I shook my head and looked down at the ground. “All my life I have accepted that what I am matters,” I said. “That I had to work with it. Make accommodations for it. Sometimes I thought I could manipulate it, although I just found out the price for that belief. Sometimes I would even fight against it. But never once did I think that I could leave what I was behind. Because I remembered what it got me. How it saved me. I never even thought of giving it up.”
I pointed up at the operations room. “There is a Consu in that operations room who wants me to kill you all, just to show him that I can. He wants me to do it to make a point to me, too—that when it comes down to it, I’m willing to sacrifice all of you to get what I want. Because when it comes down to it, you don’t matter. You’re just something I can use, a means to an end, a tool for another purpose. He wants me to kill you to rub my face in the fact I don’t care.
“And he’s right.”
I looked into the faces of the Obin. “I don’t know any of you, except for one,” I said. “I won’t remember what any of you look like in a few days, no matter what happens here. On the other hand all the people I love and care for I can see as soon as I close my eyes. Their faces are so clear to me. Like they are here with me. Because they are. I carry them inside me. Like you carry those you care for inside of you.
“The Consu is right that it would be easy to ask you to sacrifice yourselves for me. To tell you to do it so I can save my family and my friends. He’s right because I know you would do it without a second thought. You would be happy to do it because it would make me happy—because what I am matters to you. He knows that knowing this will make me feel less guilty for asking you.
“And he’s right again. He’s right about me. I admit it. And I’m sorry.”
I stopped again, and took another moment to pull myself together. I wiped my face.
This was going to be the hard part.
“The Consu is right,” I said. “But he doesn’t know the one thing about me that matters right now. And that it is that I am tired of being what I am. I am tired of having been chosen. I don’t want to be the one you sacrifice yourself for, because of whose daughter I am or because you accept that I can make demands of you. I don’t want that from you. And I don’t want you to die for me.
“So forget it. Forget all of this. I release you of your obligation to me. Of any obligation to me. Thank you for volunteering, but you shouldn’t have to fight for me. I shouldn’t have asked.
“You have already done so much for me. You have brought me here so I could deliver a message to General Gau. He’s told me about the plans against Roanoke. It should be enough for us to defend ourselves. I can’t ask you for anything else. I certainly can’t ask you to fight these Consu and possibly die. I want you to live instead.
“I am done being what I am. From now on I’m just who I am. And who I am is Zo?. Just Zo?. Someone who has no claim on you. Who doesn’t require or demand anything from you. And who wants you to be able to make your own choices, not have them made for you. Especially not by me.
“And that’s all I have to say.”
The Obin stood in front of me, silently, and after a minute I realized that I didn’t really know why I was expecting a response. And then for a crazy moment I wondered if they actually even understood me. Hickory and Dickory spoke my language, and I just assumed all the other Obin would, too. That was a pretty arrogant assumption, I realized.
So I sort of nodded and turned to go, back up to the operations room, where God only knew what I was going to say to that Consu.
And then I heard singing.
A single voice, from somewhere in the middle of the pack of Obin. It took up the first words of “Delhi Morning.” And though that was the part I always sang, I had no trouble recognizing the voice.
It was Dickory.
I turned and faced the Obin just as a second voice took up the counterpoint, and then another voice came in, and another and another, and soon all one hundred of the Obin were singing, creating a version of the song that was so unlike any I had heard before, so magnificent, that all I could do was stand there and soak in it, let it wash around me, and let it move through me.
It was one of those moments that you just can’t describe. So I won’t try anymore.
But I can say I was impressed. These Obin would have known of “Delhi Morning” for only a few weeks. For them to not only know the song but to perform it flawlessly was nothing short of amazing.
I had to get these guys for the next hootenanny.
When it was done, all I could do was put my hands to my face and say “Thank you” to the Obin. And then Dickory came through the ranks to stand in front of me.
“Hey, you,” I said to Dickory.
“Zo? Boutin-Perry,” said Dickory. “I am Dickory.”
I almost said, I know that, but Dickory kept speaking.