The Once-Dead Girl

by Laer Carroll

  Another bus trip got her home just as her mother was fixing breakfast.

  “Oh, there you are, dear. I thought you were upstairs still sleeping. Where were you?” Her tall red-haired mother was already made-up and well coifed but still had on her night clothes covered by a robe.

  “I took an early run. It’s really nice out.”

  “Want some breakfast?”

  “Just toast and juice. I’ll get it when you sit down.”

  Her mother wouldn’t hear of a child of hers just released from the hospital fixing her own food.

  Mid-morning her step-father Nicolas and Kendall woke and came downstairs. Beth was sprawled on a couch in the living room and studying. She ignored them but her brother poked his head into the room.

  “You want some breakfast? The step is fixing.”

  She put the book in which she’d been immersed face down on the carpet beside the couch and uncoiled herself to follow him into the kitchen.

  “Good morning, Bethany. Omelet?”

  She nodded and sat at the small dining table in kitchen and watched Nicolas work. Born and raised in France, his father was an American diplomatic official of some kind. Nicolas had followed in that tradition for a while but was now sous chef (apparently a big deal) and owned parts of several restaurants.

  He was dark of hair and had a wiry soccer-trained body. His movements were quick and sure without apparent hurry. It had taken Beth months to get used to him but lately they’d achieved an ease around each other.

  He quickly delivered the omelet to her, bacon and tomatoes its chief ingredients but with several other vegetables and spices, one of several versions he used and to which he knew she was partial. Atop it was a sprig of parsley.

  In another rapid dance of movement he took a large bottle of lemonade from the refrigerator, lifted a brow to see if she approved, and set it and a glass before her. Then he fixed an omelet for himself and joined Ken and Beth at the table. Ken was already nearly done with his and was watching her.

  So was Nicolas. When she’d finished and was pouring herself another glass of lemonade he said, “What are your plans?”

  “Study a lot. Probably walk a bit in the neighborhood. Have dinner with Lee at her house. ‘Bout it.”

  He turned his gaze onto Kendall, lifted an eyebrow. Her brother answered the silent question.

  “Stick around here for a while, take Beth to lunch, then go into work. I’ll be back in time to drive her to Lee’s.”

  Nicolas nodded and quickly finished his food. Beth forestalled him when he stood by nipping his plate from in front of him and taking it and her plate to the sink. She rinsed the two of them, then Ken’s as he brought it to her, and put the three dishes into the dishwasher.

  Turning away from the washer to clear off the rest of the table she found her step-father still standing by the table.

  “This is the first chance I’ve really had to say this. I missed you. The house was too quiet.”

  A last bit of cool reserve within her about this intruder into her home dissolved. Beth rushed forward and flung her arms about him. Warmth grew in her chest and suddenly she was a spirit or ghost inside his body.

  Its shape wasn’t human shaped but much more rambling. It was like a huge echoing sports stadium, with a wide open interior which was not open to the sky, and many smaller closed rooms, some very small. There were pipes and wires within him. Through them flowed fluids and power and communication.

  There was something wrong with it: an odor, or taste. Something within her spirit reflexively gave a drum roll of orders: fix this, fix that, stop this, stop that, start this, start that.

  And she was back in her own body, laughing at his surprise and tentative return hug. She broke away and grinned up at his embarrassed face.

  “I’m glad to be back. And things will be better now.”

  She meant his health would be better. But he took it to have wider meaning.

  “I’m glad. Well, erh, time for work. See you tonight.”

  He hurried from the room and Bethany turned to clear away the rest of the table. Kendall helped with some of it but mostly just stayed out of the way.

  When the table was cleared and wiped clean and the counter top and other parts of the kitchen were set to order he leaned against the counter top looking at her.

  “What?” She glanced in a decorative mirror on a nearby wall half-hidden by an ivy-like plant. “Is there something on my face?”

  “Yeah. A little bit more maturity. You and Helen have been selfish little bitches about Nick.”

  “Have not!” But she knew they had been.

  “He makes Mom happy. And he’s been trying with you two. But you won’t let him.”

  “She’s always been happy!”

  He turned and walked out of the room. She followed him into the living room. He sprawled full length onto the couch and she sat in an easy chair cater-corner to it.

  “She was unhappy for a long time. Not so bad you’d notice it. She covers up pretty good. And not so bad to break up the family.”

  He shifted position to a more upright position to get a better look at her.

  “It was easier for me to see, I suppose. Being away on a tour of duty I got some emotional distance from things. When I came back the first time I could see it.

  “When I came back the last time she was going out with Nick. And the difference was obvious. She smiled more, was more, uhm, energetic. And sometimes she sings or hums around the house.”

  “She’s always done that.” Or maybe not.

  Beth reviewed her memories of her mother but couldn’t decide if what her brother said was true. What WAS true that she seemed happy now. She went to work eagerly. Whereas she used to just do it dutifully. That memory at least Beth could dredge up.

  “OK, Smarty. So MAYBE Nick has made her happy. Satisfied?”

  Her brother just lay there, a little smile on his face.

  She knew that I know something you don’t look. She was so not going to play his game.

  She thrust her legs out and crossed them at her ankles. Her gaze wandered about the room. She hummed quietly to herself.

  “OK! WHAT?!”

  “You and Helen have been bitches about Dad, too.”

  “He walked out on us.”

  “‘Did she jump or was she pushed?’”

  It was from an old black-and-white movie.

  “So you’re saying Mom kicked him out?”

  “I’m not saying either way. I don’t know. I don’t want to know. But I know he’s happier, too. And he and Mom are closer than they ever were when they were in the same house. They’re just in love with someone else.”

  So loving and being in love—OK, having sex—weren’t the same thing?

  Bethany let that question slide for a later time. Considered Kendall’s main point. Let it slide too.

  “OK. MAYBE you’re right. But what’s the chance that happens twice in the same day?

  “But I’ll be easier on Dad from now on. OK? Satisfied? ”

  He put on a superior look, just to make her mad.

  “I ought to beat you up,” she said to him. “Ass.”

  Beating him up sounded like a good idea all of a sudden.

  “Hey! You and Mike promised to teach me karate.”

  “Did not.”

  “Did too.” She jumped up, assumed a movie kung-fu stance, began jumping up and down, and punching an imaginary foe.

  “We promised to teach you aikido. Defense, not offense.”

  “I like the idea of offense. Especially when someone is as offensive as you. Come on. To the gym. Or are you scared of a widdle girl?”

  Ken rolled easily to his feet. “Let’s go out back. Falling on grass is easier.”

  The back yard was square, a little wider than the house. High hedges separated it from the neighbors. An old stand of several squat oaks shaded a big chunk of it in the afternoon. Three red-and-white-striped beach umbrellas over three round tables with built
-in bench seats stood at the edge of the stand. They also provided shade.

  This still left a generous swath of open grass kept green by sprinklers in the night. Kendall led Bethany there and turned to her.

  She quit making fake kung-fu gestures and set her face to match his calm.

  “Are you going to take this seriously?” he said. “I’m not going to waste my time if not.”

  She nodded, schooling her inner self to match the outer.

  “There’s a very old Chinese book called the Arts of War. It’s slim, has some flowery language and old-time Chinese cultural references. But its main points are as true today as they were way back when.

  “What’s the purpose of war? Large or as small as two people facing each other like this?”

  Suddenly memories of Maelgyreyt rose up and she seemed to see her brother as a young warrior needing training. Like looking through a telescope the wrong way he seemed smaller and she larger.

  “The purpose of war is to get something. It can be material, as gold or farmland. It can be immaterial, as respect or a secret or a trade agreement. The purpose of war is not war, but peace.”

  He looked at her for a long moment.

  “Where did that come from?”

  Erh, yeah, where indeed? That he’d believe?

  “A history book. Some old-time general.” Maelgyreyt.

  He nodded. “See how you do with this one: What’s the best way to win a battle?”

  “Not to fight one.” The wrong-way telescope feeling was going. The answer seemed obvious. And so seemed the next sentences. She ticked them off on the fingers of one hand.

  “You can go around an army, avoiding battle. Make them think you’re too big and fierce and well-equipped to fight. Bribe the commanders. And maybe some other ways.”

  “Yeah. And if you have to fight there are several ways to win against someone stronger. Want to try answering that?”

  Maybe she should not be too much of a wise ass. “No.”

  He nodded. “You can be smarter, faster, sneakier, better trained. And better equipped, like bringing a gun to a knife fight, as the saying goes.”

  “I want to learn how to shoot a gun.”

  “You have a brain like a flea. No.”

  Mael would have loved guns. They didn’t exist when she’d fought the Mongols. And Bethany thought she herself might enjoy learning how to shoot. She’d bring the subject up again at a better time .

  “OK. So when do I get the chance to beat on you?”

  “Almost there. Be patient.”

  “I don’t see what this war stuff has to do with two people fighting.”

  “Two people is just two armies with one soldier apiece.”

  “OK.” When you’re getting what you want don’t argue about trifles. Another one of her Smart Girls’ Proverbs for Getting Your Way.

  Besides the Maelgyreyt side of her was agreeing with him.

  “Now, what’s behind you?”

  “Nothing. Grass.”

  “You sure? Nothing to trip you up if you have to back up quick? No bad guy about to pounce?”

  Beth glanced behind her, a quick glance in case he tried something.

  “No.”

  “Good. But you shouldn’t have to look. Always know what’s going on around you. One of the fundamentals of the Arts of War: intelligence. We call it situational assessment .

  “So don’t be texting or listening to ear phones when you are out and about.”

  She grinned. “So I’m prepared if terrorists attack everybody out in the mall.”

  “Don’t joke about it. Such things DO happen. I kind of like having a baby sister. I wouldn’t want to go to your funeral. I had a taste of that just three weeks ago.”

  That sobered Bethany. She hadn’t really thought much about what her family and friends had gone through when they heard she was dead, then in a coma.

  Shame scalded her insides. She was so self-centered.

  Her nose tingled and her eyes teared up. She might cry. She hated crying!

  Then suddenly the symptoms were gone. Like magic.

  Bethany blinked, said “OK. I’m serious now. ”

  His skeptical look told her she had to do better.

  “I am. I know bad things can happen. Like at that school last year where those two boys shot a bunch of kids and a teacher.”

  “OK. So when you’re at school, for instance, pay attention to your friends, but watch everyone else. Look for threats, but look for everything else also.

  “Now. Some of that technique stuff you’re so impatient to get. Stand normally and watch what I’m going to do in slow motion.”

  He took a step near her and very slowly lifted his right hand, fisted, and slowly swung it at her face. Then he froze and held his pose a moment before returning to his original position.

  “Now I’m going to repeat this but follow through. When I do, step to your left. Notice what happens.”

  She did what he said. This time his fist passed well off to her right side and he took another step forward so that he was to her side.

  Then he froze and said, “He’s just wasted energy and done nothing. Worse, he’s wasted time, and in a fight that can get you killed. Worst, he’s put himself in a bad position. You could hit him, stab him, trip him. Or this—”

  He returned to his position and had her do to him what he’d just done to her, having her freeze as he’d done after he’d taken the second step. Then, in slow motion, he swung his right arm to and curled his hand around her arm just past her elbow but did not immediately grasp her arm.

  Instead he slid his cupped hand down her lower arm and when it hit her wrist grasped it. He slowly pulled on the arm and Bethany found herself taking another step to keep from falling.

  “Notice that I didn’t try to stop your motion. I added to it. If I’d pulled really hard you’d find yourself running several steps to catch your balance. And in those seconds I could do all sorts of things. Shoot you in the back. Shoot a friend of yours.”

  He went on for several minutes on how to use someone’s motion and strength against them. Then for almost an hour they practiced several of them. Most of them involved tripping the opponent or in capturing an arm in a painful position.

  Finally he called the lesson done and they went back into the house for some water. They drank it in the living room, he on the couch again and she in the easy chair.

  “You can see why Mike and I wanted to teach you aikido instead of karate. Because you’re small your nerves are shorter and your reflexes faster than those who are larger.

  “There’s also something called the square-cube law. It’s why fleas can jump many times their height and elephants can’t jump at all. Reflexes and body control are your strengths. Bigger guys are weaker in those areas. Using your strengths against your opponents’ weaknesses is straight out of the Arts of War.”

  There was no one in the world she trusted more than her big brother. A dozen years distant in age, he’d nevertheless never disregarded her or talked down to her. He’d been protective but not overly protective the way her parents were.

  Maybe she could tell him about her dreams which weren’t dreams but memories. A little bit about them. Not the really weird stuff.

  She spoke slowly, thinking out exactly what details to share and what not to.

  “It’s funny about the Arts of War. I’d never heard of the ideas you mentioned. But when you talked about them, it was like an echo. I’ve been having some weird dreams. Weird because they seem more like memories. And in some of them I’m this general from way back when the Mongols were invading Eastern Europe. And she knows all about the Arts of War. Though she doesn’t think of them under that name. Just as elementary rules about strategy and tactics.”

  “A woman general back in the Dark Ages?”

  “Yeah, that’s weird, right? Not a man. But the dreams got me interested in history. I always hated it because it’s just dates and places and facts. But I got to thinking abou
t the people who made history.

  “So I began to look for women generals and leaders. I found several. And I found one who might be her.”

  “Maybe you read about her or heard about her long ago and only just now it came out.”

  “Could be. But the dreams are so detailed and vivid. Not like most dreams. I now know what a battlefield looks like with dead people all cut up and practically washing green countryside in blood.”

  He had sat up a bit and was looking at her with concern.

  “Maybe you should talk to somebody about these dreams.”

  “I’m doing that right now. I don’t need anybody else.”

  “But I’m not an expert on… on….”

  “On craziness?”

  She leaned forward and looked hard at him. “I’m not going to a head doctor, Kendall. These dreams are not screwing me up. I know they’re just dreams—or memories. They’re not giving me nightmares or effecting me any other way.

  “Except I’m learning a little more about what life is really like. And it’s making me more grownup. Or making me TRY to be more grownup.

  “Didn’t you have bad experiences over there? That made you better, as bad as they were?”

  “Yes. But I still have flashbacks and wake up sweating. Not so much anymore. And less every day. But when I got out I DID see someone and they helped me.”

  She sat back. “I don’t think it’s the same for me. It’s like I already lived through the getting-over-horrible-stuff and adjusted. Or maybe it’s because the experiences were in dreams and not right in front of me.”

  She looked hard at him again. “Don’t you tell on me. I trust you more than even Mom and Dad. I’d hate to have to change my mind about that.”

  He sat up all the way and swung his feet over to set them onto the floor.

  “I won’t. Unless these dreams start to screw you up. And then I will tell. I’d rather lose your trust than lose you.”

  She jumped up and came over to him. Even her standing and him sitting they were almost eye to eye. She held out her hand palm out. He slapped it, an old bargain-sealing ritual.