by Sophie Jaff
A sharp stone hit me on the back of the neck. With a cry I stumbled forward to the ground, scraping my palms and knees. I scrabbled up and around to see the boy, his hand still raised, unsure of what to do now that he finally had my full attention. I touched the place where the stone had struck me. My fingers came away, red with blood. The boy could see that I was wounded and perhaps not knowing what else to do, he grinned.
His short life had thus far most likely been a hard and hungry one. It must have been intoxicating for him to feel so powerful, even if only for a moment.
It was the last straw.
My shell cracked, and the words swarmed out. Ancient and twisted, beetle-black, and gleaming green with pincers and stingers and poisonous pointed barbs. They came from a pit of rage festering inside me, ever since my mother’s death. They were meant for the villagers who shunned and scorned and hurt me, they were meant for Cecily, but in that moment only this boy was there before me, and I cursed him. I had not known I was capable of such an act. My mother’s spirit turned away from me in shame.
“Travelers must use their words with the greatest care,” she had warned me more than once. “The fires they ignite are not easily banked.” The children scattered every which way, shrieking in terror. The boy froze; then he too turned and ran. I had been goaded beyond endurance, but I would have done anything to take my words back.
I watched the small figure stumbling away and prayed that nothing untoward would happen.
He died on the sixth day.
It is hard to sleep. I lie in the darkness for a long time. I try not to think of the man from my dream.
In the morning, though, all feels well again. The birds are chirping; the wind murmurs through the trees. There are no hateful looks or spiteful comments in these woods, only the brook, low and laughing, to keep me company.
I wake in the night, and do not know why. I stare into the blackness, and then I see them. Yellow eyes watching mine. I take in his huge shape, his fur the color of smoke. I slowly push myself up.
We look at each other for a long time until he pads away, melting into the darkness.
The wolf comes again and again. Each time he gains a little ground and stays a little longer. Tonight he has brought his mate and their three cubs. The cubs roll and, with small squeaks, bat softly at their mother’s muzzle. I sit quietly upon the ground, hugging my knees to my chest and beaming. To know that there are living beings in the world that trust me, even take pleasure in my company, that is something worth living for. I have not felt such peace since my mother died.
The next day, I see men in the wood. I count twelve rough, cruel faces in total, wearing clothes that are dirty and patched, the fabric dark to blend in with the undergrowth. They are not from the village. I have heard tell of men like these. They hide deep in the woods at night and by day they prey upon those who travel on the main road.
I follow them, watch as they make camp. It is good to know where they are. The leader does not work, only stands and growls orders. His face is the vilest I have ever seen. He must have come too close to a fire, for his skin is blistered and burned, his cheeks and chin crawling with livid pink and purple scars. What teeth he has jut out jagged brown points. I must be careful now; death would be far sweeter than being at the mercy of him or his men.
I wake to a strange glow. Fire. I sit up.
The firelight is coming from the men’s camp. Something is amiss; the men would not usually stoke such a strong blaze for fear of detection. I push my way through the ferns, avoiding the tree roots, my feet soft upon the leaves. As soon as I am close enough to hear the flames crackle, and the raised voices, I drop down behind a fallen tree and peer over it,.
I need not have taken such precautions, for they are too intent on their meal. I squint and see a large carcass spiked on a spit across the fire, next to three smaller ones. I must stuff my fists into my mouth to keep from screaming.
The men are laughing and jesting as they grasp handfuls of cooked meat. Fat smears their lips and oozes between their fingers; bits of gristle lie tangled in their beards. What mother would leave her cubs? I imagine how many of them it took to corner her. Fights must already be brewing over the pelts.
I watch for a long time. I realize that I am crying.
There is a low, deep growling. The wolf is here beside me. His hackles are raised, and thunder rumbles in his throat. He readies to spring. Without thinking I place my palm on his massive side. He turns and I stare into his yellow eyes.
Cows and horses convey little; contentment, weariness, and a dull, grinding hunger. Birds are flighty and fevered and leave my head ringing. I have never tried to go further with any other creature. Now I take a deep breath and let myself fall.
His wild eyes are a living gold, a glinting stream of grain. I am diving deeper. Faint memories: a deer leaping out, the flash of hide through the undergrowth, his mate running low and close; his mate lying on her side suckling their cubs, gray balls of squeaking fur. She licks one with a lazy tongue.
Then his vision bursts through. He is launching forward, tearing open the scarred throat of the leader, his snout dripping with hot, red spray.
Reaching to the depths of myself, I bring forth my own pictures. Sharp sticks with wicked points, men’s faces contorted with hate, his body sprawled in the dirt, fur matted with blood.
Wait like a pool of water, still and quiet. Wait, or they will kill you too. Wait. I promise you that you shall have your revenge. Wait.
He blinks, half shakes his heavy head, then gazes again at the men, the spits, the fire. What reason does he have to trust me after what they have done?
Abruptly he turns and disappears into the darkness.
I sit there a long time, listening to the shouts and drunken laughter. Then I too slink away, defeated.
I am weary unto the bone.
My eyes are gritty and swollen. Three low gray days have passed since they killed her. My heart is heavy. The woods no longer seem friendly. For the first time in a long while, I wish for human company. But I am alone, helpless.
There is shouting, a sudden commotion. Men are running, calling to one another as their leader barks out orders, harsh and furious. Something has happened. What has stirred up the hornets’ nest? I duck down into the undergrowth, my toes digging into the wet loam, the bristling stems scratch at my face, their thorns poking into my skin. I shut my eyes and try to become invisible. I pray they will not see me.
I am parched and starving, but I stay hidden. There are too many men loose in the woods. There is nothing for me to do but sleep.
My arm is roughly shaken. Someone is here. The men have found me. I am done for.
I open my eyes and come to my senses. It is not a bandit but a terrified little boy whose filthy face stares into mine.
“Please,” he gasps, “please help me. They’ve taken Rudd.”
7
Katherine
Michelle is taking Katherine out to dinner at the Orpheus.
“It’s been too long,” Michelle said, and Katherine agrees. Michelle is one of the friends who hung on after all the bad stuff happened, after all the shit went down.
It’s been hard for Katherine to maintain her friendships—ever since she found out she’d dated a serial killer; ever since she found out he brutally murdered her roommate, her friend. These events have tipped the balance of her relationships. Grief is boring; it drains all the color from the world, the oxygen from the room. How do you get back to an everyday life? How can you relate?
And she’s a mother now, of a five-year-old. Motherhood was thrust upon her. How does she feel about that? Who really wants to know? Her friends love her, but they have their own lives. Her friends are moving to Chicago, they’re buying apartments, they’re changing jobs, they’re getting promoted, they’re earning their PhDs, they’re getting married, they’re having children, they’re having their second child and their third child. They’re living their lives. Katherine is a reminder that thi
ngs can go wrong, horribly wrong. She is a reminder that there is madness out there, that the people around us cannot always be trusted, that the world doesn’t make sense.
Michelle, however, hangs in.
“We’re having dinner. I’ll book.”
Katherine is excited about the prospect of a grown-up dinner. She has arranged for Lucas to have dinner with Anthony, a gorgeous little boy who lives in their building. Anthony is the poster child for his chic parents, Greg and Melissa. Greg has a luxuriant beard and Melissa is stunning. Anthony is angelic. He wears a shell necklace, and apparently one of his first words was “olive oil.” Katherine would normally hate them but luckily Greg and Melissa adore Lucas.
Katherine loves the Orpheus. It’s old-school enough to have kept things right for its regular patrons, but it still appeals to couples who come on first dates at the bar. They have great steak frites, and even greater martinis. It’s a pity she won’t be having either, but she can still soak up the vibe.
She is the first one to arrive, but is not alone for long. Michelle swoops in, dressed in her lawyer gear, which, Katherine notes, is like administrative assistant gear but better quality, with superior tailoring. She sits down, and their waitress approaches, blond hair pulled back in a ponytail from her pleasant, weary face.
“Can I bring you ladies something to drink?”
“A martini, neat,” Michelle says, and turns to Katherine. “And for you?”
Katherine holds up her seltzer water complete with lime. She got it from the barman and hopes that it looks enough like a vodka tonic to defer questions for a while. She wants to get past the first trimester before she shares the news.
“Excellent,” says the waitress, and, “Can I bring water? Still, sparkling, or tap?”
“Two glasses of New York’s finest.” Michelle doesn’t even bother to look up.
“Sure thing.”
The waitress shoots Katherine a look she can’t quite put her finger on. Is it irritation or amusement? Michelle doesn’t notice because her attention is fixed on Katherine.
“Okay.” She leans forward when the waitress departs. “Now tell me everything!”
Katherine had mentioned to Michelle on the phone that she and Sael ran into each other a while ago. She did not mention how he stumbled upon her and Lucas sobbing in each other’s arms outside the shelter. Now, she tells Michelle about Sael asking her and Lucas to come to England with him.
“That’s awesome!” Michelle is elated. “Clearly he still loves you.”
Katherine smiles wanly. Nothing could be further from the truth. She thinks of the incessant phone calls, the tense meetings and emails. Sael was livid about her not telling him she was pregnant, but he’s been controlling himself. Really, he’s just being practical. He won’t be able to concentrate on his new position if he has to worry about her.
“So, you’re going, right?”
“I’m not sure yet. I have to think about it.”
“Really? What in hell is there to think about? Apart from missing me?” She sees Katherine’s expression. “Okay, okay. I guess it is a big change, and I know there’s Lucas to consider, but if I were you I would jump at the chance. I’m sick of this shithole town.”
Katherine has to laugh. Michelle is a die-hard New Yorker. Not even the apocalypse could drag her away.
The waitress is back with their drinks and more water. “And are you ladies ready to order?”
This time she sees Katherine looking at her, and bares her teeth in a forced smile.
Michelle looks up from the menu. “I’ll have the steak frites.”
The waitress, now amiable and neutral, turns back to Katherine.
“I’ll have the hamburger.”
“Oh, shut up.” Michelle is imperious. “Order the steak frites, you know you want it.”
“But—it’s so expensive!”
“She’ll have the steak frites.” Michelle is firm.
“How do you like it?” asks the waitress, clearly bowing to the alpha female.
“Medium well.” Katherine says. Sometimes she hates the kind of person she’s becoming.
“Medium well?” Michelle looks horrified. “Who are you? What have you done with my friend?”
“Don’t judge. Or I’ll be forced to stab you with a knife.”
“All right, but I’ve got my eye on you.”
The waitress seems bemused by their little exchange, but she’s shifting uneasily. It’s as if she’s trying to act normally, to hide something behind her smile. It’s unnerving.
Michelle has her head down, and doesn’t see.
“Two steak frites, one medium rare, one medium well, got it!” She takes their menus and leaves.
“Did you notice anything strange about our waitress?” Katherine asks.
“Our waitress? No, why?” Michelle looks at her, surprised.
“She just seems . . . off.”
“Probably wants to murder everyone here. It’s how I feel most of the time.”
Actually, Katherine thinks, that’s exactly how she looked. She tries to laugh, but doesn’t quite manage it.
“You okay?” Now Michelle is scrutinizing her across the table. “You seem kind of on edge.”
“Just a bit stressed out.”
“I’m not surprised. Moving is insane, and you’ve had a lot else going on.”
“Tell me about it.” She changes the subject. “And you? How’s work going?”
“Jesus, what a nightmare. Remind me again how much I want health insurance.”
“Trust me, you want it.” Unless you like staring up at the ceiling at 4:00 a.m. wondering which kidney to donate to pay for a doctor’s appointment.
“I’ll take your word on that.”
“How’s the poker going?”
Michelle brightens. “Not bad actually. I played a game last weekend where I didn’t do badly, not badly at all.”
Katherine grins. Michelle is a semiprofessional poker player. Her specialty is flirting to butter up her male opponents and then taking their asses to the cleaners.
The waitress is back. “Here you are, ladies!”
Her delivery is matter-of-fact, but yes, on closer inspection, Katherine can see a layer of perspiration on her forehead.
“The medium rare for you, and the medium well for you.” On the word “you,” she carefully, almost tenderly, places Katherine’s plate down in front of her. Then she stands there staring at Katherine, the corner of her mouth twitching. “Enjoy!”
“Thank you,” Michelle says pointedly.
The waitress doesn’t move.
“I think we’re good,” Michelle tries again in a “Can you please fuck off?” tone.
The waitress gives a little jump. “Oh yes. Let me know if you need anything else.”
“We’re fine for now.” Michelle catches Katherine’s eye.
The waitress finally turns away and walks jerkily back toward the kitchen.
“What the fuck was that?” Michelle is incredulous.
“I told you she was off.”
“Well, you were right.” Michelle doesn’t sound particularly thrown by the exchange.
“I thought she was going to watch us eat.” Katherine tries to make this observation more neutral than paranoid.
“Yeah, maybe.” Michelle shrugs, and picks up her knife and fork.
“She might still be watching us.” Katherine peers toward where the waitress stands.
“Really?” Michelle cranes her head. Lowers her cutlery. Interest revived.
From somewhere in the back, Katherine hears raised voices growing louder. There’s a definite commotion. Diners are craning their heads. Loud Spanish coming from the kitchens.
“Is someone having a fight?” Michelle can’t really see from where she’s sitting.
Katherine looks towards the kitchen doors in time to catch sight of a short dark guy in kitchen whites gesticulating wildly at their table. A lean, elegant man, clad in a tailored suit with an air of aut
hority, glances at them, nods curtly, and then, sure enough, he’s bearing down on them. Fast.
“What do you think is going on?” Michelle asks. She has resumed slicing her steak.
“I wouldn’t eat that,” Katherine says, a cold current icing her veins.
Michelle halts, startled, her fork in midair.
“Ladies!” The elegant man is now upon them. He’s smiling, but it’s strained. “There’s seems to have been a misunderstanding.” Without hesitation he picks up both of their plates.
“Hey!” Michelle is indignant.
“The kitchen,” he says shaking his head in paternal exasperation.
“Excuse me.” Michelle’s pitch has risen several notches. More diners turn around. “That doesn’t tell us anything! What’s going on here? What is this?”
“All apologies, but you were given the wrong order. This was supposed to go to table twelve.”
“But this is what we ordered!”
The manager has removed a meal from a hungry corporate lawyer, and Michelle is gearing up for a serious scene. But he is practiced at dealing with clientele like this. He doesn’t hesitate.
“Dinner is on us,” he says. “Would you like the same order? Can I bring the menus for anything else? We’ll bring you a new round of drinks.”
“You can tell us what happened.” Michelle’s tone has taken on a steely quality.
“There was a mix-up. Entirely our fault. Kenny!” He beckons to a young guy with a simpering, ratlike face. “The wine list, please.”
“But they were correct!”
Katherine looks at Michelle with admiration. It’s impressive to see her friend in action; she’s like a terrier, her jaws firmly clamped on a rat.
“We’re so sorry.”
Sorry, but not sorry. Katherine has to hand it to the guy. He would make an amazing politician. And his apology gives Michelle time to draw breath. Finally, the reality sinks in.
