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Capheus is the first of them, after Nomi, to tell anyone about their connection.
“Mother,” he starts, “I have something important to tell you.” He pulls up a chair next to her bed and rests his hand on the blanket covering her leg.
She smiles at him, and it’s truly a testament to the medication that her smile is not tempered by pain any longer. “Anything, my zebra.”
So he tells her, and she is surprisingly good about the whole thing. She waits until he finishes explaining, until he finishes confirming that they do truly all exist, how else would he know Korean or Icelandic lullabies? Capheus’s mother’s smile only widens as his story goes on, and when he concludes it she clasps their palms together, intertwining their fingers.
“My son, you have found your herd.” She seems to revel in this, that the thing she could not fight to provide for her son has found its way to him regardless.
Capheus’s smile looks like it could melt the ice caps. “I have, mother. And I did not have to eat grass to do it.”
They laugh together, joined in admiration for the beauty and complexity of the world. An important thought seems to strike Shiro, and she looks quickly at her son.
“Do they have mothers?”
“What?”
“Your herd. Do they all have mothers?” she asks.
Capheus tries to remember. “Kala does.”
“The Indian girl?” his mother confirms.
“Yes. Nomi has one as well, but her mother does not see her for who she is.” Through the psycellium, he feels echoes of the pain that each ‘Michael’ brings.
His mother looks confused, and Capheus remembers that he didn’t explain that Nomi is transgender. He knows that his mother was likely taught that people like Nomi are repugnant, but he knows his mother well enough to also know that she will not care. “Nomi was named Michael when she was born. Her mother doesn’t accept that she is truly a girl.”
Sure enough, all his mother does is nod. “A mother’s love for her child should be unconditional,” she says. “And the others?”
“Lito has a mother. He talks to her in shouts on the phone sometimes, but he loves her. But the rest of them, no.” Capheus feels that ache too, constant and underlying in Riley and Sun.
“No?” she inquires, clearly wanting to know more. Capheus thinks he might have an idea where this is going, so he continues.
“Will lost his mother when he was very, very young. He doesn’t remember her. It’s the same for Wolfgang. Sun and Riley both lost their mothers when they were a bit older, so they miss them a lot,” he tells her, rubbing small circles over her knuckle. He is so grateful that his mother is alive.
She squeezes his palm, and suddenly he can feel some of his cluster at his back. They’ve come to visit, the ones without good mothers. “Tell them I can be their second mother, should they ever need one,” she says, her eyes bright with unshed tears.
“They’re here,” Capheus whispers. He turns his head to look at them.
Wolfgang is trying to be stoic, but there is a lightness to his expression that the others normally only glimpse when he’s with Kala. Will is next to him, nodding and making what Nomi has affectionately dubbed his ‘puppy dog face’. The hacker herself is standing on the other side of Will, her eyes spilling over. Riley, on Capheus’s other side, is much the same. Her hand is on Capheus’s shoulder, and he fervently hopes that she is not thinking of Hexes. Next to Riley, close enough to brush shoulders but not, is Sun. Her eyes are wide like they get whenever she feels a strong emotion that she doesn’t quite know how to process.
The love in the room is palpable, and it tingles all the way up Capheus’s body. His eyes are full too, when he looks back at his mother. He takes a few breaths, exhilarated and so enamored with the feeling.
His mother is grinning, but she is hesitant. “Can I – Can I meet them?” she asks.
Yes, the room itself seems to breathe. Please, yes.
Capheus repeats it for his mother, in case the walls did not pass on their message to her as well.
It is a private moment, so they unanimously decide to take it in turns and not intrude. Though they don’t think it, they all also decide that they will go in order of who lost their mothers the earliest. It makes sense, in some twisted way. Capheus visits with Kala, leaving his body behind in Nairobi.
-
Nomi is first, because she lost her mother with her mother’s first word to her. She assumes Capheus’s body. She can pinpoint the moment Shiro recognizes that it is no longer her son in front of her, because the woman sits up and takes both of her hands in her own.
“Hi.” Nomi introduces herself in a quivering voice. The back of her throat feels clogged. “I’m Nomi.”
“Nomi,” Shiro breathes. “What a beautiful name.”
Nomi starts to cry, because this is everything she had dreamed coming out to her biological mother would be like. She’s sobbing before she can stop herself, even though she hates crying in front of people. Her head is lowered into Capheus’s mother’s lap as the woman strokes her forehead.
“We will have to find a way to get photos of all of you over here,” Shiro says. “Because I would love to be able to see your beautiful faces.”
That only makes Nomi crying harder, because this woman wants to see her face. This mother is one that would parade Nomi in all her new glory, not shove her to the back in favor of a son that never existed.
“Shhhh. Shhhhhh, now, little one.”
It takes minutes, but eventually Nomi is calm again. She raises her head to look her new mother in the eyes. “Thank you,” she tells her, voice still thick with emotion. “I can’t begin to – Thank you.”
The woman nods in acknowledgment. “It was so good to meet you, Nomi.”
Each time Shiro says her name feels like a breath of fresh air. “You too. Goodnight.” Nomi bids her new mother farewell.
-
It’s Will’s turn next, and it falls to him to wipe Nomi’s tears off of Capheus’s face. He smiles friendlily at the woman in front of him, and she returns it.
“Who are you, now?” Shiro questions openly.
“Will. I’m Will,” Will replies.
Shiro tilts her head to the side slightly. “The police officer, no? The one from America?”
“Yeah. That’s me. I’m from Chicago,” he tells her, unsure of why he feels like this mundane interaction matters so much.
“Ah,” Shiro says. “I hope the police officers there are better than the ones here.”
Will ducks his head. “We’re really not. I try to be better, but… It’s an institutionalized problem. There’s so many flaws in the system that some would rather let little boys die rather than use resources.” It pains him to say those words, but they are true. He won’t gloss over the horrors committed by his fellow cops.
To Will’s relief, there is no judgment in Shiro’s eyes. He’s not quite sure why she would judge him, but he is glad all the same.
“Is Chicago a big state?” she asks, searching his face for the traits that differentiate him from her son.
Will lets out a little amused breath of air from his nostrils, because it’s such a typical question. “Chicago’s the city,” he clarifies. “Illinois is the state. But Chicago’s pretty big, yeah.”
Shiro apologizes. “I did not know,” she says, as if worried she has offended him.
Scrambling to try and fix his error, Will responds quickly. “Oh, no. Don’t worry about it. I don’t even know all the states, and I’ve lived in America all my life.”
The woman in the bed smiles. “I’m in good company, then.”
“I should let Wolfgang take his turn,” Will notes. “Thank you, ma’am.”
A frown creases Shiro’s forehead. “There’s no need to call me ma’am, Will. Didn’t you hear?”
Will feels heat rising to his cheeks. “Then thank you, Shangazi.”
“Auntie? Well, I’ll take what I can get. It was a pleasure, Will.”
-
Now it’s Wolfgang’s turn, and he shifts on the chair as though it is covered in ants. Shiro knows patience, and she waits quietly while the boy finds his words.
“My father killed my mother,” he says eventually. It’s horribly casual, the way the words tumble out of his mouth, but he can’t think of any other way to say them.
The woman’s eyes widen slightly, but that is all the reaction she shows. She is no naïve little girl; she has seen firsthand the ugliness that the world is capable of. “He was a bad man, your father.”
“The worst,” Wolfgang spits. “She loved him, I don’t know why, but she did. And now all I have to remember her is the expression he wore after he beat her to death.”
He doesn’t know why he’s telling this stranger these things. He’s never told this to anyone, not even Felix. But maybe it’s some part of Capheus bleeding through, making him trust this woman without any hesitation or qualms. Of all the people to tell, this is the one he trusts first.
She nods, holding his hands close. It’s strange, this motherly touching. The only platonic touches he exchanges with Felix are manly clasps or embraces, and he cannot lie so heavily as to try to put down his feelings for Kala as platonic. He thinks he likes it.
They sit in silence for a bit longer, Wolfgang already having said what he needed to say. It’s nice, the silence.
“I should go,” he says finally. “Busy.”
“Goodbye, Wolfgang. You are not your father.”
-
If Wolfgang was wiggly, Sun is a statue. She stares at the woman in front of her unblinkingly.
“I’m Shiro,” the woman introduces herself, though Sun already knows her through Capheus. “Are you Sun or Riley?”
“Sun.”
“You are from Korea?” Shiro asks, keeping the conversation light and superficial,
Sun inclines her head slightly. This woman reminds her a bit of the women in the prison, that first day with that first cup of tea. She reminds her of her mentor, patient and solid as Sun performs dances with her fists. Perhaps most importantly, she reminds her of a woman in a wheelchair, in a pavilion so long ago.
“Are you the one who has saved my son so many times? The fighter?” Shiro wants to know, reaching a frail arm up to trace Sun’s cheek.
Sun frowns. “I didn’t know he told you about that.”
The woman chuckles, leaving Sun even more confused. “Jela is not very good at keeping secrets from me. He comes in every week or so, and gives me the updates on Elena, his kids, and my son.”
“Out of kindness?”
“Out of a healthy fear of elderly mothers.”
Sun’s mouth quirks up, a bit of her teeth flashing through with a grin. Shiro is happy to have solicited the reaction.
“If you ever want to come by for dinner, you’re welcome to. Prison food must be dreadfully bland,” Capheus’s mother offers. Sun nods again, because with this woman it doesn’t feel like she needs to offer up empty words. There is a lull in the conversation.
Sun breaks the quiet what feels like a minute later, reaching for words that she’s never really had to formulate before. “Am I a bad daughter?” she asks, though she normally doesn’t actively seek reassurance in others.
“Why would you be a bad daughter, little one?”
“My mother made me promise to look after my little brother,” she confesses. “That’s why I’m in here. If I didn’t take the fall for him, he would be in my place. And I thought I was doing the right thing, saving my family company and my little brother from prison. But he has killed my father. So…”
“So you are wondering if maybe it was your fault that he turned out this way? Or that maybe by taking the fall for him, you weren’t truly taking care of him?” Shiro finishes Sun’s thoughts perfectly, and Sun feels a rush of affection similar to the one she feels every time her cluster appears to her.
“Yes.”
“It was not your responsibility to raise your brother, child. Perhaps he would have benefitted from prison as well, and perhaps it was the wrong decision for you to give yourself up. But I think these events comment more strongly on the character of your father and brother than on your own. Just this conversation makes me believe that you are a very good daughter indeed.”
Sun looks down. “Thank you, Shiro.”
“Any time, Sun.”
-
Shiro knows that the last person to appear is Riley. Capheus had not gone into detail; she knows that this girl is a DJ from Iceland and that she lost her mother young.
“Hello, Riley,” she says.
Riley stares at the woman in front of her with almost childlike awe, soaking in her features. “Hello,” she responds, her voice delicate.
“I’m Shiro, Capheus’s mother. It’s nice to meet you.”
The girl tucks her lip between her teeth in an effort to not start crying again. The feeling is extremely mutual. It’s so nice to meet this woman, but she feels like echoing the phrase won’t capture the true emotions bursting through her skin. She can’t bring herself to say anything, because anything she would say wouldn’t be enough.
They sit for a minute, before Shiro winces. “Sorry, my dear, I need to lie back down. Only so long I can be upright, now.”
A surge of guilt rushes through Riley. How hadn’t she noticed the woman wearying? She quickly moves forward to help her prop up her pillow. “I’m sorry, we must be tiring you. Should I go?” she frets.
Shiro shakes her head, smiling. “No, I’d like you to stay. If you want to, that is.”
“I do,” Riley says. “Very much.”
“What do you want to talk about?”
It takes a moment. What does Riley want to talk about? How can she possibly express the multitude of emotions flooding through her, filling her chest until she feels like she will explode? What topic will make this wonderful woman understand?
“I don’t know,” she replies, voice cracking. It’s brutally honest, probably not helpful either, but it’s better than lying.
“Tell me about Iceland and music,” the woman in the bed requests.
Riley tries to pin them down. “Iceland is mountains so high they look like they puncture the sky and snow so cold it numbs your toes in seconds. It’s dark in winter, but in summer the day lasts forever. It’s pain and memories, but there is a steady happiness there too.” She stares off to the side, lost in her thoughts for a second. “Music is freedom. It’s passion and constants. It’s an escape and a remembrance. It lifts you up when you feel so low that you might never be able to stand again. It’s one of the only things that has kept me alive.”
Shiro has closed her eyes, trying to feel everything that the girl has described. She opens them as Riley finishes and grants the girl another warm smile.
Riley Gunnarsdóttir remembers something very important that she needs to tell Capheus’s mother. Riley Blue finds the courage to vocalize it.
“Thank you,” she says simply.
“For what, child?” Shiro asks.
“For raising your son. He’s saved my life.” It’s true down to the deepest parts of her soul. Capheus, with his bright smiles and light words, has brought her back from places in her mind that she’d never wanted to revisit. He has sat with her, sharing an impossible load and speaking clearly about death in a way that others had never done. He has brought sunshine to her life at times when she hadn’t known she’d needed it. Riley is immeasurably grateful to Shiro for bringing this boy into the world, for raising him.
Capheus’s mother reaches up and clasps Riley’s had in her own. “That makes two of us, I suppose.”
They share a smile, letting the silence stretch once more.
“Are you truly offering to be our second mother?”
“Yes,” Riley’s second mother nods. “I am. Is that alright?”
Riley nearly chokes on a grin. “Alright? It’s…” She can’t quite verbalize how beautiful this woman’s offer is. That’s okay, though, because Shiro seems to understand.
“Would you like to tell me about your first mother?” Shiro asks.
The girl is again at a loss, so she tries to throw together the right words to communicate her meaning. “She was my mamma. She had a smile and a word for everything. I loved her. Then she died. My fault.”
“Your fault?”
No, it isn’t her fault. Those are Yrsa’s words, but it seems their impact hasn’t left her. “I believed it was, until earlier this year. My husband and daughter’s too.” It takes a great deal of strength to force out the words. Her voice is thick and tears well once again in her eyes.
Squeezing her hand gently, the cluster’s new mother waits until she can speak again. Then she asks, impossibly kindly, “You had a daughter?”
Riley’s vision blurs, the colors of the room blending together with tears. She inclines her head slightly.
“I had one too, you know. I never told Capheus, but in my head I called her Njeri,” Shiro confides. “She was a fighter. I had to give her up to save her life.”
Some of this Riley knows from Capheus’s story in the graveyard. She remembers the feeling as her baby was taken away from her, feels it claw its way through her lungs, and squeezes Shiro’s hand tighter. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
“My daughter was named Luna. She died in my arms just after she was born,” Riley tells her. They share a link, she and this woman. It runs in a current through their linked palms.
“I’m sorry.”
“Me too.”
This woman understands. Riley wants to talk to her face to face now. Riley wants to gaze upon this woman with her own eyes. It is more than a desire; it feels almost like a necessity. How strange must it be for this woman, hearing these words coming out of her son’s mouth?
“I should go now,” she says, though she doesn’t want to. “Capheus must want his body back.”
“Alright.” Shiro nods. “Goodbye, my child.”
“Goodbye, móðir. Thanks.”
“Visit again, Riley. Whenever you need. We can talk,” Riley’s second mother offers. It’s such a wonderful offer that Riley takes a second to collect herself. Smiling, she gives Capheus’s body back to its owner.
-
Capheus looks at his mother, tired and smiling on her bed. He loves her so much sometimes he thinks he will die from the elation of it all. “Did you like them?” he asks, though he suspects what the answer will be.
“My zebra, I love them. Your herd is beautiful.”
Capheus’s grin would power cities with its brilliance.
“I know.”