by Otter Lieffe
Still slowly pouring the hot water, Ash looked up as a small flock of crows landed on the roof of the cabin and, in perfect stillness, stood witnessing the ritual.
I was wondering when you guys would get here.
The pot was getting lighter and the steam and smoke were making Ash's eyes water. Or I'm crying. I don't know which.
Her arms were tired, and she could feel Pinar adjusting the pot and taking more of the weight from her. She opened her mouth to say something and—
Ah, there you are. Ash saw herself appear, ghostlike, in the clearing, perhaps twenty metres from the cabin. She looked surprised and stared back. The present Ash just smiled. Don't worry dear, it'll all make sense.
And she silently disappeared again.
Jason was still howling, crumpled on the ground, soaked and steaming in the evening light and Ash lifted the pot higher and returned to her work with new determination.
Thank you, she prayed silently. You taught me well.
* * *
“I'll teach you to make a fool of me, vergent,” the General barked. The shower was on full and before him, the recruit was soaked, fully dressed, in freezing cold water. The grunt was silent. He just took the punishment, seemingly unaffected by the icy water filling his boots. The General pulled out his cock and hot piss flowed in his eyes, his mouth. Still no sound. The General was angry enough to kill him. He pulled the recruit back up to standing. Shivering and reeking of piss, somehow he still wore that cocky little smile of his.
“You fucked up this time, verger. I'm going to make you mine.”
The General’s cock was hard again. He knew he was stepping over a line. He knew that he had only survived this far by keeping his history, and his secret life at the toilets, totally separate from work. It was one thing to push them around and punish them—that was his job. But he wanted more than that. He needed more.
The General pushed his subordinate up against the shower wall, his forearm against the recruit's throat. Body pinning him and keeping him from getting away, the General began to taste his inferior, to consume him. He licked his face and pushed their lips together. He was dizzy with power and wanted more. There was even the taste of blood in his mouth. Yet still the recruit didn't resist.
It was then, as the General withdrew slightly, that he saw the grunt was smiling again. Bending forward towards the General's ear, he whispered—
“Caught you, Sir.”
There was laughter behind them. The General turned and saw his superior officer standing by the door accompanied by three riot soldiers with handcuffs and batons in hand. They'd been there for a while, silently watching the whole scene.
The General stopped breathing as the riot soldiers forced him to his knees and handcuffed him behind his back. He looked up at the grunt, standing above him, still smiling.
Struggling against the handcuffs, the General tried to get to his feet, but one of the soldiers slapped him back down, slamming his knees painfully against the hard floor. Again, he tried to resist and again he was pushed down. This time his superior took the opportunity to kick him in the gut and the General curled up on the wet tile, his eyes closed tight in pain.
The General didn't rise a third time.
2. Secrets
Chapter fourteen
Jason sat outside the cabin alone, soaking in the dappled summer light and watching a tiny mouse running in the leaf litter collecting food. He was feeling stronger every day. After Ash set his jaw, he was able to eat solid food again and after a few days more he started taking short walks in the forest alone before coming back and curling up on the sofa to rest. Through the care of his new friends, his body was recovering quickly, but trauma was much more than a physical illness and each night his sleep was still shattered by feverish nightmares, cold sweats, and screams which seemed to erupt from his very core.
Pinar knew what he had been through was stored deeply in the tissues of his body and it would take all of his strength to face it. They could support him through the process, but the demons were his to face alone. For six nights, they had performed the cleansing ritual and tomorrow night would be his last.
“Could you bring some more firewood if you see some on the way?” Pinar asked Ash as she was getting ready to leave the cabin. “And maybe some squashes from your garden?”
“No problem,” she replied, bending down slowly to lace up her walking boots. Her back was tired, and she was feeling her age after so many nights in Pinar's small bed. “I'll be here before dark and I'll see what I can pick up. I'll bring tomatoes too; they should be ready.”
“Thanks. Take care.”
Ash closed the door behind her and set off for home.
Each day while Ash was away taking care of her garden, Pinar and Jason worked around the house and got to know each other better. He signed for the first few days while his jaw healed, but soon enough he could comfortably speak English again. Pinar found she was enjoying his company immensely. He was enthusiastic and surprisingly sensitive. As she heated some nettle soup over a fire outside the cabin, she realised it was his way of asking questions that she enjoyed most. He always seemed interested, but never invasive. He never pushed her. He in turn found Pinar wise and caring. She was robustly feminine, and he could lose hours listening to her stories.
Jason sat shelling peas in the warm morning air. She arrived carrying two bowls of soup and sat down next to him.
“Leave that for now.” Pinar handed him a bowl. “Let's eat!”
She started straight away, tucking away her long hair behind her ears, but Jason blew on his soup and waited a while for it to cool—his jaw still hurt sometimes if he ate anything too hot.
After a while, he asked in his strong northern accent;
“Where did you grow up? If you don't mind me asking.”
Pinar had found his accent a bit difficult to follow at the beginning, particularly with his broken jaw, but now she found it quite charming.
“I grew up in the City,” she replied. “My parents immigrated when I was very young. Me and Ash haven't been back for years though, for obvious reasons.”
Jason smiled politely. He didn't need to ask why they had left. The role of A and P—Ash and Pinar—in the Femme Riots of '21 was a well-known part of resistance history. They had led the fights against systemic racism and for trans and Femme liberation in the City. They had been at the forefront of the revolutionary resistance movement that had spread like wildfire throughout the region.
After the purges though, things became worse than they ever had been. It was clear to Jason why they were here and not there.
“You don't really have a City accent,” he said carefully and started his soup.
“Yeah, I lost it along the way, I guess. I grew up speaking British English and Farsi, but I think I sound more American these days.”
“Like Ash.”
“Precisely.”
“It's funny how that happens—that we end up sounding like our friends.”
“It's cute.”
“Did she grow up in the States, actually? Her accent’s a bit mixed”
“Partially. She grew up moving between the UK and the US.” Pinar scraped the bottom of her bowl thoughtfully. “She moved to Europe permanently after the Trump years though.”
Without a word, Jason served them both some more food. They sat in silence for a moment, neither of them particularly wanting to discuss the reign of Donald Trump further.
“Do you go there much? To the City?” Pinar asked as she took her bowl from him.
“From time to time—when I need to. In general, I avoid it, though. My mum grew up there, but she moved to the campo before I was born so I've only really known life as a campesino.”
He's mixing Spanish into his English, Pinar thought, I wonder if there's a story there. Or maybe all the young people do that now.
After the collapse of the Spanish economy and the crisis in Syria, the City—and the
resistance—had always been multilingual.
“I pass through sometimes for a meeting or whatever,” he continued. “But I'm a country boy at the end of the day—”
He must be at least thirty-five, hardly a boy anymore.
Pinar caught herself looking at his muscled arms as he ate his soup, the deep wrinkles around his eyes as he smiled.
He's a man. Definitely a man.
“Let's get some air,” she said after they finished eating. “Are you feeling well enough for another walk? I'd like to show you our little valley.”
Jason stood and tested his ankle. It was still sore, but not painful. With Ash's massage and Pinar's herbs, it had healed remarkably quickly.
“No problem. Let's take it slowly though?”
“I'm an old woman,” she laughed. “How fast could I go really?”
“You're not old!”
Pinar rewarded him with a broad smile.
“Right answer, sweetie. Right answer.”
Chapter fifteen
Like every day this week, Nathalie was back in her spot in what she called the cement valley, the abandoned and increasingly forested motorway that bisected the City from east to west. She brought a flask of coffee with her from the office and, as always, she'd eaten her lunch too fast; gulping it down and giving herself a stomach-ache.
I can't wait to see her again. I've missed her all day.
It was the sixth lunch date they'd shared in six days. Nathalie had noticed very quickly that Kit kept her private life private. It had taken to the end of the second date to even learn her name. “K”, Kit had told her finally, using the State's obligatory naming convention.
K? Nathalie had thought that afternoon back in the office. Kelly? Kathryn? Kristina? Why won't she tell me more?
It had taken to the fourth date, and a lot of insistence, for Nathalie to learn about Kit's job.
“A professional dominatrix,” Kit had announced calmly as she bit into an oversweet Nutrition bar. “A pro-Domme.”
Nathalie just stared.
“Do you know what that is?”
“I…think I do,” said Nathalie, taken back and a little lost for words. “You hurt people and they pay you for it?”
“Men specifically in my case, and not always pain, but yeah that's the general idea. There's also ropes and heels and dog collars.”
“Wow.”
“It's a job.”
“Of course, I mean, just wow, obviously I never met a sex worker before.”
“Not that you know of,” Kit replied flatly fixing eye contact until Nathalie looked away.
“Not that I know of.”
In that moment, Nathalie noticed her chest felt tight, her heart was beating too fast.
Am I scared of her now? Of her power?
Taking a breath and looking out over the concrete and trees she began to recognise the feeling in her body.
Actually, I know this. It’s just like in the park.
Sat now between the trees, Nathalie checked her watch. Kit was late for lunch as she always was.
Maybe this is a domination thing, Nathalie wondered, to always keep me waiting, to keep me guessing and wanting more. It makes perfect sense that she’s a—what did she call it? Pro-Domme? Those graceful, muscled arms, that imposing way she stares you down if you say the wrong thing. Naturally men would pay to be under her control.
Nathalie pulled out a compact mirror and re-checked her hair and makeup for the third time since she sat down. I have to look my best for her. I really need to impress her.
Either from nerves or the midday heat, Nathalie was sweating. She lifted her left arm for an odour check.
God. It's like a rat climbed in there and died. She took a bottle of watered-down perfume from her handbag and sprayed far too much on. Damn. Now I smell like an explosion in a flower store. I can never get it right, I always—
Her thoughts were interrupted by the unmistakable sound of Kit's heels clicking on the concrete in the street above her. Nathalie checked her hair one more time.
It'll have to do.
She picked up the flask to present to her date. She hadn't touched a drop…
After all, it isn't really mine.
“Hey, guapa,” said Kit as she arrived. Nathalie blushed as they exchanged the usual formal four cheek kisses.
“Let's go down a bit, into the trees. I don't think you want to be the gossip of the office this week.”
Using tree trunks and branches for support, they carefully made their way down into the motorway valley. Nathalie stumbled and fell a few times over roots and upturned concrete slabs, but even in heels and a tight skirt, Kit walked effortlessly down the slope.
She looks so young, thought Nathalie. Younger than me, but she’s done so much in her life. How old is she really? Why is she even here with me?
Once they were out of view of the street, they sat down on a slab. Nathalie was still holding the flask and passed it to Kit who took it, poured herself a cup of coffee and began drinking without a word. Nathalie just watched her. The way she inhaled the steam with just a hint of a smile. The way she licked her lips after every sip. She even drinks elegantly.
“How's work?” Kit asked finally, passing her back the empty cup.
“Boring,” replied Nathalie, immediately refilling it and handing it back. “Nothing like yours I'm sure.”
“Probably quite different. It must be hot up there.”
“Yeah, it really is!”
Nathalie loved complaining about the weather, it was one of the few subjects she felt qualified to talk about at great length.
“Obviously it depends on the season. Right now, it's disgusting inside, but at least I can escape at lunchtime. The weather is just so unpredictable. Do you remember last year? This summer is wild! I mean I know the climate's changing or whatever, but—”
I'm gabbling again. She makes me so nervous.
Nathalie flashed back ten years to when she was eighteen on her very first date with a woman—H, apparently. That’s all she’d ever learned about her. She had been nervous then too and had never seen her again after that night. But Nathalie knew then that she had no other option but to be with women. Every part of her craved it. She had never even so much as kissed a man.
“Anyway, yes,” she resumed. “The office is very hot.”
“I see.” Kit smiled just a little and then looking back down at the steam still coming off her coffee. “And do you do something important for the State?”
“Honestly I have no idea. I redact official papers. It's all kept very compartmentalised of course and I don't really understand a lot of what they give me. Mostly, I just cross out any words that are on the latest prohibited list and file everything away. Obviously, it would be much easier with a computer, but the few that are left are all dedicated to keeping the Life Accounts running. Once in a while I get something juicy—military plans, stuff like that.”
Her interest suddenly piqued, Kit forgot about her drink and looked straight at Nathalie.
God, those black eyes could actually kill me.
“I want to hear everything.”
“Okay. I mean I guess I shouldn’t really be talking about it outside of the off—”
“Everything.”
Nathalie looked down at the ground. Her chest was tight again.
“But first…” Kit continued, looking up and checking again that they couldn't be seen. She leaned in and signed.
“I'm working tonight and tomorrow all day so no coffee date. Want to meet at the park tomorrow night?”
“Yes.”
“Will you miss me?”
“Absolutely.”
“Come over here and show me how much.”
Chapter sixteen
Ash arrived home and she was happy to see her vegetables had made it through another hot night and morning. Even with the thick layers of leaf litter mulch that she'd laid and the shading nets that
she'd strung over the soil, the summer heat was unforgiving, and she needed to water the garden at least once a day just to keep it alive.
She spent a good part of the afternoon carrying buckets of water from what was left of the river and pouring it into the little troughs that separated her tidy lines of cabbages, onions, garlics and tomatoes. As fast as she poured, the water was sucked into the thirsty ground and the soil looked instantly dry again.
I'm barely keeping up. If it doesn't rain soon, we're going to go hungry again.
Once the garden was as watered and protected as it could be, Ash sat on the deck of her tiny houseboat and looked out over the slow-flowing backwater she called home. A noisy group of mallard ducks approached on the river, quacking loudly to each other. Ash watched them as they swam by and smiled.
That's odd. Where have all the drakes gone? It's unusual for there to be none at all in a group.
She looked closer as they passed by the boat. Some of the ducks had orange bills, some olive green.
Of course! It's that time of year again.
Ash knew that every summer, as the males—the drakes—lost and regrew their flight feathers, they could barely fly and so for a time it became safer for them to become camouflaged. Their bright green and black courtship feathers were gradually replaced with mottled brown ones—much better for hiding in the reeds. During this time, known as their 'eclipse,' they looked remarkably similar to the hens who were discreetly brown all year round and unless you were paying close attention, it could easily appear that there were only females and that all the drakes had disappeared.
It seems about a month since the last eclipse, where is time going? Is this what happens with old age?