The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes

by Suzanne Collins

  The Hunger Games: A Night of Interviews kicked off in front of a live audience in the Academy auditorium while broadcasting throughout Panem. Hosted by the clownish Capitol TV weatherman, Lucretius “Lucky” Flickerman, it seemed both glaringly inappropriate and surprisingly welcome on the heels of all the killing. Lucky was dressed in a high-collared blue suit with rhinestone accents, his gelled hair was dusted in coppery powder, and his mood could only be described as merry. The back curtain of the stage, resurrected from some prewar production, depicted a starry sky and twinkled accordingly.

  After a jaunty rendition of the anthem played, Lucky welcomed the audience to a brand-new Hunger Games for a brand-new decade, one in which every Capitol citizen could participate by sponsoring the tribute of their choice. In the chaos of the past few days, the best Dr. Gaul’s team had been able to do was offer a half dozen basic food items the sponsors could send to the tributes.

  “You’re wondering, what’s in it for you?” chirped Lucky. Then he explained the gambling, a simple system with win, place, and show options familiar to those who’d played the ponies before the war. Anyone who wanted to either send a monetary gift to feed a tribute, or place a bet on one, needed only to visit their local post office, where the staff would be happy to help. Starting tomorrow, they would be open from eight in the morning until eight at night, giving people time to place their bets before the Hunger Games kicked off on Monday. After he’d introduced the new wrinkle in the Games, Lucky had little to do but read the cue cards with the material that wrapped around the interviews, but he managed to work in a few magic tricks, like pouring different-colored wine from the same bottle to toast the Capitol and having a pigeon fly out of his bell-sleeved jacket.

  Of the mentor-tribute pairs who were capable of participating, only half had something to present. Coriolanus asked to go last, knowing nothing could compete with Lucy Gray but wanting to be the closer for effect. The other mentors offered up background information about their tributes while trying to throw in something memorable and urging the public to sponsor them. To demonstrate his strength, Lysistrata sat primly in her chair while Jessup lifted her over his head easily. Io Jasper’s District 3 boy, Circ, said he could start a fire with his glasses, and she, with her scientific know-how, suggested various angles and times of day that would facilitate the task. Snooty Juno Phipps admitted she’d been disappointed to get tiny Bobbin. Didn’t a Phipps, a member of a founding family of the Capitol, deserve better than District 8? But he’d won her over when he told her five different ways he could kill someone with a sewing needle. Coral, Festus’s District 4 girl, made a case for her ability to handle a trident, a weapon that was typically available in the arena. She demonstrated with an old broomstick, wielding it in a sinuous fashion that left little doubt of her expertise. The dairy heiress Domitia Whimsiwick’s familiarity with cows turned out to be an asset. Bubbly by nature, she got her muscular District 10 tribute, Tanner, so engaged in talking about slaughterhouse techniques that Lucky had to cut them off when they ran over. Arachne had been wrong about the appeal of that topic, because Tanner garnered the most applause of the evening so far.

  Coriolanus listened with one ear as he prepared to take the stage with Lucy Gray. Felix Ravinstill, the president’s grandnephew, was trying to make an impression with the District 11 girl, Dill, but Coriolanus couldn’t figure out his angle, because she’d become so sickly even her coughs were barely audible.

  Tigris had worked another one of her miracles on Lucy Gray’s dress. The filth and soot had vanished, leaving fresh, starchy rows of rainbow ruffles. She’d also sent a pot of blush Fabricia had discarded with just a smidgeon left in the bottom. Scrubbed clean, with rouged cheeks and lips, her hair piled up on her head as it had been for the reaping, Lucy Gray looked, as Pluribus had said, like someone who still knew how to have fun.

  “I think your odds get better by the minute,” said Coriolanus, adjusting a hot pink rosebud in her hair. It matched the one on his lapel, just in case anyone needed a reminder of who Lucy Gray belonged to.

  “Well, you know what they say. The show’s not over until the mockingjay sings,” she said.

  “The mockingjay?” He laughed. “Really, I think you’re just making these things up.”

  “Not that one. A mockingjay’s a bona fide bird,” she assured him.

  “And it sings in your show?” he asked.

  “Not my show, sweetheart. Yours. The Capitol’s anyway,” said Lucy Gray. “I think we’re up.”

  With her clean dress and his neatly pressed uniform, their very appearance brought a spontaneous round of applause from the audience. He didn’t waste time asking her a lot of questions no one cared about. Instead he introduced himself and stepped back, leaving her alone in the spotlight.

  “Good evening,” she said. “I’m Lucy Gray Baird, of the Covey Bairds. I started writing this song back in District Twelve, before I knew what the ending would be. It’s my words set to an old tune. Where I’m from, we call it a ballad. That’s a song that tells a story. And I guess this is mine. ‘The Ballad of Lucy Gray Baird.’ I hope you like it.”

  Coriolanus had heard her sing dozens of songs over the past few days, full of everything from the beauty of springtime to the heart-wrenching despair of losing her mama. Lullabies and toe tappers, laments and ditties. She’d solicited his opinion, weighing his responses to each song. He’d thought they’d settled on a charming thing about the wonder of falling in love, but a few bars into this ballad, he knew this was nothing she’d rehearsed. The haunting melody set the tone, and her words did the rest as she began to sing in a voice husky from smoke and sadness.

  When I was a babe I fell down in the holler.

  When I was a girl I fell into your arms.

  We fell on hard times and we lost our bright color.

  You went to the dogs and I lived by my charms.

  I danced for my dinner, spread kisses like honey.

  You stole and you gambled and I said you should.

  We sang for our suppers, we drank up our money.

  Then one day you left, saying I was no good.

  Well, all right, I’m bad, but then, you’re no prize either.

  All right, I’m bad, but then, that’s nothing new.

  You say you won’t love me, I won’t love you neither.

  Just let me remind you who I am to you.

  ’Cause I am the one who looks out when you’re leaping.

  I am the one who knows how you were brave.

  And I am the one who heard what you said sleeping.

  I’ll take that and more when I go to my grave.

  It’s sooner than later that I’m six feet under.

  It’s sooner than later that you’ll be alone.

  So who will you turn to tomorrow, I wonder?

  For when the bell rings, lover, you’re on your own.

  And I am the one who you let see you weeping.

  I know the soul that you struggle to save.

  Too bad I’m the bet that you lost in the reaping.

  Now what will you do when I go to my grave?

  You could hear a pin drop in the auditorium when she finished. Then there were a few sniffles, some coughing, and finally Pluribus’s voice shouting out “Bravo” from the back of the auditorium and the thunderous applause that followed.

  Coriolanus knew it had hit home, this dark, moving, far too personal account of her life. He knew the gifts would pour into the arena for her. That her success, even now, reflected back on him, making it his success. Snow lands on top and all that. He knew he should be elated at this turn of events and jumping up and down inside while presenting a modest, pleased front.

  But what he really felt was jealous.

  “And last but least, District Twelve girl . . . she belongs to Coriolanus Snow.”

  “Things might’ve been quite different if y
ou hadn’t landed your little rainbow girl.”

  “The truth is, we were all so busy killing each other that we forgot how to have fun. She knows, though. Your girl.”

  His girl. His. Here in the Capitol, it was a given that Lucy Gray belonged to him, as if she’d had no life before her name was called out at the reaping. Even that sanctimonious Sejanus believed she was something he could trade for. If that wasn’t ownership, what was? With her song, Lucy Gray had repudiated all that by featuring a life that had nothing to do with him, and a great deal to do with someone else. Someone she referred to as “lover,” no less. And while he had no claim on her heart — he barely knew the girl! — he didn’t like the idea of anyone else having it either. Although the song had been a clear success, he felt somehow betrayed by it. Even humiliated.

  Lucy Gray rose and took a bow, then extended her hand to him. After a moment’s hesitation, he joined her at the front of the stage while the applause built to a standing ovation. Pluribus led the cries for an encore, but their time had expired, as Lucky Flickerman reminded them, so they took a final bow and exited the stage, hand in hand.

  As they reached the wings she started to release him, but he tightened his grip. “Well, you’re a hit. Congratulations. New song?”

  “I’ve been working on it awhile, but I only found that last stanza a few hours ago,” she said. “Why? Didn’t you like it?”

  “It surprised me. You had so many others,” he said.

  “I did.” Lucy Gray freed her hand and ran her fingers across the guitar strings, picking out one last bit of melody before she gently settled the instrument back in its case. “Here’s the thing, Coriolanus. I’m going to fight like all-fire to win these Games, but I’m going to be in there with the likes of Reaper and Tanner and a few others who are no strangers to killing. There’s no guarantee of anything.”

  “And the song?” he prodded.

  “The song?” she repeated, and took a moment to consider her answer. “I left some loose ends back in District Twelve. Me being tribute . . . Well, there’s bad luck and then there’s bad business. That was bad business. And someone who owed me plenty had a hand in it. The song, it was payback of a kind. Most people won’t know that, but the Covey will get the message, loud and clear. And they’re all I really care about.”

  “Just on one hearing?” asked Coriolanus. “It went by pretty fast.”

  “One hearing’s all my cousin Maude Ivory needs. That child never forgets anything with a tune,” said Lucy Gray. “Looks like I’m being rounded up again.”

  The two male Peacekeepers who appeared at her side treated her with a certain friendliness now, asking if she was ready to go and trying to keep their smiles contained. Just like those Peacekeepers back in 12. Coriolanus couldn’t help wondering just how friendly she could be. He gave them a disapproving look that had zero effect and heard them complimenting her performance as they took her away.

  He swallowed his peevishness and accepted the congratulations that were pouring in from all sides. They helped to remind him that he was the real star of the evening. Even if Lucy Gray was confused on the issue, in the eyes of the Capitol, she belonged to him. What point would there be in crediting a district tribute? This held true until he ran into Pluribus, who gushed, “What a talent, what a natural she is! If she manages to survive, I’m determined to headline her in my club.”

  “That sounds a bit tricky. Won’t they send her home?” said Coriolanus.

  “I have one or two favors I could call in,” he said. “Oh, Coriolanus, wasn’t she stellar? I’m so glad you got her, my boy. The Snows were due a piece of good luck.”

  Silly old man with his ridiculous powdered wig and his decrepit cat. What did he know about anything? Coriolanus was about to set the record straight, when Satyria appeared and whispered in his ear, “I think that prize is in the bag,” and he let it go.

  Sejanus appeared, in another brand-new suit, with a rumpled little woman in an expensive flowered dress on his arm. It didn’t matter. You could put a turnip in a ball gown and it would still beg to be mashed. Coriolanus had no doubt this could only be Ma.

  As Sejanus introduced them, he extended his hand and gave her a warm smile. “Mrs. Plinth, what an honor. Please forgive me for my negligence. I’ve been meaning to write you a note for days, but every time I sit down to do it, my head throbs so from my concussion that I can’t think straight. Thank you for the delicious casserole.”

  Mrs. Plinth crinkled with pleasure and gave an embarrassed laugh. “It’s for us to thank you, Coriolanus. We’re so glad that Sejanus has such a good friend. If there’s ever anything you need, I hope you’ll know you can count on us.”

  “Well, that cuts both ways, madam. I am at your service,” he said, laying it on so thick she was sure to be suspicious. But not Ma. Her eyes filled with tears and she made a gurgling sound, having been rendered speechless by his magnanimousness. She dug in her handbag, a ghastly thing the size of a small suitcase, pulled out a lace-trimmed handkerchief, and began blowing her nose. Fortunately, Tigris, who was genuinely sweet to everyone, came backstage to find him and took over chatting with the Plinths.

  Things finally wound down, and as the cousins walked home together, they analyzed the evening, from Lucy Gray’s restrained use of the blush to the unfortunate fit of Ma’s dress. “But really, Coryo, I can’t imagine things going any better for you,” said Tigris.

  “I’m certainly pleased,” he said. “I think we’ll be able to get her some sponsors. I just hope some people aren’t put off by the song.”

  “I was very moved by it. I think most people were. Didn’t you like it?” she asked.

  “Of course I liked it, but I’m more open-minded than most,” he said. “I mean, what do you think she was suggesting happened?”

  “It sounded to me like she had a bad time of it. Someone she loved broke her heart,” Tigris answered.

  “That was only the half of it,” he continued, because he couldn’t let even Tigris think he’d felt envious of some no-account in the districts. “There was the part about her living by her charms.”

  “Well, that could be anything. She’s a performer, after all,” she said.

  He considered it. “I suppose.”

  “You said she lost her parents. She’s probably been fending for herself for years. I don’t think anyone who survived the war and the years after can blame her for that.” Tigris dropped her gaze. “We all did things we’re not proud of.”

  “You didn’t,” he said.

  “Didn’t I?” Tigris spoke with an uncharacteristic bitterness. “We all did. Maybe you were too little to remember. Maybe you didn’t know how bad it really was.”

  “How can you say that? That’s all I remember,” he shot back.

  “Then be kind, Coryo,” she snapped. “And try not to look down on people who had to choose between death and disgrace.”

  Tigris’s rebuke shocked him, but less than her alluding to behavior that might be considered a disgrace. What had she done? Because if she’d done it, she’d done it to protect him. He thought about the morning of the reaping, when he’d casually wondered what she had to trade in the black market, but he’d never really taken that seriously. Or hadn’t he? Would he have just preferred not to know what sacrifices she might be willing to make for him? Her comment was vague enough, and so many things were beneath a Snow, that he could say, as she had of Lucy Gray’s song, “Well, that could be anything.” Did he want to know the details? No. The truth was he did not.

  As he pulled open the glass door to the apartment building, she gave a cry of disbelief. “Oh, no, it can’t be! The elevator’s working!”

  He felt doubtful, as the thing hadn’t worked since early in the war. But the door stood open and the lights reflected off the mirrored walls of the car. Glad for the distraction, he made a low bow, inviting her to enter. “After you.”
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  Tigris giggled and paraded into the car like the grand lady she was born to be. “You’re too kind.”

  Coriolanus swept in after her, and for a moment they both stared at the buttons designating the floors. “The last time I remember this working, we’d just been to my father’s funeral. We got home, and we’ve been climbing ever since.”

  “The Grandma’am will be thrilled,” said Tigris. “Her knees can’t take those stairs anymore.”

  “I’m thrilled. Maybe she’ll get out of the apartment once in a while,” Coriolanus said. Tigris smacked him on the arm, but she was laughing. “Really. It would be nice to have the place to ourselves for five minutes. Maybe skip the anthem one morning, or not wear a tie to dinner. Then again, there’s the danger of her talking to people. ‘When Coriolanus is president, it will rain champagne every Tuesday!’”

  “Perhaps people will just put it down to age,” said Tigris.

  “One can hope. Will you do the honors?” he asked.

  Tigris reached out and gave the penthouse button a nice long push. After a pause the doors slid shut with nary a squeak, and they began to ascend. “I’m surprised the apartment board decided to fix it now. It must’ve been costly.”

  Coriolanus frowned. “You don’t suppose they’re spiffing up the building hoping to sell their places? You know, with the new taxes.”

  The playfulness drained out of Tigris. “That’s very possible. I know the Dolittles would consider selling for the right price. They say the apartment is too big for them, but you know it’s not that.”

  “Is that what we’ll say? That our ancestral home has gotten too large?” Coriolanus said as the doors opened to reveal their front door. “Come on, I’ve still got homework.”

  The Grandma’am had waited up to sing his praises and said they’d been replaying highlights from the interviews nonstop. “She’s a sad, trashy little thing, your girl, but oddly appealing in her way. Perhaps it’s her voice. It gets inside a person somehow.”