Iria's Story

by Catherine Bloom

 

I never met Quatre before that day, but I knew he had changed.

Call it sisterly ingenuity or my doctors training, but he was different from the little boy I’d read letters and letters about.

I remember the day I got the letter saying Quatrina had died giving birth to my little brother. I wanted to jump with joy that I had another sibling , a boy at that, but I was so sad that she had died. She was something special, I remember the day my father told me he was marrying her. I’d never stand in his way, but she wasn’t that much older than me, only seven years. Still my father was a grown man and knew what he was doing.

She was a stubborn woman, especially about the natural birth thing. Her mother had died giving birth, saying her child wouldn’t be a test tube baby. I think she saw that as a challenge and rose to it. Such an odd woman, very beautiful though.

That was when I knew he was special. Not only was he naturally birthed, but he was the only male my father had ever produced. My father insisted on telling Quatre that he was a test tube baby like the rest of us. I always disagreed with that, but he was my father.

I remember getting a letter from my younger sister, Jasmine, telling me how good Quatre was becoming with the violin. Music didn’t really run in our family, not my father’s side at least, but on Quatrina’s side it was a virtual necessity. I was glad. The only thing that seemed to run in the Winner genes was the ability to become a workaholic.

All of us adored Quatre, no matter how many, or few, letters we got about him. One day all twenty-nine of us planned to be present at one of his birthday parties. That never happened, well as of yet. That is the one shame of my family; we never really were a family. Sure we loved each other, but father was so engrossed in his work, especially after Quatrina died. And the rest of us were older and at a different stage in our lives, so we never had a chance to really connect with the child that was our little brother.

Jasmine once wrote to me saying that at times she thought the Quatre she saw was a fake or a mask. Like he played the happy child we wanted him to be, but at sometime he crossed over into a depression, like he was someone different inside and he couldn’t show this person for fear of hurting father or us. I think in many ways she was right.

Then there was when Quatre ran away and his shuttle was hijacked.

I don’t know what happened, and I’m afraid to ask, but Quatre came back different. I remember the exact words in Jasmine’s letter, “he went into see father and he came out looking the same as when he went in. He had this determined look on his face as if he was ready to finally do something with his life. What, he wasn’t sure, but something. As if life suddenly had a meaning…” Jasmine was always good at reading expressions, so I don’t doubt that is exactly how he looked.

That scientist was the next big disaster/opportunity in my brother’s life. I have never heard my father curse, except when speaking of that man. The fact my bother helped build and pilot Sandrock makes me wonder if he really was all that bad.

That’s all I know until the day he was brought into my medical bay. I remember looking up and seeing a flash of blond hair as two of my orderlies carried him in. They said he was found unconscious, just floating around in a beaten up mobile suit.

I had the medication out and was ready to do the doctor thing. Then I saw the face of the boy whose picture I have a box overflowing with. I nearly dropped the medication, for a brief minute I even forgot I was a doctor. My wits returned to me of course and I was able to give him the medication. The fever he was running worried me so I did not leave his side until he woke up.

I was so relieved when he woke up. I just wanted to wrap my arms around him and say, ‘I love you little brother.’ But I couldn’t. I simply brought him back to L4, back to father.

I never understood why they couldn’t momentarily bury the hatchet right there when father walked in. No, the first words out of his mouth were, ‘disobedient son.’ It broke my heart. I know among all of us that Quatre was his favorite, not that he didn’t love the rest of us but Quatre was his boy, his son, his heir.

I respect my little brother for not giving into father, as I would have done. I’m not weak, but he is my father and I do not know how to stand up to him. But Quatre did, the only thing I could say was, ‘I think he is a great heir’ and tell him I was his sister. I felt bad telling him then, but I wanted them to stop arguing and distracting Quatre was the best idea.

I hate conflict, but I admire my brother.

Then father died. I couldn’t understand it. One minute I am talking to Quatre about how the peoples opinion of our family has changed and the next we are in a shuttle trying to talk father out of getting himself killed. My mind must have shut down in shock. Father was sacrificing himself, he was fighting, not with violence, but still fighting.

Quatre’s scream of ‘father’ brought me back to reality as the explosion rocked the shuttle and blinded me. I saw Quatre thrown from his seat and my mind screamed. My father was dead, I was not going to let my brother come to harm as well.

I remember speaking after my back hit the wall, but I remember Quatre’s bitter laughter more. That sound haunts me even now.

The funeral wasn’t much better either.

I was on crutches because I refused the wheelchair. It was the first time I can remember seeing all my sisters at one time, as well at their husbands and children. Quatre refused to come out of the lab until the actual ceremony. When he did he looked tired and I just knew he was making another mobile suit to fight in. Combined with the memory of his laughter it chilled me.

The funeral went on as I expected, we all said good things about father and said we missed him like dutiful children. Quatre stood by me during the ceremony, on the far wall away from people. He glared at the ground and I could feel the thoughts of vengeance that must have been running through his head. I wanted to comfort him and tell him that father wouldn’t have wanted that. But Siduri was taking the whole funeral a little less than well.

“Why are people mourning,” she would yell and I remember Jasmine trying to stop her. Finally Jasmine put her over by Quatre and me; I was always slightly calming to the red headed girl. She stood between us and asked what was wrong.

“Father is dead,” Quatre replied.

Siduri shook her head and looked at him. “He's dead? No. See, he just went on a trip, and isn't coming back for a while. I wrote him the other day. I wish he'd write back...” she trailed off and played with her long braid. “Right, Iria?”

I couldn’t answer her. There stood the two polar opposites on the reactionary scale. Quatre, who I could see was blaming himself and taking father’s death to hard, and Siduri, who wasn’t ready to admit it had even happened. Siduri kind of glomped onto Quatre, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and just kind of holding him while the time passed. He didn’t even react to this; he just kept glaring at the ground.

As soon as the funeral ended he began to stalk back to the lab, dragging Siduri with him until she finally let go. I ran, I wobbled on crutches, after him. When he finally acknowledged me it was with those cold frightening eyes that did not seem like they should be staring at me. He told me he had to do what he thought was right, what he was going to do even before father died. He told me I was in charge of the Winner family until he returned.

Then he locked himself in the laboratory and would not come out or let any of us in. I don’t even know when he left. One day I went down to see if he would let me in and the door was open and he was gone. I searched everywhere until Siduri told me he had gone.

I wish I knew where he was. OZ controls most forms of communication so I cannot believe anything I hear. And I hope and pray that what I hear about an unknown suit destroying colonies is untrue.

But I fear it is.

My brother is changed from the little boy I didn’t know. I just hope he comes back to us and I can meet the man he has become.

Please, Allah, or whoever is up there.

Help my brother.

I want to meet him.