We’ve Got Tonight

A Terrae Story

By C. Elliot Ritter

Asmi sat bored in the back of her family’s wagon. They had arrived at the fair in Lewvul a few days before to trade their wares and she’d sat in the hot Joon sun since. One more day, she thought running her needle through the brown vest she was making, then on to the next town. She hated being a Jipsee, if you could call them that. The stories of them from before The Great Fall were almost romantic. Those Jipsees were outcasts too and, like her, roamed the countryside without a permanent home. They were blamed for every crime the townspeople could imagine, which plagued Asmi’s tribe also.

Once, one of the caravan’s men really did commit a crime. Not a piddly charge of public drunkenness or swindling, he stole from a townsman. Not that anyone in the town knew, it was only a chicken; literally a fox in a hen house. Asmi, who was only five at the time, found him cleaning it and he couldn’t explain how he got it. After a long debate, the tribe took the man and the evidence to the farmer and offered to pay. Instead, they gave him a show trial which took weeks.

Jipsees: tramps and thieves, Asmi thought of the nicer labels people gave them. Still, when they came to a town people bought the Jipsee clothes and knickknacks. Most of the trinkets they sold were made from roadside debris and driftwood, carved, polished, and painted to look “Jipsee”. If he knew we found that yesterday by the river, Asmi thought as an overdressed Felid bought a walking staff from her uncle across the circle and couldn’t suppress a giggle. All they had done was put lacquer on it the night before. Though they would never admit it, these towns liked the Jipsee’s visits.

Some even desire it, Asmi reflected. Some of her siblings had found pleasure, or at least money, from the people of the many towns the caravan went through. Some of her sisters, stupidly, had slept with their own kind — Vulpid and Vulpid, Procyd and Procyd, or whatever — and got pregnant. They would leave before they knew what happened and never see the father again. Look at her, Asmi thought as her sister, Zena, flirted — Hells, seduced — a Vulpid man way too old for her. She’ll just get knocked up again. Asmi shook her head and looked back at her sewing. How stupid can she be? Two kids already and she’s still at it. Gahn…You’ll never see me being that easy. It’s not that she didn’t want somebody, just not the one-night affairs of her siblings.

“Deep in my soul, I’ve been so lonely. All of my hopes, fading away…” Asmi sang an ancient love song quietly to herself. It was about a lonely man asking a woman to stay for the night. She stopped after only those lines. The stitching on the vest she was working on had gone crooked and she swore lightly.

“Can you sing that again?” a young Vulpid Dog’s voice said.

“What?” Asmi asked, both annoyed and amused. She looked to the voice and saw a Vulpid, like herself, standing at the gate of the wagon. He was probably no more than seventeen, maybe eighteen, and wore an indigo vest and his shirt and trousers were a lighter-blue similar to the vest’s color. Probably a merchant’s son, Asmi mused, he’s certainly not nobility, unless they started allowing Vulpids in.

His ears flushed. “I, I liked your singing, can you sing more? I have money,” he started excited but became embarrassed and ended saying, “if you want it.”

She looked at the small tan leather pouch in his hand that jangled as he extracted it. Asmi surmised there were almost twenty coppers there, maybe even a luminim or two, so she quickly said, “two copper.”

“Okay,” he dug into the bag and produced the two gleaming brown disks.

They’re new coins, Asmi thought snatching the money, I’ll bet he’s loaded, a smile unconsciously crept onto her face, I’ll milk him dry. To Jipsees even the middle-class seemed wealthy.

“So?” the Dog said.

“Oh, right,” she smiled weakly and began the song from the beginning while trying to fix her bad stitching. He leaned forward against the gate and listened intently, lost in the song.

When she stopped, he asked dreamily, “What’s it called?”

She glanced at him from the corner of her eyes and said, “‘We’ve Got Tonight.’”

“Oh,” he replied. After a moment Asmi looked back over at the boy; he just stood looking at her. Why do I think of him as a “boy” he’s probably my age, she mused while watching him mooning over her. Is that what he’s doing, ogling me?

“What are you looking at?” she asked rudely quizzical.

“Sorry…I, uh,” he stammered and shifted his feet, “do you want to…oh, never mind…” he asked sheepishly then turned away.

Asmi knew what he was probably thinking: that she’d be as easy as her sisters. That boy probably wants a quickie but he’s too shy to say it.

“‘Do I want to’ what?” Asmi asked perturbed.

He mumbled, “Have a…” he stopped again.

“What,” Asmi said holding back her anger. If he asks if “I want to have a tumble” or something I’ll…

“Kebab,” he finally finished.

“You think I would…!” Asmi started angrily then realized it wasn’t a proposition. She didn’t expect him to ask something so innocent. Why not? He’s not bad looking, maybe a little too short but so am I, and he’s paying. Asmi smiled and crammed the incomplete vest behind a bundle saying, “Alright.”

He helped her off the wagon; not that she needed help, she just wanted to humor him. As they walked behind the wagon and out of the Jipsee’s muddy circle and into the fair proper, he asked, “What’s your name?”

“Asmi,” she said walking beside him while looking at the other, nicer, booths. She felt like people were watching them, a Jipsee Vixen in her long garish dress and a young merchant-prince Dog in his fineries. “What’s yours,” she said uneasily.

“Pol,” he said, still looking at her.

“Why are you looking at me?” Asmi asked rudely.

“Well,” Pol looked down in front of him and idly kicked a discarded apple core before he looked back up at Asmi and added shyly, “you’re pretty.”

Asmi felt her ears flush and sheepishly smiled. No one had ever called her pretty, or ever really commented on her appearance. Asmi always assumed her black hair and cross fox fur made her look too “Jipsee”; except her light blue eyes. All of her sisters had brown or green and there was talk about Asmi’s father.

Oh no, what father sees me? Oh Gahn, what if mother does! Asmi’s parents didn’t care if her sisters slept around, they didn’t actually like those men. But I don’t like him, she lied to herself as he ordered, he’s just a guy who asked me for a snack.

“Here you go,” he said handing her a skewer of beef, onions and peppers.

“Thank you,” Asmi bashfully took it. Maybe really he does like me, she thought, it’s not lamb or goat. Asmi rarely had beef; it was too expensive for her family. She pecked at it and asked Pol, “Why did ask me to go with you?”

“For one thing, you looked lonely,” Pol said.

“I was,” Asmi said grinned at Pol, “I’m not now.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” he said and fished for her hand, getting it on the third try. They smiled at each other and walked a little in silence before Asmi saw Antony, her brother. “Oh Gahn! Pol, we need to hide,” Asmi cried.

“Why?” Pol asked obliviously.

“It’s my brother, Antony,” Asmi tugged them into a booth.

“You don’t want him to see us?” Pol asked as they squatted behind a hanging rug.

“No,” Asmi answered emphatically, “shh!” She watched as Antony’s brown feet and pants approached and stopped by them. Oh Gahn, no. Asmi’s mind screamed. Antony asked about something but she couldn’t tell what.

“Is he go—” Pol whispered too loudly. Asmi put her hand over his muzzle.

Antony said something like, “This one?” and the rug hiding them two shook. Asmi’s chest tightened as then it shook more and made zip sound as heavy weaves rubbed together. She squeezed her eyes shut waiting for the yelling to begin, but instead heard Antony start haggling. After a moment he walked away carrying a small roll of scrap.

“That was close,” She said smiling in relief at Pol.

“Yeah,” he breathed. After an awkward moment, he leaned toward Asmi and clumsily kissed her. After a few seconds, he pulled away saying, “I’m sorry I didn’t mean to…”

“I…don’t mind,” Asmi took his hand and ran her other behind his neck.

“Alright you two,” the Canid rug seller shouted, pulling the rug back, “that’s enough! And you,” he pointed to Asmi, “I should ask that Jipsee man that just left about you.”

“It’s okay,” Pol said panicking well, “you don’t have to and…um…my father might want to buy some of your fine rugs,” they backed up as Pol continued, “Uh, what kind are they?”

“Just get out!” the Canid shouted pointing at the exit.

“Yes sir!” Pol said and dragged Asmi with him.

“That was close,” Asmi giggled as they ran from the angry Canid, “I haven’t had this much fun in along time!”

“Why?” Pol asked as they stopped running.

“Because these fairs are so boring,” Asmi said looking at her feet for a second.

“I dunno,” Pol looked around as if he was taking in the view, “I kind of like ‘em.”

“You don’t live practically going from one to another,” Asmi groaned, “if I never see one again I’ll die a happy woman.”

“What if one you never seen has your true love?” Pol asked taking Asmi’s hand—on the first try this time.

“Maybe I have seen it,” Asmi leaned her head against Pol’s shoulder.

“I hope so,” Pol put his arm around Asmi’s. Oh Gahn, Asmi prayed as they walked, why do we have to leave so soon? It’s not fair…

“Pol I…” Asmi wanted to pour her heart about how transitory and dull her life was. She’d gladly revoked her heritage to keep this moment even a little longer. Pol was the first person to stir those feelings. Asmi felt a tear trace down from her eye around her muzzle as she whispered, “don’t want to go.”

“We’ve got tonight, Asmi,” Pol whispered wiping another errant tear from Asmi’s eye, “let’s make it last.”

They walked to the exhibitions where all sorts of feats were on display. They attended a morality play and nearly committed the very sin it admonished while at the show. It was not that they went too far but some of the caressing went further than either Asmi or Pol expected.

As the play ended, a pair of well-off Porcids passed. Upon seeing the two Vulpids in the back row of The Confession of Lechery necking, the lady blurted, “Well! A Jipsee Vixen and some Dog fornicating!” then added aside to her companion, “I guess they didn’t exaggerate about lust overpowering decency — disgusting Vulpids.”

Asmi gasped and smoothed her dress and Pol quickly turned to see them. “Great,” Pol groaned as they left.

“What?” Asmi said smoothing her disheveled black hair down.

“I think they have the spot next to ours,” Pol said, “they didn’t like there. They’ll probably love telling my father.”

“I’m sure they will. They looked like that type,” Asmi said then fingered a tear in a seam on Pol’s shirt, “Oops.”

“That’s great too,” Pol looked at the hole, stretching it to see how wide it was, “this is my best shirt. He’s gonna kill me.”

“I can fix it,” Asmi said standing. She knew her sewing box had some thread the same color.

“Will you?” Pol asked. He knew then answer, he just wanted to be courteous.

“Of course,” Asmi took his hand and pulled him up, “come on.” They strolled out of the theater and toward the Jipsee camp hand-in-hand. “We’re going to have to look like it’s business,” she explained then added grinned, “at first…”

They walked through the muddy circle toward Asmi’s family’s wagon trying to look as stoic as possible. “Did you choose this spot or…?” Pol began.

“Yes and no,” Asmi stepped through the door of her wagon and helped Pol up also, “we choose this spot so we would stay on the edge of the place. I think we set up too close.”

“This is where you live?” he asked, Asmi nodded, “It’s small. How many people live in here?”

“Four,” she replied rummaging through bobbins. “Ah, here we go and…” she held it up to Pol’s shirt, “perfect match. Alright take it off.”

He did and Asmi sat on the floor cross-legged and threaded a needle, knotted the trailing thread, turned the vest inside out, and started. Pol looked around the small space amazed. Everything one might need was there in some form but no beds. “Where do you sleep?” he asked nonchalantly.

“Hmm? Oh, usually outside,” Asmi answered matter-of-factly, “unless it rains or snows or something then it over there,” she nodded toward a pile of bolted cloth.

“Oh,” he picked up a wooded cup and sniffed it suspiciously. It had a faint smell of cider. He put it down and tried to stretch.

Asmi glanced up at him. He doesn’t like this place. I can’t really blame him. It’s probably too small and uncomfortable. She finished the mend in only a few minutes and handed it back saying, “Good as new.”

“Thanks,” he said taking it and eyed outside the door, “Asmi this place…” he sighed and looked back at Asmi, in her element, “I dunno.”

“You want to leave?” she said concerned.

“No…if you feel more comfortable I’ll stay,” he said and weakly smiled.

“But you don’t like it here,” Asmi said sliding next to Pol.

“I know,” Pol said wrapping his arm around Asmi, who put her head on his shoulder, “but this is you.”

“I wish it wasn’t…” Asmi whispered, barely audible. Pol ran his hand through her hair, letting the smooth, black, silky strands go between his fingers. He didn’t know what to say so he just held her until twilight.

“Asmi…” he sighed, “Let’s go.”

“Where?’ she said by his right ear.

“There’s supposed to be a special closing ceremony,” Pol said quietly, “we could go there.”

“Sure,” Asmi said tiredly, the sitting had almost made her fall asleep. They slipped out of the cart and Pol took her hand again, as they crossed the middle of the camp. I don’t care anymore, she thought. When her mother saw them, Asmi kissed Pol’s cheek.

“What was that for?” Pol asked, his ears blushing.

“Show,” Asmi said and pointed at her mother who was seething. He waved.

“Gahn, she’s pissed,” Asmi giggled as the walked past the edge of the last wagon. The clearing wasn’t very far, only a few hundred yards, and they sat on a bundle of hay.

She cuddled up to Pol. It felt good, comfortable. The grand marshal gave a long-winded speech about the history and importance of the Lewvul Fair, all the way back to ancient history, before the Fall. Asmi wasn’t very interesting but Pol seemed to pay attention because he said, “You know,” he pulled Asmi closer, “there may have been a couple like us, right here, watching the Kentuk Derby all those years ago.”

“What was that?” she hadn’t heard of a Kentuk Derby.

“Well,” Pol groaned as he stretched tried to remember what the Leonid marshal had said. “They used to end the fair with big race and fireworks.”

“Really,” Asmi asked quietly, looking at Pol.

He smiled, “Really.” They kissed again until a loud bang startled them. “Fireworks, I guess what they say is true…”

They watched the rockets and fireworks that marked the last night of the fair. They just sat until everyone else went off to their carts. Someone called out Asmi’s name; her mother it sounded like. “Pol, I need to go…” she whispered sadly.

“I know it’s late,” Pol said cradling her in his arms, “but why don’t you stay. I’ll take you back tomorrow and say you got lost. We can find a place to lay down and—”

“Pol, no—I’m not like that,” Asmi looked at the dying torchlight glinting in his eyes.

“We can lay down between the bales and look at the stars,” Pol smiled, “I’m not like that either.” He smoothed her head hair, “I like you just the way you are.” In the moonlight, his teeth were pale white against the grays of his face. Asmi let out a comfortable sigh and they pulled close together.

That night Asmi told Pol about the stars, what they mean, who they are. To the north, a single bright white star blazed brighter than the rest. Pol pointed and asked, “Which one’s that?”

“I don’t know,” Asmi looked at its glow, “I’ve never seen it before.”

“I know what it is,” Pol leaned onto his side to face her. “It’s a new one, for you.”

“It’s not for me,” she said coyly.

“Why not?” He stroked her side, looking into her eyes.

“Yeah,” she smiled, “why not…” They snuggled together, Asmi told him about her travels, and he listened until he fell asleep next to her. Asmi listened to his gentle, rhythmic breathing until she fell asleep herself.

The next morning, as promised, Pol took Asmi back to her camp with the story she was lost. Before he left, Pol gave Asmi a luminum locket saying, “It’s so if you ever come to Cinnci you can find me.” Inside the locket was a scrap of paper with “Duggan Rugs, Cinnci — ask for Pol”

“I can’t take this,” Asmi asked handing back the rectangular shell of silvery-gray metal, “it’s too much.”

“I insist,” Pol said placing it into her palm and shutting her hand, “I want you to have it.”

“Pol…” Asmi said as tears slid around her face.

“Just tell me next time you come to Cinnci you’ll find me,” Pol said still holding the hand with the locket.

“I will…” she said and kissed him for the last time. Before he left she managed to croak, “Good bye…I, I love you.”

“I know,” Pol said before he turned to leave the camp. Why Gahn?

“Asmi,” Zena shouted stirring her from her thoughts, “come on.” Asmi climbed on the cart and sat, alone again, in the back. Zena sat next to her and held her sister, “I know…it’s hard.”

“Does it get any better?” Asmi sniffed.

“No,” Zena said, “you just get used to it.”

Asmi watched the Lewvul Fair receded into the distance. One memory above all the other came to mind; Pol asking innocently if she would sing again. So as the cart rumbled along the unkempt stone road she did again, quietly to herself, “We’ve got tonight babe, why don’t you stay…”