Humanity

by J. D. Knutson

  “Well, I guess that’s a nice way of life. My parents and I stuck to ourselves a lot, too, but there are benefits to forming a group with others.” Forming a group meant there was more safety in staying in one place for a longer time. Staying in that same place for an extended time meant the opportunity to grow – fruits, vegetables, maybe even some beans. . .

  “I don’t like vegetables enough to try it.”

  A corner of my mouth lifted; I laid down beside him, his hand still around mine. I wondered when he’d let go. It was strange, feeling so much proximity to him in one day.

  One of my fingers twitched in his hand. I turned my head to look at him. It was only when I did that I realized his chest was moving up and down in deep, even movements, matching the sound of his breathing. His face was so relaxed, so childlike because of the freckles.

  His grip hadn’t loosened, and I didn’t want to wake him. I settled in beside him, trying to give him as much space as possible without taking my hand back. Then I closed my eyes, controlled my breath, and practiced thinking about nothing until I also fell asleep.

  Chapter 10

  When I awoke, Gideon was no longer holding my hand. He’d rolled away from me, onto his side, at some point in the night, and that’s where he still rested, his breaths still deep and even.

  I knew healing took extra energy and sleep, so I was careful not to make too much noise as I sat up and crawled to the waterside. I took a few sips of the water, then rose to my feet and slipped into the woods, just deep enough for a restroom break.

  Gideon was up when I returned.

  “Was I too loud?” I asked.

  He gave me a small smile. “No. I just got too hungry.”

  “Hungry enough for me to go hunting for us?”

  “Not quite. I haven’t forgotten our conversation last night.”

  “Then what are our options? Because you are definitely not going hunting today.”

  He carefully pushed himself back to lean against one of the two trees that made the little space where we’d slept. “I was thinking that if we sit still for as long as possible, food might find us. We are by water, after all.” He nodded towards the stream.

  I settled against the tree opposite his; there were only a few feet between us, and this was because each of us had our legs pulled up. Our campground was, indeed, small. “It’s worth a try. But if it takes too long, we’ll be left with two options.”

  “Which are?”

  “Either I go hunting, or I eat you.”

  He laughed. “I think we can save those two options for later. If no food comes today, we’ll survive and go hunting together tomorrow.”

  “I’m not sure I’ll survive. I’m already way too hungry. The hunger might go to my head and I might have to kill you to make up for it.”

  He raised his eyebrows at me. “Let me get this straight: you are allowed to make jokes about killing me, but I’m not allowed to make the same exact jokes?”

  I could feel my shoulders tense at his words. “I just don’t like you making insinuations about what I might or might not do. I’m not going to kill you, and I want you to know that.”

  “Understood. But you do seem particularly sensitive if I bring up the subject.”

  “It’s a tough subject, okay? I can’t kill you anymore. I don’t have it in me. Let’s move on.”

  “Yes, you don’t have it in you because you’ve gotten to know me, and you’re too decent of a human being to kill someone you know so well.”

  “It’s hard to hate you, okay? Congratulations.”

  He shook his head, smiling. “Great news. However, I think we should probably focus on something else; we’re not going to happen upon any food if we talk all day.”

  I put a finger to my lips, indicating I’d be quiet, and he stopped talking.

  We sat.

  Three hours later, I got up for another restroom break and took a drink of water, then settled in again. Gideon didn’t move.

  Another three hours passed.

  I sighed. “Look, I have completely used up my energy for thinking about nothing, and now I can’t stop thinking about stuff. I think we need to call it a day and have a conversation.” My stomach growled.

  “Are you sure?” Gideon asked.

  I twisted my face. “No. But I’m currently on a particularly painful memory circuit of my mother’s smile.”

  Gideon’s face fell a little at my words. “I’m sorry. I’m very sorry.”

  I rolled my eyes. “I know. You’ve said that before.”

  “But you haven’t forgiven me.”

  I looked away, unable to deny it.

  He sighed. “How about a story?”

  “Sure.”

  “Once upon a time, there was an old man with two sons. One day, after the three men had brought down a large buck together, one son asked to have his portion of the buck. His father gave it to him, and then the son went his way, leaving his brother to care for his aging father. So, while the brother took care of the father night and day, feeding him and protecting him, the first son went off on his own. He raped women. He killed and stole from other travelers at his whim. He did what he wanted, whenever he wanted, and had no one to hold him back.

  “After several weeks alone, he couldn’t find any food. He foraged, and he hunted, but there was nothing. Then, a large, tall buck walked before him, looking him in the eye as he stood in his path. The man raised his gun and pulled the trigger.

  “His gun was out of bullets. The buck watched him, then slowly walked off. The man was discouraged, and his stomach further enunciated that discouragement. He remembered how easily he, his brother, and his father, had together brought down the first buck. He wondered if they were still in the same place he had left them; he decided to go and see. If they were there, he would ask them to let him stay with them again – they might help him get food, or at least give him more ammunition for his gun. If they weren’t there, the man would have to simply hope for more fruitful circumstances for himself.

  “So he traveled back to where he had left them. Not too far from there, he found his brother and father leaning over a fresh kill; his mouth watered at the thought of how that meat would taste once it was cooked.”

  “Are you just trying to torture me?” I demanded.

  “Shh. I’m not done.”

  “You’re a rotten storyteller.”

  “You wanted me to distract you. Am I doing my job?”

  I shrugged. “Maybe.”

  “Then let me continue.”

  I sat back against my tree, silent.

  “The man fell at his father’s feet, begging to be taken in once more, and promising to care for his father for as long as either of them might live.

  “The father had missed his son so much, and could see his son’s starving condition; he scooped the man up into a hug, eager to welcome him home. The end.”

  “Well, how did the brother feel about that?” I asked.

  He raised an eyebrow at me. “I suppose the brother would have felt resentful; his dad had just decided to give the deserter a share of his meat.”

  “Well, why didn’t you say that, then?”

  “Because that’s not the point.”

  “What is the point, then?”

  “You know, Candace? I think you should puzzle that out on your own. You can think about it while we quietly wait for food to come our way. Wasn’t the point for me to give you something else to think about?”

  “But the story doesn’t make any sense – I thought you said families were weaknesses. Aren’t you completely anti-family?”

  “Because families don’t last in the world we’re currently living in. In my story, a family is reunited.”

  “But the father was weakened by his love for his son.”

  “That same father was also strengthened by the loyalty of his other son. Together, the three of them had strength that they couldn’t have alone.”

  “So now you’re saying families are strength?
”

  “Well, let’s just say you’ve allowed me to view bonds with other humans in a new light.”

  “What are you talking about?”

  “You changed my view, Candace.”

  “How?”

  “You allowed me to see that families aren’t just weakness; they can be strength, too.”

  “And why is that?”

  “Well, you and I - ”

  “I’m not your family,” I told him firmly.

  “I know. But we are two humans with bonds to each other, however those bonds came about. I wouldn’t be alive right now if you hadn’t been with me when I was attacked on the freeway. You’ve been helping me and taking care of me ever since. Therefore, my interaction with you strengthens me. Or, at least, it strengthens me now. Ultimately, it might be a weakness if I become attached to you and you leave me, or are killed.”

  “But it strengthens you until that moment.”

  “Yes. It certainly does.”

  I rested my chin on my arms, thinking about what he said. “Are you attached to me?” I asked.

  The corner of his mouth lifted. “Yes.”

  I didn’t ask him to elaborate. “Was that the point of your story, then? That families aren’t only weakness, but also strength?”

  “No.”

  “Then what were you trying to say?”

  “How about you think about that, while we sit here in silence.”

  I rolled my eyes, grunting before doing as he suggested.

  A few more hours later, it began to grow dark.

  “I think our attempt at finding food without moving has failed,” I murmured wryly.

  “Well, I guess that’s that, then,” Gideon replied, shrugging and pushing himself from a sitting position to a laying position; it caused his legs to almost come in contact with mine.

  “That’s it, then? We haven’t eaten all day.”

  “You can’t tell me you haven’t ever not eaten for one day, Candace.”

  “Well, no. But we didn’t try that hard.”

  “That’s because today is my rest day, and I’m not allowing you to leave my sight.”

  “We’ve already established that. But I’m hungry.”

  “We’ll do some real hunting in the morning. Go to sleep.” His eyes were already closed, I could tell.

  I wasn’t particularly tired, since we hadn’t done anything all day. In fact, I was restless, and was fighting the urge to jump up and wander off while Gideon slept. I watched him sleep. He was a silent sleeper, and watching him wasn’t entertaining at all – I’d learned this weeks ago.

  I pulled my bracelet out of my sleeve – the only sleeve remaining after using the other as a bandage for Gideon – and started fiddling with it, turning it around and around my wrist like I always did when Gideon was asleep before me. It was the last possession my mother had given me and, even though I had originally thought it a waste, it was now my most poignant symbol of her.

  A frog croaked.

  Gideon’s story still sat in the back of my head. I hadn’t thought about it the entirety of the elapsed time since he’d told it, but whenever my thoughts became more intolerable, I pulled it out.

  If love wasn’t weakness in the story, what was it’s purpose? Love as motivation? It had obviously been the motivating factor when the father had allowed the son to stay with them and share the meat. The father loved the son so much that it hadn’t mattered what had passed between them before; what mattered to him was that the son was back.

  Love as motivation. Like the way love had motivated my mother to trade prenatal vitamins for the bracelet I now touched. Like the way love had motivated my mother and father to be a family together, and then to keep me when I was born – whether or not they’d had the medication necessary to stop the pregnancy altogether.

  Like the way the loss of that love had motivated me to follow Gideon, and kill him no matter how long it took.

  And yet I could no longer accomplish that goal. It just wasn’t in me. Did that mean the love for my parents had diminished? Or that I just wasn’t strong enough?

  Yes, I was weak. My emotions toward Gideon were such a mixed bag at this point. I was so afraid of being alone that I hadn’t been able to kill him at the carnival. I relied on him more and more each day. And yet he had killed my parents. That wasn’t forgivable, no matter how much I relied on him.

  As Gideon had said, he and I might be stronger together. But he was also my weakness – a constant reminder that I couldn’t avenge my parents’ deaths.

  ~ * ~

  “Are you awake?”

  “Mmnn.” Someone was touching my wrist; I could feel the silver of the bracelet moving against my skin. Then the bracelet was still, the touch gone from my skin.

  “You didn’t go to sleep right away, did you?”

  I still hadn’t opened my eyes. “No. I know your body needed the rest to heal, but it was a little early for me. Why are you up so soon?”

  “My stomach woke me up.” I blinked my eyes open, lifting my neck to catch sight of him sitting beside me. He looked like he’d already cleaned up a little. “I stretched my leg out, and it’s definitely improved since we stopped here.”

  I laid my head back down. “Great. Why were you looking at my bracelet?”

  “Just curious. I’ve seen you playing with it a lot when you can’t sleep.”

  “Were you awake last night?”

  “I might have been awake enough to notice, but it isn’t the first time.”

  I frowned. I thought it had been my secret; I had been trying to keep it that way, at least.

  “Anyway, I was thinking.” I heard a zipper, and then the tinkling of an object. “Since you like that sort of thing, you might want this.” He dangled something in front of my face and I squinted. “It was my mother’s, but it’s useless to me. Very impractical.”

  The cameo pendant hung from a gold chain. The cameo itself was of blue and white stone, etched into the form of a mother holding a baby.

  I took the necklace. “This isn’t useless. You could trade it sometime for something you need.”

  “I told you, I try not to go near enough to humans that a trade would ever be possible.” He was shuffling through his backpack, not looking at me.

  I frowned. Why would he give me something like this? Because he was attached to me?

  My stomach tingled, and I quickly put the necklace on, wishing not to unnecessarily dwell on the subject with him.

  He stood, and I noticed his mouth twitch as he looked down at me; he offered me his hand.

  “Can I have a few minutes before we take off?” I asked, letting him pull me up.

  “Sure.”

  “Er, private moments?”

  “As long as I’m within hearing distance, you go for it.”

  “Okay. Sit facing that direction.” I pointed into the forest, and was amazed as he followed my instructions. It wasn’t really necessary for him to be sitting, but I figured we might as well not waste his small amount of energy while I was busy.

  I quickly used the restroom, got a drink of water, and rinsed my face.

  “Okay, I’m ready.”

  “Good.” He stood and turned to face me. “I heard what sounds like a group of squirrels in that direction.” He tilted his head southeast, away from the stream. “Fairly close, I think.”

  “Squirrels?” I arched my eyebrows. “Great.”

  “It’s food,” he replied, pulling out his gun and starting toward the sounds he’d heard.

  I followed, because I knew he expected me to. Why I cared to do what he expected, I wasn’t sure. I truly didn’t want to be alone so shortly after my “encounter,” though.

  I kept an ear cocked, listening for whatever Gideon had heard. Soon came the sound of feet skittering above us in the branches.

  Gideon aimed upward and let out six successive shots. Two squirrels dropped.

  “That should be plenty, eh?” he asked me, walking a few steps to scoop up the fall
en bodies.

  We cooked them, then ate them; we started walking south again.

  “I was thinking about your story last night, before I went to sleep,” I said, lifting his necklace to the light to study it before tucking it into my shirt.

  “Oh, good. What conclusions have you drawn?”

  “That love can be a strong motivation for doing things.”

  “Hmm.”

  “What?”

  “Well, you’re right. But that wasn’t the point.”

  “What was the point, then?”

  “How about another story?”

  “No. You need to tell me the point of the first story.”

  “What if I told you this new story will help you understand the point of the old story?”

  I sighed. “Fine. It’s not like there’s anything else to talk about.”

  “Once upon a time - ”

  “Why is it always ‘once upon a time?’ Why don’t you just launch right into the story?”

  “Fine. There were two brothers.”

  “You know what? I don’t want to hear this story. Your lack of creativity is depressing.”

  Gideon was silent.

  We kept walking.

  “Why can’t you just tell me the point of the story?” I burst out.

  “The point of the story is forgiveness.”

  I wrinkled my nose. “Really.”

  “Yes, really. Love motivated the father to forgive his son. How could you miss that?”

  “Forgiveness. Kind of like you want me to forgive you for killing my parents?”

  “Yes.”

  “Too bad there’s a piece to your formula missing.”

  “Which is?”

  “Love as motivation. In fact, you’ve got quite the opposing force, since love was the motivating factor in my desire to kill you.”

  “So you can’t forgive me because you loved your parents too much.”

  “Exactly.”

  “That’s very reasonable.”

  “I know. Why are you so agreeable about it?”

  “I can respect that you loved your parents.”

  “Not enough to kill you, apparently,” I mumbled.

  “Not killing me doesn’t mean you don’t love them enough. It just means you’re a decent enough human being to see that I shouldn’t die. I killed them out of the need to survive, not because I’m evil.”