by Nancy Widrew
“I won’t. I swear.” Mary walked off leaving behind not merely a tray of food but, more importantly, her pledge.
Karen, somewhat confused about Mary’s words and motives asked, “What was that all about? Not betraying us?”
“Remember, I told you, she claims she’s on our side?”
“But why? What’s in it for her?”
Scraping his bottom lip with his teeth, Jeremy admitted, “I don’t know. If you ask me, she’s got a crack in her skull as deep as a gully. But who cares? All that counts is that we get out of this filthy sinkhole. And we will, Karen. I promise you that.” Then speaking more to himself, he went on. “I won’t spend my life down here. But,” he added, shaking his head, “why haven’t they found us? Someone must be looking. Where are they?”
“Oh, my god!” yelled Karen, bolting to her feet, clutching a stalagmite to steady her still wobbly legs.
Jeremy’s eyes opened saucer size, and he grabbed hold of her hands. “What is it?” he asked, still worried about her fragile state.
“Don’t you see? They’re looking all right. But not here.”
“What do you mean?” he said. Then “Oh, no!” He fell against the wall, hit in the gut with a fastball of reality. “You’re right. I didn’t tell Carl we were switching caves or—holy shit! —spelunking for that matter. I told him we might go to a movie or something. I’m not sure—I’m so mixed up I can’t think straight. Still”—he paused and licked his lips—“Carl may have figured it out. He knows how impulsive I could be. I’m so sorry, Karen. I’m such a fool.” Head down, he covered his face, speaking in undertones. “That’s why those bastards were asking such probing questions. Damn them. They had it all planned.” He continued berating himself, moaning, pounding the air with his fists.
“What about our car?” said Karen. “They’ve got to find our car.”
“But Rahm said he drove it off a bridge. Wait,” he said, with a flicker of hope. “What about that couple, Sara and George? They saw us here, and they have our phone number.”
“You think we’ll be in the Pittsburgh papers?”
“I doubt it,” said Jeremy. “We’re nobody special. In any case, they were going to call us.”
“But not until next spring. To see the cherry blossoms.”
“Maybe we’ll be lucky and they’ll want to go to Washington before then. Thank goodness you wrote down my work number, too, in case our home line’s disconnected. They’re our last hope.” Karen flinched at the words “work number” and “last hope.” She watched as Jeremy, eyes brimming with tears, slumped to the ground and clawed at the earth as if he could dig his way out. With his attention turned elsewhere, she reached into her pocket and pulled out the paper with Jeremy’s number that Sara had inadvertently dropped. Crumbling it, she returned it to her pocket. She didn’t have the heart to tell him. Now it was her turn to be brave.
#
The next morning, as instructed, the twosome straggled into the dining room. The community members, already eating, made an effort to be nonchalant. The effort, of course, proved futile as the tension hung in the air like wet paint refusing to dry. Reaching for a glass of juice, Karen carelessly knocked it over. She didn’t bother to apologize. Like a servant on duty, Lily jumped to her feet, set it upright, and wiped up the mess.
Finishing breakfast, Jeremy went straight to their quarters while Karen stopped to pull a book from a shelf.
“Why did you bring that back?” he asked upon her return, his voice high-pitched and shaking.
“I need something to do,” she explained.
“I don’t see how anyone can read under the circumstances, but feel free. Do whatever you want.” He threw up his hands to emphasize his disapproval.
Karen lay on the mattress, the book against her elevated knees. She moved the oil lantern closer, the one that Mary had thoughtfully left behind. Its glow cast a bright, steady light, good enough for reading.
Jeremy sat stiff legged in a rocking chair that he had dragged in from the communal area. He leaned forward and back, setting its bottom arc in motion as he obsessively went over every detail, every last component since their capture, searching for a weak point, anything that could help their cause. Finding nothing, he sunk into a sinister mood, alternating between rage and hair-pulling hopelessness, while his nonstop rocking wore two parallel grooves in the earth. In this cruel, monotonous manner, one day followed another until an unaccountable span went by, offering no relief.
Ignoring Karen’s repeated attempts to break through his state of despair, Jeremy warned her with harsh words and black looks to leave him alone.
Being used to a career with intellectual and physical challenges, Jeremy now chafed at the monotony of his routine. Soon a feeling of unrelenting boredom set in. He pumped his legs faster and faster to the creaking of the chair, as a wretched theme repeated in his mind, burning his ears: This is my prison and the sentence is life; all that’s missing are the bars.
“Let me help you,” cried Karen, “the way you helped me when I couldn’t eat or care of myself. I love you.”
“No one can help me now,” he yelled back, and his frustrations, having no healthy outlet, searched for a scapegoat and found it in her. Everything she did was wrong: little things became huge and even those habits that he had once found endearing were now a source of irritation.
“You’re tapping on that damn book again,” he said, his voice ululating in a low, jarring growl that caused Karen to startle. “And you look terrible. Your hair is sticking out like a witch’s broom.”
“You don’t look so great yourself,” she said in defense. “I barely recognize you. And you smell worse than Boot’s litter box.”
“Poor Boots,” said Jeremy suddenly. “What’s to become of him?”
Karen’s chin trembled, but she refused to cry. “Boots is with Carl and Joan. I’m sure of it. They won’t let anything bad happen to him.”
Jeremy, in a rare moment of calm reflection, pictured Boots in his wife’s lap, purring contentedly while kneading her with his paws. But then Karen resumed reading. How dare she!
Jeremy shook with anger as he stared at Karen, now a symbol of disloyalty, and his eyes narrowed to fierce-looking slits. “You’re tapping again!”
“I’m sorry. I forgot.” Sinking lower into the mattress, she retreated further into her book.
The sight of her turning a page resulted in a frenzied eruption. With lightning speed, Jeremy reached over and ripped the hated tome from her hands, sending it flying into the blackness beyond. Shaking her head, Karen opened her fingers beseechingly. “Why?” she said. “What did I do?”
Jeremy snarled. “You were humming,” he said, his canines, white and pointed, seeming ready to tear her flesh.
“You always liked my humming.”
“That was before. Now you’ll do what I say, and I say no humming, no tapping, and no reading.”
With her self-respect on the line, Karen stood up. “You have no right to tell me what to do. If I want to hum, I’ll hum; if I want to tap, I’ll tap; and if I want to read, I’ll read.” Thrusting her chin out defiantly, she stalked off to retrieve her book.
In seconds, he fell upon her. Gripping her with clenched fists, he whipped her about, shaking her so wildly that her head appeared detached from her neck. For a minute he forgot who she was—just a thing, an object—then worse, a scheming, evil entity on a mission to drive him crazy.
“L-Let go!” she screamed as she swung her hands, raking his face with ragged nails.
Jeremy’s raw, burning wounds, running diagonally across both cheeks drew blood, further inflaming him, and he shoved her against the wall. Then he straddled her, placing his fingers around her neck and squeezed. Her last gasp of air and terror-stricken eyes, made him come to his senses and perceive that this person he was about to strangle was Karen, his wife.
Karen immediately moved away, tripping as the cuff of a pant leg caught on one of the curved bands of the rocking c
hair. She fell, rolled onto her side and curled into a small heap, whimpering softly. Jeremy stared at her, confused, almost as if he had no idea what had just taken place. Then a look of panic replaced his dull, vacant stare.
Hesitating, he touched her shoulder.
“Stay away,” she said, choking back sobs while trying to catch her breath.
“Please,” he pleaded, again grasping for her.
Fearful and full of loathing for this unknown monster, this evil brute who had somehow replaced her husband, she pushed herself along the ground until she was out of his reach. She rose and ran without direction before winding up near the pantry where Brian and Rahm were at work, hammering away, repairing a broken shelf. She turned and ran farther down a dark tunnel when Jeremy caught up with her. Rahm and Brian arrived moments later.
From her bulging eyes, disheveled hair and clothes, it was obvious something ominous had taken place, and Karen, with no other choice, took refuge behind Rahm who intuitively grasped the problem.
Embarrassed to have witnesses to this shameful affair, solely of his making, Jeremy said, “This is between Karen and me. It’s no one else’s business.”
Separating them like a referee at a prizefight, Rahm spoke, his voice heavy with menace. “It’s bad for the two of you to sit around all day doing nothing. From now on you’ll work like the rest of us. No work, no food. Period.”
“You sonofabitch,” snarled Jeremy. “You’d really let us die?” For a moment he debated whether to up the ante, by taking on the challenge, declare a hunger strike or physically attack his nemesis. But after scanning Rahm’s well-developed arms, he knew that that would be stupid, and one thing he wasn’t was stupid; besides, Brian would jump in, making matters worse.
Rahm remained stoic. Still, he avoided a direct answer to Jeremy’s question and returned to his decree. “You know what the jobs are. Now choose.”
The air held a malevolent foreboding, heavy as the mountain of stone and earth pressing down from above, but fortunately Rachel appeared in time to overhear the last of the conversation and redirect its menacing implications.
“I can use some help in the mushroom garden today,” she said. “It’s down near the lake. I just started two new beds.”
“I’ll help,” said Karen, casting one final scowl, one last look of disgust at her husband. She grabbed hold of Rachel’s elbow and stomped off beside her.
Jeremy felt the visual dart from Karen’s eyes, sending his heartbeat sky-high. What have I done? he thought, hanging his head like a condemned criminal at the gallows.
Chapter 10
Despite the language of caves, still new, Karen was learning to negotiate its obstacles. And even though she couldn’t see in the tar-colored darkness, her ears picked up a familiar sound, the rippling of water due to a breeze skimming across a liquid surface. “Is that the lake?” she asked. “Jeremy told me about it.”
“Yes. That’s it,” said Rachel, impressed with Karen’s auditory perception. “And the garden’s just beyond.” Within moments she signaled their arrival by squeezing Karen’s arm. Next she lit the oil lanterns left in their designated places. The yellow flames flooded the cavernous area, opening up a unique panorama of ancient primordial growths.
“What are those paper-cup thingies hanging from the ceiling?” Karen asked. “And those funny cork-screw shapes … They remind me of party streamers.”
“They’re all helictites,” said Rachel. “Rahm says they’re very rare. See that one?” She pointed with a finger to a form that looked like antlers on a deer. “Seems to defy gravity, doesn’t it? You can read about them yourself if you’re interested. You know where the books are kept.”
“No, I’m not that interested,” said Karen, turning her face away, embarrassed to expose her curiosity.
“Well, what I really wanted to show you were the mushroom beds, anyway. They’re over here.”
Karen followed until they came to six raised mounds of earth and six trenches, each approximately six by one-and-a-half feet; all arranged in rows, side by side.
Karen rubbed her eyes, beginning to burn.
Noticing the tears flowing down Karen’s face, Rachel said, “It’s the guano. Norman usually gathers it. He doesn’t mind, and everyone’s happy to let him. In any case, it doesn’t smell bad once you get used to it.”
“Get used to shit?” said Karen, pinching her nose. “I doubt it.”
Rachel shrugged, and guided Karen to a heap piled against the wall. She took a long stick and began to turn it over. “This insures even fermentation.”
Karen backed away since it reeked like a room full of decaying bodies. She began to cough. In response, Rachel dipped a rag into a pail of water and handed it to Karen.
“Seriously, in a few days you wouldn’t even notice. And in a few weeks, when the fermentation process is complete, it loses its odor completely. Then you know it’s ready to line a bed.” She pointed to the last two trenches at the end of the row. “I just dug those out yesterday, lined them with guano myself. Now we wait seven to twelve days. Through natural decomposition, the temperature in there gets very hot—enough to burn your hand. It helps to kill the bugs and bacteria that live in the guano.”
Karen groaned and her face flashed a look of revulsion. Rachel tried hiding her amusement behind a surreptitious smile. “When the temperature drops to the mid-eighties, it’s ready for mycelium, that’s the propagating part of the mushroom. See those two other trenches? They’re ready to be fertilized right now.”
Karen cocked her head and spoke through the rag pressed against her eyes and hanging to her chin. Like a wave, it billowed with each exhalation. “How do you do that?” she asked.
“Not much to it. It’s just a matter of transferring dirt. The mycelium’s mixed right in. Come. I’ll show you.”
Taking two pails from a recess in the wall, she handed one to Karen. They walked over to a bed that was on its last fruiting. “Each bed,” said Rachel, “produces several yields which sprout a few weeks apart. As you can see, this one’s just about finished. In fact, we ate most of the remaining crop yesterday.”
“Uh-huh,” said Karen as she glanced at the last of the mushrooms, thin, dried out, wrinkly even. She grabbed a lantern for a closer inspection and something inexplicable stirred in her mind. “They seem to have faces,” she said, staring intensely. “Sad faces.” Bending over, she heard a hum and gasped. The sound seemed to come from the mushrooms, and she wondered if Rachel had heard it too. Afraid to ask, she sat down on her haunches as Rachel looked on, her lips bulging in annoyance.
As requested, Karen filled the pails, and the two women moved on to the trenches where Rachel explained how to place the mycelium along the sides. Karen rolled up her sleeves, ready to tackle the job, while Rachel whisked back and forth, refilling the pails. When the task was completed, they advanced to the next phase.
“After three weeks or so, new mycelium grows on the outer face of the beds,” she continued. “Then it’s ready for limestone.” She demonstrated the final steps by carving the limestone from the cave’s wall, chopping it into bits, and throwing the pieces onto a bed. She leaned on her shovel, breathing hard. “While it’s convenient having your basic ingredients right at your fingertips, the important part is getting the timing right. Unfortunately, it’s been trial and error since the growth cycle down here is unique. But if ants can do it, I figured, so could I.”
The pupils in Karen’s eyes widened like a startled cat’s. “‘Ants’?”
“That’s right. I read it in one of the books. It said ants began to cultivate mushrooms long before people ever did. They carry the mycelium in their mouths. Fascinating, isn’t it?”
As Karen digested the information, Rachel took a pail of water from another recess and carried it to the bed she had just covered with limestone. “I don’t want it getting too hot in there,” she explained as she poured. “In three to four weeks this will produce its first crop, and it will look like that.”
“Uh—of course,” said Rachel. “There’s always work to do here.
Karen heard a note of hesitation in Rachel’s voice, but ignored it. It made no difference. She needed something to do or she’d go positively out of her mind. And, furthermore, she didn’t have to admire Rachel, didn’t have to like her, understand her or anything else for that matter. She merely had to put up with her for the time being. And I will, she told herself. I’ll force myself. What choice do I have?
#
Their eyes met and locked, each scrutinizing the other, probing, sifting for a vantage point. Taking the initiative, Rahm spoke first.
“I know you hate me. Good. Hate can be healthy if used wisely. It takes willpower and determination to survive the transition to life down here, and I want you to survive. There are different roads to survival, and if yours is anger and hatred, than I say fine. Your wife has chosen a different path, but perhaps chosen is the wrong word. We use whatever strengths we possess, and what seems weak to you may really be a source of strength.”
“I don’t need you to explain my wife’s behavior to me,” said Jeremy, his forehead a sudden highway of parallel lines. “I know her better than you.”
Rahm nodded, conceding the point. “You’re right, of course. But what remains essential is keeping busy. Within certain constraints, you’ll find you have lots of freedom here.”
“Every freedom but the one that counts.”
“I’ve no doubt that in time you’ll adjust to your situation, but for now I suggest you make yourself useful. See that tunnel behind you? Follow it. You won’t get lost. It leads to the salamanders. Bring some back. Mary wants to make a stew tonight. But even more relevant, you’ll find them an interesting diversion. They’re quite easy to kill. Just strangle them like this.” With a snap of his fingers, he gave a quick, skillful, and deadly demonstration.
