by C A Gleason
“Heike, what are bird feet called?” Jonah said.
“Talons,” she said without hesitation.
“What about duck feet?”
“Um . . . webbed? Webbed feet.”
“That sounds right. Thanks.” Jonah and Doreen nodded to each other. “Your mom and I were trying to figure it out.”
“You’re welcome,” Heike said without taking her focus off the tree. “Whenever you want to know something, just ask me.”
The adults chuckled. Seemed a game was not on the agenda yet. Jonah had hoped Heike had a solitary one already underway so he might not have to partake. He liked playing games but not all the time, even though concentrating on something fun with those he loved was the best way to forget about all of what was going on outside, far beyond the walls of the cabin.
The holiday bells Jonah had used as a survival tactic years ago were being used appropriately, for the holiday they were meant for. Jonah had dragged the six footer inside days ago, and with it a million pine needles had scattered everywhere on the floor and somehow the couch. He’d even reached under his shirt the other night and pulled out a few while he slept.
The tree had some slight differences in its decoration since he’d inspected it last, although he couldn’t quite remember how it had been. Regardless, Heike had obviously decided to redecorate, moving the ornaments around the branches to appease her aesthetic. Seemed her arrangement from the previous night did not suit her. Her roommates were just fine with that. Gave her something to do that she enjoyed. They all enjoyed it, really, especially because they had music for the very holiday they were celebrating to go along with it, even though the actual day was still weeks away. There were presents under the tree already.
Presents around the holidays were mostly finds of value. Jonah had made it clear that he put any type of ammo or weapons on his figurative list. Tape was somewhat of a rarity, so if there were presents under the tree, they were often cleverly folded and then placed within the wrapping. Everyone knew to be careful when they picked up a present. Mostly they were unfolded as opposed to torn open. That way the wrapping paper could be saved in a marked bin for the next holiday or birthday.
Since Jonah had already obtained so many weapons and often went out to search for more, new weapons were more of a collection rather than necessity. He had so many that he had extra, and last year he had given Doreen a snub-nose revolver. Something she could access quickly if she needed for her own protection. While he was away. She had given him an antique grenade launcher in return. The idea that the weapons were wrapped just like any other present and placed under the tree was quite funny, in a way, but these were strange times.
Weapons had a beauty to them that Jonah could appreciate, especially guns from different eras, and he admired the craftsmen responsible for each design. Some from previous wars had gotten it right to begin with, and if he got backed into a corner, he would prefer one of them—like a .45-caliber pistol for instance—over most from the modern era.
“The tree looks nice,” Jonah said.
Heike’s head whipped toward him, rocking the ladder slightly. “You think so?”
“Careful,” Doreen said. “Don’t fall. You’ll topple the tree over, and then all of the ornaments will fall off too.”
Heike frowned. “Not all of them.”
“You should be closer. Safer that way.”
“I don’t like the needles on my arms. It feels too gritchy.”
“Gritchy isn’t a word.”
“It sounds like a word.”
“You can’t make up words.”
“You knew what I meant, though, right?”
“I suppose.”
Placing a hand on the wall, Heike carefully stood on her tiptoes and eased the ornament securely onto the branch. Then she descended to the last step on the ladder, exclaimed “Oh no,” then slowly took another careful step to the floor before performing a perfect flop onto the couch next to Doreen. She breathed in and out quickly, as if it were actually possible for an eight-year-old to be out of breath, and lay down, resting her head on her mom’s lap.
Doreen set her knitting aside and ran her fingers through Heike’s hair. “Such a silly girl.”
Heike scrambled out of her mom’s grasp and stood up next to the couch, swaying. “Dance party?”
Jonah and Doreen looked at each other, smiled—Jonah with reluctance—and then Doreen stood up. They both started dancing too.
“Yay!” Heike said and started wiggling faster. “I can’t dance fast to this music.”
Doreen swayed to the holiday song. “You want to dance fast? Is that it?”
She wiggled even more. “I do!”
“You’re going to tire yourself out!”
Hopefully, Jonah thought. Doreen laughed, a real laugh, and it made him feel warm inside. No troubles for now. This is beautiful. Well, not what I’m doing.
Heike looked over at him. “You stopped dancing! Against the rules!”
Jonah realized he had and that he must look silly standing still with all of the dancing going on around him. “Sorry,” he said and proceeded to resume the dance moves that almost every man his age was capable of: raising his arms at a ninety-degree angle, moving his shoulders and hips in opposite directions, and making a face of concentration with lips clenched as if he’d just tasted something bitter.
Heike raised her hands in the air. “Like this!”
Jonah raised his hands up as she did. “OK.”
“You aren’t a very good dancer.”
Jonah was undeterred. “You always say that.”
“Just because you can wiggle doesn’t mean you can dance.”
“Words of wisdom,” he said to Doreen.
A large smile spread over Doreen’s beautiful face. “Wiggling is all you’re doing,” she said to the eight-year-old dance instructor.
“Yes,” Heike said, “but I look good doing it!”
Their laughter was contagious, and it even lasted after the holiday song they’d been dancing to ended and the next one, one of the classics about the quiet of night, began. The touching song sent them all to the couch together. Maybe it was because of the lyrics but they stared in silence at the tree, mesmerized by all its twinkling, falsely created by the burning fire that shone through the transparent, tempered glass of the woodstove.
Doreen wasn’t close enough for Jonah to hold her hand with Heike in the middle of them, so he reached an arm over Heike and put a hand on Doreen’s shoulder. Doreen didn’t budge, which made him feel good, so he gave her shoulder a little squeeze.
“Is it game time?” Heike said. “Who wants to play?”
“Go ask the neighbors,” Jonah said down at her.
“Ha!” Heike leaned into him. “We don’t have neighbors.”
“You sure?”
“Yeah. If we did, and they had kids my age, would I be allowed to go play with them?” she said to her mom.
“It would depend.”
“On what?”
When Doreen shot a glance at Jonah, he cringed and mouthed, “Sorry.”
“I’m not sure,” Doreen said. “We can discuss it later.”
“Why later?” Heike said.
“Because. Now, which game would you like to play?”
Heike looked around. “Um . . .”
Doreen stood and walked over to the bookshelf that was full of all kinds of reading materials but also board games Jonah had discovered and claimed for them during his searches, ready to grab whichever one interested Heike the most.
“Not one of those, not tonight. I’ve grown bored of them,” Heike said, suddenly sounding ten years older.
“Heike. Jonah worked very hard to find these.”
Her eyes got wide, and she turned to him. “I’m so sorry, Jonah. I know that. I like them. It’s just . . .”
“I know you do, sweetie,” Jonah said.
Doreen made her way back to the couch. “If not any of them, then what game would you like to pl
ay?”
Heike fidgeted. “I’ve been thinking about it for a while . . .”
“OK. And?”
“Um, can we play a . . . a talking game?”
“What do you mean?” Doreen said. “Like a word game?”
“No. We could uh . . . talk about stuff.”
“Like what?”
“Like . . . what we miss.”
“What we miss,” Doreen said rhetorically. “Do you mean what we used to have but don’t right now?”
“Yes.”
Jonah already didn’t want to play the game for too many reasons to count, all of which made him uneasy, but he hid that well by using the mask every adult could put on when required. He knew people better than they knew themselves sometimes—somehow—and he understood that reminiscing about the past might seem like a good idea at first, but by the end of the conversations, everyone would only realize just how much better everything used to be. They’d also be reminded about everyone they’d lost.
Bringing up a memory would inevitably include someone who was dead or missing or worse, and Jonah already had too many of those memories. And daily. Whatever it was, it would not turn out to be a game, and it was also the last thing they needed right now because of everything that had gone on since the Molting.
But especially because Doreen had lost the baby. It didn’t matter if it had been over a year ago. The pain for both of them, all three of them, was too raw. Jonah wished he had found some new games while out last to distract Heike, but then again she had said she had been thinking about a talking game for a while.
“Who should begin?” Doreen said.
“You, Mom.”
“OK . . . I miss . . . I miss . . . ooh, waffles.”
“Ooh, that’s a good one. I like waffles too. I miss those too. You go, Jonah.”
“Nah. Go ahead.”
“Please.”
“Really? It was your idea.”
“No thank you. I want to be polite.”
“That’s nice of you,” he said. “All right . . . I miss pancakes.”
“That’s cheating.”
“Why?”
“Too similar to what Mom said.”
“You only just invented the game. How am I supposed to know the rules?”
Heike shrugged and then got busy doing his thinking for him. “Don’t you miss where you’re from? Where are you from again?”
Jonah grinned. “America.”
“I know that. What state? I forget. Starts with a C.”
His stomach dropped as he thought of the faces of his friends. The ones who’d died. “California.”
“California,” she said. “I was going to guess Colorado. Is all of America like California?”
“Um . . . no. Not at all.”
“So it’s like Europe? How each country is different?”
“Not that different but each state has its own culture. Partly because of the weather, I think. For instance I hear it’s always raining in Seattle, but where I’m from, it’s always sunny. At least when I left.”
“Where is Seattle? Near California?”
“Yes.”
“You’ve been to Seattle?”
“Yes.”
“Was it raining?”
“Yeah, it was.”
“Do you miss living in California?”
“I do.”
That was true. Jonah did miss home, missed being in the United States period, and often, but thankfully Heike had practically answered for him because that wasn’t what he was thinking about missing according to her game. He was missing Sharon, Gil, Eric, Daisy, and Danielle. Doreen and Heike hadn’t known them, so he wouldn’t bring them up. That way he wouldn’t have to explain what had happened. He didn’t want to even think of them right now.
They were dead, and the dead were in no hurry to be remembered. It wasn’t up to them. It was selfish of Jonah, he knew that, but remembering them was still very, very painful. Nothing could bring them back, and losing them still hurt too much. Probably because of how they died, how their deaths were his fault, had resulted from mistakes he made.
Aside from the friends, or even those he’d known briefly, he’d lost, he had no idea of the whereabouts of his parents, brother, sisters, his nieces and nephews or if they were even still alive. He had been so content just a few minutes ago during—one of their many—dance parties because just for a little while he wasn’t thinking about everyone who’d been lost.
“California. Home,” Heike said. “That’s a good one.”
“What do you miss about California?” Doreen said to him.
Come on, woman. Really? I thought you knew me better than that. “I thought Heike was in charge?”
Doreen made a playfully disgusted sound, and Heike said, “What do you miss about California?” Then she giggled.
Jonah interlocked his hands behind his head. There was no way out of it, so he might as well play. Get it over with. How bad could it be? “Well, and this is something I think about a lot. The beach. The escapism of it. You get off work or don’t go to work.”
They both smiled at him, and Heike said, “Where did you work?”
“I had all kinds of jobs but nothing I was passionate about after the army.”
“Let him finish his original thought,” Doreen said, and Heike nodded for him to continue.
“The sound of the waves. You can always count on them. They never stop. Like a slow heartbeat. They’re just so . . . relaxing, and even if you worked that day and you go there, it feels like you’re on vacation. I love how the sun feels and how it practically forces you to drink a beer. Beer tastes better in the summer.”
And whiskey tastes good whenever. But you can’t handle it anymore.
“Just one beer, huh?” Doreen said.
Jonah wished he was the type of man who could have only one beer or one drink, but he wasn’t. He’d quit drinking years ago. Since then he’d slipped up only that once. Still, this was a game, and games were supposed to be fun. And they didn’t have to be completely realistic. “Well, maybe a six-pack . . . or two.”
Heike’s face scrunched up. “Why would you drink beer?”
“Because it’s delicious.”
“It’s gross.”
“That’s because you’re eight. Tell me that when you’re twenty-eight.”
“I’ll be a wino by then,” Heike said with confidence, raising her eyebrows.
Both Jonah and Doreen laughed, and Doreen said, “That doesn’t mean what you think it means.”
“It doesn’t?”
“No, ‘wino’ means alcoholic. And hobo, I think.”
“Hobo? Oh no! I don’t want to be that. I won’t be that. I just meant I would drink wine—”
“You’re too young to think about drinking anything but water,” Doreen said, smiling.
“Jonah lets me sip his coffee sometimes.”
Doreen raised her eyebrows the same way her daughter just had but at Jonah. Then she said to Heike, “Coffee will stunt your growth.”
A confident smirk spread across Heike’s face. “He said you would say that so not to tell you.”
“Hey,” Jonah whispered, “that was supposed to be a secret.”
Heike smiled even more mischievously. “He also said that that’s an old tale that isn’t true because of how tall he is.”
Doreen’s eyes flicked accusingly at Jonah.
“Doreen . . . she likes it. Just a few sips sometimes. That’s it. Right?”
“Right,” Heike said.
“I liked coffee when I was a kid.”
“And you love it now,” Doreen said.
“I sure do.”
“I sure do too!” Heike agreed.
“You’re too young for . . .” Doreen reached over and gently tugged at Jonah’s beard. “Tell us more about what you were saying before.”
“About beer?”
“No, funny man. The beach.”
“I know, just teasing.” Jonah inhaled and exhale
d, thinking it would be easier to hold two hundred pounds over his head right now instead of keeping his happy mask on. He was doing a good job of acting, but it felt like it was beginning to slip off. “All the people doing different things. Some are playing games—”
“What kind of games?” Heike said.
“You’re interrupting,” Doreen said to her.
“It’s OK,” Jonah said. “Let’s see, volleyball, or football, people are flying kites, throwing Frisbees, drinking beer—”
Heike’s face scrunched up. “Drinking beer isn’t a game!”
“Tell that to the dudes I grew up with.”
“Ha!”
“And as I was saying, there’s almost always surfers.”
“Do you know how to surf?” Heike said.
“I do. I’m not that good at it, but I’m all right. Good enough to enjoy it, I guess. I mostly liked just being out among others. Everybody looks like they’re having a good time. It makes you feel alive and forget about all your problems. Makes you feel like everything’s OK.”
Everything he was telling them was so they could escape into his story. He realized he was doing it for them, but even though he knew that, he sure didn’t feel OK. Remembering all that stuff made him miserable for some reason, and his heart was racing. Probably because part of him suspected he’d never see a beach again. Wouldn’t ever enjoy it the way he was talking about or even remembered. It was almost like he was talking about someone as if they were alive when they were really dead. Plus Molters were drawn to warmer climates.
“That’s a good one about the beach,” Heike said. “I like it. Will you take us there someday? Or not.”
The mask he put on when needed was dissolving, but he couldn’t stop it, and Jonah also couldn’t prevent his true feelings from beginning to show through bit by bit, edging through no matter how hard he tried to prevent it. Heike was only trying to make him feel better, but even she could see it, he suspected. Even when females were young, they knew how to be compassionate, so she was pretending she hadn’t.
But maybe that was all in his head. Now and then he got confused about intent and also everything else. “Sure I will,” he said anyway.
