Things Grak Hates Read online

  Way too far with that one. Grak decides it’s best to be vaguer when lacking a direct purpose in the future. “It was probably the strain of caring for so many in such poor health. I think cooking will relieve much of that pressure.”

  Doran shrugs his acceptance. “Well, I suppose it’s worth a try. I trust your opinion of her. And she is good with an ax. In case Lago returns.”

  Grak allows himself a moment to bask in the pleasure this idea provides. It accomplishes all his original goals and might also serve to curb Jafra’s meddling.

  At least for a time. So, how to categorize her now? ‘Dangerous, but not timely.’ Yes, that’ll do.

  “Well then. As the ‘lead,’ I suppose I’ll need to let her know.” Grak is enjoying that word more with each use. He rolls it over in his head as they round the hilltop.

  The ‘lead.’ Lead of the entire tribe at that.

  He pauses to view the camp below: a sea of dull, brown leather with hardened, grooved mud intersecting in haphazard curves. The only movement is coming from the person raising a tent pole at the recovery area. Grak can’t remember the last time it was this peaceful.

  I just might like this. I’ve never been very good at much else, so maybe leading the tribe is more my thing.

  4 - And Lazy People

  Grak’s hatred of lazy people extends beyond mere frustration. And for good reason, he estimates. After all, they drain the tribe of energy and resources without giving anything in return.

  Thus, he feels this is grounds for a purer sort of anger. The kind that can’t easily be refuted and shouldn’t even be considered “anger” in the traditional sense.

  As such, Grak describes his aversion toward lazy people as “indignation.” Though when he’s feeling especially informative, he’ll usually expound on that thought. The words “wisdom” and “tough love” often make an appearance at such times.

  And this sheds a bit of light on why he’s so indignant at the moment. After all, a drastic number of his people are currently falling into the category of “lazy.” As if that weren’t bad enough, Grak is also facing tremendous difficulty in his efforts to motivate them.

  A difficulty named Jafra. She’s always defending these types. And in such a defiant manner too! Seems intent on making me look irrational and angry.

  Her stint thus far as cook has left Grak with mixed emotions. His initial reaction was one of pleasant surprise when he discovered she was handy with a cooking pot. Clearly, she must have learned a thing or two growing up around the old man.

  She also has what he deems “an acceptable approach toward olives.” She holds to Lago’s view on needing the food, but has relented to Grak’s request that she serve them on the side. It’s not an ideal resolution, but neither is it unbearable.

  In fact, Grak would deign to classify her tenure as “generally positive” if it weren’t for one major annoyance. She seems to be finding a way to spread more of her opinions than ever before.

  The woman has taken to serving each meal and talking to every person in the process. She claims it’s a matter of kindness—with many being too weak to serve themselves—but Grak knows her nature too well.

  Devious to the core. Forcing people to hear her mind under the guise of aid. Probably trying to take my place as leader. Shrewd. And devious, of course.

  In fact, if not for its devious attributes, the plan’s shrewdness would inspire considerable envy in Grak. As it is, he’s finding it difficult to maintain a proper amount of spite in the face of such jealousy.

  A shame I never came up with that idea when I was cook. But understandable. I had my hands full with Lago’s treachery, after all. I’m sure I would have gotten around to it. Wish I had, though. Then I wouldn’t be stuck in my current predicament.

  Although, when telling Doran of this problem, Grak is quick to point out that he doesn’t dislike others’ opinions. On the contrary, he has no problem with opinions unless they’re wrong like hers always are. And one viewpoint in particular—her stubborn stance on the issue of the lazy—is what has him so incensed these days.

  She’s even worse than they are. They might be lazy, but she’s fighting my efforts to toughen them up. To make them useful. She’s enabling them. That’s what it all comes down to. I don’t see why others can’t understand.

  Even Frolan hasn’t been much of a help on that point. He went so far as to side with Jafra initially. Of course, this caused a considerable increase in Grak’s indignation.

  He, of all people, should know better. He rested less than two days before getting back on his feet. So why should others require so much care a full seven days later?

  Of course, in the end, Grak found it in himself to forgive the man. After all, it only took the remainder of that day to convince the brute of his point of view. And once the issue was cleared up, Grak admitted he had been finding it difficult to “stay mad at such a simple fellow.”

  He’s just an ignorant one. Requires careful explanation, that’s all. Not a scheming bone in his body.

  Although, while Frolan did end up agreeing, he still believed it unnecessary to push people to work before they could walk. Considering this an adequate compromise, Grak relented on that point.

  Still, he was wary of the possibility that the man might reverse his judgment again on the greater issue. Thus, when Frolan renewed his request for leave to hunt Lago, Grak took action. He decided to strike two birds with a single stone by asking Frolan to lead a team hunting for deer instead.

  So far, the task has kept the brute too busy and tired to track the old man. Especially with the tribe’s herd moving farther south, the team has had to stay out too long for any real rest between trips. The last expedition took two full days, and this one is already pushing late into the third.

  Although, truth be told, this also has Grak concerned. If the hunters stay out any longer, the tribe risks what some would call “starvation.” Even with Cordo’s team scrounging for rabbits in the forest each day, many still think it won’t be enough.

  But Grak has never liked pessimists. Especially when they hinder his plans. Thus, as a matter of principle, he’s refusing to make the issue a priority. And yet, he knows deep down that the herd is crucial. So he can’t ignore the concern indefinitely.

  I may need to deal with it before long. But the lazy people are a greater priority right now. And so is Jafra’s hold over the camp.

  Fortunately, all this leading has been keeping his mind sharp for schemes. By Grak’s estimation, the only thing required to break Jafra's hold is to spend time talking to people. After all, they were swayed by her words in the first place.

  A little conversation, then I can go back to ignoring them. Not bad when you consider the greater good achieved. Well, a little bad, I suppose. But a necessary sacrifice for the benefit of all. And once I loosen her grip, I can focus on the lethargy issue.

  However, much to his dismay, Grak has noticed himself getting irritated with those he’s trying to persuade. Of course, he's unapologetic about it, as he feels they’re obviously deserving of irritation.

  The fools can’t even follow my lead properly. Wouldn’t surprise me if they were born without the ability. Would explain why they mindlessly repeat Jafra’s views all the time.

  And yet, no matter how irritating they are, Grak needs them. All of them. Or as many as he can get. And his overt displays of annoyance seem to be pushing them away.

  To be expected. I should know my people well enough by now. Sensitive to a fault. Too delicate to lay aside their emotions and deal with the real issues. Still, if I’m to gain their backing, I’ll need to forgive them of these defects. But don't worry, Grak. It'll be over so—

  “Um … Grak?” Brak’s tone conveys worry.

  Grak turns his attention toward the interruption. “Yes? Do you need something? Don’t be a dawdling oaf, now. Make it quick. I’m very busy these days, you know.”

  Perhaps this would be a good place to insert some of that forgiveness.
>
  Grak reaches deep for a sample from Doran. “I mean, please don’t be a dawdling oaf.” Good, but missing something. “Friend!”

  Brak is both perplexed by the awkward enthusiasm and touched by the show of kindness. “Um, yes … Well, I was just curious if you heard my response.”

  “What response? What madness are you up to?” Grak catches himself again. “Friend.”

  Well done, Grak. Much more natural that time.

  “Um, well you asked how I was doing. And I was telling you about my cap. How it finally tore beyond use. Then you got this strange, distant look.”

  “Ah … that.” Grak scrambles to salvage this potential supporter. Brak is well-liked in camp, after all. “I … um … sorry?”

  This appears sufficient, but Grak moves to solidify. “Forgive me. All this leading has my mind wandering at times. With so many unwil … unable to pull their weight, I’ve been taking on lots of extra duties for them. So, sleep has been getting pushed aside.”

  Brak smiles something comforting. “Oh, that’s perfectly understandable. Loren and I were the same way when Olive was newly born.”

  Grak congratulates himself for suppressing a look of obvious disdain. For some reason unbeknownst to him, parents enjoy talking about their young. Still more perplexing, they fail to discern when someone would rather not hear about it.

  He searches for a relevant response. A memory of something he once overheard from Groka rises to the surface. “Those babies. They do work.” Brak’s confusion tells Grak the memory may be skewed. “Are work … I mean.” Spot on.

  Grak is doing surprisingly well here. Still, he feels the need to establish himself more before parting from the man’s presence.

  What else might I do to win the fool over? Of course!

  “Well … here, why don’t you take my hat?”

  “Re … really? That’s so kind of you, Grak. But … you don’t need it?”

  Grak ignores the man’s exaggerated display of surprise. “Well, I’m sure you need it more. I have hair to protect against the sun.” He spots an opportunity. “Besides, it’s just part of leading the camp through this difficult time. Giving up comforts to help my fellow tribesmen and all.”

  Brak is speechless. He’s on the verge of tears.

  The weak and grateful kind if I’m not mistaken. So, how to feel about that? I suppose satisfaction is applicable. And enjoyment too while I’m at it. Well done, Grak. Well done.

  But he isn’t interested in lingering on that thought. He finds it’s best to quit while ahead. “Well, Brak, I must be off. Duties and such. I’ll see you around, though.” He draws on a distant memory to close the conversation. “Take care, then.”

  He nods in an awkward fashion and steps to the side, hoping the bald man will be on his way.

  And it works. “Thank you, Grak. Thank you,” is all Brak manages before he turns and strolls off.

  But Grak hadn’t thought this far ahead. Now he’s just standing in the middle of a path, looking around at nothing in particular. It’s far better than talking to anyone, he surmises, but still uncomfortable.

  He surveys the nearby tents. No one of any use is about. Loren is there, but Grak doesn’t feel right about placing her in the “useful” category. Though he does find himself curiously drawn to the woman’s vain efforts to feed her angry child.

  Angry and homely, if I’m being honest.

  Unfortunately, he lingers too long, and the woman spots him. She waves. Grak returns the gesture, remembering to add a polite smile. But, in the act, he realizes it might be too much kindness. He reins it in a bit.

  Best not to welcome conversation. I’ve already won her husband. No need to waste time with her as well.

  But this proves unsuccessful. Loren signals him over. With no other choice springing to mind, Grak obliges.

  “Hello, Loren. And Olive … uhh … what are we up to?”

  “Fifty-three.”

  “Yes, of course. Good number.” Not true. Grak finds it distasteful. Though not so bad as twenty-two.

  He glances down at the woman’s offspring, more out of nervousness than any other reason. But it only takes a breath for Grak to realize this was a bad idea. The thing is staring blankly at him, which he, of course, finds disquieting.

  And more so because of the youth’s features. Most children’s faces already seem rounded beyond reason, but this one goes too far. Its haphazard manner of squishing all traits into a shapeless mound disturbs him to no end.

  As if sensing his trepidation, the child allows a strange, cooing noise to break free from the small hole where a mouth should be. As one might expect, Grak is thrown off by this. Unsure whether aggressive behavior might follow, he shifts his weight to disguise a step back.

  With a healthy distance now between them, he turns to its mother. Though, while the woman is less threatening, she’s no less distracting. Her ears are larger than average, and Grak always finds himself compelled to stare.

  Perhaps because I’ve yet to make up my mind. How do I feel about them? They do command respect, and that’s good. But they’re also somewhat awkward. Wouldn’t they be a nuisance on a windy day? Ah, the great debate. Perhaps I’ll never have an answer. But I certainly can’t settle it at the moment. Duty demands I postpone the issue.

  Grak blinks, shaking the thought and concentrating again on the conversation at hand. Determined to stay focused this time, he selects a spot on her forehead to keep his gaze fixed. “So, Loren, how are you?”

  She lights up at his question. “We’re doing well, thank you! Except, Olive won’t eat her food. Will you, darling?”

  Under normal circumstances, Grak would find this irksome. He thinks it absurd when people speak to children who lack the ability to reply. And when they ask questions that beg a response, he considers it no less than madness.

  But that’s under normal circumstances. Those feelings pale in the moment. They’re surpassed by his revulsion toward the unidentifiable mush in Olive’s pale, gray bowl.

  And to Grak’s surprise, the sight inspires more than just an upset stomach. He’s feeling a certain sympathy for the small person. It’s a curious sensation, but proper in his eyes.

  Still, he’d rather not get used to it. Grak clears his throat and returns to the conversation. “Yes, I often had a distaste for such … food … when I was young. Mixing in berries often did the trick for me.”

  He recognizes a fine spot for subtle slander. “But that might prove difficult for you, with Jafra keeping a stingy grip on the food. It requires a debate every time I ask her for something, and I’m the leader. So you can imagine the difficulty others face.”

  He shrugs. “Still, it’s worth a shot.”

  Loren’s face lifts with enthusiasm, causing her ears to fan out even farther. “Oh, that’s so kind! You would do that for me?”

  Grak pauses, dumbfounded. He’s unsure how his statement carried any sense of commitment. A second review still comes back empty. But what he does spot is another clear opportunity to strengthen the tribe’s positive perception of him.

  “Sure. I’ll see if I can persuade her to share some food with the hungry children.”

  Good sting on that one, Grak. Understated, yet effective. Nice work.

  It’s also a perfect end to the conversation. “Well, then. I suppose I’ll be off. To check on that, I mean.”

  Loren's excitement turns into gratitude. Her ears relax accordingly. “Thank you, Grak! And take care!”

  “Yes. You also. Take care, I mean.” He starts to turn back toward the cook site, but propriety tugs at him, begging for acknowledgment of the child as well. Grak forces a smile. “And you too, Olive Fifty-three.”

  Another cooing noise escapes its head, further confirming Grak’s fears. Decorum or no, his nerves can only take so much of this. With a final nod, he departs, setting a rapid pace toward the center of camp.

  Only after covering significant ground is Grak certain that danger has passed. He begins to loos
en up a bit, relaxing his shoulders and rubbing his neck. A few paces later and he even feels comfortable taking a moment to reflect on the day’s successes.

  Well done, Grak. These berries should be a simple enough task. And they should have a significant impact too. Let’s see Jafra top this one.

  He focuses on the path ahead just in time to sidestep a man lying across it. Grak shakes his head.

  Sando again? Now there’s a lazy one. One of the laziest, in fact. And Jafra just coddles them. Of all things. You’d thi—

  Grak halts and looks around. He’s only just recognized the part of camp he’s passing through. A little off down the path to his right is Groka’s tent.

  I could pop in to see how she’s doing. Wouldn’t take long. Then I could be about my work. In fact, that‘s part of my work. A large part. I have to take care of the tribe.

  Besides, of all the people still claiming illness, hers is the only legitimate case. That alone seems deserving of regular visits. Even if for no other reason than to encourage proper behavior in camp.

  Then it’s settled. Grak changes directions, his new pace quickened with excitement. Though it proves a bit too energetic. He arrives only a moment later, but is forced to pause and catch his breath for twice as long.

  Can’t have her thinking I rushed over here. Oh look, the flap’s open. That’s a good sign. She’s probably eager for a visit. Well, best not to disappoint her.

  After one last pause to calm the flutter in his stomach, Grak pokes his head in. His heart leaps and sinks in the same beat. She’s home, but asleep. Though it’s an elegant sleep, with her eyelids flickering to the tranquil rhythm of her dreams.

  So peaceful. So beautiful.

  The aroma of her characteristic cinnamon tea wafts by. That scent takes him back. It always does. And it comforts him. Even beyond words. Though it threatens to also dredge up emotions Grak would prefer stay buried.

  In one of his earliest, most bittersweet memories, his mother made him this drink. It was a rainy day when nothing was going quite his way. But she knew what would help. She always knew.