by Julianne Lee
“Beth, what’s wrong?” He drew her aside so the people entering after could get past.
She declined to reply. Her shoulders slumped, and her head tilted a bit to one side.
“Beth...”
Finally she spoke. “So much.”
Nick turned to look, and her meaning clicked. Arrayed in banks as high as his head were stacks of produce. Piles of grapefruits, oranges, apples, pears, bins of carrots, lettuce, cabbage, broccoli, onions, potatoes, squash... and more. Only then did he realize a single beef carcass was probably the most food Beth had ever seen at one time. He’d certainly never seen great heaps of it like this when he was in Inverrigan. He turned back with a grin, but it died when he saw tears on her cheeks.
“What’s the matter?”
Her gaze shifted to his face. “Have ye ever had someone dear to you die for lack of food?” Then she shook her head and answered her own question. “No, I expect not. Not with all this here. I dinnae think anyone here ever goes hungry.”
“You won’t. Ever. I swear it.” And he meant that oath as she would receive it, as a promise on his soul.
She bit her lower lip and her brow furrowed as she gazed around at the mounds of produce. “Each winter in Glencoe someone dies for lack of proper food. Often ’tis the older folk who fail, but more often children die.”
“Died. They used to.”
She focused on his face. “Not any more?”
“Not here. Not like that, anyway. People certainly don’t expect it any more the way they used to.”
Her eyes welled again and she wiped them. Nick wondered who she’d lost that she was remembering now. Her mother? A sibling? There was so much in his life he took for granted. He realized he couldn’t even imagine the sort of hunger she was talking about. He swallowed the tightness in his throat and took her hand to guide her toward a shopping cart. “Come on. Let’s go see what we can find to tickle your fancy.” She followed him, still gazing around.
It was a temptation to fill the cart with packaged stuff she would find unusual and amusing, but that bacon stew came to mind again. Unusual and amusing could also be risky. Instead he chose fresh and canned vegetables, fresh beef and chicken, and other plain foods. Oatmeal, shortening, pasta, sugar, milk, soup, juice, coffee, eggs, and a variety of cheeses went into the cart, and they discussed what she could use and what would be a mystery to her. Canned tuna, for instance, gave her a blank look though potted meat did not. Pasta seemed a bad idea at first, until he explained to her how it was boiled like oatmeal then dressed with sauces, meat, and cheese. She decided she could probably handle that. Also, for some reason, she didn’t care to replenish the onions and cabbage she’d used from his refrigerator. Though he tried to argue her out of it, she still wrinkled her nose and insisted she wouldn’t be cooking those any more unless there was nothing else to be had in all of Los Angeles. So he let it go and they headed for the checkout line.
o0o
Beth was endlessly fascinated by the wrappings and containers as she helped Nick store the provisions in his kitchen. Bags and cans, mostly, and glass bottles with paper pasted to them. Most were either clear or bore drawings of the contents on the outside, so though she couldn’t read the lettering she could still tell what each contained. Nick directed her where to put things, though the advice wasn’t terribly necessary, for after days of poking around she had a good idea of what was already there and took careful note of how things were stored. As expected, Nick told her the foods potted in sealed metal cups, as well as things in sealed bottles, went in a cabinet, and the packages in the clear skins went into the refrigerator with the others. But she asked, “Why is it these must be cold?”
“They’ll go bad otherwise.” Nick unpacked a sack into the refrigerator.
“Everything goes bad. That’s why you eat it before it does.”
“Right. But it keeps longer if it’s kept cold. I wouldn’t eat this sandwich meat if it were left out overnight.”
“Ye wouldnae? I would.”
“Don’t. Keep it in here, and you’ll never get sick from it.”
“I dinnae.”
“You could. If enough bacteria grow in there, you could get sick.”
“But, I do not.”
“Do it anyway.” That note of frustration was in his voice now, the one that told her to stop talking because he’d reached an area of his world’s magic he couldn’t explain.
So she said, “Very well. It’s like the deodorer.”
He sighed. “Yeah, like the deodorant. It’s just something you do.” While he was poking around in the cabinet, arranging the foods to his liking, he said, “Oh, and while we’re on the subject of preventing illness, you need to know that once you’ve opened anything from this cabinet, like a can or something, you need to store it in the refrigerator after that. But not in the can; put it in a plastic bag first.”
“Plastic bag? Like this?” She held up one of the bags in which they’d brought home the provisions.
“No, these.” He reached into a drawer and pulled out one of the clear skins for the meat.
“Ah. I see.” She took it and pulled it open. “For what reason does the magic of the can and bottle fail when it’s been opened?”
“Bacteria, Beth. It’s not magic, it’s just making sure bacteria don’t grow on the food.”
“Like mold?”
“Exactly like mold.”
“So I’ll know it when I see it.”
“You can’t see bacteria. They’re too small.”
“Then, how can they make ye sick? Particularly without magic?”
“Beth.”
“Very well. I’ll have faith in your bacteria and keep the food in the cold and away from the evil. Which makes a bit of sense, if you think on it. Since a very warm hell is where evil flourishes.”
Nick sighed, with a large measure of relief it seemed to her, and held up the bag for her to watch. “Okay. So, this is the bag you use. See, it’s got a zipper to close it. You just press these parts together like so, and it’s sealed. No air in or out.”
“’Tis the air? What of the bacteria?”
“Beth!”
“May I not ask?” All this was confusing her now. Air, bacteria, cold...
“Just...” Another sigh. “Bacteria is in the air. Everywhere.”
“Then how can we breathe without dying?”
“Because there’s not enough of it in the air to kill us. Usually. It’s when it gets on warm food and grows that there’s enough to hurt us. Like poison. A little poison might not kill us, but a lot will.”
Understanding came over her, and she gasped. “Oh! I see! Poison! Nae magic at all!”
“No. No magic.” He demonstrated the bag opening, which also appeared magical, but then she saw how it worked, with tiny grooves that fitted together. When she tried it, after a few fumbles she made it seal.
“Very nice. And this makes the meat keep for a long time?”
“A few weeks, I guess.”
That truly surprised her. “Weeks? Without salt, nor smoke, nor drying?”
He made a disgusted noise in the back of his throat that sounded as if he were imitating her brother. “All that salt will kill you. Keep the meat good and cold and in an airtight container, and it’s still nearly as good as fresh weeks from now. Same with the vegetables. And stuff like pickles will keep forever.”
“Pickled things keep forever without the cold. Even I know that much. For what are they in the cold box?”
“They just taste better that way. I think so, anyway.” He took the sacks emptied of containers and food, and stuffed them in the bin he kept for refuse.
“’Tis nearly suppertime, and here I’ve not started the water to boil. It will be quite late.”
“It won’t take that long. Maybe ten minutes. It’s not like you have to stoke the fire and haul water from a frozen river.”
Beth realized he was right. This stove was a marvelous thing to have.
“Beside
s,” said Nick, “why don’t you just make us some sandwiches? That’ll be quick enough.”
She liked the idea, and took the package of meat from the cold box. Then she opened the plastic bag containing a loaf of bread, and was stunned to find it in perfect, even slices. Like the meat, though, so perhaps it wasn’t such a miracle. She drew some out, and found the bread as soft as if it had been freshly baked. Strange for cold bread to be so soft. Too soft, perhaps, for there seemed not much to it and it fell limp in her hand. She laid it on the workbench by the sunken basin, and went to the cold box for the meat and cheese.
Nick handed her a yellow jar from the cold box. “Here, how about putting some of this on mine. And some pickle slices, I guess, please.”
A taste of the yellow paste revealed it to be quite sharp, but nevertheless enjoyable. She tried some on her own sandwich, with a thick pile of the thinly-sliced ham, a generous hunk of orange cheese, and a pickle sliced lengthways. The bread did prove too soft; it mashed flat and thin when she pressed it to the meat and cheese, and the yellow paste oozed through. The plates in the cabinet were ceramic and as perfectly formed as everything else Nick owned, so she exercised great care in taking down two for the sandwiches. She and Nick sat at the table with their dinner.
He seemed to enjoy his meal, messy though it was, and licked a spot of the yellow paste from his thumb. For her part, she thought the stuff perhaps a bit too sharp and next time would use less of it. But the pickles were quite as tasty as he’d said, and she could see the value of keeping them so cold.
Once they’d eaten, Nick washed his hands in the kitchen basin and wiped them and his face on a piece of paper he tore from a roll under the cabinet. “Come on,” he said as she also washed. “Let’s check out those books.” At the table again, he pulled from the plastic store bag one of the wide, thin books he’d bought earlier. It had bright, colorful drawings on the front, of an apple, a bear, and a cat. She sat next to him, eager to learn the secret of reading.
Nick opened the book before her, and they found a page containing an enormous drawing of an apple with some words at the bottom. “A is for apple,” he said.
“Indeed.”
“You know this?”
She shook her head. “What is an A?”
“That is.” He pointed to the drawing, to a figure next to the apple. “And that’s what it says down here. A is for apple.”
“In what way?”
“It’s the letter the word apple starts with. See, this is an A here.” He pointed to one of the words in the line below.
“It doesnae look like this A.”
“That’s lower case.”
“And that means...?”
“It’s not capitalized.”
“Very well.” None of this was making any sense. All she wanted was to know the secret, and didn’t care much about capitals and lower case. Nor apples and A’s for that. She rested her chin on the heel of her hand and leaned on the table top.
“You need to learn the alphabet.”
“Letters.”
“Aye.”
“Very well. A is a letter, and it stands for apple. Why?”
“I said, it’s the first letter in the word.” That note of frustration was rising in his voice, and she wished he would simply tell her how to go about reading, and never mind what stands for apple. She laid her arms on the table and rested her chin on them, staring at the book which made no sense. “It’s also the first letter in the alphabet.”
“What is the alphabet?”
“It’s all the letters that make up words. You need to know what they are and know what sounds they make.” He flipped to a back page and pointed. “These. There are twenty-six of them.” He named them all, pointing to each as he did so.
“I’m to remember all this?”
“It’s not hard.”
Now the frustration was hers. She sighed, raised her head, and pointed to the first letter. “A.”
“Right.”
Her finger curled into her fist. “There are too many.”
“No, there aren’t.” For a moment he looked away, deep in thought. Then he brightened. “Here.” He picked up the book, stood, and took her hand. “Let’s go in here and get comfortable.” They went into the sitting room and he drew her down to lie on the soft floor. He stretched out next to her, on his side, head propped on elbow, and spread the book open before her. She lay on her belly and rested her chin on her folded hands.
“Now. I’ll point to a letter and say its name. You repeat.” He named each letter, and she said the name after. When he came to the end, he began again at the A. Several times they went over that page. Then he returned to the front of the book and pointed to one of the words. “Apple. See, every letter here is in the alphabet you just saw. And they tell you what sound is in the word.”
He was right. She could recognize the letters. “A, P, P, L, E. “But ‘apple’ doesnae sound like aypeepee-el-ee.”
“Yeah, we’ll get to that. In apple, the A makes an ‘ah’ sound.”
“Ah. Ahpple.”
“Right.” He turned the page. “B is for bear. The B makes a ‘buh’ sound.”
“Buh. Bear.”
“Right.” He kissed her, and that made her smile. Next page. “C is for—”
“Ss...” That couldn’t be right, for it was a cat in the picture.
He chuckled. “No, look at the picture.”
“Och. C sounds like ‘kuh’?”
“Sometimes. A lot of this stuff you just have to memorize.”
Her heart fell. She would never learn all these mysteries. But Nick pointed to the picture again, and she recited, “C is for Cat.”
“Read the words. Here.” He indicated the line below the drawing. “That’s what it says: ‘C is for cat.’”
“C is for cat.” The animal wore a smile and a wide-brimmed hat. She found the drawing just a tiny bit unsettling.
“Very good.” He kissed her again, and her spirits picked up.
Now the next page, and he named the letter. She was able to guess what the line below said. “D is for dog.” This dog carried a fishing pole, and Beth began to wonder what strange sorts of things people believed about animals in this place.
Nick kissed her again, and brushed a wisp of hair away from her face. “Next page. E.”
Beth obliged. “E is for...” She stared at the page, with no idea of what the creature that was pictured could be.
“That’s an elephant, hon.”
“Och, whatever an elephant might be, except it must start with an E. Do I not get a kiss?”
With a grin, he kissed her once more, then she murmured, “E is for elephant.”
The next drawing she recognized. “F is for fox.” This animal also wore a hat. Beth didn’t dwell on it as Nick drew down the large neck of her sark to kiss her shoulder this time. Her eyes closed with the pleasure of it.
“G is for goat.” He drew up the tail of the garment this time for a kiss to the small of her back. Now she was struggling against her thoughts turning to mush, so they could continue with the book and there would be more kisses to make her thoughts even less clear.
“H is for hat.” A kiss to her neck, and she eagerly turned the page.
“I is for snowbank.” A fur-clad lad poked his head out of it, like a faerie knoll.
“That’s an igloo.”
“Och, I’ve made a mistake and must pay. I’ll have to be the one to kiss you instead.” And she opened the buttons on his sark to kiss his belly. “What might an igloo be?” As she spoke, she also unbuttoned the waist of his trews because she was already in the vicinity and there were more letter pages yet to be read.
Breathless, he leaned to give her room for the unbuttoning and said, “It’s a house for people who live in the far north.”
She reached into his drawers and squeezed him as hard as she dared, and he let go a deep groan from the depths of him. His face leaned toward hers. “I should make you finish the alphabet fir
st.”
“Very well, then...” She started to pull her hand from his trews, but he held it there.
“Later. We can finish the book later.” He kissed her hard and deep, and she began to help him slip his clothes from him.
The tweeting of the phone made him groan again, and he uttered some words she’d never before heard from his lips. Gently he disengaged himself from her grasp, then stood to restore his trews as best he could while hurrying to the contraption hung on the kitchen wall. He picked it up and spoke into it as he struggled one-handed with the waist button. His efforts were thwarted by his swollen parts, and he couldn’t quite get the trews up over them. He said to the phone, “Oh... hi, Mom.”
He cleared his voice as he listened, then said, “Tomorrow night?” His voice was yet unsure, wavering in the absence of the lust which had fled. Beth giggled. Then he said, “Can I bring a friend?”
That made Beth stop giggling. Could he mean her? Bring her where?”
He glanced at her. “Her name is Beth. Tell Dad not to have a heart attack it’s a girl.” There was a short pause, then he said, “Yeah, okay, Mom. If you say so. In any case, I don’t want to shock you too much, but I think it’s pretty serious.” Another pause. “I met her... uh, a few weeks ago.” This time the pause was fairly long, and Nick had difficulty breaking in to speak. But finally he did, and said, “I know, Mom. But I wanted to find out about her first. I mean, you don’t want me bringing just anyone to Sunday dinner, right?” Another pause. “I did, too, tell you I was dating.” Pause. “Sure, I did.” Pause. “You weren’t listening, then.” He stammered some, trying to get a word in, then he succeeded. “Just because I didn’t tell you her name doesn’t mean—” He didn’t speak for a long spell, then he said, “All right, then. You’ll meet her tomorrow night.”
Now he looked at Beth and smiled. “She’s sweet. You’ll like her.” He nodded. “Of course, she’s pretty.”
Beth touched the smallpox scar at the side of her nose, for she knew from looking around her these past days that women in this time did not ordinarily have such blemishes. Did Nick truly believe what he said?
After telling his mother goodbye, he returned the phone to its hook and said, “We’re in for it now.” His voice was soft with apprehension.
