Hunger and Thirst

by Wightman, Wayne

  “You can also call through the page,” the counselor said. “Make an appointment anytime. But you will let me know either way?”

  Catrin nodded.

  Landis and Catrin left the six-story office, ashamed to be seen, ashamed to have sat down with one of those people. But the sidewalks were nearly empty, and the few who were out seemed focused on their own thoughts.

  “The kids were good,” Landis said gloomily. “You were good,” he said to the older one, Porter, who was nine, dark-haired and without expression. Porter didn't have expressions.

  “Porter's good because he's dumb,” Katie-Ann said. She was five, expected to be irresponsible. Katie stiff-walked, her imitation of Catrin, lowered her voice and said, “Porter is a goood boy!” In her normal voice she muttered, “He's just dumb.”

  Catrin fluttered her fingers at Katie-Ann's mouth, the family signal for unquestioned silence.

  With the children, they moved slowly. Halfway home, Landis carefully removed two carrots from his jacket pocket. He broke one in half for him and Catrin and the other in half for the children, giving Katie-Ann the slightly larger piece. They ate as they walked.

  ....

  That night, in bed, in the dark, the children between them from the cold, Catrin said, “We had a car, a bright white car, and we drove and drove, anywhere we wanted. Sometimes we drove for days.”

  “We had a garage,” Landis said, “with a door that came up when I pushed a button. I had a bicycle. I could ride like the wind!”

  They had begun “memories,” a recitation everybody did, to remember the old days, the normal days, the slow luxury of past summer days or the cozy warmth of long ago winters. Even dull routines were recalled with aching nostalgia.

  “...coasted three miles downhill and it was like flying. But then I had to walk the bike back up. I was so tired!” —the unheard-of luxury of tiredness from fun.

  “I had twenty-nine pairs of shoes,” Catrin said. “Red ones and some glow-in-the-dark red ones, and fancy blue shoes, and a pair of black heels that almost weren't there. I would sometimes wear five pairs in one day.”

  The children twitched in their sleep. Catrin slowly inhaled and breathed out.

  Landis stared toward the water-stained ceiling and thought of life without Porter. How much would he miss him? And Catrin? Could she let him go?

  The food allotment they'd get would last till spring, and then their garden would have something. Katie-Ann wouldn't be hungry all the time.

  ....

  Porter had been born a year after those people had come out of the woodwork and started doing things their way. He was born with his eyes open. He rarely cried, rarely fussed, never demanded. They thought of him as a good child. One late day they understood he would never talk to them, never give them the slightest clue who it was in there, but he was a good son, and there was nothing else to say.

  The winter that Porter turned seven, those people took pity and dropped bundles of condensed food into the neighborhoods, wrapped in easy-to-see orange plastic. Unfortunately, during the preceding week, a pack of dogs had showed up in the area, six or seven scarred and scabby mongrels. When the parcels began falling out of the sky, they and their remaining neighbors came out on their porches to watch the dogs run frantically from one package to the next, savaging them, shredding the packing and slinging the food powders across the dirt where they spun and clawed and growled ferociously at each other, threatening to kill.

  One untouched package lay twenty yards from where Landis and his family watched in horror as the dogs sentenced them to more starvation. Porter walked from around the back of the house toward the ten-pound parcel, toward the snapping, snarling pack.

  Landis and Catrin knew not to shout at him and draw the dogs' attention. They held their breath, they held each other. Several of the dogs paused in their destruction, saw that a human boy was walking toward one of the parcels, and then continued their own shredding and slinging. Porter handed the package to Catrin as Landis hustled them all inside the house and locked the doors.

  “You were so brave!” Catrin said to Porter. “Do you think he knows what he did?” she said to Landis.

  “It was wrapped in orange. He likes bright colors.”

  Catrin knelt in front of him. “Porter...?” The boy's focus drifted aside. He gazed at her ear, his mouth slowly dropping slowly open.

  ....

  At breakfast, the morning following their visit the the induction agency, neither of them spoke till Katie-Ann said shrilly, “Is somebody mad?”

  They reassured her but neither could entirely fake anything through the glumness.

  Porter, next to Katie-Ann, sat in an open-eyed coma, as usual.

  “What do we eat?” Katie was in her shrill mode.

  “Keep your voice down,” Catrin said. “Vegetables, in just a minute.” Under her fingers, the small squash became a dozen disks, on which she sprinkled a dusting of protein powder, salted it, and warmed it in a skillet.

  Katie-Ann slapped the table with both hands. “I want it now!”

  “Don't embarrass yourself, Katie,” Landis said quietly.

  At the counter, Catrin paused. An ugly memory clouded her thoughts. She would never forgive herself, but if she had to, she'd do it again, the same way. Katie had been out of sorts for days and constantly complained of hunger. At meals, Catrin would bowl up the soup, then take half the solid pieces from Porter's and put them in Katie's. No one knew and Porter would never notice. It might have helped Katie a little. Catrin kept this to herself so only she would have to feel the guilt.

  ....

  “I had an airplane that would fly,” Landis said into the dark.

  “It was a very small airplane,” Catrin said, explaining to the warm children... to Katie, between them. “Maybe as big as your hands.”

  “It was much bigger. It was huge and it would fly so high, it could see the world.”

  “What happened to it?” Katie-Ann said, already moving into sleep.

  “One night, the moon was so beautiful, I got out my plane and let it fly to its home on the moon.”

  “To the moon?” she said in a liquid blur.

  “Someday, someone will find it sitting on the edge of a crater, a little dusty maybe, ready to come back for a visit.”

  “She's asleep,” Catrin whispered. “I don't know if I can do this. I don't think I can.”

  “It isn't just about us. Katie wouldn't be hungry all the time. We'd be doing it for her too. And....”

  “And maybe he could have a better life.”

  “Maybe.”

  “What the woman said... sounded mostly good. It's against the law there to hurt them.”

  “She says. I think those people do this to punish us,” he said. “Everything they've done hurts us. This is just another way.”

  “Does that change anything for Porter?”

  They were quiet for a bit. In the dark, they touched hands over the sleeping Katie. When they touched her, they felt her ribs.

  An hour later, sleepless, they left the children in the bedroom and sat in the kitchen and went over it every way they could think of. Eventually, they agreed.

  ....

  Landis was out before dawn, on his way to the induction agency with the decision. Catrin had kissed him and smiled and handed him a piece of bread to eat on the way. Both were sure what to do, and now she and Landis just wanted the formal decision reported back, and to get this over with and behind them.

  Though the sun was full up when he arrived at the agency, it was still early, before seven. It didn't matter. Those people were always there, always ready to induct anyone at anytime. They probably never slept. The air in the building was crisp and odorless, the floors sanitized, and expensive nondescript artwork decorated the high walls. He hated anything to do with those people, but he appreciated the cleanness of the building.

  He asked for Olivia and was told she would see him right then, fourth floor— He knew the way.

&n
bsp; Her office was as big as his house and arranged like an expansive living room. Olivia, quietly glamorous, met him as he came in, perfectly at ease, seemed genuinely happy to welcome him.

  “I expected to see you today, Landis. Please.” She gestured to a comfortable chair that had a small tray of finger foods beside it. “Please, do help yourself. I know it was a long walk.”

  “We can't do it,” he blurted. “We don't know what you might do to him, so we can't do it.”

  “Just a moment, Landis. Let me get you some coffee.”

  With her back turned, he crammed cheese in his mouth, pushed in some little chunks of meat and dropped a handful of it into his coat pocket.

  She returned with a cup of coffee. “I thought you would like this.”

  He felt humiliated, chewing with his mouth crammed, right there in front of her. She tactfully turned her back to him and arranged some papers on a side table till he cleared his mouth. Those people, even when they did something decent, they made it hurt.

  “Porter is different,” he said. “We love him and he needs special care.”

  “Porter came in this morning about three hours ago. We've already inducted him.” She stood beside him and gave his shoulder two of the lightest pats. “That's why I knew you would come. Would you like anything in your coffee?”

  Landis could say nothing.

  “Whenever you're ready, we have an unmarked vehicle that will drive you and a three-month food supply back to your home.” She patted him shoulder again. “Let me know when you're ready.”

  “He's a kid—“ He was pleading; he didn't care; it was all he had left. “He needs permission. He needs my permission.”

  “No, Landis, he needs my permission.” Her smile was an understanding smile, reflecting his horror only as a mild regret.

  “Here,” she said, “take the tray. You can eat it on your way home.”

  He didn't know what he was doing.

  ....

  As they opened each box, Katie squealed and clapped her hands. There were several apples and oranges, some cold lettuce, bags and cans with beautiful labels, candy, more powdered protein, and, in a separate box, an almost weightless box, there was a bright, new violin and bow, with an extra bridge.

  Katie gorged herself.

  Landis and Catrin ate and wept. Ate and wept.

  A Final Note

  With any project, I always wonder, “Where did I goof it?” “What am I not seeing?” With any book, I know there are answers to these questions. If you see something you think I should know about or correct, please let me know. Or if you have comments, my email is open. Let me know you exist.

  waynewightman@yahoo.com