Under the Stars

by Rebecca A. Rogers

  “All right,” I say to her, holding on tight to Mattie. I whisper to him, “What should we do?”

  Of course, he doesn’t respond.

  Malik walks up beside me. “I don’t know about you, but I want to check out the houses.”

  “Good idea.”

  Strolling beside some of the vendors, I can’t help but overhear murmured conversations. Some speak about, what I assume to be, other merchants in the market. Some speak about their families. But mostly, they speak about how low their supplies are, and they don’t know how much longer Legora will endure. If they’re already questioning this, then how long will the food and water last with all of us newcomers?

  Up on the hill, children play games on the main road. I’m guessing their parents are the people in the market. Where else can they work around here?

  Two wrinkled-faced women sit on one of the tiny porches, rocking in their chairs, knitting. They give us cold glares. Maybe because we’re more mouths to feed.

  Malik has found someone who will let us visit their house, so we can see what we’re in for. They’re hesitant on inviting strangers in, and I don’t blame them. But, eventually, Malik convinces them we’re harmless.

  Inside, everything is made of wood—the floors, the ceiling, the walls. Upon entering, the kitchen and living room are the first things we see. One wide, open space sits on the second floor, used as a sleeping area, I guess.

  Malik catches my eye and asks, “What do you think?”

  “It’s better than living as a nomad in the desert.”

  That comment seems to suffice.

  “Thank you for letting us look,” he tells the owner.

  When we’re in the street again, I bend over and say, “Mattie, look. You’ll be able to play with these kids soon.” He just stares at them like he’s never seen other children before. Or maybe he doesn’t want anything to do with them…

  “I know this is crazy, but you never told me your name,” Malik says.

  Had I not? “Oh, I’m sorry. My name is Andrina, but you can call me Andy. That’s what my family calls me. Well, just Mama.” I glance at Mattie. “He hasn’t spoken since our father died.”

  Malik’s eyebrows scrunch together. “I see.”

  “Yeah, it’s been kind of tough.”

  “You know I’m not gypsy-born, right?”

  I shake my head.

  He continues. “The gypsies found me as a baby, alone in the desert after my parents were killed by falling stars. They don’t know how I survived, but said it was definitely a miracle. A couple who couldn’t bear children adopted me as their own.”

  “That’s so awful about your family.” I shake my head slowly, in disbelief. “But it’s great they took you in as one of their own. I wondered why you had blue eyes. Most of the gypsies I’ve seen have brown eyes, and darker complexions.”

  He grins. “Now you know.”

  “Andy! Mattie!” Mama’s voice carries from down below us.

  “Up here, Mama!”

  She scrambles up the hill. “I have a job! I’m the newest jewelry merchant.” She kisses both my forehead and Mattie’s. “We’re going to make it after all.”

  I don’t want to mention the fact that produce and clothing might sell better than jewelry. I’m not sure anyone is in dire need of necklaces and bracelets.

  Faking a smile, I say, “That’s great.”

  “We’ll be assigned our new home in a couple of hours.”

  I forgot about Malik standing off to the side. “Oh, Mama, did I ever introduce you to Malik? He’s the boy who lives with the gypsies.”

  “Nice to meet you, Malik. I remember you.” She warmly smiles at him.

  “Same to you,” he says. “Andy, I’ve got to find my own family and see what news they have. I’ll see you tonight?”

  “Yep.”

  He waves over his shoulder, then disappears in the marketplace.

  Mama bumps my arm. “He’s cute. Future husband material?”

  I groan. “No. I’m not thinking about a husband yet. You know that. Why can’t we just be friends?”

  “Mmm. If you say so.” She grasps Mattie’s hand, leading him through the village filled with happy children and inexpressive homes, with the bland smell of the desert sand hanging thick in the air, reminding us of our places.

  13.

  Sure enough, within a couple of hours, all the new recruits are settled into their new abodes. The only possessions any of us have are the clothes on our backs. Everything that had our name on it was demolished during the falling stars incident, including the baseball cap that was Dad’s. So, there’s nothing to move in. Furniture is already supplied.

  “Once I start this job, we’ll be able to buy food,” Mama says, standing in the doorway of our new wood-paneled house.

  “I’m sure we’ll get by until then.”

  She meanders toward the couch and plops down. Its cushions are picked apart, and the white-cotton filling pokes out in assorted places. I don’t like it. In truth, I think the grey is bland, as if it’s there to remind us nothing in our lives will ever be majestic.

  “Come sit,” Mama orders.

  There’s yet another piece of furniture that’s wooden in the room—a coffee table.

  “I think I’m going to find Malik,” I say to escape the mundane walls and rat-eaten furniture.

  “Okay, honey.”

  Most of the children have resorted to the comfort of their own home, most likely eating dinner at this hour. A few have congregated in the middle of the dirt road, repeating the stories of old.

  The moon is just above the edge of the endless desert, intimidating us with its insipid face. I’ve only heard what happened because of wagging tongues. People like to gossip. Stories are passed down through generations. But the white sphere has been in that same exact region of the sky for as long as I can remember.

  Supposedly, years ago, when the world was vaporized by military weapons, the layer surrounding Earth was nicked in certain areas due to the toxic air. I’m still unsure as to why the moon hangs so low in the night sky, but I know the atmosphere was affected, too—hence broiling days and arctic nights.

  “What are you doing?”

  I’m caught off-guard. Malik stands shoulder to shoulder with me, his hands buried in his pockets.

  “Wondering how the moon came to be so close to us,” I reply.

  As the second tick by, we’re both eerily quiet.

  “I’ve heard different stories. None of them are even close to each other,” he says.

  “Yeah, same here. Do you think, maybe, our world will ever change?”

  He turns his full attention to me now. “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, could we go back to the way things were before the wars? What if everything was peaceful again? What if we didn’t fear the creatures or the weather?”

  A short breath slips across the tip of his teeth. “Not sure.” He glances at me out of the corner of his eye. “Although, I’d like to imagine one day the world will be in harmony.”

  I agree. I can see large houses lined up and down streets, back to back, picturing a world where vagabonds don’t exist because the law prohibits them. Where everyone will have three meals a day, and watch their kids and grandkids grow.

  I sigh.

  Malik takes the opportunity to speak. “So, did you and your family get settled in?”

  “Yeah, I’m still not too impressed with the housing. But it’s not like I can complain. I mean, we could still be out there somewhere.” I motion toward the vast desert outside the city’s walls.

  Malik raises his eyebrows in a duh way.

  “Okay, okay. I get it. It’s not so bad,” I admit. “I’ll just have to get used to living here. It’s different, ya know?”

  “It is.”

  We gaze at the moon for an uncertain amount of time. Questions whip through my head: Were we really meant to live here? Will we have to pick up and move again soon?

  I don’t a
ctually see this place as where I want to spend the rest of my life. It’s like one of those strange feelings you get when you just know you don’t belong somewhere.

  “Will you be attending the meeting?” Malik asks, pulling me away from my thoughts again.

  “What meeting?”

  “They’re holding one for all citizens tomorrow night. Funding, supplies, housing talk. I’m pretty sure it’s mandatory.”

  “Doesn’t sound like I have a choice, then.”

  He grins. “No, I guess not.” Staring toward the inner city, he says, “I need to go home. My parents will wonder where I am. Can’t be out when the cold sets in.”

  “Ah, yes. The inevitable cold.” I sock him lightly in the arm. “See ya.”

  “Bye.”

  My eyes stay glued to his back as he disappears into the maze of brown tent-stands, chatty people and sand-colored walls.

  Well, that didn’t last long. Now what am I going to do with my time?

  A leisurely walk through the confusing bends and curves of the city ought to do it. Anything to stay away from home right now. I just can’t be there.

  Whispers coil through the air, spiraling from ear to ear, gushing about provocative subjects and timid plans. Is everyone worried Legora won’t remain a major refuge? Even though I hear the psssts and the prickly edge of words, I can’t pin down the exact lines. But the tone is disheartening, negative almost.

  Most of the people in the market have packed their goods and gone home for the night. None of the fresh produce would withstand the darkness, anyway.

  I wander freely, hoping I don’t become stiff if I’m hit with icy air. A few lanterns are lit inside the homes on the hill, but the atmosphere, the leaky tents, the guards—all deathly still.

  Back home, I explain to Mama what Malik said. She carries on about how she didn’t realize they have town meetings here, and wonders what will happen.

  “I’m sure it’s nothing too major,” I say, trying to keep her calm. She seems to be worked up over nothing.

  “But what if they tell us we have to pay? We don’t have a penny to our name.”

  I almost giggle. I don’t know why this is amusing to me. Hands on hips, I say, “Mama, you can ask ‘what ifs’ until your jaw cracks, but they won’t get you anywhere. Tomorrow we’ll know.”

  “Yes. Tomorrow.” She stares off.

  I take a seat beside her on the dingy couch, wrapping my arm around her shoulders. With a firm squeeze, I tell her everything’s going to be all right. Somehow, I almost believe it.

  14.

  The next day, unvarying rumors are on the tips of tongues.

  But in the meantime, Mattie and I are bored out of our freaking minds while Mama’s at work. There isn’t a school for the children to attend. I’m too old to play hop scotch and jump rope in the streets. Mattie doesn’t indicate that he wants to play with the other kids; he just clings to my side like we’re glued at the hip.

  “I think they have her in a room making jewelry, so she can sell it later,” I tell him, which means I’m basically talking to myself.

  “I wonder what Malik is doing,” I continue. “He’d keep us company.”

  With the sun burning down on us, Mattie and I move to the shade. It’s cooler, but there’s a skeletal coat of sweat on my skin. In the distance, there are several new caravans arriving outside the city’s walls. Guards leisurely stroll up to the carts, checking for symbols.

  “Look, Mattie, more neighbors,” I say, pointing toward the newcomers. “How many people can this town hold?” It’s already crowded as it is. How will they afford to let more people reside here?

  I see the old man decorated in rags from head to toe ramble on with his usual lecture. Some of the citizens pay attention. Others go about like they can’t hear a word he says.

  Climbing up the hill is Malik. He greets us with a bright smile. “I suppose you saw the new people.” It wasn’t really a question.

  “I did notice them,” I answer.

  I can feel his eyes gliding up and down my face. “You worried about that meeting tonight?”

  I frown. “Not really. Mama is, though. She freaked out when I told her.”

  Malik chuckles a little. “What for?”

  “She has no idea what it’s about. I think that’s what scares her the most.” I tilt my head toward him. “What about you? Can you predict what’ll happen? Gypsies are known for their fortune telling.”

  “Ah, they are. Too bad it’s not genetic for me.”

  Like that wasn’t the crappiest thing I could’ve said. “S-Sorry. I didn’t mean—”

  Malik waves a hand at me, cutting me off. “Don’t worry about it.”

  “Do your parents—do they have jobs now, too?”

  He nods, staring off toward the new recruits. “Mother’s in tailoring. Father’s in pottery. I can see my mother creating clothes, but I’m not so sure my father can produce symmetrical pots.”

  I laugh at that.

  In the not so far distance, stars explode when they hit the ground. Malik spots where my eyes follow.

  “Don’t worry about them. We’re safe now,” he says softly.

  “How can you be sure?”

  “You can’t see it, but there’s a protective barrier around Legora. Don’t know how they do it, but it’s there. Defends us against falling stars and creatures. The King and his government are the ones who invented it.”

  I jerk my head in his direction. “The King?”

  “The King of the New World is what they call him. They say he lives far away, and only the best transportation can get you there. They say his palace withstood the wars years ago, and there’s gold as far as the eye can see.”

  I roll my eyes and cough. “Surely you don’t believe that.”

  “One can dream, right?”

  “Yes, I believe we can all dream.”

  That night, the town meeting is held. We gather in a shop near the outskirts of Legora’s walls. Every family—including the new arrivals—is there. The building is crammed with people, all the way to the door. No seats are left. Mama, Mattie and I stand in the rear, leaning against the wall.

  “When are they starting?” I ask.

  “Probably when everyone gets here,” Mama says.

  On cue, the guards signal to the creepy rag-man at the podium that all the citizens have attended.

  “Ladies and gentlemen of Legora,” the aged man begins, “it seems we have one major issue to discuss tonight. After I make my speech, I am open to any questions you may have.

  “To start, I’d like to welcome all new citizens.” He extends his hand toward the audience.

  Clearing his throat in one rattling cough, he continues. “It has been brought to my attention that not enough business passes through Legora to gain the wages you all need. That includes supplies. With the new citizens hired, the rest of you suffer reduced wages. However, we are trying to work through our records so each and every one of you can provide for your families.”

  I lean closer to Mama. “Is he saying what I think he’s saying?”

  Her eyes are wide. “Quiet, dear. I need to hear this.”

  Biting my tongue is hard. I want to storm out. If he’s alluding to the fact that we don’t have enough money to support the community, then why the hell are we here?

  “Furthermore,” he continues, “if anyone has thoughts or ideas as to how we can fix this minute problem, then I am open to suggestions.” He scans the crowd. “Anyone?”

  Mama raises her hand.

  “Yes?” He motions toward her.

  “What—” she starts, but has to speak up. “What if we can’t figure out a solution? What then?”

  Whispers hang heavily in the air, erupting across the building.

  “All right. Quiet. Quiet.”

  The room stills.

  “If we cannot raise enough money to afford everyone the comfort of living here, then we will have to seek relief elsewhere.”

  “Where?” s
omeone yells, though I can’t tell which part of the room the voice came from.

  “The King.”

  More stifled conversations.

  A middle-aged man close to the front stands from his bench and asks, “What will the King do? He’s never cared about us. How many times have we tried this with him?”

  A chorus of “yeahs” rises to the rafters.

  “And each time it’s the same,” the man continues. “Each time he says he can’t help us, and we’re left to fend for ourselves.”

  The old man on the stage grins like he doesn’t believe a word the younger man says. Is it true? Does this King not give a damn about the rest of us?

  Once the citizens settle down, the weathered man speaks again.

  “We will only ask for the King’s favors as a last resort. I want to encourage all of you to keep up the good work. Until then, we’ll survive like we always have. Thank you for coming out tonight.”

  He steps away from the podium and strolls down the aisle like he didn’t just drop a bomb the size of a falling star.

  When he’s out of the building, the crowd explodes into an uproar. People stand and argue with one another. Some sit quietly, as if they’re thinking only to themselves.

  “You heard the man,” Mama says, pushing Mattie and me toward the exit. “We’ll have to make do until something is figured out.”

  “Are you listening to yourself right now? Do you realize how hard this is going to be? If we can’t raise enough money and sell enough goods, then we’ll run out of money. They might kick people—families—out of Legora. Then where will we go?” I rant.

  “Hush, Andy. Don’t make this harder than it already is.”

  Mama continues ushering Mattie toward the housing area. I’m frozen in place. My feet won’t move. I was once excited at the prospect of living in a town where all the amenities were available, within our reach. Presently? I’m not so sure Legora is all it’s cracked up to be.

  15.

  Buzzing swarms collide with the protective barrier around Legora. I listen to the constant humming of large, angry insects, eventually lulling myself to sleep.

  16.

  Mama wakes bright and early; the sun hasn’t yet peeked at the world. I grumble, pulling the thin blanket closer to my chin, and roll over. The door creaks closed behind her when she exits.