by Gabi Moore
She had no idea what she was doing, she was young and stupid, and it just wasn’t safe here for her. Nobody cared about the fucking garden anyway. And her life and happiness was just worth so much more than some church vanity project…
I froze. Yes, I wasn’t mistaken. I drew a breath and looked down at my hands. Scanned internally. Yup, it was unmistakable.
I was feeling something for her.
My heart raced, but I carried on walking. I forced myself to stay calm: I knew this would happen. I had seen her face, days before she arrived, in smoke. I had made out her features in my mind’s eye. A warning? In any case, I was getting way, way too invested. Why bother with someone who was just going to leave? And did I really want to break her heart? Did she deserve that?
I froze again. Now you’re thinking about what she deserves? No, there was no way around it. She was getting in the way. I had my life, and she had hers, and she had already crossed over into mine too much already. I had been an idiot, with the whole tying her up bullshit. I admit that it was fun. But someone had to be the responsible adult here. She had to go. Back to where she came from.
The sun dipped low and then winked out, just as I was rounding the familiar bend that would lead me through a narrow, hidden thicket and to my cabin. The cicadas had whined all they could for the day and were petering out. The air went gray and woke up with flying night insects instead.
As I approached the cabin I froze, yet again. A figure, standing at the entrance.
Instantly my heart was in my throat. Without thinking my body responded, and I was rock hard in an instant. All at once, I didn’t care. I wanted her to stay. I wanted to …oh God I wanted to do so many things to her. I raced up to the cabin, a lump in my throat and then realized: Valerie. It was Valerie.
She lifted slow, sleepy eyes up at me. Her hair was loose and tousled, and her flimsy shirt hung limp off one shoulder. She looked down at my crotch then back up at me.
“I was hoping you’d be glad to see me…” she said.
Chapter 12 - Penelope
The knife was tucked in my bra strap. Just under my armpit, warm and parallel to my body, it didn’t feel much like a weapon. It was more like …a part of me. I had made small talk with Valerie all day long, and we had lugged more fish than I ever care to in a lifetime, but now I was getting tired of retelling the same old highlights of our hijacking story and wanted some alone time.
Luckily, she said she would be visiting her friend from London one more time before he left, and would be gone that evening. I smiled and said “sure”. My mind, like an elastic that had been stretched tight all day long, instantly snapped to what I was really concerned with: how I would see him again.
It didn’t make much sense, I know, but something about having that stupid knife really meant something to me. I hadn’t heard from Dylan. I had stewed for ages this morning, wondering whether he had found the locks. And how. And what he would say to me. And what my father would say. But then I stopped worrying the instant I had another thought: I just didn’t care.
I had been in this country for almost two weeks now, and I had already done far, far more than I could have even dreamed. I’ve washed every last item I brought by hand, in a steal drum, with cold water. I’ve eaten a single meal of bread and stew almost every day. I’ve eaten goat. I’ve found Satan himself in scorpion form on my bedroom floor more than once, I’ve been laughed at by countless children, I’ve gotten sunburnt, car sick, bitten, nearly hijacked and now my hands were starting to smell like fish all the time. Not only had I done exactly zero days’ work in the garden, I hadn’t actually eaten anything green myself since I landed.
Has Dylan ever done anything remotely like that? I squeezed my arms down to feel the knife against my ribs. No, I don’t think he has.
So, to hell with all of them.
To Vik most of all. He didn’t understand me at all. Fine, I might look like some ditzy idiot to him, but at least I didn’t run away into the forest in some tantrum just because, I don’t know, civilization wasn’t what he thought it should be. Like, I might not understand much about the world, but at least I wasn’t so arrogant to just go and sulk in the woods somewhere because I thought I was better than everyone else.
I had to tell him all this. That he had misunderstood me. That I wasn’t like Dylan, and that I did have my own will, and that I wasn’t just this two dimensional joke, this girl he could just toy with. I had opinions about things, important opinions, and I was going to let him hear them, and maybe if he didn’t like it I could tie him to a tree and see how he liked that.
I winced at the thought. Don’t be stupid, Penny, he obviously doesn’t want anything to do with a little Christian kid like you.
I made quite a few wrong turns to get to his cabin. It was a weird route there, and didn’t make much sense. I felt that I was walking a little towards it, then looping back, getting closer, then looping back again. After a while I couldn’t tell if I’d already passed the same clump of scraggly trees before or if it was just a new clump of scraggly trees.
The wet ache was still there. Even more tender and agonizing than ever. I’d tell him that we had gathered enough fish guts now and ask whether he’d like to help us fold it into the soil, and whether he could take time from his nefarious secret life to help us haul the straw and things out to the field.
But he’d know what I really wanted. And I wouldn’t care. I be brazen. I’d tell him what an idiot I thought he was. Did he really think he was such a brave soul, out in his stupid cabin, playing Robinson Crusoe while the rest of us out here had real work to do? He’d apologize. Or he’d be speechless. But I would forgive him. And then he’d kiss me.
I stopped and stared at a clearing in the forest, and thought I had a vague feeling that the left path was the way to go. I briefly wondered whether I should find a soft patch, hide out of the sun, lay myself down and finally soothe the glorious throb between my legs. I had touched myself millions of times since the night with the knife. No sooner had I thrashed and clenched down and swallowed my moans, did the instant need to do it again bubble up in me. And so I would. And I had been. What can I say, I was going wild.
But something told me to push on. I finally made out the edge of Vik’s tool shed and the ring of weeds around it, and then the old cabin came into view. The curtains were drawn. Odd. I picked my way up the overgrown footpath and heard soft voices coming from inside. I scampered and hid behind the shed just in time to see Valerie’s slinky frame totter down the rough cut steps and out to the back. Like a celebrity hurrying out from a club, eyes downcast and hair a mess.
The knife at my side suddenly seemed cold again. I went blank. My chest hurt. I blinked hard and strained my eyes to make out Vik’s figure appearing behind hers, watching her go, but as he turned to go back inside, he saw me there, crouching in the weeds.
We looked at each other for a long time. The weeds seem to sting at my bare legs. I didn’t have the heart to stand up immediately, but when I did, my knees were weak. He said nothing, but his face looked hard; a little twisted.
“I’m, I’m sorry …I didn’t mean to disturb you, I thought…” I stammered, but he scowled and looked away. Of course. Of fucking course. Why wouldn’t he go for Valerie? She was pretty and competent and so much older than I was…
He looked like he was trying to think of something to say. I know it doesn’t make much sense, but right then, I couldn’t decide if I hated him or wanted him. His face looked so broad, so confident and strong and at ease with everything. Hadn’t he thought of me at all? Didn’t our kiss mean anything to him? How many other girls were there?
“Valerie is a friend. She just came over to talk about the plot. Are you upset?”
I was mad at how crystal clear his voice was. Here I was, an angry, quivering wreck, and he simply stood before me, strong shoulders held back, his chin up, and his voice clear. I wanted to believe him. A “friend”. Was I just a friend as well? I felt some hot, embarrassing te
ars threatening to overwhelm me.
He took a step towards me and before I knew it I was in his arms, collapsed against his chest and sobbing loudly. He held me with firm but painfully gentle arms, and didn’t seem the least bit surprised. My crying didn’t seem to shake him, and so I cried harder, and in no time I was bawling, emptying out a flood of emotions I hadn’t realized I had been holding in. He just held me, and I cried till his pecs went wet under my cheeks, until I couldn’t cry anymore. He planted kiss after kiss onto the top of my head, and I folded up small and safe, and snuffled out the last of my sobs.
“If you come inside, I can give you something for your nerves. You’re tired” he said. Again I marveled at the tone of his voice. Was this the same man who had strung me up to a tree like an animal and humiliated me? Who had laughed at me and made fun of how turned on he had made me? He looked down at me, eyes brimming with meaning, and the ache in my body was at fever pitch.
I nodded my head and went into his cabin.
Chapter 13 - Penelope
“Valerie is not …just so you know. We did, once or twice before, but that was long before you arrived. She came to visit me today, but she’s just …bored. Nothing happened.”
There was nothing defensive in his voice. He spoke clearly and calmly again, only as though he was cautious for the effect his words would have on me. I instantly believed him. And I hated for how much I trusted him, in that moment.
“I don’t care who else you fuck,” I spat.
“Else?” he said, something teasing in his eyes.
I shot him a look full of daggers. His smile was playful.
“I’ve never heard you swear before,” he said, genuinely surprised. But I didn’t care about that either. Why was everyone so sure they knew everything about me? He went over to his ramshackle little sink in the corner and then reached for a blue ceramic jar. Out the jar came some grey green dried herbs, which he sprinkled into a tin cup, and with a few well practiced movements he flicked a gas stove to life and set a small pot of water to boil over it.
We sat in silence for ages, me taking in every last corner of his cabin, him with his muscled back to me as he watched the steam rise out from the pot. There were some gnarly looking rabbits strung out on a line like disgusting laundry; some chipped and dented bowls and tins on a shelf, a pile of wood, a bucket, a coiled rope with a fatigued looking plastic packet bundled in the center…
I watched him from behind. Even as he swayed gently from side to side, or as he reached out or shifted his weight from one side to the other, I could make out all the little muscles under his skin. He was truly a beautiful man. Hard, raw-looking. I noticed the faded ruins of some tattoos on his back, tattoos that looked like even they couldn’t stand the punishment he had put his body through and had sunk deeper into his skin to get away from the Malawi heat and dust.
When he turned around, my eyes were at his crotch. But I took my time in turning away. He noticed me noticing. Good. I took the steaming cup from him and blew on the surface, taking care not to drop the strange line of eye contact we had strung up between us both. Here, he was in his element. Something more animal than human, more wild than civilized. Only his quick eyes hinted at something noble and refined somewhere inside him, underneath all the grunt and sinew of his masculine frame. I wanted him to see me admiring him. I sat cross legged on his lumpy mattress and set the cup aside.
“What tea is this?” I asked.
“It’s a tea for your nerves. It will calm you.”
“Sure, but what is it?”
“Does it matter?”
I took a sip.
“I guess not,” I said. It tasted bitter and fresh, like wet hay or clods of soil. Maybe like melon peel.
“You built this house yourself?”
“With my bare hands” he replied, and came to side beside me. I looked down at his hands and made out a few flecks of crushed herb on his stocky fingertips.
I took another sip.
“I didn’t tell anyone. About what happened the other day.”
“I know.”
I could hear the breath enter and leave his immense body. He towered at least a full foot above me, even when sitting. The wind outside was playing with the grass. I exhaled loudly and put the cup aside again.
“What other special herbs do you have? Do they all have, like, magical properties?” I said, in my cheeriest voice.
He turned his pale jade-green eyes to me. Those eyes bore right into the core of me. They were eyes that were naked. The rest of him was scarcely clothed, it was true, but it was in his eyes that he was most exposed of all. He was open. Animalistic. A man uncivilized. A wild man. It was almost too graphic.
“If you look at it the right way, everything has ‘magical properties’,” he said, with a naughty smile.
“What does that stuff do?” I said, pointing to some shriveled looking pods hung up like garlic.
“Reduces inflammation. Good for the bones.”
“And that?” Some fresh leaves were drying in the window.
“For contacting the ancestors.”
“Really?”
He didn’t reply. I hated to think that I had offended him.
“Well what about what’s in that jar?” I asked quickly, to change the topic. It was a tiny china vase with a lid so dirty on the outside you could scarcely make out the red dragon painted on it.
He looked and said nothing.
“That’s …not for you.”
I jumped up and went to have a closer look.
“Who’s it for? What does it do?”
“Don’t touch that! It’s very potent. It’s for…. you’re young, you don’t need it.”
“But what does it do?” I begged. I felt like the nosiest kid in the strangest candy store.
“It’s trouble” he said and stood between me and the jar. His body was like a wall. Elemental, impenetrable. It took my breath away to be so close to him again. “You’re trouble” I said and laughed, going to sit back down on the mattress again. “Besides if it’s some gross traditional medicine thing for old men who can’t get it up, then you can just say so, you know” I said.
He laughed.
“Well, it’s kind of like that” he said quietly. Yes, I remembered the rumors. No, I hadn’t forgotten what people had said about him. That Mama Tembi thought he was a degenerate and that she had heard it from someone who had heard it from someone else that he was practicing some kind of witchcraft in here and dabbling with the dark arts… But I’m a Christian, goddamit, and Lord knows I was tired of hearing stories second hand. I wanted to see for myself. Just how dangerous could one man be anyway? How bad could any one plant be? What was he going to do, put a spell on me? I looked down at his hand, resting on his muscular thigh. He was just human. All human. I wasn’t scared.
“It’s more like …something to remind you of your animal side. Sometimes, for some people, that goes to sleep in them. They forget their bodies. They shrivel up inside. This is a plant that …wakes that up again.”
I wished so hard that he would reach out and kiss me again. But he didn’t even look at me. Didn’t he want to tie me up again? Force me to do something sleazy?
“I want some,” I said, without thinking.
He smiled to himself, as if he knew I was going to say that.
“No.”
“What? Why not? I’ll pay you. Just let me try some.”
He looked a little angry.
“Pay me? What makes you think you have anything worth giving me?” he said.
The words stung. His voice was dripping with the same biting sarcasm from the time before. The mango tree time. The time I had melted onto his fingertips, like the helpless little girl I was, and begged him to go further.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t mea– “
“’Sorry’ doesn’t mean a damn thing. Don’t apologize. You’re ignorant and young and sweet. Just own it. Don’t apologize.”
I was confused.
“
Sweet?”
He paced the room.
“Called your fiancé back at home yet? I bet he’s very worried about you” he said.
“He’s not.” My reply came so quickly even I was surprised.
“My fiancé doesn’t care about me at all. He just wants some airhead to play house with. Some puppet. He just wants to use me…” I said, more bitterness in my voice than I had planned for.
“And… you’re not OK with being used?” he said. He was towering tall above me, his imposing form seemingly swelling to fill up the whole cabin. I was wet again.
“Well, I didn’t say that…” I said, and raised cautious eyes up to meet his. He looked down at me, the stance of a warrior, and for the first time, I realized that his sparse clothing, his unkempt hair – all of it was nothing compared to the incredible life that seemed to thrum off him. He wasn’t just strong. He was …vital, like something vibrant and heady was pulsing through him, even as he stood there motionless, looking down at me. With those arms, he could have snapped me in two, if that’s what he wanted. I squirmed and looked away again, tried to fix my gaze on the intricate, manly tendons and wires in his broad foot. The air left the room. I could almost feel his laser focus on me. On my body.
“Your body is a beautiful thing, Penelope, you should treat it with only the most immense kindness and respect.”
A familiar, Sunday-school tale. I had heard it all before. But his story was inverted somehow. Had I done it all wrong? Your body is a temple, Penelope …but a temple of carnal pleasures. Your body is so special …that it deserves only the dirtiest of things. Love yourself Penelope …love yourself so hard it hurts.
I sighed.
“I don’t want to go back home. I don’t want to marry him anymore.” The words shocked me, once they were out of my mouth and there, for someone else to hear.