by A. Sparrow
Miles thought he spotted a withered frog leg in his bowl, but decided it must have been an odd-shaped leaf. He sloshed the water around in his bowl until a grayish-brown haze appeared.
Misty sat beside Liz on the giant chair and pulled down her veil so she can sip from her bowl. The dropped veil revealed a delicate nose and lips, like a porcelain doll. The faintest dusting of freckles set off her milky skin, blushed by the wind and the straps of her veil. Miles realized he was staring and averted his eyes.
“You can look at me,” said Misty. “This veil is mainly for show.”
“Pardon my asking but, are you all Muslim or something?” said Miles.
“What … because of these?” said Misty, tugging on her veil. “This is a whole ‘nother custom. Here in Gi, men wear ‘em too. Just shows that you’re hitched to someone.”
Misty and Liz looked at each other and smiled.
“Gi?” said Miles.
“The place you’re at right now,” said Liz.
“Where the … hell … is Gi?”
“Beats me,” said Liz. “But you’re here. Better get used to it.”
“Um … I’m just passing through,” said Miles.
Misty turned her head sprayed a mouthful of tea onto the decking.
Liz just smiled. “Really? Where are you headed?”
“Well … back to Connecticut,” said Miles. “I’ve got work. And my rent’s due on Monday.”
Liz turned to Misty. “Remind you of anyone we know?”
“That was me, Miles,” said Misty. “The way you’re being. That was me a year ago when I came.”
“How am I … being?”
“Let’s not … start,” said Liz, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. “How about some food? You caught us between meals, but we might have some bits from lunch left over. You hungry?”
“Um .. sure,” said Miles. His stomach had been groaning ever since he left the mountain.
“Hope you like beets,” said Liz. “This season it’s pretty much what we got. Our grain store’s down to seed stock now. But the rains should be coming soon.”
“I’ll make him a bowl,” said Misty, skipping off back to the cook shack.
“That’s okay,” said Miles. “I don’t … I don’t care for beets.”
Misty paused, but Liz waved her on. “Make him a bowl, anyway. These are not the beets you know. They’re almost as sweet as yams here. And they come in all colors – black and white and red and yellow and all kinds of stripy ones. You’d better get use to them because they’re about all there is to eat in the dry season. We make ‘em with ramps and hot peppers. Just pretend they’re potatoes and you’ll be fine.”
“Ramps?”
“Little oniony, garlicky things that grow wild here. They kind of look like baby leeks. They pack some heat, too.”
Misty returned with a bowl of black and yellow beet chunks in a gooey, pungent sauce. Several hunks of cracker-like flat bread were tucked along the side. Miles ate with his fingers and it tasted nothing like those pickled purple things his mom would fish from jars.
Liz went on and on about the farm and her goats and trapping. She told him about the frigid and crystalline spring water that tasted so wonderful but made bathing such an ordeal. She told him about the men she had lost over the years, the babies and children who had died. How it was a hard life, but a good life.
Liz’s face had the quality of someone’s favorite bomber jacket, tanned and creased and scarred. From her face alone, Miles figured she might be pushing 50, though she had the hair of a much younger woman, wavy, honey-blonde hair only lightly touched with gray.
She spoke English like an American who had spent too much time abroad. Her inflections reminded Miles of a girl he knew in middle school whose family moved to Prague. He caught up with her again when she came back to the States for college to find the edges of her vowels smudged by time and distance.
“Pardon my asking,” said Miles. “But are you two … married?”
Misty giggled.
“A marriage of convenience, you might say,” said Liz. “Makes things easier for Misty. Being a young woman, in these villages here, can be a real pain in the ass. Being veiled takes some of the pressure off.”
“She don’t love me.” Misty feigned a pout.
“Not true,” said Liz. “I love her bunches. Like one of my own kids.”
“I see,” said Miles. His brain was feeling frazzled.
Misty picked up the instrument that Tom had been playing. It looked like an oversized mandolin, with friction tuners and several drone strings that passed diagonally above the others. She plucked away, sketching the outlines of yet another tune that sounded vaguely familiar.
“Geographically speaking,” said Miles. “Where is Gi?” Miles took a sip of tea. It tasted like clam broth and made the inside of his mouth tingle.
“We’re north of Venen,” said Liz. “That’s about all I know.”
“Venen? Never heard of it,” said Miles.
“Don’t suppose you would have,” said Liz.
“When those kids told me they wanted to take me to Lizbet, I thought Lizbet was a place,” said Miles.
“Most definitely,” said Misty. “Around here, Liz qualifies as a destination.”
“My ass is certainly getting large enough,” said Liz.
“Shady Grove,” said Miles.
“Beg your pardon?” said Liz.
“That song she’s playing. It’s Shady Grove,” said Miles.
“That’s right,” said Misty, and she dug in and played a break off the melody, letting the drone strings drone.
“The villagers know we help peregrins,” said Liz. “That’s why they brought you to us. We’re all peregrins ourselves, after all.”
“Peregrins?” said Miles.
“Means foreigner,” said Liz. “A special kind of foreigner. They don’t dare call the Venep’o that.”
“You’ve lost me,” said Miles.
“The Venep’o run this place,” explained Misty.
“Think they do, anyway,” said Liz. “They invaded about ten years back and have been trying to build up colonies ever since. The Nalkies don’t make it easy. Sometimes I think if we just let them have their little colonies they would leave us alone.”
The potent tea rejuvenated Miles and allowed his impatience to over-ride his fatigue.
“Listen … thanks for the food and all. But the sun’s getting kind of low. I’d like to get to the nearest town before nightfall. What was that city you mentioned?”
“Raacevo?” said Liz. “There’s no way you’re getting there before night fall. And besides, Raacevo’s not a place you want to be right now. It’s bad news for any peregrin, particularly a newbie like you.”
“I’ll be fine,” said Miles. “I’ll find a phone, call the consulate. Report my passport missing.”
Liz and Misty looked at each other.
“How cute,” said Misty. “He’s in denial.”
“This is 2010,” said Miles. “Can’t be that hard for a guy to get home. I don’t care where this place is. I’ve got a credit card. Driver’s license. Even had bars on my phone.” Miles pulled out his old school Nokia and turned it on.
“My Lord, will you look at that,” said Liz.
Five tones rang out. Lights flickered on. “I had two bars before,” said Miles. “Up in the hills.” His nerves were kicking up again, assisted by the tea.
“Mind if I have a look?” said Liz.
Miles handed her the phone and rummaged in the pack for his little radio.
Liz rotated it in her palm. “Golly, it’s just like Buck Rogers,” she said. “Or was it Dick Tracy had one of these?”
“Before my time,” said Misty, shrugging. “But I used to have one of those. A Motorola.”
“Ain’t much use here,” said Liz. “Good for cracking nuts, maybe.”
“But I had bars,” said Miles. “I even called my mom. And … I could pick up radio stations.”
He turned on his pocket radio. Static sizzled out of the tiny speaker. He pressed the search button. The tuner scanned every frequency and locked on none.
“It was working before,” said Miles. The tea was making him agitated, his brain accelerating beyond his ability to keep his panic in check.
“Lookit him. He’s turning all purple,” said Misty.
“We should have watered down his tea a bit,” said Liz. “I forget what those toads do to some folks first time they drink ‘em.”
“Didn’t bother me none,” said Misty.
“Well Misty, that must mean you’re special,” said Liz. “You’ve got Gi in your blood. Either that, or you’re a tolerant crackhead.”
“I think I need to lie down,” said Miles, as the walls began to shimmy, and spasms rippled through his belly.
Liz looked at Misty. “How’s the goat shed these days?”
“Not too stinky,” said Misty. “It’s been what—three months? Since the goats went to the upper pastures?”
“Tell you what, Miles,” said Liz. “We’ll give you a roof and two meals a day as long as you pull your weight. We’ve got a lot of chores we can’t get done on our own around here. We could use a little extra help.”
“Thank you, but … no,” said Miles, getting up. “I’m not staying here.” He flung his pack on. “It’s been great. I appreciate the hospitality, but … just point me towards the nearest city.”
“Sit down, Miles,” said Liz. “I ain’t letting you off this farm. Not tonight, anyway. The roads aren’t safe.”
“What do you mean? There’s not even any cars on them.”
“There’s soldiers,” said Misty.”And it don’t take much to provoke them. Just seeing a peregrin can set them off.”
“And they shipped half the peregrins from Raacevo off to Venen, from what I hear,” said Liz. “God knows what they’re going to do to them.”
The women’s concern generated a rush of fear and uncertainty in Miles. He plopped back down on his chair.
“Tell you what,” said Liz. “Stay a couple days. We’ll get you up to speed. We won’t force you to stay. But Misty and I both know what it’s like to be a stranger in a stranger land. We can make the transition easier for you.”
Miles looked down the lane to the sea of treetops beyond the cliffs. One night of hospitality couldn’t hurt, and then he could be on his way.
“Okay,” he said. “I’ll take you up on that.”
“Boy’s got some smidgeon of sense in him,” said Liz, smirking. “Knows better than to go get himself impaled by Cuasars, anyway.”
“Cuasars?”
“Let’s get some meat into you,” said Liz. “You still look like you’re running on fumes. Can’t have a guest passing out on my own porch. Misty, stoke up the fire.”
Chapter 12: Work for Breakfast
Slats of morning light sifted through vertical boards. Miles, awakening from a fitful sleep, stared, shivering from his thin cushion of burlap-covered straw. The musk of goats was thick in the air. In his dreams, he had been back in his apartment, calling the super about the strange smell.
A girl poked her face around the door of the shed. “Morning, Mr. Miles. Welcome to the farm.”
This must be Ellie. She spoke with the same queer accent as Tom. Her skin and hair were darker but she had her mother’s piercing, laughing eyes and wavy hair, streaked and bleached by the sun. She had to be younger than Miles, but she had lines crinkling her eyes, and her hands were callused and scarred.
“Mom wants me to get you started on chores.”
“Thanks, but no thanks,” said Miles. “I didn’t sleep very well.” He pulled his blanket closer.
“Don’t matter,” said Ellie. “Still gotta work for your breakfast, eh?”
“What’s for breakfast?”
“You’ll see. After chores.”
Miles hauled himself up. His clothes clung to him, the same khakis and dress shirt he had worn to work what felt like weeks ago, but was only a couple of days. What he would do for a change of underwear.
“Don’t worry … Mom said to give you an easy job at first. All you gotta do is shell some beans.”
She led Miles out into the dry lane that slashed through the hodgepodge of animal shelters and sheds clustered between the ploughed terraces below and the meadows above. Vines with blossoms grew along every border, shedding a spicy sweet aroma that helped expunge the smell of goat from his nostrils.
Misty stood at a crude table behind a shed that seemed to be used only for cooking. A cauldron bubbled on the coals, but so far seemed only to contain water. Miles’ stomach twinged. He had never felt so hungry and so far from a snack.
Misty worked quickly shucking beans like over-sized limas, tossing the hulls into a basket and the beans into a bowl. Her veil hung low over her neck and she made no attempt to conceal herself this time.
Ellie grabbed a bucket of bean pods from a mud walled silo and dumped them on the before in front of Miles.
“Sorry about the stink in that shed,” said Misty. “We’ll get it aired out real good today.”
“No need,” said Miles. “I’m heading out.”
“Say what?”
“I’m going to that city … what’s it called?”
“Did you not hear what Liz said last night?”
“What’s that?”
“Raacevo’s not safe right now, especially for someone who looks like you. Cuasars’ve been loppin’ off heads these days. One look at your pale face and—”
“What the hell’s a Cuasar?”
“Horse men … from Venen. There’s a whole passel of them camped out in the center of town, from what we hear.”
“Horse men? What are they, Mongols?”
“Close,” said Misty. “They sure act like Genghis Khans, sometimes.”
Miles’ stomach fluttered. “This is too weird. So what am I supposed to do?”
“Stick around,” said Misty. “This is the best place for you to be right now.”
“I can’t,” said Miles, sweat beading beneath his shirt. “I have to get back. I’ve got a job to go to.”
Misty looked at him with something akin to pity.
“Denial,” said Misty. “It’s natural. Happened to me, too. Took me months to get adjusted.”
“How did you end up here?” said Miles.
Misty leaned back and took a long breath. “A … vision … brought me. I was campin’ with some friends. Backpack fulla beer. We had hiked in a little ways and set up in a no campin’ zone. Three couples. My boyfriend Jimmy and some friends from high school. Just … getting back together on a weekend like we do on occasion. We just got done eating some weenies we had roasted and I went off to pee. I guess I went a little too far off the trail. It was dark. I walked until I saw a light. Thought it was the campfire, but I didn’t hear no voices. I went closer and ... this thing … I couldn’t believe it … it had colors like a kaleidoscope. There was pictures inside it … sunshine on bushes … a river flowing by … like a vision. I yelled for my friends. But I got too close and it started pulling on me. Sucked me in. Then these people on the other side grabbed me tied something over my head. Next thing I know I was in Raacevo, wandering the streets. Some people brought me to this mice old man named Gennadi. That’s where Liz and Bimji found me.
Miles had stopped shucking and stood staring at Misty. “No shit?” He fumbled a bean pod. It crumbled and spilled its beans onto the dirt. A dog ran up, snatched one and ran away. Miles stuck a dry bean in his mouth. It was tough and chewy – tasted a bit like raw potato.
“Don’t eat ‘em dry,” said Misty. “They’ll give you a tummy ache.”
“I’m starving,” said Miles.
“How’re those beans coming along?” said Liz, hobbling across the porch.
“They’re comin,’” said Misty.
“How about you Liz? How’d you get here?” said Miles.
“Here? You mean Gi?” said Liz.
Miles no
dded.
“A little fairy brought me,” she said. “She clicked her heels and sprinkled pixie dust on my butt.” She winced and groaned as she hauled her leg down the porch steps.
“You okay?” said Miles. “What’s wrong with your leg?”
“S’nothing,” said Liz. “Just my hip. Old injury. But I’ll take it to my dying day.”
Liz pried the lid off a barrel, and scooped out a large clump of yellow powder with a split gourd.
“Whadya you say Misty? He qualify for breakfast?”
“He’s an awful slow shucker,” said Misty. “Least he tries.”
“Make mine over easy,” said Miles. “Bacon on the side.”
“Eggs? He thinks he’s getting eggs?” Liz dumped the yellow clump into the boiling cauldron and broke it up with a stick. “Not with those filthy, murdering dogs of ours.”
“Why? What’s on the menu?”
“Same as every day,” said Liz. “Porridge and beans.”
***
Miles knelt beside a clay cistern and scrubbed at the sticky residue in the bottom of his bowl with a clump of knotted vines, rinsing it from a spigot, and turned it over in the gravel. He did the same for the other spoons and bowls stacked on the ground.
When he was done, he turned to find Liz watching him. “This one might be a keeper, folks,” said Liz. “Pulls his weight without needing a whip. What do you say Mist, should we keep him around?”
“He says he’s leaving, today,” said Misty, as she wiped the table. Ellie and Tom were off in the corner, fiddling with loops of wire that looked like rabbit snares.
“Oh yeah? Where does he think he’s going?”
“Raacevo,” said Miles.
“Tut. You’d never make it,” said Liz.
“I can handle myself,” said Miles. “I’ve been to some rough places. Used to play in neo-punk bands. You should have seen some of these dives – Bridgeport … New Haven … the Bronx even.”
“This boy has no clue, does he?” said Liz.
“He don’t know any better, Liz,” said Misty. “He just got here.”
“I mean … the city … must have buses or something at least. Right?” said Miles.
“Ain’t no cars in all of Gi,” said Misty.
“Oh yes there is,” said Miles, righteously. “I’ve got my car parked up in the hills.”
Misty and Liz looked at each other.
“You drove here?” said Liz.
“Not exactly,” said Miles. ”But I was inside my car when I came here.”