Lucy Gray strummed her guitar once and looked around at the rest of the Covey, who were gathered in a close half circle around the mic. “Okay, pretty birds. A one, a two, a one two three and . . .” The music began, bright and upbeat. Coriolanus felt his heel tapping out the beat even before Lucy Gray leaned into the mic.
My heart’s stupid and that’s not maybe.
Can’t blame Cupid, he’s just a baby.
Shoot it, boot it, execute it,
Still comes a-crawling to you-hoo.
Heart’s gone funny, it won’t hear reason.
You’re like honey, you bring the bees in.
Sting it, wring it, give a fling, it
Still comes a-crawling to you.
I wish it mattered that
You chose to smash it up.
How come you shattered that
Thing I love with?
Did you feel flattered that
You could just trash it up?
That’s why you battered that
Thing I love with.
Lucy Gray relinquished the mic, allowing Clerk Carmine to step up and do some fancy finger work on his fiddle, embellishing the melody, while the others backed him up. Coriolanus couldn’t take his eyes off Lucy Gray’s face, lit up like he’d never seen it before. That’s her when she’s happy, he thought. She’s beautiful! Beautiful in a way anyone could see, not just him. That could be a problem. Jealousy pricked his heart. But no. She was his girl, wasn’t she? He remembered the song she’d sung in the interview, about the guy who’d broken her heart, and examined the Covey for a likely suspect. There was only Tam Amber with the mandolin, but there were no sparks flying between them. One of the locals maybe?
The crowd applauded Clerk Carmine, and Lucy Gray took over again.
Trapped my ticker but haven’t freed it.
People snicker at how you treat it.
Snare it, tear it, strip it bare, it
Still comes a-crawling to you-hoo.
Heart’s been jumping just like a rabbit.
Blood keeps pumping but that’s just habit.
Drain it, pain it, I’m insane, it
Still comes a-crawling to you.
Burn it, spurn it, don’t return it,
Break it, bake it, overtake it,
Wreck it, deck it, what the heck, it
Still comes a-crawling to you.
After the applause and a fair amount of hollering, the audience settled down to listen some more.
As Coriolanus knew from helping Lucy Gray rehearse in the Capitol, the Covey had a wide and varied repertoire, and played straight instrumental numbers as well. At times, some of the members would exit, disappearing behind the blanket to leave the stage to a pair or a solo performer. Tam Amber proved something of a standout on his mandolin, riveting the crowd with his lightning-fast fingering while his face remained expressionless and distant. Maude Ivory, a crowd favorite, piped out a darkly funny song about a miner’s daughter who drowned, and invited the audience members to join in the chorus, which, surprisingly, many of them did. Or maybe it was not that surprising, given that most were companionably drunk now.
Oh, my darling, oh, my darling,
Oh, my darling, Clementine,
You are lost and gone forever.
Dreadful sorry, Clementine.
Some of the numbers bordered on unintelligible, with un-familiar words that Coriolanus struggled to get the gist of, and he remembered Lucy Gray saying that they were from another time. During these in particular, the five Covey seemed to turn in on themselves, swaying and building complicated harmonies with their voices. Coriolanus didn’t care for it; the sound unsettled him. He sat through at least three songs of this kind before he realized it reminded him of the mockingjays.
Fortunately, most of the songs were newer and more to his liking, and they finished up with the one he recognized from the reaping . . .
No, sir,
Nothing you can take from me is worth dirt.
Take it, ’cause I’d give it free. It won’t hurt.
Nothing you can take from me was ever worth keeping!
. . . the irony of which was not lost on the audience. The Capitol had tried to take everything from Lucy Gray, and it had utterly failed.
When the applause died out, she gave Maude Ivory a nod. The girl ran behind the blanket and appeared carrying a basket woven with cheerful ribbons.
“Thank you kindly,” said Lucy Gray. “Now, you all know how this works. We don’t charge for tickets, because sometimes hungry people need music the most. But we get hungry, too. So if you’d like to contribute, Maude Ivory will be around with the basket. We thank you in advance.”
The four older Covey softly played while Maude Ivory scampered around the crowd, collecting coins in her basket. Between the five of them, Coriolanus and his bunkmates only had a few coins, which didn’t seem nearly enough, though Maude Ivory thanked them with a polite curtsy.
“Hold on,” said Coriolanus. “Do you like sweets?” He lifted a flap of the brown paper package with the last of the popcorn balls so Maude Ivory could take a peek, and her eyes widened with delight. Coriolanus set them all in the basket, as they’d been earmarked for the tickets anyway. If he knew Ma, more boxes were on their way.
Maude Ivory did a little pirouette in thanks, hurried through the rest of the audience, and then ran up onstage to tug on Lucy Gray’s skirt, showing her the treats in the basket. Coriolanus could see Lucy Gray’s lips make an ooh sound and ask where they’d come from. He knew this was the moment, and he found himself taking a step out of the shadows. His body tingled in anticipation as Maude Ivory lifted her hand to point him out. What would Lucy Gray do? Would she acknowledge him? Ignore him? Would she even recognize him, made over as he was as a Peacekeeper?
Her eyes followed Maude Ivory’s finger until they landed on him. A look of confusion crossed her face, then recognition, and then joy. She shook her head in disbelief and laughed. “Okay, okay, everybody. This is . . . this is maybe the best night of my life. Thanks to everybody here for showing up. How about one more song to send you off to sleep? You might’ve heard me do this before, but it took on a whole new meaning for me in the Capitol. Guess you’ll figure out why.”
Coriolanus moved back to his seat — she knew where to find him now — to listen and to savor their actual reunion, which was only a song away. His eyes teared up when she began the song from the zoo.
Down in the valley, valley so low,
Late in the evening, hear the train blow.
The train, love, hear the train blow.
Late in the evening, hear the train blow.
Coriolanus felt an elbow nudge his ribs and looked over to see Sejanus beaming at him. It was nice, after all, to have someone else who knew the significance of the song. Someone who knew what they’d been through.
Go build me a mansion, build it so high,
So I can see my true love go by.
See him go by, love, see him go by.
So I can see my true love go by.
That’s me, Coriolanus wanted to tell people around him. I’m her true love. And I saved her life.
Go write me a letter, send it by mail.
Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail.
Capitol jail, love, to the Capitol jail.
Bake it and stamp it to the Capitol jail.
Should he say hello first? Or just kiss her?
Roses are red, love; violets are blue.
Birds in the heavens know I love you.
Kiss her. Definitely, just kiss her.
Know I love you, oh, know I love you,
Birds in the heavens know I love you.
“Good night, everybody. Hope we see you next week, and until then, keep singing your song,” said Lucy Gray, and the whole Covey to
ok one final bow. As the audience applauded, she smiled at Coriolanus. He began to move toward her, stepping around people collecting their makeshift seats to pile back in the corner. A few of the Peacekeepers had gathered around her, and she chatted with them, but he could see her eyes darting his way. He paused to give her time to extricate herself and just to bask in the sight of her, glowing and in love with him.
The Peacekeepers were bidding her good night, starting to back away. Coriolanus smoothed his hair and moved in. They were only about fifteen feet apart when a disturbance in the Hob, the sound of glass breaking and voices protesting, caused him to turn his head. A dark-haired young man around his age, dressed in a sleeveless shirt and pants ripped off at the knees, pushed through the thinning crowd. His face gleamed with sweat, and his movements suggested he’d exceeded his white liquor limit some time ago. Over one shoulder hung a boxy instrument with part of a piano keyboard along one side. Behind him trailed the mayor’s daughter, Mayfair, taking care not to brush against the patrons, her mouth tight with disdain. Coriolanus shifted his gaze to the stage, where a cold, fixed stare had replaced Lucy Gray’s eager expression. The other members of the band drew in around her protectively, their showtime levity draining away into a mix of raw anger and sadness.
It’s him, Coriolanus thought with dead certainty, his stomach twisting unpleasantly. It’s the lover from the song.
Maude Ivory planted her wispy frame squarely in front of Lucy Gray. She scrunched her face and balled her hands into fists. “You get out of here, Billy Taupe. None of us want you anymore.”
Billy Taupe rocked slightly as he surveyed the group. “Less want than need, Maude Ivory.”
“Don’t need you neither. Go on and get. And take your weasel girl with you,” ordered Maude Ivory. Lucy Gray encircled her with her arm, pressing her hand against the little girl’s chest, either to soothe or restrain her.
“You’re all sounding thin. You’re sounding thin,” slurred Billy Taupe, and one hand slapped his instrument.
“We can do without you, Billy Taupe. You made your choice. Now leave us be,” said Barb Azure, her quiet voice underlaid with steel. Tam Amber said nothing but gave a small nod of assent.
Pain flashed across Billy Taupe’s face. “Is that how you feel, CC?”
Clerk Carmine curled his fiddle in close to his body.
Although the Covey varied in complexion, hair, and features, Coriolanus noticed a distinct resemblance between these two. Brothers, maybe?
“You can come with me. We’d do all right, we two,” Billy Taupe pleaded. But Clerk Carmine stood his ground. “All right, then. Don’t need you. Never needed any of you anyway. Never will. Always did better on my own.”
A couple of Peacekeepers began to close in on him. The one who’d given Lucy Gray the bottle of white liquor laid a hand on his arm. “Come on, now, show’s over.”
Billy Taupe jerked away from his touch and then gave him a drunken shove. In an instant, the sociable mood in the Hob changed. Coriolanus could feel the tension, sharp as a knife. Miners who’d either ignored him or given him nods over their bottles became belligerent. The Peacekeepers straightened up, suddenly alert, and he found his own body almost standing at attention. As a half dozen Peacekeepers moved in on Billy Taupe, he felt the miners surge forward. He was readying himself for the brawl that was sure to follow, when someone pulled the plug on the lights, sending the Hob into blackness.
Everything froze for an instant, then chaos erupted. A fist caught Coriolanus’s mouth, sending his own fists into action. He struck out arbitrarily, focused only on securing his own circle of safety. The same animal wildness he’d experienced when the tributes had hunted him down in the arena swept over him. Dr. Gaul’s voice echoed in his ears. “That’s mankind in its natural state. That’s humanity undressed.” And here was naked humanity again, and here again he was a part of it. Punching, kicking, his teeth bared in the darkness.
A horn outside the Hob blared repeatedly, and truck headlights flooded the area by the door. Whistles blew, and voices shouted for the dispersal of the crowd. People lurched toward the exit. Coriolanus fought the wave, trying to locate Lucy Gray, but then decided the best chance of finding her would be out front. He jostled his way through the bodies, still throwing the occasional punch, and spilled out into the night air, where the locals took flight and the Peacekeepers gathered in a loose bunch, making only a weak show of pursuit. Most of them had not even been on duty, and there was no organized unit to address the spontaneous eruption. In the dark, nobody was even sure who they’d been fighting. Better to let it lie. Coriolanus found it unnerving, though; unlike at the hanging, the miners had fought back.
Sucking on a split lip, he positioned himself to watch the door, but the last stragglers wandered out without any sign of Lucy Gray, the Covey, or even Billy Taupe. He felt frustrated at having been so close but unable to talk to her. Was there another exit to the Hob? Yes, he remembered a door by the stage, which must have allowed them to slip out. Mayfair Lipp had not been so fortunate. She stood flanked by Peacekeepers, not under arrest but not free to go either.
“I’ve done nothing wrong. You’ve no right to hold me,” she spat at the soldiers.
“Sorry, miss,” said a Peacekeeper. “For your own protection, we can’t let you go home alone. Either you let us escort you or we call your father for further instructions.”
The mention of her father shut Mayfair up but did not improve her attitude. She seethed, her lips pressed into a thin, mean line that said someone would pay, just give her time.
There did not seem to be much enthusiasm for the task of taking her home, and Coriolanus and Sejanus found themselves recruited for the job, either because they’d made a good showing at the hanging or because they were both relatively sober. Two officers and three other Peacekeepers made up the rest of the party. “At this hour, what with the climate, its probably better to be on the safe side,” one officer said. “It’s not far.”
As they wove through the streets, their boots grinding against the grit, Coriolanus squinted into the darkness. Streetlights illuminated the Capitol, but here he had to rely on the sporadic flickers from windows and the pale beams of the moon. Unarmed, without even the protection of his white uniform, he felt vulnerable and stuck close to the group. The officers had guns; hopefully, that would keep assailants at bay. He remembered the Grandma’am’s words. “Your own father used to say those people only drank water because it didn’t rain blood. You ignore that at your own peril, Coriolanus.” Were they out there now, watching and waiting for a chance to quench their thirst? He missed the safety of the base.
Fortunately, after only a few short blocks, the streets opened up onto a deserted square, which he realized was the location of the annual reaping. A few unevenly spaced floodlights helped him navigate the cobblestones under his feet.
“I can get home fine from here,” said Mayfair.
“We’re in no hurry,” one of the officers told her.
“Why don’t you just leave me alone?” snapped Mayfair.
“Why don’t you stop running around with that good-for-nothing?” suggested the officer. “Trust me, that won’t end well.”
“Oh, mind your own business,” she retorted.
They made a diagonal cross, left the square, and followed a freshly paved road to the next street over. The party drew to a halt at a large house that might count for a mansion in District 12 but would be unremarkable in the Capitol. Through the windows, wide open in the August heat, Coriolanus caught glimpses of well-lit, furnished rooms in which humming electric fans fluttered the curtains. His nose picked up a whiff of the evening’s dinner — ham, he thought — causing his mouth to water slightly and thinning out the bloody taste from his lip. Maybe it was just as well he’d missed Lucy Gray; his lips were in no shape for a kiss.
As one of the officers laid a hand on the gate, Mayfair pushed pa
st him, darted up the path, and slipped into the house.
“Should we tell her parents?” asked the other.
“What’s the point?” said the first. “You know how the mayor is. Somehow her traipsing around at night will be our fault. I can do without a lecture.”
The other muttered agreement, and the party headed back across the square. As Coriolanus followed, a soft, mechanical wheeze caught his attention, and he turned to the shadowy bushes that lined the side of the house. He could just make out a figure standing motionless in the gloom, back pressed against the wall. A light on the second floor flipped on, and the yellow glow extending down revealed Billy Taupe, nose bloodied, scowling directly at him. He held his instrument, the source of the wheeze, against his chest.
Coriolanus’s lips parted to alert the others, but something held his tongue. What was it? Fear? Indifference? Uncertainty as to how Lucy Gray would react? The band had made their position clear when it came to his rival, and yet he didn’t know how they would take Coriolanus’s ratting him out, possibly landing him in jail. What if it made Billy Taupe a sympathetic character, someone they would rally around and forgive? He could tell that the Covey loyalties ran deep. Then again, perhaps they would welcome it? Particularly Lucy Gray, who might be very interested to know that her old flame had run to the mayor’s daughter’s house for solace. What had he done to be ousted from all things Covey, band and home? He remembered the final words to her song, her ballad, from the interview.
Too bad I’m the bet that you lost in the reaping.
Now what will you do when I go to my grave?
Surely, the answer lay there.
The Ballad of Songbirds and Snakes Page 34