by MaeEadie
Florence stopped and sat. She caught her breath. The afternoon breeze chilled her arms and her legs.
Lisette closed her eyes. There was something she had to say. It was one of those little things that could turn mammoth. It kept her awake at night, lengthening her already seemingly endless hours of being awake. It lit up in gold glitter whenever she saw it in action, 'look at me, look at me! I dare you to tell'. It even slipped into her senses, mistaking everyday objects and conversations for something else. She swallowed, gathering the courage to say it. She had to. It was fighting to get out. It had been for months. It's eagerness stung her throat and prised her tired lips apart. She let it out.
"Do you love him?"
"Sorry?" Florence looked at her cousin, utter confusion all over her face.
"Ben, I mean. Do you love Ben?"
"Sure, of course I do." Florence looked at her cousin. Of course she loved Ben, how could she not love the boy who was like a big brother to her?
"No, I mean. Argh. I mean, really love. Like love, love."
"Oh. Well, I don't know. I don't think so. I've never really thought about him like that."
"Oh." Lisette nodded and looked away.
"Why?" Lisette didn't look back, her eyes were fixed on the forest before them.
"Surely you've noticed. The way he looks at you. The way he talks to you. The ways he acts with you?"
"No, not really." Florence blushed. Florence knew where this conversation was heading but it felt wrong.
"He's in love with you Flory. He just doesn't want you to see it."
Florence didn’t answer, staring at the ground instead.
"Honestly! If you begin loving each other in that way, it'll ruin your friendship."
"Then why are you telling me this?!"
"Because I am a horrible person, but also, I think you needed to know. Don't worry, never in a million years would Ben act on his feelings, he loves you too much for that. Also, don't hold it against him, please. He is going through enough as it is, plus, he's still the same." Lisette finally looked at Florence, who nodded.
"I think I already knew. I think I knew but I didn't want to know." Florence said. Lisette nodded. She understood.
The dull silence
28th July 1939
Despite what she now knew, nothing changed between Florence and Ben.
Florence kept Florence-ing.
Ben kept Ben-ing.
All was well.
*
As you may have guessed,
all would not be well for too much longer.
Since you still have a fair bit of this story to hear,
we can hardly end it here.
That would be boring.
And frankly,
I am not boring.
But for now,
all was well.
Yes,
things would start to deteriorate,
But not yet.
*
Lisette didn't regret it. She knew that telling Florence about Ben's feelings was the right thing to do.
*
Sometimes when someone has their head in their pillow,
you need to pull it out and give it a slap or two,
wake them up and show them what monster has been standing next to them all that time.
They will thank you for the bruises.
The reminders.
*
Lisette closed her eyes, something she spent a lot of time doing. While neither Florence nor Ben were around, Lisette sat. She sat and waited. Waited for something to happen, something that was worth opening her eyes for.
Sometimes Édith would sit with her, reading aloud or just thinking. She would occasionally walk with Lisette, pushing the handles of the wheelchair in silence.
Silence.
Silence filled most of Lisette's day. It seemed that noise was busy with all the other, more interesting people. She didn't blame it.
Sometimes Gaël would crawl in and roll around on the floor, his chubby fists pounding the wood.
"Lise, Lise." he would gurgle his sister's name, begging her to play.
"Sorry Gaël. Lisette is stuck in bed today."
"Lise you always in bed." Lisette would look at him sadly and watch him totter back out. He never stayed long.
Then silence would come again, like a heavy sheet draped all over her. It was dark and musty.
Boring.
The sun would rise and fall with not a thing happening, nothing worth opening her eyes for. Those days blurred into one. One great fuzz of dull silence. Then there were the other days, most days, visit days. The days when Florence and Ben visited. These days she opened her eyes and smiled. Their visits made everything worth it. All the waiting and the endless, blurry days of nothing. Every time her bedroom door would swing open to them, her heart would bound and she would leap and dance about the room, in her imagination of course.
They didn't know how much their presence meant to her.
Mistaken
28th July 1939
When Florence told Rafael about her new job, he brushed her off. Her excited smile had disappeared and a crease in her forehead replaced it. There were no 'congratulations', no 'how is it going', not even a smile. As usual, his instinctive thought was for himself.
"Will it take time away from your visits?" he had asked. Florence gave him the benefit of the doubt and took it as him being kind and not wanting to miss out on seeing her.
She took it wrong.
"No, of course not Herr. Your tribe will always come first." Rafael had nodded in approval, his wiry beard had flopped up and down.
"I am most glad to hear it." There was never another word said about it.
That night Rafael had told Jael he didn't like it. He didn't like that Florence had a life outside the village.
"She'll get too involved in her own wretched life and forget about us."
"Don't say such horrible things Rafael, she's a purine, it's in her nature not to." Not for one second had Jael's faith in Florence faulted. Let's just say she was much more insightful than her husband.
"Just because she's a purine doesn't mean she isn't human. It's in their nature to be selfish."
"Then you're the biggest human there is. I beg of you Raf, open your eyes and appreciate all she's done for you. She could have said no right at the beginning. But she didn't."
"She's still pushing the boundaries though, I won't have it." Rafael finished the argument. Jael sighed and rolled over. Despite the fact that they slept less than a foot apart, the bed felt empty. Jael felt alone. The more time she spent with her husband the less she knew about him. His secrets were beginning to reveal themselves and she didn't want them to. Jael didn't want to know who he really was because she had a feeling she wouldn't like it.
*
Over time,
Jael missed the past more and more.
'When we were young and had fewer white hairs.'
She would think.
She'd been carefree and blind with love.
If only she had gone and gotten some glasses,
preferably X-ray vision ones,
Then maybe she could have seen right through her husband,
back at the beginning.
Before everything started to go wrong.
*
That day when Florence left the forest, her head was fuzzy. Fuzzy with the furry feeling of being valued. But her feelings were mistaken. Rafael didn't respect her. She took his intentions wrongly. Maybe it was best kept that way.
A good day
1st August 1939
Another weekend had been and gone at the grocery shop and once again the food was scarce. A small truck had pulled up in front of the shop, the exhaust spluttering all over the road. Florence, Willi and his children ferried crates of fresh food to and from the back of the truck, their arms aching under the heavy trays. For once the children didn't speak, their mouths were closed, sometimes with their tongues hanging out in concentra
tion. Several times a lone apple toppled off a pile and bounded along the ground, collecting a nice assortment of bruises. It would usually end with a horrified child and a tut-tut from Willi.
"Watch wha' yeh doing, silly." Every bit of food was precious and soon the war would start and it would snatch away all the food left like a starved lion.
*
Enjoy your food,
the lion may visit you next.
*
"Das ist alles, Florence. Danke." The last boxes were dropped down onto the shop floor, the muscles holding them were worn out.
When all of the fruit was lain out over the shop, the door was closed and the lock turned. Florence and Willi's pockets were nearly empty, as were their stomachs. Florence's stomach rumbled as she picked the splinters from her palm. Her hand was covered in small red spots, raw from her clumsy nails. She exhaled.
It was a good day.
Her arms were tired and her hands were battered. Her pockets were empty and her stomach was emptier. The sky was darkening and the air was humid. But it was a good day.
The festival
3rd August 1939
It was the tribe's eight hundredth anniversary and they celebrated. With music, with dancing, with song, with worship, with food.
Florence came late and joined in with the little frescreets. Many of them had no idea what they were celebrating, but the fact that they were celebrating was enough. Florence chased them around, feeling a lot like Willi. They tottered along shrieking and tittering while Florence jogged along behind. They only came half way up her calves.
A little one fell and grazed her elbows, leaving small dribbles of blood trailing down her pale forearm. Florence sat down with her and wiped her clean, fitting her in the crook of her arm. Soon the rest gathered, missing out on attention just wasn't an option for them. Florence's lap and the grass around her was quickly covered entirely by the little frescreets, all vying for attention. From the hill with her blanket of children, she watched the village. The older children danced through the streets lined with parents and grandparents, all cheering and singing. Bunting made from bright fabric scraps was pinned about the houses. Smells of roasting nuts and fresh berries filled the clearing, the taste was fresh on every tongue. Every window was wide open, fresh air and sweet scents occupying the empty houses.
"This is how it should be." Florence thought aloud. The war was on her doorstep and eventually she had to let it in. But she wished she could keep the door closed. That's how it is meant to be.
Near the end of the festival, Rafael finished his speech and Jael rushed up. She hobbled as quickly as she could, her white hair trailing behind. She stepped up to the platform and a hush fell over the crowd. Her knees knocked but she began anyway.
"I would like to invite the orchestra here, to, um, play you all a song." Just as she was about to step away, she turned back. "I would like to say that this song is for Florence. I, as well as all others, cannot thank her enough for her troubles so we wanted to make something for her. It's not much, but, um, here it is." she said this without looking at Rafael. Otherwise she would have seen the anger on his face and in his heart.
The 'orchestra' stepped to the front of the crowd with their instruments. Each of them Florence hadn't seen before, tubes of rolled grass, spheres of bent wood and bark, blades of thin grass strung between two sticks. Each hung around their necks or was held in their hands, gently and delicately.
In a messy cluster, Jael took the lead, waving with her hand at each frescreet to begin. From the first note, the crowd didn't stir. The soft, slow music tickled their ears and stroked their neck. Tinkling sounds mixed with the fruity smells turned the clearing sweet. Like a honey coated sugar cube. The notes danced around on their air and on the breeze. It was overwhelming, playing games with her head and making her eyes feel droopy. Florence was nearly asleep when it stopped. The spell was lifted and the sweetness slunk away like a cat at dawn.
Florence applauded slowly, fighting off the fatigue. Jael bowed to the crowd, some of whom hadn't even tried and were now lying on the cold, hard ground, sleeping and snoring.
The festivities stopped, all frescreets were too tired to continue. They slowly trickled out of the street and into their sweet smelling homes. They children clambered off Florence, waddling after their parents. Rafael and Jael left for their home too, hobbling away whispering fiercely to one another. Florence was left alone.
The trek back through the forest had never been harder. Several times she had to stop and rest by a tree, fighting off sleep. She stumbled and tripped and when she emerged from the trees, she collapsed. Sleeping, resting.
The thought of Ben's lips
12th August 1939
It was the height of summer and the land was thirsty. It longed for a drink, even just a drop. But the sun was unforgiving and so the land continued to be thirsty. Unlike Florence.
She let the water engulf her completely, resting with her nose just teasing the surface. The pond was deep and the bottom was unseen by Florence. The idea of not knowing what swam beneath her didn't worry her, it never had.
*
That's because she really did know.
No matter what,
the fists and hands of her country would always lie beneath her.
She trusted it.
It would protect her.
*
In just her underwear, Florence swam through Dreiheimne pond. The sweat washed off her sticky body, the grass out of her hair, the dust from her eyes.
'If anyone sees me, they will probably be sick.' she thought. Indeed, if you looked closely, you would be able to see a cloud of dirt, grass and other objects floating about her.
Summer certainly leaves its mark.
*
Please don't think badly of Florence.
She's not dirty or disgusting and never washes,
as it may seem.
Trust me,
if you were there,
your cloud of dirt would have choked all the fish in that pond.
Forest treks and wheelchair adventures and grocery shop running certainly had Florence begging for a bath.
*
The water soothed her chapped lips and her cracking heels.
As usual, all was peaceful at Dreiheimne pond. Thoughts played peacefully around Florence's head just as the water played on her skin.
She thought of the frescreets, no surprise there. The more she got to know Rafael, the more sceptical she became. There was something about him, something about the girl with the strawberry hair. Such hatred was in her eyes that she couldn't help but feel it too.
She thought about her family and her job.
She thought about Ben. Kissing him. She fought the thought off but it always came back. The thought of his strong lips and dark eyes on her never faded. She thought about his growing stubble scratching her face. His arms wrapped around her shoulders. His forehead on her's. Florence shuddered at the thought, thinking it ridiculous. But secretly, she longed for it. She ached for him and it scared her. The thought made her cheeks flush, underneath the water. Her stomach had an unreachable itch and her pulse quickened.
"What's wrong with you Flory?" She asked herself. Nevertheless, the thought stayed in her mind.
Black and yellow
13th August 1939
*
The hands were preparing.
Fists.
The knuckles of each country whitened,
straining and bracing for the impact.
Are you ready?
They were,
and they're coming ready or not.
Here they come.
Unfortunately,
this was not a game of hide and seek.
You couldn't hide.
They didn't have to seek.
Running for your life would be your best option.
Fists were flying and their only target was to hit something.
It would be wise to avoid being that 'something'.<
br />
*
Everywhere there was more black. More yellow. Never together, only ever by themselves.
You could see the black in shop windows, on arm bands, in brains.
You could see yellow on coats, on doors, in hearts.
Swastika. Star.
These two symbols couldn't be more different, but at the same time, where you saw one you would think of the other. They went together hand in hand, one holding a knife to the other's throat.
Black and yellow. Like a bee.
That's right, the war that was just around the bend would be just like a bee. A battle of black and yellow, striping back and forth. A never ending buzz. Wings that carried the bee around, dropping in to hit its target.
The stinger. When you reach the end of the bee, you find the stinger. The war would end with a big sting, pain and terror incomparable. There would be damage. There would be death. But then the stinger would be extracted, and the healing would begin. The bee would die off. The fear would leave and the peace would return.
For the time being. Of course, there are thousands of other bees, just waiting to have their turn at stinging.
Black and yellow. Yellow and black.
People say yellow is the only colour that reacts badly with black. Mix them together and you get a sickly colour.
Well, people say a lot of things.
Every colour reacted badly with this black.
Swastikas are meant to be isolated. Left out. Gotten rid of.
You wouldn't want to lose the stars, would you?
The starving Olympian
20th August 1939
All the children flocked to the town centre, their parents trailing behind. None of the children had butterflies, they had great horses galloping around their stomachs instead.
Today was race day.
Barely containing himself, Oliver dragged Florence and Gabriel by their arms down the mountainside. Ben trailed behind, restraining his own little sister.
At the edge of town, where the pavements turned to dirt, the villagers gathered. Little boys and girls dressed in only their singlets and running shorts, pushed their way up to the front of the crowd, fighting to stand in front. Oliver was just a crop of brown hair amongst the mass.
Florence joined in Gabriel's cheer and the starter gun trigger was pulled. Florence had never seen her brother take something so seriously. His eyebrows crinkled together and his lips were a thin line. He pumped his legs and pounded his arms, barely missing the noses of those around him. He ran straight past Florence, not noticing her cheers or even the swelling crowd.