*Note* this is part of a novel. See the tab at the top to read the preceding segments.
……
He made his way up the stairs, scraping his toes against the boards, smooth with age, as if they had done him some disservice. At the top, he paused, wondering what to do.
“It’s morning. Time to get up,” he called, working to keep his voice free of any emotion.
Verdeyan jumped to her feet, wincing as her wings jerked.
“Oh. Come here,” Gattlin sighed, holding out his hand to her. Reluctantly, she took it, as if a snake had offered her aid.
They went downstairs, where he rummaged about the house for materials.
“Let’s see this,” he said, motioning her to sit at the bottom of the stairs.
Verdeyan gripped the edge of the stair with white knuckles as he removed the first set of bandages.
He picked away the matted cloth, clotted with blood, and set a wet rag steeped in tea over her wounds.
When he finished, she gazed up at him, a strange look hovering about her, until he said quietly “Go sit with Asabet.”
Verdeyan did so without question.
“Ah, child, don’t quiver so. It’s warm here,” the old woman murmured, handing her the corner of a blanket. Verdeyan took it, wrapping herself in the rough woven fabric.
“But I am so cold, I cannot feel the heat.”
As they sat, Gattlin went about cooking a hot breakfast, pouring rice and crow meat into a bowl which hung over the fire, running back and forth from upstairs where he was getting Aspen dressed, and fetching things for Asabet.
He did this without speaking, never meeting eyes with his mother or Verdeyan.
He handed Asabet a bowl of the porridge, then passed one to Verdeyan.
When she looked up into his face, his eyes were still turned down, and didn’t return her gaze.
He continued about his chores in silence, letting the two women eat before sitting down to gulp a bit of food down for himself.
Gattlin wiped sweat from his brow, hunching against the wall for a moment as he caught his breath.
“Yes, meat face, I’ll give you your slop,” he panted to the possums in their pen.
“I feed you now, but this fall, you’ll make a priceless ham.”
With that, he hurried around the back of the house to the shed where he hefted a barrel of slop; fruit rinds, old meat, sour water, weeds from the rice patty—which he lugged twenty yards to the possums, pouring it in their trough. The knee-high rat-like creatures chirped excitedly at the sight of their grub, devouring the foul-smelling gruel.
He dragged the barrel back over to the shed, wincing as remnants of the slop splattered onto his boots.
“Gah,” he muttered, swearing under his breath.
Sighing, he returned to the house, slipping in the back doorway and up the stairway. He found Aspen sitting on the floor of Jonalla’s room, the slender shape of a sewing needle in his fingers.
“Aspen, put that down-“
He quickly plucked away the needle, lifting the child into his arms. Aspen began to howl at the loss of his toy.
“We’re going to let you sit with Asabet,” he said firmly, grabbing a leather teething strip from a shelf. Aspen happily stuck the piece of leather in his mouth, beginning to chew on it, his tears falling silent.
….
“This isn’t how things should be,” muttered Gattlin, taking a bite of the egg custard.
“Not how things should be!” Jonalla snorted, thumping her bowl onto the table, “As if you have so many terrible problems! You must be so burndened and as a young man, with total freedom! I’m terribly glad freedom is such a sorrow to you!”
“What? That’s not at all what I meant—“ he began, but Jonalla cut him off.
“Don’t even begin to tell me how horrible your life is! I know what a struggle is—me a woman, with a young child, no husband, a lame mother and a pathetic self-obsessed brother. You just can’t stand to see everything it is you have, Gattlin. Nothing is ever good enough. You always have to have more than is possible. Why not just marry Shakoba? Then you’d have it all. A beautiful wife, a farm, a slave to take care of your ailing mother—why not? It’s far more than I ever could have dreamed of! But then again, I’m just a simple woman with a child to care for. Heh! What do you think? What should I do? That man Shakoba last talked of has some second thoughts, but I don’t doubt I could entice him. What do you think?”
Gattlin sighed, standing to turn away.
“Well!” she pressed him.
“I don’t know, Jonah. Please just leave me alone. I have chores to do.”
“Chores! That’s all you talk about! ‘I have to do this now’ ‘I have to do that’ ‘it’s such hard work in the rice patty’. Ugh! Go on and do your drudgery, while I run the house and bear the burden of an ill mother! Just go!”
He clenched his fists as he walked away, gritting his teeth to keep the bitter words in. He burst out the back door, shouting as he threw the scraps to the possums
“Vulgar she-buzzard! Possums are more pleasant council and preferable to her!”
He spat, stomping his feet against the bark of the tree.
“You’re not terribly couth, either, you know.”
Gattlin drew in a sharp breath, startled. His eyes shot to the right to see Verdeyan sitting on the edge of the branch, her bare feet dangling off into the air below.
“Oh, I-I didn’t see you there ,” he muttered, turning to face her. Hesitantly, he sat down beside her, his movements slow and stiff. She crossed her arms over her chest when he approached her, turning slightly to give him a view of her shoulder rather than her face.
“Why would you see me? I’m just a captive.” Her voice was flat, tinged with sorrow, devoid of the mocking derision it so often held.
“No, I just—“ he broke off as she turned her face towards him, the look in her eyes stopping him.
“I’ve spent days trying to understand why you did this to me. But I can’t. I can’t understand you. Why do you do this to me? Treat me so well? If I’m just a captive?” Verdeyan looked into his eyes, her face hard and earnest.
“You were easy money. Opportunity. But now I can’t seem to do anything with you.”
“So that’s it? I’m just an investment, property to be sold? How could you do this to me? I’m not property! I’m another Fleirzon!” She shoved his shoulder violently, scrambling away from him.
“I know, you’re a Fleirzon just as I am. I know you must want to be-be in a better situation. If you will work with me, I’ll try not to hurt you. But if you work against me, I can’t help you.” Gattlin sighed, his face flushing as he said this.
“Help. If I had any better choice, I’d sooner rip out my heart than accept your disgusting offer. But you’re right. So if I work with you, will you stop Jonalla from killing me?”
“I’ll do my best,” Gattlin responded, extending a hand to her.
She took it, shaking it firmly.
.........
Thanks for reading!
-Voxina
