you never tell me what is wrong

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It had been raining all night.

Gremio sat at the window watching it tiredly, the words of the soldier on the sofa filtering in through one ear and out the other. He didn’t want to listen. He’d heard enough when the man first showed up on their doorstep ten minutes ago, a heavy bundle resting under his arm.

“I’m sorry to bother you, ma’am,” he’d said, “but I really must come in. It’s about your husband.”

He wished his mother had turned him away right there. He didn’t need to tell them anything more. The stiffness of his back and the solemn tone of his voice made his reason for being here easy enough for even a ten-year-old boy to understand. And Gremio knew his father wasn’t coming home.

His mother sat in her chair, pouring herself a cup of tea. She did not weep. She was not a woman particularly disposed to weeping. But she was not unaffected. Gremio could tell when she forgot to offer the soldier a drink; no matter what the circumstances, she never forgot her sense of etiquette. Their guest sat in awkward silence for a moment, searching for the right words. “I really hate to ask this, ma’am, but I’m afraid orders are orders. Were you aware that your husband was conducting illegal business in the City-States of Jowston?”

”No,” Gremio heard her say, her voice clipped and sharp. He didn’t know if she was lying or not. The soldier certainly didn’t seem convinced. Still, he nodded his head, wisely deciding to leave the subject there.

“Of course. My apologies. It’s just protocol, I assure you. There would have been some… trouble, had he said anything to you or your son—“

“Well, he didn’t,” she snapped, fingers twitching around her teacup. “My husband never said anything about where he went on his business trips, and I never once accompanied him. If you’re looking to accuse anyone—“

“No, no!” he replied, throwing his hands up defensively. “I’m just doing my job, ma’am; really, I’m not here to make accusations. But there really are some things that, as his wife, I need to talk to you about.”

His mother exhaled slowly, something she often did to calm her temper. “… Of course, sir,” she said, taking a small sip of her tea. “I understand completely. Please, continue.”

“I… ah… right.” The soldier nodded, hesitating as he tried to recall his place. “Well… as you probably know, according to the law, all property of your husband should return to the empire. That includes this house, everything in it, and every Bit he had to his name.”

“I see,” said his mother, hands folding in her lap. “So you’re telling me my son and I are homeless, now? Or will we simply be shipped off to Banner Mines?” Gremio started at that, looking over his shoulder with wide, horrified eyes. Even at his age he knew something of what went on in the Banner Mines. Enough to know that he would’ve much rather preferred being homeless.

“That would have been the case, if you’d had any direct involvement with your husband’s business dealings,” the soldier replied. “But since, ah… it would seem that you don’t, you’ll still be allowed to keep the house.” He sat back on the couch, looking around the room. “As it is, the empire has little use for this—“ Gremio could almost hear the word ‘shack’ leaving his lips, and it seemed his mother could too, the woman staring daggers at him from her chair. Wisely, he held his tongue, choking back that first impulse and continuing with a far more neutral “—place. His money, on the other hand—“

“I understand,” she said coolly. “It will be delivered to your outpost by the end of the week.”

The soldier tipped his helmet appreciatively. “Thank you, miss. We’ll be expecting it.” He stood, picking up that bundle as he did. “That should be all. If there’re no questions, I’ll take my leave of you.”

“There are none,” she replied, crossing her legs. “I believe you know where the door is, sir.”

“Of course. Again, my apologies for disturbing you, ma’am.” Gremio heard his footsteps, loud against the old wooden floor. He felt the soldier’s hand clamp on his shoulder, and impulsively recoiled. “Are you Gremio?”

Gremio pulled away roughly, staggering back against the wall. His mother actually looked a little scared herself, already halfway out of her chair, teacup absentmindedly dropped to the ground. The soldier glanced at the woman briefly over his shoulder, before handing the child the bundle. It was heavy, and a struggle to hold onto with his small arms. “His axe,” the soldier explained. “Before your father was taken into custody, he asked that we give it to you.” He lifted his hand suddenly, giving the boy a small pat on the head. “You be a good son to your mother now, won’t you? Don’t get caught up in the same sort of nonsense your fa—“

“Get out,” his mother hissed, bitter and venomous. “Just get out of my house.”

The soldier wisely backed off there. “… Certainly. Sorry to intrude.” He turned away, walking the short distance to the front door. His hand hesitated on the doorknob. “… You know, you should be happy. A lifetime in Soniere is preferable to death, isn’t it?” He opened the door, stepping back out into the rain.

As soon as he was gone, his mother turned away, a hand going to her face. “Gremio,” she said. “Go to your room.” He hadn’t gotten two steps to the hallway before she added, “Leave the axe.” Obediently, Gremio set it down by her chair, casting one last look at the woman before rushing off to his bedroom.

The last thing he heard as he closed the door was a heart-wrenching sob, and the sound of a teacup shattering against the wall.