Benji turned back to see her face. It still had the emptiness of a puddle of tar. If there was any emotion behind those eyes, it was well hidden. Yes, it was well hidden, but not absent. He had seen her surprise when he asked her ‘please.’ He chuckled. It was probably the first time anyone had said that word to her.
He slowed down so she could catch up to him, but she slowed down at the same time. Next, he stopped, but so did she. “Would ye mind walkin’ up here beside me; it hurts my neck to keep turnin’ around to see if yer all right,” he said.
Well, if she understood, she didn’t obey. Benji’s shoulders sagged in frustration. He had made a trade, not a wager. Maybe that’s where he made the mistake. Was it a fair trade, though? He laughed out loud, startling the woman. No, she was too dark to be a ‘fair’ trade. He had made a good trade, though. At least she was away from the whip, and that was good, verra good indeed.
19 The First Supper
T he bewilderingly tall black woman and the still taller red haired man ten feet ahead of her were still plodding along the dusty road three hours later: not necessarily further ahead, but definitely further away from the whips and chains and the sleazy slave trader who had been so fond of using them. Evidently, the next town was further away than Benji thought. The sun was going down, and so were his chances of being able to get food and supplies from the general store. Or dry goods store. Or trading post. He couldn’t remember what it was called in this era. He had meant to do some historical research of the daily routines and terminologies—sort of a refresher course of life as it was in his youth—but he never found the time. Yes, if there was something his family couldn’t grow, hunt, or fabricate, then they’d go into town and see if they could trade or barter for it. But, as he recalled, it was always ‘go into town’ not ‘go to the dry goods store’ or ‘mercantile’ or ‘Sears and Roebucks.’ He shook his head. He was tired and hungry, and not making any sense, even to himself.
“We can spend the night down here by the creek,” Benji announced to his new traveling companion. “I can catch some fish if they’re bitin’.” Benji bent his head down and slapped the mosquito that had just landed on his neck. “Weel, at least somethin’ down here is bitin’.” He looked over at the woman as he brought up his head. He didn’t see a reaction from her and really hadn’t expected one. What he did see was too much skin. He had forgotten that she was practically naked. He had been walking in front of her for the last three hours, and other to turn around and make sure she hadn’t run off, he hadn’t taken in her full form. All he saw was her face: her glistening, dark skin, almost like high-grade coal, those full, bee-stung lips, and dark, empty eyes.
He didn’t know what she had been through to have such a hard demeanor, but if he had been ripped from his family and brought over to a foreign land, made to work as a slave for someone else with only scraps for food to eat, beat whenever the whim hit the man with the whip, then maybe he’d… Oh, wait! That had happened to him. He got over it—mostly. Hopefully, she would, too.
“I’ll be right back,” he called to her as he headed into the brush for a personal comfort break. “Ye can use the bushes over there fer yer business,” he said, motioning with his hand toward the tall scrubby growth behind her. “I’ll not bother ye. Jest dinna come this way fer a bit,” he said, although he knew she wouldn’t invade his space. He couldn’t get her to walk within ten feet of him, even when he tried.
He took his leisure and made lots of noise when he was ready to come out so she would have time to get herself together. He stretched out his arms and looked around, then froze: she was gone. No, wait; there she was. Evidently, she had made use of the break, too, because first, she was nowhere to be seen, and then suddenly, she was standing like a statue behind the bushes he had directed her to. Well, at least she didn’t run away.
“Weel, where would ye run to if ye did decide to bolt,” he asked aloud, knowing full well that she didn’t speak or understand English. “¿Habla Espaňol?” he asked, just to hear someone speak. “Okay, how about sprechen sie deutsche? Parlez vous Francais? Ching chong chow chow?” he added in a silly voice, chuckling at his own nonsense.
The blank stare was still there. “Weel, I’m gonna try to catch some fish. If yer feelin’ helpful, ye might want to gather some wood fer a fire. Here, I’ll get one goin’. Add more to it when it burns low. I mean, ye have to be of some use. I dinna mind helpin’ ye out, and yer not my slave, but I’m not yers either. So there!” he added sassily. What difference did it make what he said? At least with her, he didn’t need to be guarded with his words.
The site he chose looked like it had been used as a resting place for travelers for a long time. A fire ring was already established and a fallen log pulled next to it for use as a seat. Benji found a few pieces of insect-riddled wood and dragged them to the clearing. “Thanks, Lord,” he said as he stomped on the rotted firewood to break it apart, then threw the pieces into the middle of the fire pit. He put together a little tepee of bark shards and fluffy seedpods then reached into his sporran, pulled out the small butane lighter, and lit the kindling cone. The fire was raging in ten seconds flat. He added more pieces of kindling, moving them around to make sure the larger pieces were lit, and would stay burning.
He grabbed his improvised fire poker and held it like a talking stick. “I’d appreciate it if ye’d mind the fire,” he said, pointing to the blaze then the additional wood nearby, then dropped the charred stick outside the rock circle. Hopefully, she could figure out what he had said with his exaggerated, improvised sign language.
Benji was big, but he was also very agile. He hopped, skipped, then jumped over the shallow flow of the creek and went upstream where he found a calm, deep pool under a low hanging tree. He looked up and saw a huge spider. “Ugh,” he grunted as he batted it away with the long branch he had picked up to use as a fishing rod. Benji hated bugs.
It didn’t take long to catch and clean four decent-sized trout. He walked back to the campsite without the hopping or jumping he had employed on the trek in. All of a sudden, he was very tired. The heavy lifting and loading, long walk, and now the new responsibility of taking care of another person, had become emotionally and physically overwhelming.
He was equally relieved and glad to see both the woman and the fire when he got back. She had gathered more wood and stacked it neatly into two piles, larger pieces in one, kindling pieces in the other. He set the fish on a flat rock, then mumbled a mild curse as he remembered: he no longer had a pan to cook with. He’d have to find some greenwood branches to cut down to use as skewers. He sighed in resignation at the delay of his dinner, turned away, and headed back into the copse.
He was only a few steps away when he became aware of the woman moving by the fresh catch. He turned around quickly, half expecting to see her eating the fish raw. But, what he saw was that she had already found green branches, had stripped them with her hands, and was now preparing their meal, skewering the fish onto the sticks.
He waited where he was just a moment longer, trying not to stare, but she was so stunning: regal and composed even though she was considered worth less than two hours of his hard labor. He realized that it didn’t make a difference to her whether he looked at, leered at, or ignored her. She was probably used to the stares, and surely would rather have them than the whips or straps.
Benji turned back to the fire. “Thank ye; I appreciate yer help.” He could have sworn he saw a reaction: a shoulder shrug maybe, but she hadn’t looked up. Then he realized what it was. Earlier today, he had asked her ‘please’ for probably the first time in her life, and now he had just thanked her. It must be the tone he used when he spoke because he was sure she didn’t speak English. Yes, the manner of saying the words ‘please’ and ‘thank ye’ were the same in every language. Now, if he could just get her to tell him what he should do with her!
“Too bad we’re not in the 21st century,” he said aloud with true concern for her predicament. “With yer heig
ht and build, ye’d be sure to get a college scholarship in basketball. But, ye wouldna ken what basketball is, would ye?” Benji picked up a little rock and tossed it at a boulder at the edge of the clearing. “Two!” he shouted as it hit the stone basket. “Ah, weel, ye were jest born in the wrong century is all. But, ye sure are big,” he said then added softly, “and pretty.”
Benji didn’t have much to do while the fish dinner was grilling. He kicked around a few stones to smooth out a place to sleep for the night, flipped out the camouflaged patterned fabric sheet to use as a tarp, and sat down next to it. It was a parting gift from Peter and was sure to be useful. He fingered the cloth: windproof, waterproof, anti-adhesive, and self-cleaning. The large piece of fabric could also be used as a tent or even a kilt if he got desperate. Of course, he had already used the camouflage aspect of it: he had been asleep under its cover when the thief or thieves had run off with his backpack of goods. They could have easily knifed him in his sleep, but didn’t see him. “Thanks again, Lord.”
He reconsidered the area he had chosen for sleeping. The area further away from the fire pit looked softer and more comfortable. It definitely had a spongy cushion of grass, but that also meant bugs—fleas, ticks and spiders. If he slept near the fire, the smoke would help keep the mosquitoes at bay. Billy had insisted that he get immunized for malaria, and about twenty other diseases, but he still didn’t want to deal with the itch of insect bites.
“Ahem,” the woman vocalized loud enough to be heard, but soft enough not to be rude. Benji glanced up and saw that she had pulled the two sticks of fish off the fire and set them on the rock. She was on her knees, head bowed, waiting for him to come eat.
Benji was still sitting cross-legged next to the sheet. He was filthy from loading the barrels of pitch, tired, but didn’t want to lie down until he had a bath. Maybe the fish dinner would give him enough energy to make it back to the pool where he had caught the trout. The pond was deep enough that he could submerge his whole body, soak off the grime, and take the weight off his bones. He groaned as he stood up. “Dinner first then a bath,” he said aloud in her direction, though not necessarily to her.
“The fish looks mighty fine.” He picked up a stick and started pulling the meat from the trout. It did taste great, just the right amount of smoky flavor, moist but not raw, cooked through but not burned. He was halfway finished eating when he noticed she hadn’t picked up her food. “Go aheid: that’s yers. Ye dinna have to wait fer me to finish,” and pointed to the shish kabob dinner, indicating with his finger that it was for her.
The woman blinked, but didn’t look up at him. “Ye ken, ye have great peripheral vision. Ye can see me without lookin’ at me, I ken ye can. Now, I caught the food and ye cooked it, so go aheid and eat yer share. It’s mighty tasty.” He started to pick up the spit and hand it to her, but she shuffled backwards on her knees, refusing his offer.
“Okay, I get it. Ye already ate today and I dinna. Okay, here,” he said as he pulled off one fish, “I’ll take this one and ye can have the other. Ye need to keep up yer strength, too. We have a lot of walkin’ to do tomorrow, and I dinna want ye fallin’ down and me havin’ to pick ye up and carry ye to wherever it is we’re goin’. Anyhow, go aheid and eat,” he paused then added, “please.”
The word please must have won her over again. She nodded a ‘thanks’ then grabbed the fish like it was going to swim away if she didn’t grab it by the tail fin right away. Her fingers deftly pulled the meat away from the bones, which she set down in a neat pile on the rock. When she was done eating everything, including the shrunken eyes, she picked up the little bones and sucked on them again, removing the last bits of protein from them, and then used a big one as a toothpick. “Good idea,” Benji said, and copied her dental hygiene example. “I’ll save the floss fer later.”
Just as Benji had hoped, the meal had given him another burst of energy. Or at least a glimmer of oomph; he was still exhausted. “I’m goin’ down to the creek to wash up. Yer welcome to do the same. If ye’d like, I can wash yer back. I have some soap. It looks like there’s quite a bit of dirt and leaf matter in yer wounds there.” He could tell she didn’t understand him even with his gesturing and pointing to her back then moving his hands like he was scrubbing. “Ye should make sure ye get it cleaned up so an infection doesna start in. Ye ken, the redness and fever and pus? Oh, well, ye’ve been takin’ care of yer wounds fer a while there. I guess ye ken how to tend to them yerself.”
Ж
Benji stopped at the first water and took off his shirt. He dropped it in a little shallow eddy and put a softball-sized rock on it. “Presoak cycle,” he said. He looked back and saw the woman still kneeling by the fire pit, eyes down. “Ach, she wouldna care if I was buck-naked or not,” he said aloud. “Ye’ve probably seen a man in his altogether and yer naked body doesna seem to bother ye.” He added even louder, “Even if it does bother me,” then chuckled. His voice returned to a softer tone, “I sure hope the cold water does its job. I wouldna want to have her see my manhood in a happy state and think I want to take advantage of her.”
Benji set his shoes on a rock then dropped his dirty tan Carhartt work pants. He pulled off his socks and stuffed them through the belt loops to secure them. He set the bundle next to his shirt and put two rocks on it. He’d do the scrubbing on the clothes after he was done doing the same to his skin. “Ach, I canna forget ye, my little gold bar.” He ran back up to his little bedding site, picked up his sporran, and retrieved the bar of soap wrapped in a sisal crochet-mesh pocket. A plastic container would have been more efficient for wetness, but less as an exfoliant and scrubber. “And, it’s antibacterial, too,” he sang softly then realized that he was totally nude and standing fifteen feet away from a young woman. “Excuse me,” he said directly to her, “I forgot the soap,” then hurried back to the water.
The woman did have great peripheral vision. She had learned to use it well in the last twenty years. She didn’t have to flinch when a hand was raised to her, but could lessen its blow by shifting just a little, missing its full impact. She could also tell when a man was getting ready to have his way with her. She could initiate her gag and vomit reflex on demand. Men didn’t want to have sex with a woman who was coughing and puking. She grinned as she remembered how she had timed her ‘illness’ with the man who owned her two—or was that three?—masters ago. His stomach was even weaker than hers reportedly was. When she started getting sick, he started barfing and totally lost the urge. He never bothered her again, although, it was probably one of the reasons he had resold her. Again.
As Benji walked away, she lifted her head and looked hard at him. He had lash scars on his back, too. When he told her how to take care of her wounds, to keep them clean, he was speaking from personal experience. She stood up and watched as he went further up the creek, then was out of sight. She walked over to his clothes and decided that whether it was her duty or not, she’d clean his pants and shirt. The little bag he wore around his middle was too small to carry a change of clothes. It looked like that belly bag and the blotchy green colored cloth, were all that he had. She had next to nothing: just her little leather apron and the cloth on her head, but he didn’t have much more. Yes, he helped her when he didn’t need to; she could help him, too. She shrugged her shoulder and winced. It still hurt. But, she would help him because he said please and thank you, and didn’t look at her ‘like that.’
Benji still had the bandana around his neck, which was a good thing. Now he had a washcloth, too. He dipped his whole body into the water and floated on his back, letting his tension dissipate, starting at his neck, working its release down his spine and out his shoulders. He shuddered and his whole body jerked. He realized that while he was relaxing, he had fallen asleep. “Get on with it, man,” he said as he climbed to shore. He squatted down and scrubbed the tacky dirt and pitch matrix off of his forearms and neck with the sisal wrapped soap, then employed the sudsy kerchief on his face and other tender spo
ts. “Okay fish, yer jest gonna have to bide with some soapy water,” he announced, then jumped into the pool, knees held tucked into his chest in what he called a cannonball. The fish were sure to recover from the shock by morning. For now, he was going to treat himself to another childlike blast into the water. “Yee haw,” he shouted as he jumped in one last time.
Benji shook the water off his body like a dog. He kept the hair on his head cropped short. It wasn’t the fashion now, but what difference did his unusual hairstyle make? He already stood out because of its bright red color and his giant size. He might as well be comfortable, and in this heat, short hair was much cooler. Besides, he didn’t have a comb, or much else. He walked back toward the laundry area and saw the tall woman scrubbing his clothes. Well, maybe he had too much—one other person to look after, too much!
Benji heard the lass singing a song, or she was humming with attitude: he couldn’t distinguish any words. Duh! She couldn’t speak English. But, she did have a nice voice: not shrill, but low and very soothing.
Benji had forgotten to be noisy as he approached. It was his nature to be quiet when moving. “Eek!” she squeaked then looked up to see him ten feet away. She quickly averted her eyes and assumed her servile, head bent, squatted position.
He started to speak then noticed that she was sporting a smirk. She caught herself and returned to her noncommittal stone face. He looked down and remembered that he was naked. “Aye, the water is verra cold,” he said as he put his left hand over his privates. He saw her eyes flit up then back down. He looked where she had glanced and realized why she was grinning, or wanting to. “Yes, the hair is red down there, too; even redder still.”
The Great Big Fairy (The Fairies Saga Book 4) Page 14