The Book of Flora

by Meg Elison

  A short black man came down unsteadily, cursing under his breath. He stepped to Eddy first. “Capitán.”

  Eddy shook his head and pointed to Bodie.

  “Désolée. First mate.” He clasped Eddy’s forearms in a two-handed grip. Eddy fumbled to return the greeting.

  The man walked over to Bodie. “Capitán.”

  Bodie took his arms and nodded. “Y tu?” The strange sea-patois was delivered lazy-mouthed, bored. Eddy had no other languages but his own and could not entirely follow, despite the sounds being familiar.

  “Sylvain.”

  Bodie nodded. “Qu’est ce-que tu business?”

  “Mujeres. For sale. Savvy?”

  “Savvy. Not buying, though.”

  Sylvain’s big, bloodshot eyes slid from Bodie to Eddy and back again. “Dos hommes solamente. No use for mujeres? Perhaps you hold secret mujeres?”

  “Sans mujeres,” Bodie said smoothly. “Sans trade. Poverty, savvy?”

  Sylvain smiled wide. “Primero, the prices. Si?”

  Thumping above as more feet started down the ladder. Three women laid their bare feet on the deck of the Ursula, one after the other. Each was dark skinned, clean, and well fed. All three wore their long black hair loose.

  Eddy stepped forward, looking at their faces. They showed no signs of being drugged or beaten. They shared close resemblance in their faces. He looked over to Sylvain.

  “They’re all from the same family? Sisters?”

  “Aye, sisters. De la jungle, las tribes to the south.”

  The women were naked to the waist, wearing only loose skirts of rough cotton weave. Sylvain walked over casually and seized one of their breasts, squeezing to show its resiliency.

  “Breeders, savvy? Quality bon.” He flicked a nipple with one finger. The girl gave a small, closed-mouthed whimper. She did not shift her body away from him, but it was clear she wanted to.

  Eddy spoke up fast. “Trade fish. Fresh fish.”

  Sylvain made a face. “The fuck tu savvy we sail upon?”

  “Corn flour,” he offered, flatly.

  Sylvain pointed at Eddy’s chest. “Bullshit, homme. Bullets. Pistolets. Mira la shine leagues away.”

  Eddy grasped his bandolier reflexively. He hadn’t thought about the fact that he was wearing his wealth across his chest.

  “Ruined,” Bodie said swiftly, cutting across the tension. “Soaked in seawater. Solamente for show.” He shrugged. “Little man. Sans pistolets. Showbiz.”

  Sylvain grimaced. “Rico. Pense que rico.” He spat. He tapped his foot at the three girls, who immediately turned to climb back to their own ship.

  “Désolée,” Bodie said lazily.

  “How many? On your ship, how many?” Eddy was watching a girl climb the rickety, shaking ladder.

  “Crew is forty-two.”

  “He means cargo.” Bodie offered this helpful translation while looking at nothing at all. Especially not the hidden door to the hold. His eyes touched everywhere, resting nowhere.

  “Cargo is dozen. Touts fine. Touts de la jungle. Mas rico por toi.”

  Bodie nodded. “Mas rico. Désolée.”

  The ladder slackened as the final girl removed her weight from it.

  “Where will you take them?” Eddy kept his voice steady. Tried to feign disinterest.

  “A la mer. Where else?”

  “Are there enough men at sea to sell them?”

  “Toujours.” Sylvain looked them over once more. “Sans mujeres?”

  “Si,” Eddy said shortly. He started a moment later when Bodie slung a sinewy arm around his shoulders.

  “San mujeres, parce que best mates.”

  Sylvain sighed. “Mariposa.”

  Bodie grinned, showing his very white teeth. “Si.”

  Behind his balaclava, Eddy grimaced. After a moment, when he had control of his face, he pulled the cloth down to show his beardless chin. He reached down and grabbed a handful of Bodie, squeezing playfully.

  It worked. Sylvain looked away, marking his upward route of escape. “Avwa, mariposas.”

  “Avwa.” Bodie grinned.

  Eddy let go of him, wiping his hand on his leather trousers.

  They said nothing as the larger ship made ready to depart. They didn’t stir and didn’t stare. They made no move to crank up the anchor or make fast the sails. They waited until the men on the deck were only shapes again, against the now-purpling sky.

  When they were long gone, when they were sure they were alone, Bodie let go of Eddy. Eddy drew a long, shaking breath.

  “Twelve women who will never go home.”

  “Nobody goes home,” Bodie said, turning the anchor crank alone.

  “They’ll be sold to men who don’t speak their language.”

  Bodie pulled a sheet and tapped his foot on the door of the hold. Alice popped up from beneath the door at once.

  “I met a woman once who had been sold as a girl. Kicked her buyer off his own ship into rough seas and took to the sea on her own. Don’t underestimate a wild-caught slave.”

  Eddy set his jaw, but said nothing more.

  Flora came up behind Alice, blinking in the faded light. “Oh, it’s already dark.”

  Connie shoved up resentfully, striding about the deck again. They looked out over the sea, after the ship.

  “Those ships used to come to Tona,” they said. “Bringing girls from nobody knows where. They speak some other tongue. They all seem to be breeders. When they get pregnant, they disappear.”

  “Where do they go?”

  “Nobody knows.”

  The passing of the slave ship upset them all, soured the evening. The night was cloudless and the stars came out unwaveringly one by one.

  “I didn’t need to hide belowdecks,” Connie said to Flora, their jaw tight.

  “No, you didn’t. But you haven’t cut your hair. And you haven’t changed your style of dress. I didn’t want you to be manhandled and stripped so they could figure you out. I don’t want that for you any more than I do for me.”

  “So what? I can survive that. I’ve had it enough.”

  “You can survive nearly anything. Doesn’t mean you should invite it.”

  Connie made a scoffing noise.

  “And if they’re looking for catamites . . .” Flora didn’t want to scare Connie, but it had to be said.

  Connie blanched at the word.

  “Then it doesn’t matter. It didn’t matter for me. I ended up in a harem.” Flora set her mouth, trying to seem like she was long over what had happened in Estiel.

  “Me too,” Eddy said softly from a few feet off. He was watching the moon rise above the water.

  “Me too,” Alice said with a false bright-eyed cheer. “But I guess I’m not a surprise.”

  “I am,” Connie said softly. “No matter what, I’m a surprise.”

  “Exactly,” said Flora. “That’s enough. It’s not just women who have to worry. It’s anyone who isn’t a man.”

  The sky blackened, remaining deep blue only at the rim of the sky.

  They all slept on deck that night. In the morning, they landed in the wreck of an old-world city and had to take to the road in order to find somewhere to barter for supplies the sea could not provide. They didn’t know how far they would go, without a port city in view, so everyone came along.

  Bodie moored the ship, running it partially aground in a secluded cove that had easy-looking high-tide marks. He hid their belongings and supplies under the hidden trapdoor in the deck, then kicked handfuls of sand over the opening to obscure the cracks. He dropped the anchor and worked to make the boat look abandoned, stripping fronds from trees and throwing them all over the deck. Wading waist-deep in the water, he rubbed his bare, leathery hands against the anchor chain, then smeared the rust across the hull of the ship. He collected sea stars and plastered them against the metal at the waterline. When he was finished, the ship looked as though it had been there for months.

  Flora still thought it
looked ready to be stolen, but it would take skill to get it out of the sand and back to the sea.

  “I’ve done it before. Hundred times.” Bodie kept his teeth clamped shut as he walked away from the Ursula. “She’ll be here when I get back.”

  Eddy spat. “Get out of the shallows. I see eyes.”

  “Caimans,” Flora said at once. “Just like in Florda. They’re all over. Probably snakes, too.”

  “I wanted to fish some shrimp. Or those little mud bugs.” Bodie sounded deflated.

  “You’ll get another shot at it,” Alice said. “It’s all bog and stream around here, it seems like.”

  Connie kicked at a puddle, trying to get up to where there was dry ground. “I hate that I can’t see to the bottom. The water in Tona is cleaner than this.”

  “Goodbye, my girl.” Bodie kissed his fingertips and flung the gesture over his shoulder as the Ursula went out of sight.

  Connie looked up sharply, then away.

  “Why are ships female?” Alice threaded her arm through Bodie’s and helped him up through the mud. He was shoeless.

  “Because you can get inside them.”

  “You can do that with anybody,” Connie muttered.

  Bodie cast an eye their way. “Also because her wheel is covered in hidden blades, and if a man touches her the wrong way, she’ll take his fingers.” He grinned, showing his gray front tooth.

  “Me too,” Eddy said.

  Connie gave Eddy a rare smile. They shouldered their pack. “Where are we headed?”

  Bodie pulled a brass spyglass from beneath his shirt where it hung on a chain. He scanned the horizon.

  “Think that’s smoke, off in the west. Let’s head that way.”

  CHAPTER 31

  The Book of Flora

  Gulf Coast

  Winter

  104N

  We walk inland from the sea for nearly two days before we reach the village where we saw smoke coming up. We hit the outskirts of an old-world city and we assume the people who built those fires would be there, but the city is deserted. Wild dogs run through the streets and birds nest in the buildings.

  Connie doesn’t trust me yet, but they stay close to me. Eddy scans the branches of trees and the rooftops, convinced we are being watched. We are watched only by the birds. I am sure of that.

  I watch Alice as she clings to Bodie like she can’t walk on her own. What makes her act that way around men? Like she needs something only they can give her? I don’t know the answer, but I know that men grow taller in her presence. They respond to it, every time, even if there’s no chance to sleep with her. It’s just her way. Her power.

  For a moment, I wonder what it would be like to have that power for myself. But it doesn’t keep her safe. And it means every man’s eyes go straight to her. I remember when we were taken to the Lion. It’s always that same sinking feeling. They go to her like water flows downhill. There’s no way to say no to it.

  Every place brings us that wanting. Wanting brings us closer to danger. It’s not that the women in Shy didn’t want anything, but they built a city free from it. Nowhere was free from it, too. Different. Ommun was different, too. Controlled. I don’t know. I’m just jumpy. I know we need to trade to make our way, but I wish we didn’t have to seek out other people. Maybe ever.

  CHAPTER 32

  GULF COAST

  They were no more than huts, the little circle of dwellings in the clearing. Each had a single door facing the center of the small field, where a communal fire burned low. Each hut gave off its own little snake of smoke in the wet air.

  “Eleven houses, figure two or three in each,” Eddy said, low. “Not too many.”

  “Unless there’s another clearing nearby,” Bodie said. “This is just what we can see.”

  Eddy scanned the tree line.

  “Why are we doing this?” Connie’s whisper hissed in Flora’s ear, their voice ragged with worry. “Why take the risk?”

  “Because we need to trade,” Flora said calmly.

  “For what? We can hunt meat on our own. We can tan skins.”

  “Or we can make a trade with people who’ve already done all that, and save ourselves a lot of time and trouble. Hunting is dangerous. Picking berries and mushrooms in a place you don’t know is dangerous. Each place has its own perils.” Its own Lions, Flora thought but did not say.

  “This is stupid,” Connie said sullenly. “What do we even have to trade?”

  Flora looked them over, suddenly very tender. “Not you. We don’t do that.”

  Connie gave her a look of disgust.

  If they think that’s why I bought them, they’re never going to trust me. Why did I? What can I tell them?

  They moved as far away from Flora as they dared.

  Alice stepped out, standing up straight. “Hello?”

  Bodie made no move. Eddy went to grab her arm, but Alice put him off.

  “We’re already in the open,” Alice said. “Let’s get it over with.”

  Eddy put an easy hand on his gun.

  The door to one of the huts swung open, smacking smartly against the outside wall. A short black man came out, dressed in reptile-skin pants, boots, and vest. His head was shaved, and he wore long knives hanging from his belt on both sides.

  He scanned them and then addressed himself to Eddy.

  “Papa! Traveler? Trader?”

  “Trader,” said Eddy levelly.

  “Traders!” The man cupped his hand around his mouth and yelled it again. “Traders! Traders!”

  Hut doors opened all around the clearing. Men hustled out of every door with crates and boxes, one with big glass bottles. A young boy scurried out of the woods, his hands red and covered in bee stings. He came up heedless to Connie, his grin wide and front teeth gone.

  “Honey? Trade honey? Best honey! Gathered fresh today! A treat! A slice!”

  Quick as a spider, the boy twisted to pull his pack in front of him. He opened the flap and a captive bee escaped lazily, ascending through the muggy air. The boy produced a tiny curved knife and whipped it inside the bag. He came up with a piece of dripping honeycomb, proffered toward Connie’s face.

  “Taste! Taste for nothing! Then we trade.” The kid’s excitement was infectious. Connie smiled a little, taking the sticky lump uncertainly. They put it in their mouth and their eyes rolled back in their head.

  “Best, see?” The kid exploded with glee, swinging his bag back behind him. “We trade! We trade!” He turned around to shout at the adults behind him. “I trade first!”

  The man with the long knives smiled at the kid, showing that he too had no front teeth. “Right, Rocky. Right.”

  Turning back to Eddy, he sobered his face. “What we trade?”

  “Drugs,” Eddy said. “For pain, for itch.”

  “Books,” said Flora. She noted that no one looked at her when she spoke. Maybe they can’t read. Eddy’s already shortening and simplifying his language like they can’t. Maybe he reads people better than I do. Maybe that’s the better thing to read, anyway.

  “Fish,” Bodie piped up. “Have some fresh deep-ocean fish, fat in the belly. Ink bearers. Cuttle and squid.”

  The man with the knives tapped his chest. “Papa Croc. Trade pelt. Beaver, bear. Deerskin. Trade meat. Possum, deer today.”

  He pointed around the circle. “Tools. Wood and metal. Shoes. Good ones! Ink marks, if you want forever. Fortunes told. Him? Blow your dick off. And honey, if you trade with Rocky. Fruits for free, this season. Point you to them myself.” Each man waved or tapped his own chest in turn.

  Eddy and Flora nodded to one another, splitting up at once. Eddy dealt with Papa Croc, trading for meat. Flora spoke to the man who made shoes, who showed her at once how he chewed the leather to make it soft. Connie needed good shoes, and these would make an excellent gift. She showed the man lengths of silk, to his immediate delight.

  Nearly running out, she thought. Who knows if there will ever be more?

  Bodie tr
aded away all his fresh fish for a new, very sharp axe and a clay jar full of fermenting cabbage.

  “Can open it in one summer, five summers. Still good!” Bodie, who had learned from his father the importance of vegetables and fruits at sea, was pleased by the tight wax seal on the jar.

  Alice got busy at once pulling a bad tooth and looking at an infected bite. She dug deep into her kit to clean and stitch up her patients.

  “Nobody want their dick blown off?” Standing over near the coals of the fire, the man was clearly disappointed. He had gone into his hut and changed into a deerskin dress. His long hair was greasy but brushed out and lying on his shoulders. Enormous grapefruits filled out the front of the dress, and he had circled his mouth hugely in red with some kind of shiny, fatty berry mixture.

  Alice smiled and looked around at her party. “I think we’re all okay with our dicks. Thank you.”

  The man with the grapefruits stalked back into his hut.

  “Don’t be shy,” Papa Croc said. “You knock on his door if you need to.”

  Trading done, they stood awkwardly, trying to decide how best to move on.

  “You stay,” Papa Croc declared broadly. “Stay and trade stories.” He lowered his chin and raised his eyebrows at Eddy.

  Eddy shrugged. “Gotta make camp somewhere.”

  Papa Croc grinned and told Rocky to bank the fire.

  The sun set long and late, stretching out the shadows of trees and making the day seem to last forever. A tripod made of iron appeared and two men hung a huge iron pot. Other men brought saltwater in buckets, followed by squirming sea bugs in baskets and nets. The man with the grapefruits had taken off his costume and rubbed the paint from his face, but a pink stain remained around his mouth. He sat by the pot with a long metal spoon, fishing out the curled red carapaces and piling them on wooden plates. He scowled into the steam of the pot, speaking to no one.

  Another black man proffered a leather sack that turned out to be full of sauce made with sea salt and red chilies. Eddy tried a bite and coughed long and hard, with Alice pounding him on the back.

  They all ate until there was a huge pile of shells in front of each of them. The bugs were labor intensive, having to be broken in half, the meat sucked out, the head full of juices and the tail only a mouthful of meat at best. Still, they were plentiful and delicious. The chili sauce, when used with caution, brightened them considerably.