I fed Here Boy and Eli, knowing that my time to leave again and go up north was coming soon in a few upcoming weeks. The goat spat at me. Here Boy did not take kindly to baths; although I did my best to clean his sticky fur, which he soon shook and had me drenched in water. I arranged my paints in my satchel and got my canvas ready, getting ready to explain to Adlai what I was going to do and why, as I had been unsure how he would react to me doing so. I didn’t want him to worry too much about me being in the city, as I had Svetty’s help by my side.
However, he seemed to have plans of his own. One evening, as I raised a heavy basket full of yams over my shoulder, he made his way through the cornstalks and carried it for me without a word. As we silently began to walk back to the cave, he squinted his eyes in the heat, beads of sweat dripping down his face. He kept giving me short glances, with his head low. I wiped my forehead and paused to stretch my back.
“You like this land?” Adlai asked.
“Pardon?” I squinted my eyes, as perspiration had run down into them.
“You…you like this place?” he repeated. “Reckon it reminds you…somewhat of your home.” His tone became a bit more quiet. “I know you think about it a lot.”
A brief silence passed.
”You would consider this place to be…a home of some sort? A second home.”
“I want it to be my new home. But I won’t ever forget my first one.”A cool wind blew my skirts as I gazed at the horizon and tore off a piece of loose grass. “Would want to share it with someone to consider it a home. Can’t have a home without people. Without family.”
“W-would you like to share this place with me?” he asked. “No use having a house if you can’t bring a home into it.” As he glanced up in the sky, the sun hid behind a cloud. “But if you prefer to leave with Jene and the others…. that’s alright. No one likes to be cooped up in the same place for so long. Like a bird being stuck in a cage.”
The melancholy tone in his voice made me slowly sit up, trying to search for answer. He must’ve seen my expression, because he quickly looked down again.
“Don’t burden yourself,” he softly said. “You are always welcome to visit. It’s quite lonely to have all this to yourself. Even after you think you’ve gotten used to it. You just do everything you can to distract yourself from it.”
I stared at him for a moment. Thunder rumbled in the distance, the air was humid, yet the scent of upcoming rain was approaching. Flies and gnats buzzed in the air. He loudly slapped a mosquito that had settled on the back of his neck, then faintly chuckled, although I didn’t know what was so funny. The sound of his gentle, nervous laughter made toads jump in my stomach.
A long silence passed between us.
“I…I figured…maybe I could build a house. Maybe a couple years down the road, you know?” With a swift motion, he immediately set down the basket and walked off to the middle of a field, his arms stretched out. “H..have a kitchen out here. And this here would be the living room, the bathroom.”
”Why are you saying these things?” I signed, looking out at the greenery. A smile fell on my face, though I wasn’t sure why he wanted to do so when we already had a shelter. “I can’t be much use to you with making anything, not even the bathroom. Not with only one arm, you know.”
“I can’t build it with half a brain, either.”
“Now you’re being silly,” I replied, giggling.
Adlai briefly smiled, but seemed to be on edge; still fumbling in his muddy hands. I wondered why he appeared to be so nervous, jumpy far more than usual. A hummingbird landed on a branch, catching my attention. He paused, keeping his gaze low, before approaching me. His chest and neck were glistening with sweat revealing fresh scars; the buttons on his rumpled, dirty shirt were undone. A deep, pink vertical mark settled between his collarbones; thick stubble visible on his jawline, even though I had seen him attempting to shave recently, the places where he had nicked his skin. As I looked up at him, through the mass of red hair hanging over his face, he had his hands shoved in both of his pockets.
”Who is the house for? The villagers? Are we going to build more and move them up here?”
”’No,” he whispered. “Not…not really.”
I tilted my head, trying to make sense of his words.
”It’s…it’s for you,” he shyly said. “Us, if you’d like.”
“I will try to help you any way, but you must first give me a bit of direction.” I pointed to the trees. “What would like for me to do? Where do you want me to gather wood? I can go look for tools in Navu if you wish…” I stopped for a moment, taking in what he said. “It’s ours?”
When I turned around, he was directly behind me. As I gazed up at him, he kept his head low. It took him a while to whisper the words. “Would…you…marry me?”
He seemed to hold his breath, firmly bracing himself for my reply, and I remembered how he had acted that same way when he had asked me to stay at his apartment all those years ago. Immediately, he stiffened up.
“You….you don’t have to if you don’t want to. I…I…I mean, you don’t have to answer now. Or ever. Or…I…I suppose I—“
I grinned, rushing towards him.
His deeply relieved face became a bright shade of red when I warmly pulled him into a tight embrace. Taken aback, I finally nodded, trying to sign coherent words, suddenly overwhelmed with water beading in my eyes. Without looking at me, he quickly held out a small, plain metal ring in the middle of his muddy palm. When he started to apologize, stumbling over his words, and promised he would get me something prettier soon once he had some money, I immediately pulled him into a hug, not even letting him finish his sentence. Surprised at my reaction, he sat there, still. He sank into my arms and we closed our eyes, smiles on forming our lips, our heads rested against each other; the grass tickling my legs.
It was a rainy day, with clouds gathering in the sky. We were drenched in the downpour, and when he tried to again explain that he wanted to get a better ring, I immediately shushed him, telling him that there was no need. That day was the best one I ever had. A week later, we disguised ourselves as civilians and snuck into Flanders, where he obtained fake paperwork and we both signed a license in a run down courthouse. It cost twenty rupees in total to acquire the documents and to have a legal officer have us exchange vows. Where he had gotten the money or the metal bands I knew not.
The kiss we exchanged was brief, quick.
And the surname he created for the both of us; Bennet, soon became my own. I never had a last name before, and when I told Adlai that it was nice to have two names for once, he faintly smiled. His handwriting in pen on the marriage license was neat and organized, in comparison to my chicken scratch.
We swore to each other keep our marriage a secret, although I never planned to take off the metal band he had placed on my index finger. I was going to keep it on forever. He wore an identical one on his hand, and once we got back home, we spent our first evening as husband and wife near the fireplace eating a rabbit he had caught and roasted; him weeding the garden and me quietly sweeping the cave with a straw broom I had fashioned.
He joked with me for finally figuring out its existence, and I threw a clod of mud at his face, catching him in the chin. He grinned and scooped up another one, and the battle began. Afterwards, we both laid on our backs in the tall grass amidst the fireflies and watched the stars together, completely filthy, our heads facing opposite each other. When I suddenly scooped up some more mud and dumped it down the back of his shirt, in the midst of my squeals, he plastered a great deal in my hair.
And for our first night as husband and wife, we slept in a field under the stars, pointing out each constellation.
* * * * * *
I awoke in the middle of one night to Adlai’s singing—it was almost a chat. Half asleep and not wanting to leave the warm comfort that my blankets provided me, I sleepily turned my head. I was surprised to see him here at this time. His wild, unkempt hair fell over his shadowed face, which I could not make out.
“Lè mond lan ble,
Mwen pral la avèk ou,
Lè syèl la gri,
Mwen la poum rete.
Ou se yon etwal,
San ou, solèy la pa ka souri.”
He sat at the entrance; his back faced to me. He was entirely coated head to toe in a thick substance, perhaps mud, though I couldn’t tell, like he had fallen into a tub full of ink. His shirt was missing, scars and cuts criss crossed his shoulder blades. I stared at him in a state of fatigue. Ice began to seep and spread out on the ground. His gentle humming seemed to put me in a trance, and these patches of snow followed the imprints his bare feet made when he stood up and walked in the cave. By then, I was dozing off, although I felt his hand, which was sticky, gently tuck a few strands of hair behind my ear. A soft kiss on my cheek, a whisper I didn’t get to hear.
When morning came, he was nowhere to be found. I found dried blood on my cheek and assumed that my nose must’ve bled through the night. After washing my face clean by the stream and getting dressed, I stared at the entrance of the cave. There were small white fragments littered on the ground, and when I bent down to pick them up with my hand, I curiously stared at their shapes.
Teeth. Human teeth.
* * * * * * *
”I was recently looking at a couple of archives when I went up north last,” I began one morning as I was working in the garden. “I could show you later, if you’d like.”
He sat under the shade of a tree, feeding Eli. The hungry animal was eagerly munching the handful of dried grass he held out. Something about his downcast face made me stop signing my words. But it was not anger, nor fear. It was the empty, spaced out expression in his eyes. He gave me a slight smile, dusted his pants and wandered off.
* * * * * * *
He waded in the stream very early each morning, before the sun had even come. And even in the dark, I could make out the muscles under his translucent skin, despite all of the angry marks and cuts on its surface. That water looked freezing, but he continued to splash and rub his nude form fiercely, like there were bugs crawling under his flesh. He would stay there for hours, ferociously scratching, until dark red blood appeared.
And as the first rays of light began to peek over the clouds, he would finally get out, water dripping from his arms and legs. He walked through a field through the shadows that concealed his naked form, crickets chirping, with the grass up to his waist and buttocks. I couldn’t see his face, but I wondered what was going through his head half the time.
* * * * * *
Color returned to his face, and he laughed far more. He gained a healthy amount of weight, although I worried he was still far too thin. But I was grateful to see he was eating again. When he spoke, which was usually very quietly; his strange but very strong accent had not disappeared. Yet a guilty look was in his eyes, as if he were hiding something, although I was curious and wanted to know. He always seemed to wash his clothing a lot—far too often, and I wondered why.
One day, as I was reaching for one his discarded shirts, near the stream, he immediately scooped me up into his arms. The act surprised me so much that I nearly dropped the washing bat in my soapy hands. I hadn’t heard him even come—when had he walked so quietly? He smiled at my bewildered expression.
”You don’t have to do that.”
Confused, I began to spell out the words in his palm. “But all of your clothes are dirty.”
He placed a kiss on my forehead. “No, baby. It’s fine. Don’t worry about that.” When he set me down and picked the clothes up, I noticed his hands were shaky. They were filthy, covered in the same inky substance he had tried to wash off in the river. He gave me a wink and made his down into the woods, whistling to himself.
I stood there for a long time, dazed.
Whenever a villager somehow stumbled upon our abode, he waited until they had disappeared before descending from the shadows. Those next few weeks were simple. I began to decide what kind of foods I wanted to make. I wish I had paid a bit more attention what the married women at my home village did for their husbands. A man deserved good meals through the day, and I made sure I delivered it throughly, piling his portions up high. He devoured all the food I made for him like a wolf, chewing vigorously and cleaning his bowl with his fingers. Then he would go back for seconds, thirds sometimes. I think he liked the stews. And while I asked him to tell me what his favorite meals were so I could prepare them more often, he simply gave me a crooked grin.
Four years had taken a toll on him; his body was muscular and slim, but the limp he had worsened, so much that he needed a stick to get around. He woke up to me during most mornings massaging his swollen ankles, trying to bring some relief to his feet. I was sick of him pretending that they weren’t killing him in front of me. Before he could speak, I silenced him with a kiss, refusing to let him walk around another day with such pain. Ignoring his gentle protests; I made sure to do this task twice a day, applying a herb paste I had made to his toes, the callouses that laid on the soles of his feet. He hated the smell of the stuff, but I made sure he never went without it.
And I scolded him when he did.
It took me a while to find a good, sturdy stick that he could use for support do to him being so tall; but when I proudly presented it to him one evening, he simply grinned. I could make out something stained on his hands, which he always kept tucked into his pockets. I couldn’t help but wonder if he had walked all the way down here; and why he went out of his way to avoid any villager that wandered around. However, I could tell that he had a deep desire to know where I went, although he never asked, not even once.
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One morning, I finally mustered up the courage and told him I had gotten a job up north, painting portraits for Red Mamba generals. I tried to explain that was the reason for my previous absences. Due to Svetty’s advice, I was able to write to them in order to communicate my work. I proceeded to show him the documents I had stolen and stashed away in my satchel, dumping them out on a wooden stump. Some fluttered to the ground, a few in a puddle. Many I did not understand the content of, but when Adlai studied them, his face went pale. He suddenly rushed forward and placed both of his hands on my shoulders, panic settling in his large eyes.
“Where did you find these?” he quietly asked.
I stared at my bare feet. “Their offices.”
“D-does anyone know?”
”Only Svetty is aware. But she is a friend. You can trust her; she is a civilian. She knows their ways best. She’s in the village, with Jene’s group. She was the one who saved my life after she found me in the woods.” I eagerly took a step closer. “She helped me with my mannerisms. To blend in with the city. This is my fourth time going up there. I’m going to get more for you. I see how you help the others. I want to be as much assistance to you as possible.”
A anxious look fell on Adlai’s face. “You…you gotta be careful. It’s not safe up there.”
“I am,” I replied. “Honest.”
”You be careful,” he repeated.
I picked up the papers, and, after quickly gathering them in a neat stack, handed them to him. “Here, give this to George. You write notes—tell them about these. They need this with their men. These are a few maps, plans they have regarding the remaining occupied cities. They will help you. You can see the lines they drew on the maps.”
He didn’t look at them. Instead, he immediately pulled me into a hug, which caught me off guard. As I slowly embraced him, I signed in his hand one sentence.
”I go back there again soon.”
His silence unnerved me.
* * * * * * *
I normally picked out the ripest bunch of mangoes from a tree after climbing up on the lowest branches. They were warm from the sun, and left them next to clean clothing I had neatly folded for him in the cave, where he would find it later in the evening. I knew not where he went off so early in the morning. I had fallen into the habit of making sure he was getting his fruits in; and since the mangoes were gone in a couple of days, I assumed he had indeed received them. This place was richer than a gold mine, filled with possibilities to create new paintings, and I eagerly told Adlai so, but he didn’t say a word like he usually did; just gave me a small smile.
Confused by his reaction; I could not fathom how he barely gave the glorious flower fields a side glance. I wondered why he didn’t seem to like them. Rather they seemed to greatly disturb him, and I knew not why.
Yet I had never seen such color and variety in my life; the blues, oranges, yellows, pinks. I could bask there all day, lying on the ground on my back, and I wanted to capture each landscape. It was as if the environment had conjured up unpleasant memories for him. While the scenery astonished me; he didn’t seem to be too excited about the multiple species of birds that gathered in the branches, or the various creatures that I eagerly gazed from afar, trying to sketch them while awkwardly balancing on a tree limb.
I washed my clothes and blankets, made sure to have clean smelling sheets on our moss bed so that my husband wouldn’t suffer from lice, which had come back yet again. I couldn’t find a single shirt or pair of pants that belonged to him, which I found to be odd.
Tired of seeing him scratch his head so much, with a deep sigh, I got out a comb and made him sit down so I could begin the process of removing them. When I made a new paste for him to put on his scalp to help eliminate the wretched little critters for good, he politely refused, laughing a great deal as he slowly backed away. Annoyed and fed up with his games, I began to chase after him in the woods to convince him to do it just this once, his deep snickers at my expression only irritating me more.
Here Boy had run off. I tried to whistle for him but he did not come. Dismayed, I left food for him every morning in hopes he would return.
And each time I cooked, I handed my husband a new sketch I had drawn for him that day. As we ate together, I kept telling him about the birds; and I think I gave him so many of my drawings he didn’t know what to do with them. I could not stop chatting about the different species I found, pointing to each sketch I gave him, beaming. But he never appeared to be bored or annoyed, rather he seemed to drink it all in.
I had told him plenty about my childhood, but he remained silent about his. I often wondered about his parents or relatives, his hometown or village, and one day, I made the terrible mistake of asking due to my cursed curiosity. The topic alone seemed to make him crushed and forlorn, and he gently told me that he didn’t have a family. He said no more, remained even more quiet than before. And for days after that, he looked downcast; no matter how I tried to distract or cheer him up. I immediately regretted asking him so. Although I apologized several times, I could see how he pondered my questions most nights when he thought I was asleep, smoking a storm, pacing back and forth. Cigarette butts were halfway buried in the ground. His dirty hair fell over his face.
I knew he had been as lonely as I was.
Now he listened a great deal to my excited ramblings; that odd little smile on his face, almost teasing, like I had said something amusing. It relieved me a great deal, to see him smile. And I was surprised that, after he had set down my sketch, to feel his large strong hand on my lower back, before both of them settled on my hips.
He had such a lovely smile.
He gently guided me so that I found myself perched on his lap, facing him, the skirts of my dress hanging off the edge of the tree stump he sat on. Mulch and grass blades clung to my bare feet; his own were beaten up and bruised as ever. And I was getting ready to scold him again for neglecting them; wondering why he did not normally apply the remedy I had made for him to help with the blisters every night.
As his arms slowly circled around my waist, just as I was about to begin my lecture; I stopped signing once I saw a deep longing in his large, brown eyes. The dimples had appeared; that small grin had formed on his lips. I suddenly was shy, him never holding me like this. I smiled back at him, and he looked down for a moment in response to my reaction; his face a bright red color. His fingers lightly followed the curve on my back. I felt him lightly kiss my hand and hold onto it. Orange leaves from a nearby tree rained down on our heads, our shoulders.
Adlai didn’t talk, rarely spoke more than a few sentences if I were lucky to hear them in a day. I worried if he was getting ill; and although I asked him if anything was wrong, he assured me that he was fine. But his eyes traveled all over my body as I was working on a canvas board.
When I turned and realized he was there, he warmly smiled at the sight of paint streaked across my face. Licking his thumb, without a word, he wiped it off, his hand slowly traveling down the side of my face, before dropping his arm. A brief silence passed between us; he silently made his way through the trees. Unsure what to make out of his strange behavior, I figured I stank real bad. After sniffing my arm, I wrinkled my nose. I was usually covered head to toe in paint after finishing my projects, and started to bathe far more often than before.
He was usually for most of the daytime, coming later in the evening. I would always make sure to have something prepared for him then. After finishing a meal one evening, I reached out for his bowl.
”Want some more?” I asked. “I’ll give the rest to Here Boy.” But then I stopped. I hadn’t seen Here Boy in days. Had he noticed that the dog was gone?
Adlai shook his head, clearly in deep thought. He had bathed in the steam before, because drops of water beaded the ends of his damp hair. Then he broadly smiled at me, but it was one that made my hands a bit clammy. “Thank you.”
I nodded and continued to eat out of my bowl, chewing slowly. I didn’t understand where this big appetite of mine had come from. “I do want to see Svetty from time to time, if that’s alright. Just visit her at the village. Show her some of my sketches.”
He folded his hands and rested his chin on top of them. The light of the campfire illuminated his facial features. “Of course.”
I smiled. “May I show you some of my drawings? I have three new ones.”
“I’m feeling a bit under the weather. Maybe later, yeah?” He rubbed his face with his dirty hands. “I have a bad headache. I…I think it’s a migraine. You know how they come and go.”
”Oh no, I’m sorry,” I signed, standing up. “Here, let me get you to the cave. Or do you want to sleep outside? I can grab a blanket.”
Adlai stumbled to his feet and picked up his walking stick. Without a word, he silently headed up the hill back to our shelter. I watched him go, the wind picking up in my braid as he trudged through the tall grass.
It was around midnight when I decided to check up on him. I had wrapped a blanket around myself since I was shivering and my thin nightgown did nothing for the weather. I carried a turtle shell filled with willow tea that I had made. Once I cleared the vines hanging over our cave, I stopped.
He was sitting on our bed, hugging his knees, staring blankly at the wall. His hair was still damp, hanging down his back. He did not look in my direction as I gently knocked. Just remained still as a statue.
“I brought tea,” I signed. “I made it good. It should help with your headache in no time.”
Silence.
I carefully put the turtle shell down on top of a stool and made my way towards the bed. He didn’t react as I sat next to him and gently took his left hand. He gave it up easily—though his eyes were unmoving.
“What’s wrong?” I spelled into his palm. “If anything is bothering, please tell me. Show me how I can help.” I leaned my head against his shoulder, the warmth of his body comforting me. “Please. I’m here for you.”
His hand gently squeezed mine, fingers wrapped around my own. When he spoke, his quiet voice was hoarse and broken, like he had been yelling for a very long time.
“Have you ever taken a life before?”
The question made me raise my head from his shoulder and look at him. He didn’t react, kept focusing on the cave wall in front of him. It took me a while to respond, but when I did, I chose to write my words out carefully.
“Yes.”
”When?”
“Four years ago.” I stared at the frayed edge of the blanket wrapped around my arms. “It was in self defense. I was fleeing from the security ward; trying to get over the fence. There was a girl. She was a soldier, but she looked about my age. And she had a gun.”
When I paused, I could see how his chest rose and fell a bit faster.
“I was trying to make a run for it in the woods—where my younger brother had escaped with a few prisoners. She tried to shoot me. I managed to get it out of her hands and hit her in the head with it a couple of times. It happened so fast I hardly realized what I was doing. There was blood everywhere.” My throat went dry. “I tried to convince myself that because she was the enemy, I had the right to do so.” Shivers went down my spine. “I wish I had just simply knocked her out and left. But I had kept going—like there was a rage inside of me.”
Adlai exhaled. “Would you do it again if you knew you absolutely had to? If there was no other choice?”
I stared at him. “There is always another choice to make. I’d promised myself I’d never do something like that again, given I was only eighteen at the time.” Picking off the lint on the blanket, I wrapped it close around me. “No, I wouldn’t do it again.”
He lowered his head.
”Would you?” I questioned, wondering why he wasn’t looking at me.
“Would you leave me if I did?” he whispered.
I stared at him for a long time, unsure how to reply. Nor could I explain the shiver that suddenly ran down my spine—brief, but for a moment. Then it had gone as quickly as if had came.
”I understand if you do. It’s okay. Tell me how you feel.” His voice was eerily calm. “Don’t be shy. You can always tell me how you feel, Honda. You always think you’re a bother to me, but you’re not. Tell me.”
When he finally made eye contact with me, his pupils were bloodshot. His cheeks and nose were bright red. The tangled mess of hair hung over his face, and instantly I reached out to touch his forehead, worried he was coming down with something. Instead, he cradled my hand in both of his large palms and closed his eyes.
“I don’t understand your question,” I signed.
“You know what?” He suddenly smiled at me, those dimples appearing at the corner of his mouth. His two front teeth were stained with tobacco. “I think I’d like to see those drawings now. You wanted me to.”
“But…aren’t you feeling well?” I glanced at the turtle shell, slightly confused that he had changed the subject so quickly. “You haven’t touched your tea yet. And please stay here tomorrow. I don’t like it when you’re gone for the entire day.”
That smile still lingered on his lips, but it slowly wavered. “I know. I don’t like it either.”
“So you can stay?!” Eagerly, I scooted closer. “You just rest. I’ll get my sketchbook.” As I pulled my hand out of his grasp, he slowly lowered his arms. I placed the steaming bowl directly next to him. “Drink all of it. I’ll be right back. You’ll love these!”
As I rushed out the cave and into the cold morning light, running through the grass, I felt his eyes upon me. Then his body seem to slump forward, the smile fading away like bits of dandelion blowing in the wind. I found my satchel, flipped through the pages. When I had returned, I picked up the blanket, placed around the both of us, snuggling next to him. He placed his arm around me as I showed him each one.
And in a couple of hours, he was asleep.
I laid next to him on my side, gazing upon his sunken face, wondering about the question he asked me. It was odd watching him sleep because I almost never saw him really do so. His breaths were quiet, the dark circles under his eyes told me he most definitely needed the downtime. As I gently placed another blanket on top of him, I noticed that his hands were covered in open cuts and bruises, like someone had tried to viciously fight him.
* * * * * * *
I saw how careful he was whenever he saw me, as if he was deeply afraid of startling me, whether it was holding my hand or helping me carry things that he thought was too much for me, even a small basket of potatoes.
* * * * * * *
Many days I woke up to find a bundle of sweet smelling flowers by my side. He would always be gone by then. During the late afternoons, after I made supper for the both of us; we laid on our backs in the sweet flower fields and pointed at the millions of stars above. The way he studied me made butterflies rise and float in my stomach, mainly because of that soft smile--the dimples were visible on his face. I liked hearing him laugh—I had rarely heard him do so. I showed him all of my artwork. He had been more quiet than ever and struggled to look me in the eyes most times.
He was horribly shy around me.
* * * * * *
I attempted to make sense of his behavior, how he hadn’t spoken in many days. Yet we made love nearly every night, and each session made me only crave him more. But I didn’t know how to ask him what was troubling him so, although I did desperately wanted to help. Most times I found myself feeling unwell over the next several weeks, and any aroma of food made me nauseous. My breasts swelled, became more tender. But I did not need to bother my husband anymore than what had become such a burden on his shoulders.
* * * * * * *
To my surprise, he picked me up one day and he carried me into the stream, wading in halfway. The cold water was heavenly against my burning skin as I held onto him. I had been dealing with a lot of hot flashes. My nightgown bubbled and swelled in the flowing water. Beads of silver dripped from his hair as he splashed his face and let the water run down his back and neck, his soaked shirt. He then forlornly stared at his reflection as if seized by a thought—and once more, I saw the chaos settle in his large brown eyes.
Gently, I touched his shoulder. He carefully wrapped his arms around me and drew me close to his side, waves lapping around us. I leaned my body against him, comforted by his warmth. And, like a mirror being broken, a deep smile formed on his lips as he began run his hands through my hair. It was silent except for the trickling of water.
“I know something is bothering you.” I signed in his palm.
A hint of surprise appeared on his face, before he hid it. The smile slightly faltered, but remained there.
”Not a thing.”
”Are you sure?”
Gently, he placed a kiss on the back of my neck. My skin began to tingle.
“It’s the damned headaches,” he said. “They’re been coming in more frequently.”
“Adlai,” I asked, “why won’t you let me wash your clothes? You’re not going to wear the same shirt and pants for a week straight.”
He looked down again, continued to massage my back with his wet hands, slowly moving up and down. Then his fingers loosely made their way to the braids in my hair.
“Did something happen?” I asked, snuggling close to him. “Did someone try to hurt you?”
”No, not at all.” His voice was super quiet, calmer than the morning air. “No.” Then he suddenly cupped my face in both of his hands. Water dripped from his sleeves. “But I won’t let anyone hurt you.”
A long silence passed.
“I’ll never let that happen,” he whispered. “Not ever again. I’ll take care of you.”
* * * * * *
I found many human remains partially buried in the ground, and the sight often terrified me so much I avoided going to certain parts of the forest, so I ran and hid in our cave instead, where their souls could not find me and snatch me up with them.
He spoke so little; but his eyes stayed on me when he thought I wasn’t looking. They looked like large golden pools of honey in the dying sunlight. I often pondered what was troubling him so much. I wondered why he would spend so much time scrubbing himself in the stream.
A few months later, our goat was missing.