by Kelli Kimble
“Gary?”
I waited for a beat. There was no answer, and no sound of movement. I had to get to class. I opened the stall door. Sure enough, the room was empty. Gary was gone, and so was the smoker. I almost cried with relief on my way to class.
* * *
Wednesday afternoon couldn’t come fast enough. I pinned the money from Saturday to my bulletin board and I admired it at every opportunity. I didn’t usually worry too much about money but earning enough to pay for college gave me motivation.
After school, I rode my bicycle to Mr. Anu’s farm. I was still wearing my school things, but I’d brought work clothes to change into. I spotted Mr. Anu in the garden.
“Hello, Mr. Anu.”
“Iris. I’m glad to see you.”
“Is there somewhere that I can change my clothes?”
“Of course. Allow me to show you.”
We went into the house and he showed me to the bathroom. While I changed, the back door slammed. He’d gone back outside. For a moment, I wanted to snoop around his house. What was Mr. Anu like? Why wasn’t he married? Perhaps he was a widower. Did he have children?
An image of the money on my bulletin board at home flashed into my mind’s eye. No. I wasn’t going to ruin this opportunity.
Outside, Mr. Anu was waiting for me on the porch. “Have you ever moved a bale of hay?”
“No, sir.”
“I’ve got a wagon full of it that needs to be moved up to the loft in the barn. I’ll show you.”
My heart fell. Today was the day he was going to decide that I was of no use to him. But I followed as he went around the far side of the barn. A large wooden wagon was piled with bales of hay as if they were bricks. They were stacked far taller than I; taller even than Mr. Anu.
“How do we unload them? They’re so high.”
“Simple.” He used one wagon-wheel as a step, then stepped on the edge of the wagon body, moving around to the front where I couldn’t see him. Then his head popped up above the hay.
“Oh,” I started. “Be careful, Mr. Anu.”
“It’s perfectly safe,” he said. “Stand back.” A bale of hay tumbled from the top of the wagon. Then another. I closed my eyes against the cloud of dust they raised. When I opened them, Mr. Anu was standing beside me. He held two giant metal hooks.
“You pick one up like this.” He thrust a hook into each end of the first hay bale, creating a handle. Then he picked it up by the hooks. “I’ll show you where to stack them inside.” He nodded towards another pair of hooks hanging from the edge of the wagon. “You take those and try.”
The hooks had a menacing look. But I took one in each hand and jabbed them into the other hale bale as he’d demonstrated. That was easy enough; the problem came when I tried to lift it. The bale was heavier than anything I could remember lifting. Still, I gathered my strength and hefted it. Mr. Anu had already entered the barn through a man-sized door.
Mr. Anu dropped his bale on a platform. Ropes were attached to the four corners of the platform, and above the ropes converged to a single point attached to a pulley system.
“Stack yours here. When we have a dozen bales, we’ll lift it onto the loft and restack them up there.”
I heaved my bale beside his and withdrew the hooks with some difficulty. He did, at least, grant me the dignity of looking away as I struggled. He moved outside and climbed back up onto the wagon. More bales fell, enough to complete the dozen on the platform. I attached my hooks and strained to lift the next bale.
Sweat was pouring off of me when we finished loading the platform.
He pointed to a ladder. “You head on up.” There was a crank against the wall that he turned. The rope creaked as the platform lifted from the ground.
The ladder was rough-hewn, barely a ladder. I put a foot on the bottom rung and lifted my weight up to test it.
Mr. Anu laughed. “I’ve gone up and down that ladder dozens of times. If it will hold me, then it will hold you.”
Heat gathered around my neck. I hadn’t thought my fear was so transparent. I climbed up to the loft. Cobwebs hung like tattered lace from the support beams. The platform hung a few feet higher than the loft floor, though it was still out of reach over the barn floor. Mr. Anu came up the ladder.
“Pardon me for saying so, Miss Hond. But it seems like you have something on your mind.” He pulled on a rope that swung the platform over to the loft. We began unloading it and stacking the bales.
“My parents would like to meet you.”
“That’s to be expected,” he said. “Shall I drive you home tonight?”
“No, sir. That won’t be necessary. They’d like you to come to dinner, tomorrow evening. If you’d like. I thought you’d enjoy a home-cooked meal.”
“Oh.” He straightened from where he’d bent to arrange some bales. “A formal meal?”
“I wouldn’t say formal. We don’t eat everyday meals on proper china.”
His dubious expression prompted me to add, “My mother is a fabulous cook.”
“I’m sure she is. I just didn’t expect such a gesture. I would be most privileged to attend.”
All the bales were arranged, and we went down the ladder. We resumed moving the hay.
“You have something more to say,” he said after we’d loaded the platform several more times.
It stuck in my throat to confess that my mother didn’t want me to work for him and that she was worried that he might not be respectable. But it was hot, and I didn’t know how many more bales of hay I could move.
“How many of these bales are there, anyway?” I asked.
“We’ve been working for a while. Why don’t we go inside for a break? I have some lemonade.”
“All right.”
Inside, we sat at the table, each sipping from the promised glass of lemonade.
“Miss Hond. I’m afraid I haven’t been entirely honest with you.”
A prickle went up my spine. Was he going to fire me, now? “You haven’t?”
“You know me to be foreign.”
“Yes, you said you’re from Egypt.” I gripped my glass.
“I’ve come to think of you as a friend, Miss Hond. Can I trust you?”
“I think so,” I said.
“My origin is more complicated than simply saying that I am ‘Egyptian’.”
“Uh-huh,” I said. I had no idea what he was getting at.
“I wasn’t born so much as conjured.”
I stared at him.
“I can guess from your expression that I’ve confused matters. You see, I’m not human. Not at all.”
My spine went rigid. I plunked the glass of lemonade on the table and stood, wiping the sweat from the glass on my dungarees and moving towards the kitchen door. I can’t believe I thought this nut was my ticket to college. I had one boot partway on when he approached, holding his hand out to me.
“Miss Hond, I know this is hard to believe. But hear me out.”
I turned to look up at him. His bronze skin and accent reminded me that, like me, he wasn’t from around here. I paused. He set his hand on my forearm.
“Just come back to the table and listen. Finish your lemonade. You’ve worked hard today.” His hand pressed into my arm and gently guided me towards the table. Normally I don’t like to be touched. If it had been anyone else, anywhere else, I’d have shaken him off, gotten my boots on and left.
But I let him guide me. I felt calm; serene, even.
I sat and he folded his large frame into his chair. I tried again to judge his age. His skin was smooth and unwrinkled, his black hair free of grey strands. He smiled, revealing white even teeth that contrasted against the darkness of his skin.
“Miss Hond. This is a lot to take in.”
“This isn’t getting taken in. It’s patently false.”
“There’s a reason I am telling you this, Miss Hond.”
“To scare me?”
“Because we have some lineage in common.”
> “I was born. Like a normal person. In a hospital in Atlanta, Georgia.”
“Search your heart, and you will know that it is true.” He paused and seemed to be reconsidering his tactics. “You don’t fit in, do you?”
Ouch. That was unfair.
“I see it in your eyes,” he said. His smile deepened, crinkling the skin around his eyes. It wasn’t a smile that conveyed humor; it had a more sympathetic nature. “It’s true. You don’t relate to the boys and girls your age, at least not with most of them. But maybe there is one boy here you’ve met who piques your interest?”
I shook my head.
“All right. Forget the boy. But you must find that you don’t relate to the other children.”
Bristling at being called a child, I took a sip of my lemonade. It felt good. I was hot and tired, and I concentrated on the sweet and sour notes on my tongue and how the lemon scent was fresh.
“You are even different physically. Have you never noticed that you have sharper hearing? That you can see things better? That you smell things others don’t smell? ”
“I . . .” but the words trailed off. How did he know that?
He clucked his tongue. “You’ve noticed. I saw how you reacted to the chicken-coop stench, and your sight in the barn — there’s no artificial light in there. You long to know others like you, to be with them. It is why you came here to work – even though I am foreign. You sense something in me. A kinship.”
“That’s just silly,” I said. “I don't care where you're from. I came here to work because I need money. For college.”
“Another thing that sets you apart. You have a sharp intelligence. You feel you’re meant for something more than living in a small town in West Virginia. You don’t want to just get married and be a housewife.”
I licked my lips. Was I that predictable?
“You are Anubian, my dear Miss Hond. Not human. And do you know what I am?”
I shook my head. Was this even real? What the heck was an Anubian? I gulped down more lemonade. I needed to clear my head.
“I’m the god, Anubis.”
I sprayed lemonade over the table.
“Oh, gosh,” I said, jumping up and running to the sink. The manners my mother had worked so hard to drill into me took over. I grabbed a dishcloth and wet it, then went back to the table and started wiping my spit from the table, giving a little laugh to soften the situation. “I’m so sorry. I thought you said you were a god.”
He put a stilling hand over mine.
“You were not mistaken.”
I’m normally not the wilting flower type, but this was a whole new deal. Maybe it was the heat, maybe it was hard work on an empty stomach. Maybe it was what he’d said. All I knew was that once he touched me, I couldn’t stop it. My legs crumpled beneath me and that’s all I remember.
* * *
My eyes didn’t want to open, but I could sense that someone was standing over me and I needed to see who it was. I blinked until my sight came into focus. Mr. Anu.
“What happened?” I asked. I looked past him and realized I wasn’t in the kitchen.
“You fainted,” he said. He plucked at the edge of a worn quilt that was draped over me. “Are you feeling better? I’m going to call your parents to come and get you.”
I grabbed ahold of his hand. It was warm and felt solid, more like stone than flesh. My panic ebbed.
“No, they won’t let me work here anymore if you tell them,” I said. “They’ll think the work is too much for me.”
His brow knit together, and he frowned. "That won't do," he said. "I'll take you home myself, then."
"What about my bicycle?"
"We'll throw it in the truck bed. Okay?"
I was still holding his hand. A sense of peace seemed to be emanating from his touch. I let go. Immediately, my everyday anxieties rushed at me. I squashed them down.
"Do you feel well enough to stand?"
I sat up and pushed the quilt off, ready to go home. "I think I just need a minute."
He backed away, giving me space.
"I have to apologize," I said. "That's never happened to me before."
"No need to apologize. I forget sometimes how the humanity in you makes you more fragile."
I lurched to my feet. "I'm ready to go home."
His placid expression didn't change, so I don't know if he realized that his ridiculous reference to me being only partially human had further upset me. But I wasn't going to call attention to it, and I certainly wasn't going to address it myself.
"All right." He held a hand out to assist me off the couch. Mother's manners again locked me into accepting his help. The calm returned. What was that?
"You're wondering about how you feel," he said. "With my touch, you feel quiet. An acceptance. Correct?"
I snatched my hand back. "Of course not," I said.
"It is how the human side of you reacts. It’s why you fainted just now. Do you know your ancient Egyptian history?" He turned away from me, then went around the sofa and back to the kitchen. I trailed a safe distance behind. He pulled on a pair of socks and cowboy boots that were set in a neat row of assorted shoes next to the back door. I followed his example and put on my own loafers.
I didn't answer. I only knew the basics: mummies, pyramids, pharaohs.
"My job as a god is to assist the human transition to the afterlife. The calming of my touch helps to ease past the fears humans so often harbor."
"All right," I said, stretching into a stand now that my laces were tied. It hadn't worked to tell him that he was crazy. Maybe I just needed to go along and hide my disagreement.
It was getting dark out now, and the glass in the back door reflected a haggard image of myself. Mother wouldn’t approve. I couldn't change how worn I looked, but I tried to smooth my hair back into a fresh ponytail.
Mr. Anu came to stand beside me. He was easily two heads taller than I was. I glanced up at his face in the glass, my hands automatically manipulating my hair. But it wasn't his face. Instead, his head looked like that of a big black dog, with tall, pointy ears. I sucked in a breath and glanced away.
Don't be an idiot. I finished fixing my hair.
"I'm ready," I said, letting my hands fall and looking up to his actual face. That had to be a trick of the light. He was looking down at me with his usual serene smile.
"We shall go, then." He opened the door and went out to the water pump where I'd dumped my bike. He picked it up by the handlebars casually, as if it were a toy. Against his large frame, it did seem like a toy. He went to the driveway and set it in the truck with care.
He opened the passenger door for me. I climbed in.
He shut the door without comment, but as he rounded to the driver’s side, I again had the impression of a doglike head on his shoulders in the side mirror. I gulped at the dryness in my mouth. You're just a little disoriented from that fainting spell.
He got in and started the truck. I could swear he had a gleam in his eye.
Chapter 4
At my insistence, Mr. Anu pulled the truck over at the start of my block. If my parents saw that he drove me home they would want to meet him and I was afraid that he’d say strange things.
He removed my bike for me without comment, setting it on the ground and holding it up until I took hold of the handlebars.
“Thanks for the ride, Mr. Anu.”
“Of course. I’ll see you tomorrow evening. What time should I arrive?
“You needn’t come for dinner,” I said. “I won’t be returning.”
“Ah. There is the matter of your payment for today.” He held out some bills, folded in half. It was three dollars.
I tried to push the money back at him. “Mr. Anu, I can’t accept this. I didn’t do six hours’ worth of work.”
“Miss Hond. You’ll never reach your goal with that kind of attitude. You won’t find more lucrative employment in this town. But see how you feel, in the morning. Perhaps telephone me about your
decision. You’ve had a shock.”
“I’m fine, Mr. Anu.”
He nodded. “I wasn’t referring to your loss of consciousness.”
I opened my mouth to reply, but nothing came out. He smiled, touched his fingers to his forehead in a loose salute and got back in the truck. I couldn’t think of anything to say even as he drove away.
“Unbelievable,” I muttered to myself, getting on my bike. Except for porch lights, the street was dark. My parents would be worried.
Sure enough, Mother was waiting at the kitchen table when I came in the backdoor.
“Iris,” she jumped from her chair, where she’d been nursing what looked like coffee, but which I suspected had been cut with more than a finger of Irish whiskey based on the sway of her stance. “Why are you so late? What’s Mr. Anu thinking, letting a young lady bicycle home in the dark?”
I needed to offer an excuse. One she’d approve of. Something . . . ladylike.
“I’m sorry, mother. Mr. Anu asked me to hem a pair of his slacks for him when I finished today,” I said. “It took longer than I thought it would. He did drive me home, though. He dropped me just around the corner.”
At the mention of a tailoring task, her frown softened. “Just around the corner isn’t at home, is it?”
“No, ma’am,” I said, hanging my head.
“I hope you remembered to use a seam gauge. You always turn them lopsided when you try to use shortcuts.”
“I did, Mother.”
“He had a seam gauge, just lying around? What kind of bachelor is this fellow?”
“The kind that can’t hem his own slacks,” I said.
She laughed. There was definitely whiskey in the coffee.
“Next time, I’ll be home before dark. I promise.”
“You’d better. Your father is worried sick. He was getting ready to start calling your friends.”
“I don’t have any friends, Mother.”
She patted me on the back, guiding me from the kitchen. “Of course, you do, silly. There’s the whole cheerleading squad.”
The other cheerleaders wouldn’t be sad if the gymnasium floor cracked down the middle to reveal the very pits of hell and I fell inside. None of them liked that I’d moved here, drawing temporary — and unwanted — curiosity from the boys and a coveted cheerleader position from one of their own. Was it my fault that I was more athletic than her?