Count On Me

by Abigail Graham

  “Needs barbecue sauce,” I say with a shrug between bites.

  Another kid who’s just sat down in front of me asks, “What is ‘barbecue sauce’?” She says the words very slowly, sounding out each syllable to make sure I understand that she’s repeating what I said.

  “It’s…a condiment? A sauce. It’s made of molasses and sugar and pepper, but some people use tomato paste instead, and spices, and sometimes peppers to make it spicy. People make it different ways in different places.”

  “However they want?”

  “That’s right, however they want.”

  The kids all murmur between each other, and more of them drift over and sit down. Within a few minutes they’re all sitting there, almost but not quite talking over each other as they ask me dozens of simple but earnest questions.

  “You said you can drive for days,” one of them asks me. “How do you get papers? My momma asked for papers to take us to see the ocean and she was denied.”

  “Papers? You don’t need papers. You need a license to drive a car, but you only need to prove you can operate it safely, then you can go where you like.”

  Another kid immediately asks, “Everyone in America has a car?”

  I can feel the prince shift next to me. He’s not eating, just poking the bland nasty chicken with his fork as it goes cold. The little girl next to him stares at his cookie like she’s dying of thirst and she just found a canteen.

  I reach over, pluck the cookie from his tray, and hand it to her.

  He looks at me, bristling, teeth clenched. I look back evenly.

  “Go ahead, honey.”

  I give mine away, too. To my surprise, the kids break the cookies into halves, then quarters, and pass them around.

  “Get more—” the prince starts, but I silence him with a look.

  “They can share, it’s fine. No, not everyone in America has a car. Not everyone wants one.”

  “So you can have one if you want? No application? No denial?”

  “As long as you’re old enough and licensed, yes.”

  “Are you a teacher too?”

  “I… Yes. I was teaching English in Solkovia, then I came here.”

  “Why?”

  I look at the prince. “Ask him.”

  All twenty kids look right at him. The room goes silent.

  “It’s not proper for them to address me,” he says under his breath, “you just told them to…”

  “Does he like you?”

  Every kid, and their teacher, looks at the little girl who just asked me. She clamps her hand over her mouth and sinks down.

  I glance over at the prince. “He says he does. He wants to show me how beautiful your country is.”

  “Do you like it here?”

  “It’s different from my home,” I say quickly.

  I’m not going to do that to them, tell them the truth. I shift from side to side a little and eat a few broccoli florets. They’re fresh, at least.

  “She has enjoyed it so far,” the prince says. “You may speak to me, children.”

  They all look around, as if trying to confirm from each other what they just heard.

  The little girl who asked me if he likes me is almost jumping up and down, she’s fidgeting so hard in her spot.

  “Are you going to marry the prince? Is there going to be a wedding? You’re pretty. You look like a princess.”

  I glance over at the prince. I can’t help it.

  He’s turning red. At first my stomach sinks and I start to feel a little pang of nausea, wondering what he’ll do to these little children for offending him… But he’s not red with fury, he’s blushing. He looks over at me and then looks away, his expression very deliberately and forcefully neutral.

  “That depends on him,” I say.

  “Children,” the teacher finally says, “that is a rude question to ask. Ask her something else.”

  As the lunches disappear into their little stomachs, the questioning turns back to food. They want to know what a cheeseburger is like, what Kentucky Fried Chicken means, why people eat hot dogs when they don’t know what’s in them. I answer all of their questions, until the teacher starts to look agitated. I turn to her.

  “The lunch hour is over.”

  “You have my leave to continue until Penny wishes to depart.”

  The teacher goes quiet again, listening.

  “You look like you want to ask me something,” I say to her.

  She goes even paler. “No, I was…” She looks nervously at the prince. “Forgive me if I…”

  “Just ask me.”

  She sighs. “Perhaps later if I am given leave. It is not an appropriate question to ask in front of the children.”

  I turn back to the kids. Now they want to hear about music and television. They seem fascinated by the idea of media that isn’t state run. One of them asks me if I know Lady Gaga. One little boy turns beet red after he blurts out, “Can people in the America look at girls with no shirts on their computers?”

  I smirk and tell him, “People in America don’t usually put shirts on their computers.”

  He blinks a few times then laughs awkwardly and tries to hide behind one of his classmates. The prince glares at him.

  I put my hand on the prince’s arm.

  Everyone else in the room gasps loudly. It’s like all the air just sucked out through the windows.

  Oops.

  The prince very lightly rests his hand on mine, and squeezes. The kids all stare at it like he just kissed me full-on in the face.

  I pull my hand back.

  I sigh.

  “Children aren’t allowed to.” They’re not supposed to be allowed to, but I don’t clarify that. “Adults can, but we don’t need to talk about that. Everyone can use the Internet, though.”

  A little girl seems confused by that. “What do they use it for? Research?”

  “Yes, there’s a free encyclopedia that anyone can edit. People use it for many, many things. Buying things, selling things, talking with their friends, sharing pictures, talking about their favorite shows and books.”

  “People can edit the encyclopedia? Can they make websites of their own?”

  “Of course, anyone can. It costs money but there are free ways to do it, too. There are lots of ways to tell the whole world how you feel and what you think about any subject you want.”

  “You come from a magic place,” one of them says reverently. “My momma is right about red hair. You are a witch!”

  The prince tenses, but I laugh it off. “I can’t do magic, honey. Magic isn’t real. It’s just a different country with different rules.”

  “It sounds bett—”

  She cuts herself off sharply. Her eyes snap to the prince and she sinks down, tears welling in her eyes.

  I set my lunch aside and jump to my feet, drop down next to her, and hug her to my side.

  “I didn’t mean it,” she chirps in rapid Kosztylan, her clipped English forgotten. “I didn’t mean to be bad. Don’t take me away.”

  The prince rises to his feet. He turns to the teacher.

  “Escort all the other students out.”

  “Your grace—”

  His voice is even but hard like stone. “Anywhere but here. Go. Now.”

  “Children, follow,” she says nervously.

  It takes her a moment to gather them all and rush them out of the room, pulling the door shut behind her. That leaves me sitting on the floor with a sobbing little girl in my lap, clutching me like she expects her dear leader to snatch her away with his own two hands.

  I hold her tighter.

  “I’m not going to let you hurt her.”

  “Is that what you think of me? Child, what is your name?”

  “Anna.”

  “Anna, listen to me. No harm will come to you. You made a mistake.”

  “Francois said America was better last year,” she says, clutching my dress hard in her little fingers. “He went away and never came back.”
She starts to sob harder. “Don’t take me away.”

  The prince reaches for her then pulls his hand back abruptly.

  “I want my mama.”

  She hugs me tighter, as if I’ll have to do for now. I hug her back.

  The prince glares at me then ducks to the door, pulls it open, and barks an order.

  “I want this girl’s mother brought here now. Find her and bring her here. Give the child to her and send them both home. Now.”

  “I’m not letting go of the kid until her mom gets here.”

  “You presume to tell me what you will and will not do?”

  “If you drag her away and send her off to some camp, you might as well send me with her.”

  “I wouldn’t do that.”

  The girl is just out and out sobbing now, her face buried in my chest. I rub her back and rock, trying to soothe her.

  No one speaks until the door opens again. It must be the kid’s mother, because she detaches from me and runs over to her, leaping into her arms. The woman, dressed in dark-blue coveralls with a kerchief on her head, stares at the prince like he’s going to unfold into some terrible monster and devour her.

  “Go home. Take the girl with you.”

  She nods and bows, still holding her daughter in her arms, and backs away out of sight before she turns and runs, her feet slapping quickly on the tile floor.

  “Close the door,” the prince commands.

  When it slaps shut he rounds on me. He doesn’t finish a single word before I slap him.

  His eyes widen and he stares, astonished.

  I hit him again, with the other hand. He stumbles a half step.

  “Go ahead, cut my hands off. I figured I might as well give you an excuse to do both. Call it a package deal.”

  He grits his teeth and looms over me. “How dare you. I should have shut you up—”

  “Your perfect little world is so wonderful.” I cut him off in a saccharine tone. “They just love it here. They love it so much that half an hour of silly questions and they’re ready to give it all up.”

  “You—”

  “How many, my prince?”

  “How many what?”

  “How many kids have you taken away from their parents because they asked the wrong question? Had the wrong idea?”

  “Not many—”

  “One is too many!” I scream, jabbing my finger at the door.

  “Do not take that tone with me.”

  “Why not? I’ve seen what you are. You’re a monster. A total monster. I hate you.”

  “I…” he starts, clenching his fists. “Why do you have to test me this way?”

  I flinch back, almost thinking he will actually strike me when he moves, but he grabs the teacher’s desk and heaves the entire thing across the room in one furious burst of motion. It crashes against the wall, digging a big gouge in the drywall before it lands in a bent heap. He turns around and rams his fist into the chalkboard then pulls it back, clutching it.

  When he turns around, I’m inches from his face.

  “You won’t hurt me,” I say, very softly.

  “No, no you’re right, I won’t hurt you. I am not a monster. I don’t want to be a monster.”

  “It’s easy, isn’t it, when you don’t have to see them? It’s easy to order Melissa to be locked up forever and lose her mind when you don’t have to watch. It’s easy to order children be stolen from their parents if you don’t have to see them screaming and crying and begging for their mother. I know what you are, now. I know why the armor, and the castle.”

  He shakes his head.

  “You’re a coward. You’re afraid of the truth. You’ve known I was right all along.”

  “I protect my people—”

  “This isn’t protection. This is torture, do you understand me?”

  “I will not let them be harmed—”

  “By anyone but you. You put up walls around them to keep them safe from some imaginary danger, but this place isn’t a fortress, Kristoff. It’s a prison. You’re punishing everyone for a crime they didn’t commit.”

  “We talked about this before. In your country you need to fear some criminal taking everything from you, here no one needs to fear that. No one needs to fear they will be left to die if they fall ill, no one will go without food or a roof over their head…”

  “No one can make a choice. Goddamn you, look at this place. Look at what you’re doing to these children. My goddamn dress is the only color they’ve ever seen in their school. Children need art and music and playtime, not…this. The desks are bolted to the floor! What’s wrong with you?”

  His voice cracks.

  “I just want them to have safe lives…”

  “What about happy lives? Or is it just because you’re not happy, no one else can be, either? Because you lost somebody, the whole country has to live in mourning forever?”

  He stands to his full height and grits his teeth. “You don’t know what you’re talking about.” He edges closer. “Careful, Persephone. My patience has its limits, even for you.”

  “I saw the initials carved into the wood in the library. K for Kristoff and C for, what?”

  “Cassandra… It’s not your business. Don’t say her name in my presence.”

  “You’re nuts, you know that? You think people are machines, or dolls. Am I wearing her clothes? Is that the idea? You broke your toy and now you want a new one?”

  “That’s not why…”

  “You know this is wrong. Part of you does, anyway. I saw him in the hospital and I saw him again when that little girl was clinging to me and crying. Because she was scared of you.”

  “I don’t want that. I don’t want this. I don’t want any of it. You don’t understand, how could you?”

  I touch his arm, gripping the fabric of his sleeve tight in my fingers. “Tell me you’re not really like this. Tell me it doesn’t have to be this way.”

  “It does. I can’t change my entire country because you’ve been struck by a strange fancy.”

  I grab his face. I cup his cheeks in my hands and just stand there.

  “Look at me. Look at me.”

  He faces me head on. His whole body shudders as I run my fingers through his hair.

  “I believe that you don’t want to hurt these people. I believe that you want them to be safe and happy. They are safe…from everyone but you. You’ve made the choice for them, safety or happiness. That’s no choice at all.”

  He takes my wrists, gently, and pulls my hands from his face but stops halfway, staring at them.

  “I haven’t felt the touch of another person since I was a little boy. Touching a member of the blood royal is forbidden. It is our custom not to even touch one another. I never saw my mother and father kiss. He never hugged me. The only member of my family who would set a hand on me was my grandfather.”

  I give my hands a little tug, but his grip tightens on my arms.

  “That girl was right. You are a witch, and you’ve put a spell on me. No matter what I do I cannot break it. I want you, Penny. When you say these things, it pains me. Because you say them, and because you’re right. I command you to stop touching me because every time I feel your skin on mine, I need you more.”

  I flinch and blink when he uses my name. My real name, not my dumb legal name my mother came up when she was high.

  “I want you to stay with me.”

  “Why?”

  “I don’t know, I… I’ve never known anyone like you.”

  “I told you, if you’re looking for a replacement for some other girl…”

  He lets go and turns around, scrubbing his hands through his hair. “It is not like that at all. You don’t understand.”

  “I saw the initials in the library, K + C in the heart.”

  “K for Kristien,” he sighs. “My brother and Cassandra carved them there. Ordinarily the heir’s wife is chosen when they are both young. Historically my forbears avoided marriages among the nobility… I cannot speak
of this. Not here. Come back to the castle with me.”

  “Promise me you won’t take that little girl away. Promise me, my prince. If you do, you may as well send me with her because I’ll never listen to another word you have to say. If I can’t be free, you might as well kill me.”

  He walks to the window and looks out.

  “In one week I must travel to New York on diplomatic business. You will accompany me. If you wish to stay, that is your choice. I will not force you to return here with me. I will deliver you safely. After that, the choice is yours.”

  My mouth drops open.

  “In return, all that I ask is that you hear me out. Back at the castle.”

  8

  I almost revolt when they pack me into the car and the prince does not join me. There are too many people. I won’t risk making a scene. I can only hope that he was telling me the truth and I can trust his word that he won’t hurt that poor little girl.

  Oh, Penny, you silly romantic idiot, do you really think you can change that creature?

  Not change him.

  Help him.

  It’s a long ride back, to be taken in total silence. I look out through the windows at first then close my eyes when I get tired of plain gray stone everywhere. Where are all the old buildings, all the history? This should be a beautiful place full of all sorts of architectural styles. Solkovia City has thousand-year-old churches and tile roofs, all sorts of beautiful buildings, squares, courtyards. Everything here is the same drab, dull gray.

  I quickly get tired of it, lean back in the seat, and close my eyes. When the car finally comes to a gentle stop I grab the door and shove it open myself, and step into the courtyard. I start toward my room—I think—but that blonde-haired guardswoman steps in front of me.

  “His grace commands you follow me.”

  I’m too defeated and tired to argue. I just fall in line behind her and trudge along, wondering when I’ll be allowed to sit down again.

  “I am taking you to his private quarters.”

  I stop mid-stride and swallow, hard.

  The woman stops and scowls at me.

  “Not his bedroom. His quarters. Follow.”

  Sighing hard, I resume my slow walk behind her, following her through twisting corridors, across a bridge enclosed by a timbered roof and walls, and through an open gate. She stops at the gate itself.