“I just need to see if I can get something else,” I say to Toby, casually.
The lean-to looks like it’s been knocked about a bit recently—too many drunks stumbling out of the tent next door, I imagine. I hold Toby’s hand tighter and put purpose to my stride.
The cigarette guy is sitting back in his chair, but as I walk over, he stands and waves to us.
“Haven’t seen you for a while,” he says, nodding at Toby. “Was getting a bit worried.”
“I brought your book back,” I say.
He takes it, and there’s warmth in his smile.
“You got anything for me? We had a trader on Friday but he was all out of smokes.”
“Got some loose,” I offer. “And some papers.”
“Papers? Where you get this stuff…” he laughs and shakes his head. “I guess… I can do a hundred papers for… a hundred grams of chocolate?”
He winks at Toby, who blushes.
“He’s not been so well. I’m not sure chocolate…”
Toby tugs on my hand and I sigh, and relent.
“Sure. Chocolate would be great.”
“And the loose?”
I open my mouth to suggest something, but he interrupts.
“I see you’ve got some of Glenda’s tomatoes there. Come and see what I have.”
He motions under the counter, and beckons us over.
I’m hesitant, but it’s the middle of the day. Of course it’s safe. He opens a bag and holds it up to my face. I step back, not sure what he’s trying to do, and he laughs.
“Go on, smell it!”
I take a breath. It’s almost bitter; it smells like freshly-cut grass, or pepper, and it seems so familiar, but I can’t place it.
“It’s basil! Remember basil?”
I take another breath and this time, I smile, too. The smell is taking me back to when there was winter and cold and you actually had a chance to miss the sun, back to promises of shared meals and long evenings and wine and laughter.
“I’ll do you a deal. You both look like you never eat. Give me four sticks of loose, and I’ll come out and cook for you.”
I hesitate, but the thought has taken root: hot food, and perhaps some adult conversation with an actual adult. An adult who reads books, and smiles at me.
“Okay. I can’t fit you on our bike, though…”
He waves my concerns away.
“I’ve got my own. Scooter I rebuilt when I got here two years ago. Doesn’t go that fast—”
“What does, on these tracks?”
He laughs.
“Exactly. Meet you up front?”
I nod, turning before the blush hits my ears. I have to stop myself from dragging Toby straight back to our bike, reminding myself that I still need to see if the chemist has something for his fever. She is just shutting up her stall, but graciously agrees to see us, and refuses all barter for the tea she gives us.
“One cup, three times a day,” she tells me. “If he’s not better in three days, come back. I’m expecting another trader through any day now, and I could have something better. I’m sorry…”
Her eyes are tired, and sad, and she looks from Toby’s face to mine.
“I’m sorry I don’t have anything else.”
I thank her and she puts her hand gently on Toby’s head, and we nod our goodbyes.
When we get to our bike, the guy is waiting with his scooter.
“I don’t think I ever told you my name,” he says, a little too quickly.
I get the feeling he’s rehearsed the line in his mind while we were getting Toby’s tea.
“Serena,” I say, smiling a little.
“Calvin.” He laughs.
I hold my hand out, and he takes it briefly. I can’t tell if the nerves in my belly are from fear or desire. Whichever, I need to keep a lid on it.
“We should get going.”
“Lead the way,” he says, swinging his bag over his shoulder.
It’s getting late, and I set off at a steady pace. Despite the scooter’s size, it keeps up, and we make good time, just as the sun begins to set behind the clouds, which are still building into thunderheads in the west.
“Nice setup you’ve got here,” he says, untying his scarf from around his face.
“It’s okay for now.”
He’s just being polite; I know it’s rudimentary at best. But it helps us keep our independence, which is worth enough.
He kneels in front of our upturned tea chest, and unpacks his backpack. There is pasta and basil, as well as a bottle of wine, and some oil.
“You have salt, I guess?” He grins.
I give him the small pouch I took to the Town with me, then stoke the fire and blow on it a little. With a little more wood, it soon begins to warm the hotplate, and I put two saucepans out for him to use.
“I just need some water—and some tomatoes,” he says, pulling out a small, sharp knife.
I hand him the bucket, and take Toby over to the entrance of the cave. We sit down to talk about what we saw in the Town. It’s a chance to practise memory games, and maths. He’s getting to kindergarten age, but I guess I’m as good a teacher as any to prepare him for the real world.
“Who’d like some food?” Calvin calls out.
Toby almost falls over his feet to get to the tea chest, and I smile at his enthusiasm.
“Should I be offended that you’re looking forward to Calvin’s cooking so much more than mine?”
He is already eating, ignoring me, but Calvin grins, and hands me my bowl.
“I wasn’t sure if you drink?”
He holds up the bottle.
“Sure, I’ll have little.”
He pours me more than I want, and I sit with my bowl, and take a bite of pasta. The combination of flavours is divine. It is the best food I have tasted in months, maybe years, and I let out a small groan.
“Oh, that’s really good. Wow, it’s really good!”
He laughs, blushes a little at the praise. I raise my glass in a silent toast, and he does the same. It’s almost like real life. Or like life, as it used to be.
Afterwards, I prepare Toby’s tea, and he drinks it quickly. He’s tired, and paler than before. I sigh, tucking a thin blanket around his shoulders as he lies on his mat. Hopefully, tomorrow will see his fever break.
Calvin is standing at the cave entrance, and I look over. If there’s a moon, it’s nowhere to be seen, and the air feels charged. We’re in for a thunderstorm.
“The wind’s picking up,” I say.
“I guess I should head off,” he says. “I don’t want to get caught in it.”
I frown at the gusts whipping up the dust at the bottom of the track.
“It’ll be a rough ride,” I say. “If you’ve something you can use as a swag, you’re welcome to stay the night.”
It must be the wine talking, because I can’t believe I’ve just offered an almost-stranger to stay. But now it can’t be unsaid, and he accepts with thanks, and walks over to fetch a jacket from the scooter.
I make coffee. Calvin comes in as I’m pushing down the plunger.
“Coffee, too?!”
“No milk, of course,” I say, “but I have sugar.”
“Sugar would be great. Thanks.”
I hand him his mug, and we walk back over to the entrance of the cave, sitting down to watch the sky.
“Hey, I have something to show you.”
I turn to look and he holds in his hand a jar. There is no label, and there is nothing on the lid, so I take a guess at what’s inside. It looks like homemade jam, and I say so.
He laughs.
“Yeah, it’s jam. But take a look at the lid. The edge of it.”
He gives it to me and it’s heavy and cool in my hand. I squint a little at the writing: 14 Dec 2020.
“A… best-before? A best-before date? Where did you find this?!”
He grins. Giddy.
“One of the drunks fell asleep outside my shop the othe
r night. I had a chance to… well, let’s just say he left with fewer treasures than he came.”
“This must be… I can’t remember the last time I saw something with a best-before. I mean, as a child, maybe?”
“I know. Blows your mind, right?”
“Yeah,” I nod. “Yeah, it really does.”
I hand the jar back to him and he returns it to his bag. We sit quietly for a minute. I wonder if, like me, he’s travelled back in time, in his mind. I think about breakfasts and my mother and inevitably, I wonder where my sister is. I haven’t thought about her in weeks. Toby doesn’t ask about her as often as he did, and so I’m not reminded as often. Back a couple of years, or maybe more, I used to think about her everyday. Pull her memory out and play with it, like a doll. Imagine her there in front of me as if she were a hologram or a ghost. But she belongs in the past, like mass-produced food and best-before dates. I can’t hope she’ll suddenly turn up again, and I don’t even know what I would do if she did. For sure, I wouldn’t give her Toby back. Not this time. He’s mine, now.
I suppress the annoyance I’ve managed to work up, and try for conversation with Calvin. He’s my guest; I should be polite.
“So, how did you end up in the Town?”
“Heh. The question. I was just looking for a lift over east. There were some sandstorms and I got stuck waiting. Had some cigarettes and a few boxes of stuff I stole back in Perth, and people were bartering for them, so I figured I could make a go of it.”
“So you’ll stay around here for a bit?” I ask.
“It’s… there’s a bit of community, I guess. You’re not, then?”
I shrug.
“I’d like to move on. No great hurry, though.”
He holds my gaze for a moment too long, and I feel I’ve said the wrong thing.
“You could stay,” he says, gently.
I smile, and in response, he puts a hand on mine, and his mouth on mine is garlic and warmth and sweet coffee. I pull back a little. This is risky.
“I’m sorry, I mis-read…”
He pulls back, and blushes.
“No, it’s fine.”
I put my hand on his.
“It’s fine, really. It’s just… it’s been me on my own for so long. Just looking out for myself, and for Toby, you know? I… oh, what the hey, let’s just go inside.”
He laughs and stands up and pulls me up beside him, and there is another kiss, and I feel my belly flip, that old familiar excitement. I feel myself blushing, too, and I try to keep my head focused while my body is responding in all the ways I thought it had forgotten.
I pull him by the hand to my sleeping mat. Outside, the wind is whipping the tarpaulins as the first rains for years begin to fall. We half-tumble onto the blankets, pulling at each others’ clothing, the sense of urgency infusing our fingers and tongues and as I put my hand on the small of his back, he murmurs something into my neck.
“What was that?” I say, turning my head, and startle, as I feel something cold and flat against my throat.
“I said, I told the others I would be able to screw you over, and they didn’t believe me.”
He turns the blade slightly and I can feel the point digging in under my jawbone. There is another thud in my belly, but this time, I’m not confused about what I’m feeling. I stare at him and wonder where the warmth in his eyes went. How could I have so misjudged him?
“All you needed was a little wine and the promise of a fuck.”
He smiles and presses the blade in deeper. I can feel it cutting into my skin, and a scream lurks in the back of my mouth. I hold my breath deep it inside me.
“I’ll be quick,” he says softly, lips close to my ear, “that way, your boy won’t know you’re gone until tomorrow. No point in waking him, right?”
My mind is foggy with desire and I struggle to focus. Clarity, I tell myself. Breathe.
I smile, keeping my eyes as cold as his, and slide my hand out from my back pocket.
“No point at all,” I say.
The stiletto is so sharp, I don’t think he even feels it until it is deep his groin, but suddenly, he gasps, pulls back, looks down.
“What… what…”
His knife falls from his fingers as he holds his hands up in some gesture of disbelief or horror.
“You…”
“Shhh,” I whisper. “Relax. It won’t take long.”
I wipe my own blade and return it to its sheath, get to my feet and straighten my clothing. He sits back on his heels, silent, looking at his bloodied fingers, and his face begins to lose its colour.
I put my back to him and begin to stuff my coat in my backpack, and behind me, he slumps heavily against the cave wall. I feel tight around my heart.
I prioritise what we can carry. The wine will spoil, so I pour it out. My stash of barter-goods is already packed up, but I have a little space. I slip Toby’s tea into a side-pocket. I take a last look at Calvin, or the body that used to be him, and check through his bag. The jam is still there. I pick it up, weighing it in my hand. Sweet nostalgia, but that’s all it is. In a practical sense, the jar could break and it’s too heavy. Plus who wants to eat jam that’s over a decade old?
I load the bags onto the bike, and siphon the fuel from Calvin’s scooter into a bottle, then start the bike. I leave it running while I go to wake Toby.
“It’s time to go,” I tell him quietly.
He’s groggy, but he wraps his arms around my neck and I carry him to the bike, sitting him in front of me. The rain is steady, which will make the tracks slippery until we get to sealed roads, but it will also cool the night, as we put hours between ourselves and Calvin’s body, and the Town. They might not even bother coming after us. Everyone’s dispensable nowadays. I rub at the pain in my chest and feel a sob in my throat as I hold Toby close to me. I give the bike more throttle, and we head up the hill. I don’t even know why I’m crying, or why I can’t stop, but the rain washes the blood and salt from my face, and we ride east, to start again.
* * *
About Rebecca Freeman
Rebecca Freeman grew up on a farm surrounded by sheep, bushland and huge skies, which was as amazing and interesting as it sounds (she even had a pet kangaroo for a time). She then went to boarding school in the city, which was not at all as amazing and interesting as any of the stories promised it would be. Rebecca always wanted to be a writer, but she put it off for years, because procrastination is what she does best. Now that she has a partner, four small children, many pets and a garden to which to devote herself, she finally finds the time to write. Rebecca lives with her family on the south coast of Western Australia, and blogs almost-weekly at thisclimbingbean.wordpress.com.
Where the Fireflies Go
NJ Magas
~ Japan ~
At a quarter to eleven, the master died. Outside, Tanuki turned away from his vigil at the window, hefted up his bulk, and climbed down off the gas meter. His ceramic feet clicked hard on the pebbles at the side of the house as he dropped the final few centimetres. He winced, but no sound came from inside—no lights turned on and Shizuho didn’t come to the window to investigate. Tanuki let out his breath slowly. What would he have done if she had come to the window? He could freeze himself up of course, but that would raise all sorts of questions as to how the ceramic tanuki from the front door managed to get all the way to the side of the house. Subterfuge was no activity for short, round creatures—even those endowed with supernatural mobility.
As carefully as he could he picked his way along the pebble path with his walking stick in hand, and only allowed himself to make any more noise when he finally arrived in the back garden. There, the chirping crickets overpowered nearly all other sounds. It was an awful racket, but it allowed him to walk with ease. A fine thing too; the cramps in his legs made walking gingerly difficult.
The backyard was a mess. It had been a lovely garden once, but had given up on itself in the absence of care. A sagging juniper leaned half
of its weight on a mouldering crutch and the rest over the cement blocks of the eastern wall. The mosses were balding and crow pecked, and ravens had carried off several of the smooth, white pebbles that comprised the rock garden. If there were any koi left in the pond adjacent to it, they couldn’t be seen under the thick green coat of algae.
Amok: An Anthology of Asia-Pacific Speculative Fiction Page 27
