THANKSGIVING

by Leslie What

CARVING: See that the knife has a keen edge. It is not a difficult task to carve a haunch. First cut it across down to the bone; then turn the dish with the knuckle farthest from you; put in the point of the knife and cut down as deep as you can. The knife should slope in making the first cut, and the whole of the gravy will be received in the well.

· · · · ·

“You’ve never been truly hungry, Miranda,” Father said to let me know I’d done wrong by asking questions about the animals we were eating for dinner. It wasn’t even Father’s turn to cook for the community, but Healer Elysa’s youngest boy was sick with stomach problems, so our family had traded nights with hers.

I worked to stir the soup but couldn’t quite reach, and needed to stand on a stool to touch the bottom of the kettle. I was small for a girl who had already started her cycles. Mother always said to give it time, but she said that about everything. Besides, there wasn’t time. In another season I would be expected to find a mate and start a family.

I hated being small.

The spoon’s wood handle was long enough for me to hold my hand high above the kettle rim and keep from getting burned. The heavy pot was smoke-black, only slightly darker color than the broth, which made me think about how the animals we called greens weren’t really green once separated from their skins and hides. Maybe we should have called them greys after cooking. “Well?” I asked. “Is it or not?”

“No,” Father answered, sounding flustered. “It isn’t cannibalism, so long as we don’t eat each other.” He wore hide pants and a linen shirt sewn from one of our remaining bolts of cloth. His vest was so old that the fur had darkened to a muddy green.

“I’m not so sure,” I said with an exaggerated shudder. My arms were sore from stirring, so I rested and let the soup bubble for a while. I didn’t care for the way broth smelled, like dirt mixed with root vegetables—and something a little sour that reminded me of an old man’s breath. Not that I had other options at the moment. I thought about the pioneers who first settled here and the many food varieties that no longer existed. I could hardly wait for the weather to warm again, when the shrub flowers would bloom and bear sweet fruit for us to eat.

It was too early in the season to be tired of eating greens, so I kept my feelings to myself.

Greens had soft spines that allowed us to pack them close together for storage. They tasted best fresh and grilled over a pit; worst when the meat was boiled and pickled. Yet even at their worst they kept us alive and kept our bodies covered. Which was too bad for them.

My stepbrother Ty elbowed me hard on his way to the washroom, where he would try to take enough time to get out of doing his share of the chores; I smacked him with the wet end of the spoon.

Father said, “Stop, you two! You’re running out of light for the day and should make better use of your time.”

“Yes, Father,” said Ty. He showed discomfort by hurting others. He always acted angry with me; I wasn’t sure why. Mother said he was jealous and worried that he didn’t belong. My parents had taken him in when his folks passed on, two seasons after I was born.

My best friend Checha sat in the corner on the dusty wood floor, twisting her long hair into braids. She was wearing her new jacket and I waved to get her attention to ask with signs if she wasn’t boiling under the fur. I was sweating, even without a jacket! Checha had been deaf since birth. She and I spoke to one another with our own secret signs, which seemed to make everyone else angry. When she grew bored with her braids, Checha stood up and began performing jumping jacks like the ones Leader Ben did to keep up his strength. She was a head taller than I was; prettier, too. When she started to perspire, she pulled off her leggings and tied them around her waist.

“Stop that,” Mother signed, taking notice. “Save your energy! You won’t get an extra portion just because you make yourself hungry.”

Checha kept on doing what she was doing until Mother grabbed her and held her arms still and gave her a look that warned she’d better behave. Mother pulled the leggings from Checha’s waist and shoved into Checha’s hands, “Here,” she said. “Get dressed.”

Checha signed that she was sorry, but indicated to me that she wasn’t.

“Don’t be stubborn,” I told her with my hands. Mother was right: Checha was wasting her strength and that was not only selfish, but stupid. We had enough food for now, but who knew what the future would bring?

As Checha dressed, she gave Mother a wry smile. She bolted over to stand beside me and watch the pot boil. She poked me and signed that she was hungry.

“You can have half my portion of meat,” I told her, and she kissed my cheek in gratitude. She sang an off-key song without words and watched Mother empty cool water from a stoneware crock into pitchers.

Father mashed up grilled round roots. He never mashed things smooth enough for my tastes, maybe because it took more work and he didn’t want to waste his strength. He saw me watching and said, “Don’t let it burn, Miranda.”

I took up the spoon again. “I won’t,” I said, then noticed he had changed the subject. “But what about the greens?”

“Worry about yourself first,” he said, “before you worry about the other things.”

“I just wish they didn’t have eyes,” I said, circling the kettle with my spoon. Sure enough, as if to emphasize my point an opaque grey eye floated to the top of the soup. I stirred until it disappeared beneath the froth.

Father said, “That wouldn’t work. They need vision, same as with us, or they’d be easy prey for something else, which could mean we’d have nothing to eat. Think of what might happen to you if you were caught alone wandering after dark.”

“I’m smarter than that,” I said. Because our eyes were useless after dark, probably as a result of our poor nutrition, the poisonous beasts called nightbirds held the advantage. We did not venture outdoors after dark; a nightbird’s poison could kill a man already weakened by hunger. But it had been some time since anyone had died in our community, and I said so.

“That’s because everyone who was going to die already did,” said Ty, reappearing now that everything was ready.

“Ty!” Mother said, her voice with a sharp edge that was less a warning than an appeal. Ty had not been the only one to lose family during the last harsh winter; Mother had lost two of her children. My own sisters, and I couldn’t even remember them.

“Sorry,” Ty said.

“Why don’t you go bring in a bit more wood so we don’t run out before dark?” said Father.

Ty started toward the door, pausing to direct a nasty look in Checha’s and my direction.

Checha smiled and made a funny face.

“And you!” Father to me, “You just keep stirring the pot.”

“I will,” I said. I didn’t let it burn; greens were too hard to find to waste a meal, especially during their hibernation. Which was why we stocked up whenever we came across one of their lairs.

· · · · ·

GREEN HEAD SOUP: Two green heads, six liters cold water, eight cloves, two mud onions, two small swamp carrots, sprig of meadow parsley, one mountain bay leaf, sprig of sweet clay marjoram, salt and pepper to taste. Wash the heads well through three waters; scald them, wash again in cold water, and soak fifteen minutes. Be sure that throat and nasal passages are perfectly clean.

· · · · ·

Checha and Father readied the table in the dining hall, while Leader Ben stepped in to help Ty stack the wood against the eastern wall. Leader Ben was a big man, shaped something like a woodpile. He had lost family during the harsh winter and acted grouchy much of the time. Which didn’t make sense, because he could have had more friends if he was nice.

“Why are you watching me, child?” he asked, and I looked away and pretended he was mistaken.

Leader Ben roared when he spoke and he scared me a little. I didn’t think he liked me. Because of his strength, Ty would someday become leader. Then, things would be worse.

My side still hurt from where Ty had hit me. I groaned and said, “I wish Ty didn’t live with us.”

Mother said, “He’ll learn to be gentle. Just give him some time. He likes you a lot; he just doesn’t know how to say that.”

I hoped Ty would never learn the words. I didn’t want his affection. I wanted him to leave me alone, but he was too aggressive for that. He played tricks on me, mean tricks that made me feel dumb.

The night before, Ty had waited until I was asleep to creep beside my mat with a skull he had taken from the common burial pit. He had placed the skull beneath my covers. Of course, I’d screamed when I woke up and saw the yellow bone face, and all the girls had laughed at me.

I wasn’t usually so afraid of bones.

I loved studying science and knew the names of all the muscles and most of the bones because we were lucky to have portions of a human cadaver, as well as one fully jointed skeleton. The bones were polished and smooth, mixing lovely shades of yellow and white. Ty would make a nice skeleton, I decided. Too bad you had to be dead before you could become one.

Steam curled upward from the pot and made my nose itch. I practiced ignoring the irritation. “Where did our skeleton come from?” I asked, and Mother gave me such a stern look I was sorry to have asked.

Father said, “We all do what we have to for survival.”

Mother looked straight at me as I fought the queasy feeling in my belly. “Be grateful,” she said, “that your ancestors believed they were leaving something for the future by not using the bones of one winter meal to make a soup.”

“Times have always been tough here,” said Father. “and there have been many fights about the importance of a proper burial. If there had been one more pioneer on the hungry side and one less on the science side, you wouldn’t know so much about anatomy.”

I thought about the smooth edge of the scapula and the contours of the long femur and for the first time made the connection of how the skeleton framed a living being. “What did he taste like?” I asked.

Mother stopped herself as she was about to laugh. “He was better than greens,” she said. “And if you hear nothing else, that’s the one thing that you had best never forget.”

“How’s that soup coming along?” said Father. “I think everything is ready for supper.”

I gave the soup another couple of stirs and said, “Done.”

Some of the boys helped dish soup into bowls, and carried them to the long tables while I called out that it was time to come in and eat.

We washed up and took our places in the commons. Our entire community now fit at four long tables, and the others were put away in storage. My brother took triple portions when the basket filled with flat bread was passed around the lead table. I looked around to see who noticed. Pretty much everybody did, though of course, nobody said a thing. It wasn’t fair. People like Leader Ben and Ty did whatever they wanted while the rest of us followed the rules. But that was how things worked.

Leader Ben led prayers. “Join me now in giving thanks for all our gifts,” he said. “May our community thrive.”

We all said amen and ate and had enough food that everyone, not just the men, got seconds.

After dinner, we cleaned up and some of the adults sat around the fire drinking cold press leafy wine. There was enough time left to go outdoors before dark and I pulled my jacket from the hook, turned it inside out so I could snuggle against the fur, and left the building to face the wind. I looked around for Checha. Flower blossom pollen made me sneeze and I waved a hand before my nose to stop my eyes from watering. Checha sneaked up behind me and tickled under my arms.

“Hello,” I said.

“Hello,” she signed back.

Our community was built on a plateau surrounded by a thorny barrier. On the far side of the thatch, the terrain was rocky and steep. Even Leader Ben and Ty were afraid to travel from the community, though there had been talk of forming a Springtime expedition to look for food, perhaps land to start anew.

The early settlers had hoped to thrive in the naturally occurring fort they had discovered. They hadn’t predicted cold times or diseases that made seed crops fail. They hadn’t predicted the overharvesting of native animals. They hadn’t realized that isolation wasn’t always beneficial.

I heard laughter; Ty was up to something. “Come on,” I signed to Checha, and followed the sound until I came upon him and two of his friends in the old storage barn, which had been part of the original landing craft. Condensation from the metal roof dripped something oily onto my forehead. The last of the day’s light streamed in through the plasti-glass windows. The boys had taken one of the greens from the cage and were holding it down while Ty lit fire to its curled tail.

From far off, a Green’s fur smelled like wet meadow straw. This close, its fur smelled wet and moldy like meadow straw.

Checha signed, “Why?” and I tried to figure a way of signing back, “Because they can,” but settled on saying, “I don’t know.”

The green measured about a meter from head to foot. Its fur was dark green and it held both legs close to its body. Its eyes were almost all black, with tiny circles of light blue in the centers. Its lips and tongue were pink; greens looked odd when they were still alive.

When he saw me, Ty sauntered over and whipped out a sharp thing he had made from a bone. He pointed it at me like he was going to cut me with it.

I didn’t think he’d go that far, even in front of his friends, and I said, “Stop being stupid.”

“Watch this, Miranda,” he said, and returned to torment the green. He never bothered to sign his words for Checha’s benefit, and she poked my shoulder and asked what he had said. I told her and she shook her head and gave him a nasty look.

I said, “That’s terrible!” but he just laughed and said, “They’re going to die anyway, so why are you making such a fuss?”

“We’re all going to die,” I said. Somebody had better make a fuss.

· · · · ·

FORCE-MEAT FOR SOUP: Make a force-meat of the brains as follows: Put them in a stew-pan, pour hot water over, and set it over the fire for a few minutes, then take them up, chop them small, with a sprig of meadow parsley, a saltspoonful of salt and pepper each, two tablespoonfuls of root flour, the same of hide butter, and fourteen well-beaten mud snake eggs; make it in small balls, and drop them in the soup fifteen minutes before it is taken from the fire.

· · · · ·

The next day we had classes after morning chores. Healer Elysa wanted to talk about reproduction. Everyone laughed, maybe a little bit embarrassed, even though she was talking about greens. So far, we’d had trouble getting them to breed in captivity. “If they would reproduce,” she said, “most of our problems would be solved.”

I tried to think it through—the way a scientist would. “Maybe they don’t like being forced to live together,” I said. “Maybe they just need more room to move.”

“Cabin fever,” said Healer Elysa.

Ty asked, “What’s that?”

“A term from history,” she said, “when sailors spent long periods of time on ship and grew annoyed with the small quarters.”

“Ah yes, the sailors,” said Ty. “That reminds me, don’t you think Miranda looks like she has scurvy?”

Healer Elysa said, “There are benefits to being small. The larger the man, the more resources he needs to squander on himself.”

I smiled. Healer Elysa liked me. “We could try building them bigger pens,” I said. “It’s worth trying.”

Ty sniggered, but Healer Elysa said, “She’s right to propose possible solutions.”

“She doesn’t know anything,” he said. “She’s afraid of soup bones!”

Everyone laughed and I felt ashamed.

After classes and chores, Checha and I slipped into our coats and sneaked around to the back of the building. It was warm enough that I faced the fur to outside. We sat to draw designs in the dirt. Checha was a pretty good artist, but I hated when she tried to draw pictures of me. She always made my head look smaller than I thought it was. Kind of greenlike. She always showed me smiling. Since I hated my brown teeth, I wanted her instead to draw me with my mouth closed, but she wasn’t the kind of friend who ever did what you wanted.

“Come on,” I said, and pulled her to play in the old storage barn. We set up a table on a bale of meadowstraw by covering it with an old cloak. We were playing a game where we rolled polished stones from old tin cups, counting out points depending on how the stones rolled. Checha was winning. She was better at games of luck. I was better at games that I could take time to think about and win through reasoning.

Checha shook her cup as she prepared to roll stones.

A fearful moaning and rattling came from the greens’ cages.

Checha looked from me to the greens and jumped up to explore. I said, “Don’t go over there,” but of course, she couldn’t hear, so I had to follow.

The cage door was ajar and one of the greens had chewed off his rope and stood at the entrance about to escape. Another lay crumpled just behind him, perhaps another victim of Ty’s cruelty. The rest of the bunch huddled in hibernation in the corners of the cage. Even when awake, they ignored one another, seldom interacting except to fight.

My brother could get in lots of trouble for forgetting to latch the cage.

“This is bad,” I told Checha. We wanted to keep the greens alive as long as possible, but it looked like Father would need to fire up the smokehouse and I’d be stuck butchering greens.

I disliked skinning them more than anything.

We should have told, but we didn’t. It was me, actually. I’m the one who didn’t tell. I knew that it was wrong, that the green did not belong to me and I had no right to decide about its future. Checha had been born without a voice, so she couldn’t have told, even if she’d wanted to. I should have told; I just didn’t want to.

The green’s tail was black-singed and oozing blood and it was making funny noises and holding its head. I didn’t know if the injured green was a male or a female, child or adult. I didn’t even know how long they lived in the wild. That bothered me—I wanted to know where it was in its cycle. The green sniffed at the air and stood perfectly still, as if maybe by holding still, I wouldn’t see it. It stood that way for a long, long time.

I thought of screaming for help, but I didn’t feel like it. For the moment, I didn’t think about the upcoming winter or about the good of the community. I thought only of myself and how I understood more about the greens than anyone else and how I could get back at my brother by letting one go free. Checha tugged my sleeve and with her other hand held her cup like a pillow against her tummy. She grimaced and looked alarmed.

I pulled her away from the cages. “It’s okay,” I said. “It won’t hurt us. Will you?” I asked. I could have kicked it if it tried to hurt us. I was bigger and knew a lot more about how a green was made than it knew about me. I had studied them inside and out and knew not only where their vital organs were located, but also what they tasted like in a broth.

The green crouched. I thought maybe it was injured, but then it snapped to attention and its legs started moving and in another second it was out of the cage and racing from the barn faster than I’d ever seen one go. I latched the cage as Checha ran past me and after the escapee.

I had to follow. She cut across the knee-high meadow and ran toward the hole in the thatch border.

Checha disappeared from view, and I knew she’d left the community. There was plenty of light, and at the moment, I was more afraid of getting into trouble than I was of being outside the barrier. The brambles tore my skin and left scratches Mother would treat with a wormwood poultice. I would have to tell her something about how I got the scratches, so I started thinking up lies before it came to me that I could just say I was chasing after Checha.

The path was partially blocked by fallen tree limbs and boulders; I stumbled over the uneven ground and fell into a muddy crater. Something sharp cut through my leggings and dug into my skin, leaving me shivering with cold and a small wound to both body and pride. I picked myself up and picked my way another hundred meters until the path ended in a stand of deciduous trees. Brown and red leaves swirled inside the cool wind; the sound smothered Checha’s footfalls and I lost sight of her again until I caught a flash of something green. I headed toward that, with arms crossed above my head for protection in case I startled any nightbirds from the shadows.

At the edge of the trees, the incline grew steeper and staring through the patchy clouds to the base of the plateau left me feeling ill. Checha clambered down and I followed but couldn’t keep up. I had never been this far away by myself. Looking upward from here, our community looked invincible.

I came within fifty paces of Checha when she disappeared and I imagined her tumbling down into an unreachable crevasse; I was so scared that I let out a shriek. My thighs were trembling and I needed to sit to calm myself and catch my breath. I noticed a dark spot hidden in the shadows just off to my left. The dark spot looked shiny, different in texture than the surrounding rocks. A cave, I thought, and made my way to the cave mouth where I scooted through a glassy rock tube that led to a crawl space lined in jagged rock. In a while, my eyes adjusted enough to pick my way down larger room. I stood, and leaned into the cave walls for balance. The rock was cold and moist and slimy and there was an eerie sound like a breath forced into a tin cup. Light streamed through a large crack in a rock some twenty meters away. I took tentative steps forward until I was standing in wet sand at the edge of a mud-scented pool.

I was cold and my fingers were numb. I heard an echo and noticed a shape that was certainly our green, stooped over by the water. Its head was partially immersed and its arm skimmed the surface until it came up with something in its fist.

I moved closer and saw Checha crouched only two body-lengths away from the green. The green shoved its fist to its mouth and made wild animal eating noises as it swallowed. Dark stuff dripped from its chin and body. I couldn’t help myself and started to laugh. What an animal!

The green paid us no attention. It just stood there, stooped and shoving in food. After a while, my laughter calmed; I watched it and remembered what it felt like to be hungry.

Sated, the green stood up. It looked at Checha, who was smiling, and then it looked at me. When our eyes locked, I stopped smiling. I couldn’t tell if it had actual thoughts—if it was trying to figure out what to do—or if it was just frozen with fear. Being frozen with fear seemed like a good plan when you didn’t have another. I wanted the green to be afraid because that might mean that I wasn’t. My perspiration smelled sour, like it belonged to someone else, and I licked a salted drop of sweat from my lip.

It’s smaller than I am, I told myself, but at the moment, this didn’t feel all that comforting. We stared each other down until my eyes began to burn and I had to blink and look away. The green jumped into the water and disappeared inside its splash. The waters stilled and I saw a shadow rise then fall on the other side of the pond.

I was happy it had escaped. At the same time, I felt guilty. The green had been injured and would probably die. What a waste.

Checha whimpered.

“Don’t worry,” I signed. I slipped my arm through hers. Her hair smelled of smoke and flowers; the pleasant scent left me smiling, forgetting about the cold and pain in my leg. “Let’s go home.”

A wind streamed past and it brought out the stink of old droppings. I couldn’t see clearly to the far side of the water, but I heard coughing and smelled something wet and dirty and suspected that several greens lie in hibernation just out of sight. Their scent did not protect their hiding place. I wondered if my smell marked the places I had been or if I was the kind of animal who left no traces.

I tugged on Checha’s arm to make her follow me. She dropped her tin cup and the noise made such a clatter, it made something inside of me shake loose and rethink everything I thought I already knew. Murky water slapped against the rocks like it was applauding my discovery. My legs began to tremble again.

Why couldn’t I eat what the greens ate, instead of eating greens? Why couldn’t all of us do so?

We knew little about their eating habits, despite the dissections. The greens we’d found were taken during their hibernation; I had never really gotten a good look at one with a full stomach.

A sense of wonder pinched me enough I hopped with excitement. I started to think about the green’s food like a scientist would think about it.

I scooped a hunk of pond scum to sniff and tried to think what it would taste like, but the foul smell left me gagging. It was thick and black and shiny, like a very fat dead worm, disgusting. I knew the greens’ digestive systems lacked the complexity needed to process toxins, so I touched it. The stuff was squishy and didn’t feel like any plant I could name. I couldn’t bring myself to take a taste.

The light was fading and I pushed away the intermittent bursts of terror that came over me like sudden bursts of wind. “We’d better go,” I said, and slipped my arm around her shoulders. I felt so happy that I hugged her tight and wouldn’t let her go.

I had never wanted to couple and have children. I wanted to invent or discover food and have people be grateful to me. Bearing children was a duty, but nobody was grateful that you did your duty. And anyway, I thought food much more interesting than males, no matter how much Mother and Father tried to shame me by saying that my interests would soon change.

Listening to a wind rush past my ears, I didn’t think about the future. I thought only about Checha and about greens and about how I had something I wanted to prove. Having twice lost my staring contest with a green, I didn’t want to eat any more of its kind if I didn’t have to. I closed my eyes and forced myself to taste the swamp stuff.

It was wretched, like rotten mud snake eggs. I didn’t throw up, but I wiped my tongue against my arm. A person would have to be starving to want to eat this, and none of us were starving now. Maybe the black stuff would taste better grilled. I bent to pick up Checha’s cup and scooped out a enough to bring to the community and begin my scientific experiments.

“Let’s get back,” I signed to Checha, worried about the approaching darkness. Checha slipped her arm through mine and smiled. She signed that I should be the leader.

I couldn’t wait to be back home and standing before the fire. Climbing up the rocks sapped my energy and left me hungry and weak. We were almost through the barrier when I heard a screech and felt the cool rustle of air at the back of my neck and looked up just in time to see a huge shadow—a nightbird flying toward me. Its path slowed as the brambles thickened until its movement was a slither more than a flight. Nightbirds were smooth and oily and better suited for negotiating through the barrier than were we.

I pushed Checha forward to save her, and when she turned to look, I signed that she should go ahead, and hurry. She saw the nightbird, hesitated, but ran after I begged that she should do so. She knew that I was right, that only one of us should face the danger, that only one of us should risk a life to save the other.

I picked up a rock and held my arms up the way Leader Ben had taught and turned to face my attacker. Its wingspan spread, vast and dark, covering my vision like a dark cave. A fetid scent wafted from its talons. The last of the light outlined its head and made it stand out from the night. Its beak was open and its hard tongue stuck part way out, ready to eat my flesh. My terror kept me from running.

There wasn’t space to maneuver the way I wanted, but I swung the rock upward just as the nightbird was about to attack. There was a crunch, then a screech—I had hit it in the skull. The nightbird retreated, but something sharp tore into my back of my hand and for a moment, I couldn’t tell if I had been bitten or just scratched.

I turned and scrambled through the barrier and into the safety of the community. The torches were lit and our absence had been noticed. Checha frowned when she saw my hand. She touched it gently, but I was worried that she might become infected with whatever poison the nightbird had injected into me, and I pushed her hand away.

She looked hurt.

“I don’t mean it that way,” I said, and let her know what I was feeling.

She nodded, understanding, and held my hand.

We hid Checha’s cup beside the woodpile and hurried to our quarters. I decided to tell mostly the truth, which was easier than thinking up a good lie. My brother sharpened his knife and held it as he looked at me in a way meant to be menacing.

“What happened?” Mother asked. She rushed up and looked at my hand.

“A nightbird,” I said. My hand throbbed.

Father told my brother to go bring Checha’s parents while Mother rounded up the council. Father gave me a bowl of cold broth. “Sip this,” he said, “and I’ll be back with Healer Elysa.”

I was starving and ate, but didn’t call attention to myself by asking for more.

With everyone there, Father asked me to tell everyone where we had been. I left a few things out, like the hidden cave, and also made it sound like we got to the barn just as the green was escaping. When I told how I had fought with the nightbird, Ty laughed out loud and came close enough to pat me on the back.

“Good for you,” he said. “I never knew you had it in you.”

I pulled away from his touch.

As I had expected, Checha did not get in trouble and since I only went after her for protection, neither did I.

“But listen, Miranda,” Father said. “Something like this happens again, you call out so that we can hear and know where you’ve gone. It’s not safe going out there so close to nightfall. We won’t be able to rescue you if you get lost. Promise me you’ll call if this happens again.”

“Okay,” I said. “I promise.”

The council talked about the loss of the green and how that might affect our community.

Mother said, “I can’t help but worry. Even though only one is missing. The greens are fewer in number this season.”

“Lucky for us all that there are so few of us to feed,” said Leader Ben. He stared at me, a sour gaze in his eyes, like he wouldn’t have minded even one less belly to fill.

Checha’s mother asked about the plans for the Springtime expedition.

“I know you’re lying,” whispered Ty the moment the others were distracted by their talk. “I know that you were up to something bad.”

Leader Ben stepped between us. “She’s not for you,” he said, more to me, I suspected, than to Ty. “She’s small and weak and you can do better. For the sake of the community.”

Healer Elysa pushed him away. “I’d better take care of that hand,” she said. The skin was now swollen and blue. “It looks bad, but I think it’s only a scratch and not a bite,” she said, peering at the wound. Her expression didn’t show enough worry to frighten me, and I relaxed under her touch.

She checked my pulse and felt my forehead with the back of her hand. “There’s pain, but you’re not sick enough for a bite,” she said. “No need for worry.” She sent her apprentice back to her quarters for some medicine. “Just in case, you should rest for a while,” she said. “Save your energy for healing.”

· · · · ·

TO KEEP MEAT FROM FLIES: Make some sacks of muslin (note, substitute soaked bearded moss if muslin unavailable) and into this put whatever meats you may have, tie up tightly, and hang in a cool, dark place. Another good method is to hang the meats in a stove which is not used during the summer months and one that is attached to the chimney. Many families line their stoves with paper and put a bar across and on this bar hang their meats. The fresh air coming down the chimney always preserves their flavor, and also keeps them well protected from flies.

· · · · ·

The next morning, I woke up feeling good, a little sore, but strong and ready to begin my experiments. I unwrapped the bandages and pinched and pulled at the scab to keep up the swelling. The new pain brought tears to my eyes, but kept quiet and nobody saw me. I didn’t want anyone to think I was well enough to work. I needed time to work on my experiment. I replaced the bandage and let out a moan.

“How do you feel?” Mother asked, checking on my cot. She carried a bowl of blood porridge.

“A bit tired,” I said. I kept my eyes closed and she and the others left to eat their morning meal. I stared at the black porridge and it reminded me of green’s food. I wouldn’t have eaten except that my body needed nourishment.

When the others left, I sneaked over to the cold room, against the back wall, where I doubted anyone would interrupt. I decided to call the greens’ food “shine.” I poured thin layers of shine into tins and kept them warm with meadowstraw wrapped with fur. The first batch died on Day Two. It might not have been technically dead, but it was starting to smell even worse than when I found it. In any case, it hadn’t reproduced.

I knew that I would need to fetch another batch to continue my experiment.

That night, Healer Elysa steeped me medicinal tea and changed my bandages.

“Funny that it’s taking so long to heal over,” she said with a smile.

“What are these herbs?” I asked. “How do they work?”

“So curious,” she said. “You would make a good healer.”

I shrugged. Just because I wanted to know how things worked didn’t mean I wanted to be a healer. I drank my tea, hoping it wasn’t obvious that my wound was open and sore from my scratching.

Mother approached and asked, “How is she?”

“She needs more rest,” Healer Elysa told Mother, so they left me alone.

· · · · ·

FRAGMENTS: We suggest first, that you never throw away even a crumb of bread but save it and put with other pieces; if you have a loaf about to mold, cut in thin slices, place all together in a dripping pan and set in oven to dry, and you will find that when pounded and rolled it will be very nice for dressing, stuffing, puddings, griddle cakes, etc.

To economize the scraps left from boiled greens, chop fine, add some of the fat also chopped, and put in a baking plate, first a layer of bread crumbs, then a layer of mixed fat and lean, then another layer of crumbs, and so on till all is used, putting a few bits of fat over the top; pour over it a little water, or a dressing of some kind, and set in oven till a nice brown. This is delicious for breakfast, or for a “picked up dinner.”

· · · · ·

I waited for harvest chores and made sure that my brother was helping grind seeds before sneaking away. I borrowed Mother’s heavy fur cape and felt invulnerable, protected by the layer of hide. I rushed breathless through the trees and climbed to the rocks to look for the cave. The shadows had changed from my last visit and nothing looked familiar. I stumbled around, looking for the cave. I was ready to give up when I saw the entrance to the tube.

I made my way inside. The breeze blew colder here than the last time. My fingers grew so numb I dropped my containers twice and had to start over.

When I had finally scooped out enough shine I turned back and wriggled up the lava tube. A dark shadow blocked my exit. I held my breath and stood still, hoping it would go away. The shadow moved and I asked, “Is somebody there?”

My brother’s voice answered, “Just me. Ty. Move over. I’m coming down. You can show me around.”

That same shaky feeling that I had felt when I first discovered the shine was back. Only this time, it didn’t feel exciting, it felt bad.

I backed up, trying to think of the lie that would make it seem like this cave wasn’t worth exploring. Before I could come up with one, my brother’s hand gripped my shoulder and he pushed me back. I fell and bruised my tailbone against a rock.

“I didn’t know this was here,” said my brother. “How did you find it?”

“It’s Checha’s cave,” I said because while my brother was not afraid of me, he didn’t know what to make of my best friend. “She won’t like you being in here,” I said and my brother started to laugh. It was a mean laugh; he didn’t sound happy.

“How’s she going to know if you don’t tell her?” he asked. “Besides, what’s in here you don’t want me to see?”

I did not want him to discover the cave was used by greens. “Nothing. Let’s go back.”

Ty pulled me up from the ground. He wrapped an arm around my neck, so I had to go with him to explore the contours of the cave in the dim light. The walls glistened and hummed with the echo of wind. I began to choke until he loosened his grip.

“What do you and Checha do here when nobody is around?” Ty asked. He stopped moving and shoved me against the hard cave wall.

I spat on him. “Leave me alone,” I said.

He wiped his face and brought his face close to mine. “Why do you hate me?” he asked. “You always have. Since the day when I came.”

I hadn’t always hated him; it was more that I had never loved him. “Leave me alone,” I said.

He pressed himself against me and reached beneath my cape to squeeze my nipple so hard it hurt. “You’re too small, anyway,” he said. “All you do is take away from the community. Leader Ben says you probably won’t even be able to breed.”

I didn’t want to breed. There were better ways to bring a future to our community. “Good,” I said. “Because I would rather die than mate with you.”

His face twisted ugly and he mashed his lips against mine. He smelled bad, like something rotten. I brought my fist up to my shoulder and used my elbow to hit him with enough force that he took a step backward and rubbed his chin. My stomach hurt and I felt like throwing up. I heard something faint—a growl, or maybe a snore—from the other side of the murk pond in hibernation.

“No!” I screamed, afraid he would discover the lair of greens. My scream must have startled my brother because he turned around suddenly to look and lost his footing and fell back against the slippery rocks.

For once, Ty was silent.

He was big and had fallen with a lot of force. “Ty!” I screamed. “Say something.” When he didn’t answer, I wondered if he was dead. I listened for his breathing but felt no sense of relief to hear him take in air and let out a soft moan. More likely, he was only suffering from concussion. I touched the back of his head and a warm trickle washed my fingers, but the gash was shallow and his skull intact.

I could not help but hate him. I might have been little but I was big enough to crush a rock against his skull and leave him alone to die.

I crouched down beside him and hoisted up the biggest sharpest rock I could fit in both hands and lifted that rock high above my head and thought about all the times he had hurt me and all the mean things he had done and how much better I liked the greens than I liked him.

If I let Ty live, he’d tell the others where to find the greens. If I let Ty live, he might try to touch me again. I didn’t want anyone to touch me like that, unless it was Checha.

Ty’s eyes were closed. He couldn’t talk his way out of anything. He couldn’t hurt me, and knowing that made me happy.

I remembered how that one green with the blackened tail had stared me down, as if to talk its way out of dying. I had cared about the life of that green more than I now cared about the life of my brother.

“I’m sorry,” I said, clutching the rock so hard it cut into my palms. “I’m sorry,” I said, louder, but I couldn’t move. A foul scent wafted across the murk pond and hit me full on.

“We all do what we have to for survival,” my father had said. I understood him now.

Anger hurt more than the scratch of a nightbird. I gritted my teeth and brought down the rock as hard as possible, missing my brother’s ear by a centimeter. When the rock crashed against another rock the force sent sharp pains back through my wrists and I shouted loud in pain enough to wake the dead.

My brother moaned and I threw the rock as far to the other side of the water as I could. I heard the scratchy cry of a newly-roused animal. I threw another rock and then another and relief washed through me as many of the greens awoke and stampeded away. I mourned for any who might remain. I didn’t want them dead, no matter how desperate the times, but there was one thing worse than being responsible for the death of greens.

If I didn’t go for help, Ty could die. I cared not for his sake but could not let his flesh and blood go to waste when my people were starving. I had no choice but to save him. For the good of our community. How we cared for each other was our only proof that we were different from the animals.

I used my cape to cover him, tucking a corner beneath his head for a pillow. I looked at him, hating him, helpless though he was. “May our community thrive,” I said, and started back home to fetch help.

The End

Author’s Note: Recipes adapted from Dining Room and Kitchen, Revised Edition, An Economical Guide in Practical Housekeeping for the American Housewife by Mrs. Grace Townsend, Home Publishing Co., Copyright by Mrs. Grace Townsend, 1894.

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