Requiem for the Fallen
Page 9
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Tabitha bagged several quarts of peas and boxed them up to take to the market stand. They would be her contribution to the evening’s impending festivities; her only contribution. Outside, there was a clamor as Thomas, the hippie painter who had driven her from town that first night, and a few other locals had arrived to peruse the stands. Tabs threw on her boots, grabbed the box of quart peas, and went to join them.
“Hey Tabby cat,” Thomas said. “Here you go.”
Tommy handed her a prescription bag from the town pharmacy. In it were two bottles of eye-drops.
“Thanks, Tommy. It’s nice to see you,” she said, dropping the money for the prescription in his hand.
“You too. They treating you good?”
“Absolutely.”
“Good. Listen, I was wondering if you might be interested in going town-side for an evening. You know, I’ve got some new work I want you to check out.”
“Oh, um, sure. Sometime soon. I’ll let you know, okay?” Tabitha said, not wanting to deflate him completely, but not wanting to encourage him either. After all, he had been kind to her, hadn’t taken advantage of her when she had met him, exhausted and half dead and placing her entire trust in him, a total stranger. Still, she wondered how much that had to do with her and how much of it had to do with Bobby. Locals like Thomas revered him as some kind of local god.
She wondered wearily, as his hand brushed hers, giving her change for the food, what the deal was with damaged goods? Did these men automatically assume that she would fuck better because she was dead inside? Did they have the pompous audacity to think that they could actually numb it? Or make her forget? What’s a mindless screw compared to a soul mate?
She gave Tommy her best fake grin and walked away.
That night, after the evening meal had been served, and the few children who lived there were washed and put under the care of the “night-sitter”, the members of the community gathered in the field, in the circle altar of stones. Fires were lit in the center and around the four corners marked by charred wooden posts. The women carried their lanterns and walked, two by two, to fuse the light. The men wore loose-fitting black robes (the first time Tabitha saw them, it made her weep) and the women wore red satin kimonos, embroidered with indecipherable runes.
Tabitha walked to Sephora’s cabin, watching the procession of flames flicker like fireflies in the branches, and hearing the low moan of drums in the distance. She gave the door a light knock before entering. Sephora was throwing some more wood into the hearth, her robe strewn over a corner chair.
“Hey,” Tabitha said. “I’ll take over if you want.”
“Thanks, but it’s my turn,” Sephora replied with genuine friendliness. She liked Tabitha, even if she did feel somewhat resentful of her keeping to herself and her hesitation to participate in anything outside of work.
“Besides, Janson asked that you, specifically, be there this evening.”
“Why?” Tabitha asked, not able to keep the edge out of her voice.
“Don’t worry, it’s not a forced thing.” Sephora could smell the trapped animal on her.
What had happened to this girl, she thought?
“Just go and make an appearance, and when the time comes, slip away. No one will think the less of you for it. I doubt anyone will even notice at that point anyway…”