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Ursa Major
Luca’s arms shook from the exertion. He and Artair had been at it for hours now, with neither showing any signs of slowing. Because neither wanted to be the one to admit that their knees were too sore or their asses too aching.
The wet mound yielded under his constant digging, his steely tool gripped firmly between stout fingers. Every thrust into the tender, squelching hole elicited drips down its sun-warmed sides. It was the perfect environment for Luca to sow his ample seed—deep and fertile.
“I still can’t believe that all of this is yours,” he said, taking in their progress on the garden beds. There were only three weeks left of summer now, far too late in the season for the harvest to yield before they left. But Artair wanted to experiment with some perennials like beans and potatoes and artichokes, seeing what might survive until next summer. “How did you learn to do this?”
“What, plant vegetables?” said Artair with an exaggerated tut, lifting the brim of an absurd straw hat, held in place by a bright pink ribbon.
As Artair explained it, the hat had been in the tower for decades, which Luca could believe. It looked like something a grandmother might wear to a farmers’ market in the forties.
Even though Artair was giving the opposite of the virile tradesman he’d previously shown, there was something strangely adorable about the look. About the ridiculousness. About him not caring how stupid he looked. About him deliberately looking foolish, just to get a laugh out of Luca.
“No, ass, I mean the fact you actually built these garden beds. And cut them into a proper terrace on the hill.”
“Oh, that,” said Artair, casually. “I did that last summer. It wasn’t that hard.”
Luca looked out over the million miles of wilderness that surrounded them. “Yeah, but literally how?”
“I already knew the basics from a few random landscaping jobs. So I got Sandy to loan me some power tools. Helicoptered them in at the start of the season and loaded them back home before I left. The soil out here’s fertile as heck, so it was just a bit of sawing and digging. Add a single pine tree for sleepers, and the whole thing came together in a few weeks. I only built the extra shed and the beehives because I had the spare time and extra lumber and it felt wrong to let the rest of the tree go to waste.”
And with that, Artair returned to his job of laying seed potatoes deep in the soil. As if what he’d just said was totally unremarkable.
“You know, downplaying talents is a real skill of yours.”
“Thank you?”
“I’m serious!” said Luca. “You’re acting like this is nothing to brag about. But it is. You cut down a tree on your own and basically made a farm out of it. I couldn’t do that. Most people couldn’t.”
“Why bother bragging? I know I did it.”
“Because it’s impressive? And other people would be impressed by it?”
Artair gave him a kind but weighty look. “I guess I’ve always cared more about impressing myself, rather than caring if others are impressed by me.”
Luca swayed back comically as if he’d been shot. “And what is that meant to mean, Madam.”
“Nothing,” said Artair, innocently. “Just wondering if you’ve actually started writing the story again?”
“I’ve sat at the typewriter to eat. Does that count?”
“No? Yes? I don’t know. I tend to be a bit more of a pick up the instrument and just start playing kind of guy.”
“Yeah, writing has never been like that for me. I need to map things out and see how all the pieces are going to fit together.”
“Sounds painful?”
“Yeah, but sometimes you have to wince in pain before you can scream in joy?”
Artair’s eyes glowed with that familiar sparkle. “Believe me, I’ve heard you scream.”
“Listen, Gertrude. You aren’t exactly quiet when I’m hitting your spot just right.”
“Ohhh. I’ve always wanted to name this hat. Gertrude fits really well!”
“The name fits better than the actual hat does. You know it’s like five sizes too small?”
“I thought you liked how big my head was?”
