The weavers watch me pour golden liquid from the bottle into teacups, then sip, sip, take turns to name smells from the village that apparently waft in through their open kitchen window.
Kata throws cardboard into the stove. “Consortium,” she sneers. “What do outsiders always want, Charles?”
“Land,” I say.
Apocat rocks on her heels. “It is a very cloudy day,” she says. “Boy, it is just one big cloud up there.”
“Pay attention, Apocat,” says Kata. She turns to me. “She is gathering herself.”
“A little more brandy, perhaps?” Apocat muses.
“Can’t dance without music,” says Kata.
I pour. We drink. They tell me to feed the stove. They tell me to smoke.
“Your friend, Danny,” says Apocat, “needs to keep his life a bit longer.”
“Will he?” I ask.
“Danny has an appetite,” she says. “There’s no better point in any contraption. Look at that red glow. A man is ill. A boy is dead. A girl is pregnant.”
“What about the girl?” I ask. “What about Abi?”
“Animals are at the end and beginning of everything,” says Apocat. “Look at that red cloud. All that lonely mess.”
“So what do I tell Emma?” I ask.
“You say to her these strangers want the land,” says Kata. She touches her sister’s knee. “But why do they, Apo?”
“Just like you people, they want to control the future,” says Apocat.
“How do we fight them?” I ask.
Apocat still is staring at the sky. “You must touch him.” She comes down to earth and grins. “That window is a disgrace,” she says, then looks into the shadows. “This house is a mess all the way inside. It’s forever since we cleaned up.”