by R. K. Gold
"I don't want a drink. I want to play." Yael grabbed the die again and dropped two more dimewons. Her stomach dropped with the coins, leaving a hollow sensation in her chest. The copper pieces clinked on the ground and were followed up by a percussion of coins slapping the street afterward. The coin purse on her side was still full, but she couldn't come backlight. Ms. White would know Yael took earnings from her garden. Ms. White didn't have to look after her. She had multiple opportunities to let Yael go in the past. Still, the monthly coin purses seemed to always make the decision easy for her. If Yael started costing Ms. White more money than she brought in, it would only be a matter of time before she was back in the system, most likely in a group home in Wydser.
“Then roll.” Jomi matched her bet, and once again, everyone split up the winnings except Yael when she rolled a twelve.
“You got the hot hand. I think you should roll again.” Jomi grinned, and Yael clenched her jaw. She grabbed the die even though her muscles tensed, and a pinching sensation squeezed her spine. She tossed two nickdems and two dimewons in the center, and Toni chuckled as he matched the bet. Yael managed to roll a four as everyone else made their bets. The pressure in her temples eased for a moment. She could do this. She could hit another four and win back everything she had lost so far on this next roll. Her eyes went to the pot. If she lost four more dimewons, that would be at least a week’s worth of food gone.
Seven.
“Crap!” She slapped the street.
“All right, I think I’ll bail you out.” He took the die before she could snag them. Jaja came outside with a drink for Yael and shook his pocket, so the coins clanged. He giggled when he turned away.
Yael gripped the bottle tightly. She could feel her pulse quickening in her fingertips. They went through four more rounds until Yael’s coin purse was under a quarter full. She felt nauseous, and the ground spun beneath her. A hot pressure squeezed her temples, and she wiped her eyes with the hem of her cotton poncho before any tears could fall. “Come on, we can’t keep taking your money all night. You should head home,” Jomi said.
“Sure, we can.” Jaja pressed the two dimewons he won from her over his eyes and stuck his tongue out.
“Why don’t you put those back up then?” Yael pushed her glasses up her nose. Despite it being dark out, she kept them on.
“Hey, if she wants to keep playing, I could use the money,” Toni added. He refilled his pipe, and over the flame from the match, she saw the freckles on his skin pop out like dark stars.
“Come on, go home. I promise I’ll give you a chance to win your money back soon.” Jomi brushed his hands off and led her away from the circle. She glared at Jaja, who scrunched his nose and made funny faces at her as they walked away.
“Here,” Jomi slipped her a whole Emerlia crown worth of dimewons and nickdems. Altogether, it made up around three-fourths of what she lost.
“What do you think you’re doin’?” Yael whispered. He had his back to the circle so no one could see.
“I know you need it.” He kept his eyes and mouth stiff. Yael knew he wouldn’t accept no for an answer and pocketed the coins in her purse. It still sounded muted compared to the sack she left the market with.
“Thank you,” she whispered, and Jomi pulled her in for a hug.
She walked uphill, passing all the neighboring homes. One wooden house with a black wrought-iron balcony had an enormous ticking clock on its second story. A young boy tinkered with a metal leg. His feet dangled over the gallery. He lifted his glasses and waved as Yael passed. The oil from lights by the corner store fizzed, and a four-man brass band played to a small group of people. They had a hat out for coins. The trumpet player came out to Yael and raised his horn beside her. He broke into a solo, and only the tuba kept up, feeding a steady four-beat bass.
Everyone stepped off the road as a single car rumbled over the stone street. Its front was a brass cylinder with a round chimney over its engine for the smoke to clear. The back had two black bucket seats and a wheel that rose to the driver’s face. Both passengers wore hoods and thick goggles. Little skin was exposed under their beige ponchos. It was one of only two cars Yael spotted that night. The other was parked on the side of the road and looked like two bicycles held together by a lawn chair. It had multiple brass vents behind the chair back on top of the brass box that housed the engine.
One street over, Yael saw a trail of smoke from the streetcar. Its headlight pierced the darkness of the night. The last of the factory workers were on their way home.
Her legs burned by the time she was halfway up the hill. The hens in the yards clucked. A single pig squealed as it ran in circles. Yael could see its face through the iron fence.
A man hung clothes on a line while his wife fed the children on the porch. They waved to Yael, but she could barely lift her head. The weight of the yelling to come from Ms. White pushed her down by the back of her neck.
She reached the top of the hill and saw lights on in the kitchen. The blue paint on the wooden house was chipped, and the porch had a single rocking chair on it. The lawn was ankle high, and the backyard was fenced off to keep the hens and vegetables protected. From the ledge, she could see the airship docks over the ocean.
She wasn’t surprised to walk inside and see Elias sitting cross-legged on a cushion. The front hall had a bookshelf and a green lounge chair, which only Ms. White sat in when she had her morning and evening coffee. A rectangular wooden box with three round speakers, two metal antennas, and a thumb-sized dial rested on the window beside the chair. The radio connected to a separate case with a crank that housed that battery.
Elias didn’t look up when Yael entered. He wore his baggy evening pants and a gray sleeveless shirt. Strands of black hair fell over his face from his loosely tied bun. A single lamp hovered over his work with a crank and palm-sized iron gear to wind it up whenever the lightbulb faded. Three candles were lit on the floor. Four books were sprawled around him as he skimmed the pages and took notes. His beige robe was neatly folded on the floor beside him.
All Yael wanted was to hide in her room before Ms. White could see her. Though it was barely big enough for her mattress, she had a clear view of the ocean. It was the only place she could go to be alone. The rest of the house had been transformed into Elias’ study and Ms. White’s garden with the kitchen serving as neutral ground.
She could barely use the lavatory without worrying about imposing on someone. Elias brushed a strand of hair from his face. His arms were skinnier than hers, and his chin jutted out like a root poking from the ground. He was studying to complete his level ones. If he passed, he could go to the University in Wydser and learn to be a judge. “They’re the ones with the real power,” he said over dinner after one of President Wendell’s evening addresses.
Ms. White was one room over in the kitchen, stirring a pot over the stove. It was a heavy cast-iron barrel with a vent and iron ring on top. The lanky blonde-haired woman looked up when the front door closed and came out, fanning herself. Beads of sweat sprouted from her face. Yael took a step towards her.
“Glasses in the bowl!” She pointed to the bowl next to the door. Yael removed her sunglasses as instructed and looked to the floor. “Did the mail come?” She turned back to the food. Yael stayed quiet. She knew there was only one piece of post Ms. White cared about, and it hadn’t arrived. The mailbox on the side of their house filled with yellow letters like cavities drilling holes in the debt they owed.
“Still no, huh?” Ms. White broke the silence. “What’s Wendell and the rest of the Nisset doing?” A pot clanged against the counter, and Yael wasn’t sure if it fell or if Ms. White smacked it. All she knew was for the second straight month, Ms. White’s government check for taking Yael in was late. For the second consecutive month, she was nothing but a burden.
“Oh well, what’d you earn?” She popped out of the kitchen again and extended a hand. Her wrinkles had darkened the past two months, and crow’s feet spread from the c
orners of her eyes. Yael dropped the coin purse in her palm. She weighed the bag and jingled it to her ear. Her mouth tightened, and she looked to the sacks slung over Yael’s shoulder. “Looks like you were robbed then.”
Yael stayed quiet. Her mind raced back to Jaja. He stole the basil and flaunted it in her face. It was his fault. If he hadn’t tripped her that morning and flashed his smug smile, she would’ve brought home all her earnings. Ms. White pocketed the change and turned back to the kitchen. Elias giggled. His head stayed buried in his books, but Yael knew his mind was elsewhere. In the dark room, under the harsh light of the lamp, the angles on his face sharpened. The back of his right hand had red and white spots down to his wrist. The sight always brought a lump to Yael’s throat. All he had to do was flash it in her face, and she’d remember yet another mistake she had made. His pointed nose stuck out like one of Jomi’s skinning knives.
“You have something to say?” A hot pressure pinched her temples.
"Robbed, huh? Sure, you weren't down by Lamb's shop?" He closed his book on trade law and leaned back on his hands. "Robbed of your luck?" He winced when Yael looked up at him. His eyes couldn't linger on hers. Freak. He may not have said it, but she could almost hear it in his thoughts. It wouldn’t have been the first time he thought it so loud, the insult penetrated her skull. When she first moved in, he physically shielded his face with his hands whenever she looked at him. In her first foster home, the caretaker said it was bad luck to look like the Mother.
“You don’t know what you’re talking about.” Yael grit her teeth.
Elias extinguished the flames and walked over to her. He floated through the darkness like the smoke from his candles. “Like Mom hasn’t sacrificed enough for you to steal from her.”
But that was it though; she wasn’t Mom to Yael. She opened the doors to her home when the country offered to pay, but now that they’ve been late two months in a row, and new skirmishes spread along the northern border, who knew if the payments would continue to come. Having Yael around allowed Ms. White to afford a home and have an unpaid employee at the market. If she became a burden, it was only a matter of time until the front door was locked.
It made her stomach twist in knots when she saw children running home after school into the arms of parents who wanted nothing more than to hold them. Yael ran a finger down her hooked nose, willing her tears to disappear before Elias noticed. She had no idea what happened to her father and assumed he died fighting in the war.
“If you want to head back to the capital, I’ll happily pay for the ticket. I mean, the last home you were sent to couldn’t have been that bad. Maybe you won’t be such a burden on them. No wonder your father left you.” He patted her shoulder and made his way towards the kitchen to help his mom, flashing the scar on his hand as he passed.
Yael’s heart raced. A pressure built in her temples, and each breath felt shallower than the last, like her lungs could only half fill. She spun around and grabbed Elias by the shoulder. He wore a smug grin as he turned around. The light from the kitchen carved his frame.
Her hand curled into a fist, and she brought it back, but before she could throw a punch, Ms. White yelled, “To the back!”
The sails that drove her fist fell limp, and Elias winked before turning away. Yael walked to the back without saying a word. She grabbed the feed and tended to the hens before picking spices for the following day. When she returned, Ms. White was setting the table. Elias sat with his book beside his food.
Only two plates were set while Ms. White poured herself a glass of wine. Yael sat opposite Elias, who looked up. His eyes were slits. Neither of them had much on their plate. It looked like they were splitting what little was in the kitchen, to begin with.
Elias started eating, and Ms. White sipped her drink. Yael couldn’t bring herself to lift her fork. “Have mine,” she whispered, and Ms. White scoffed.
“Don’t insult me with your food. Eat up.”
“Please—Please have mine.” Yael slid her plate towards her foster mom when Ms. White hammered her fist against the table. Yael flinched. She hadn’t seen Ms. White this angry since the fire. Her hand instinctively moved to her right wrist and ran her fingers along the web of indentations on her right forearm. The skin in the grooves where the scars healed were hairless and smooth. Yael had never used a stove before and knocked the iron ring loose. When the fire climbed the kitchen wall, she tried everything she could to put it out. She pumped water and batted the flames with her robe until they caught on fire and climbed up her arm.
“Help!” she screamed as the oil seeped from the pot, and flames erupted in the kitchen. She removed the metal ring because the pot was crooked. Ms. White had taken a nap with an ice cloth over her forehead. She’d been up nearly two days when little Yael tried to prepare dinner. The fire licked her forearm, and she fell from her stool, rolling on the ground. Elias sprinted into the room and helped his mother extinguish the fire before it spread.
"Gah!" He pulled back his hand. Ms. White couldn't stop to care for him as she tried to smother the fire.
The walls behind the stove took the worst of it. Their yellow paint turned black and chipped. When officers arrived an hour later, it was Ms. White who had to speak with them.
“It won’t happen again. It's my fault," Ms. White said and explained the situation.
“You didn’t have to take the blame.” Yael held her chin to her chest and pressed ice over her burned arm. Her eyes glistened with tears.
Ms. White shook her head and returned to the kitchen to clean up. “It’s always my fault. It has to be,” she muttered.
“I said, don’t insult me! It’s not my job to let a child suffer. If anyone goes hungry in this house, it will be me. If you’re feeling guilty, good. Don’t lose our money next time, but until then, do not insult me by even thinking for a second that I will eat while a child at my table doesn’t.” It was almost the same thing she said to Yael after taking the blame for the fire when the officers arrived.
Elias flipped his pages as Ms. White sipped her wine. Yael picked at the corners of her food. Her hands trembled as she raised the fork to her lips. Her tongue felt numb, and her mouth went dry. It was difficult to swallow, and she choked down her first bite.
"Don't get sick at this table. You're going to eat your meal, and you're going to keep it down." She finished her first glass, then went to the kitchen to turn on the radio. Yael stifled a cry. She took another small bite. The warmth from the vegetables burned her throat as a pit in her stomach grew.
“New skirmishes broke out on the northern border today, mere miles from the small town of Ashire. President Wendell ensures the country that peace is coming.”
“These attacks are isolated incidents, and their frequency is declining. It’s important now more than ever that we do not fall into the comfort of warfare. Fighting is all we have known for over ten years. If we want to build a new future, it starts with a new present.”
2
She packed more spices that morning to make up for the losses from the previous day. She secured over two crowns worth of merchandise before heading out. Elias was still asleep, which was for the best. His sneering face would linger like a stone in a sandal if she saw him. The words he spoke the previous night would only amplify in Yael’s mind. Ms. White was already in the back tending to the plants and animals but didn’t say a word.
She turned off Royal at the end of the hill and crossed the streetcar tracks just as it arrived at its stop. The red trolley slowed to a halt. White smoke rose from the round vent on its curved roof. The windows along the sides were slid open to let in the summer breeze.
“You know the rules, kid. No pass, no service.” Petey raised the tip of his cap. His thighs bounced on the swivel seat as passengers filed on.
“Come on, Petey. Just this once.” Yael pressed her palms together and pouted. The driver looked back at the rest of the passengers. Even the most alert riders looked half asleep with newspapers spread
on their laps, looking more like blankets than reading material.
“Maybe just this once, I can cover you. Had a bit of a lucky run last night.” He grinned and pulled out five pennies. Almost no one carried pennies on them except Petey for when he had to make change for tourists. Most riders preferred buying monthly passes for two nickdems.
Yael made her way to the back and sat alone on one of the benches. The backrest wiggled with the vibrations. The man to her right had his eyes closed. The hood of his poncho was down, and he wore thick black boots. Yael figured he was on his way to the factories on the city's border, just beyond the warehouse district. The sound of birds and brass vibrated in the air. A single drum hummed over the early morning silence, and as they rolled across Port Street, the music melted into the air.
She saw Jimo pushing a cart along the street and pulled the cord over her head, signaling the streetcar to stop. The cable buzzed, and she hopped out the back door before the car came to a full stop, nearly losing her footing on the uneven stone street.
“Careful!” Petey yelled. His oversized cap fell over his face as he swirled around.
Jimo spotted her immediately and smiled as she ran up. "How was Ms. White last night?" He lowered the cart and twisted his back until it popped. The sound of the horns grew louder, and Jomi pulled out a single nickdem.
“Don’t get me started on her.” She rubbed the back of her head and looked down at the coin. “Thanks again. I promise I’ll pay you back soon.” She pulled at the strings around her arm. They dug into her skin.
“It was your money anyway. You don’t have to worry about paying me back. Just don’t tell Toni. If he feels like he’s been cheated in any way, he’ll find a new game.” Jomi chuckled, and the two walked to the market together. The road turned right, and the hill declined.
The apartments lining the streets were loud with families just waking up. Infants wailed, and the clinking of pots and pans acted as a percussion for the growing volume of the brass instruments. The red stone structures were four stories tall with single windows in front of each unit and wrought-iron balconies. The windows had metal shutters with finger-width slits and a round glass peephole over the sliding doors. A woman slapped and fanned a rug on the second-story balcony while a red-haired man in a sleeveless shirt stepped outside with a cup of coffee and swept the front porch.
