking forward to the next music lesson. And when it arrived, Syo. Toripe turned up with the potosa I've had in my possession ever since then. It was crafted in Southtown, and it was nothing more than a regular potosa - with the usual paint decorations - and where the right thumb normally rested, a key mechanism was set up so that pressing on it would close the last hole. I could then boast happily about my difference - I was in possession of the only potosa made for Yoshi hands. I showed it to my parents, and they were delighted that I had a musical instrument. Thank Undine for Syoro Toripe, else I would not have got through the strife to come.