Chapter 23: Keeping Watch
Sabonis struggles to force breath after breath into his reluctant flesh. I listen from across the hut on the other side of the partition. I can’t bear to watch him suffer.
I face the door, my back propped against the central pillar: a tree trunk thicker and straighter than any I have yet seen in Lethe or Dilmun. The hooked spear is tucked under my arm, pointing towards the door opening. The axe I found by a wood pile out back rests at my feet. A crude machete fashioned from iron strapping sits on the rickety table beside me.
I whisper to myself: “They can’t hurt me.” That’s my mantra. I say it over and over again, along with: “I’m invincible. I’m immune. I’m … exempt.” Repeating these things out loud makes them easier to believe. That’s the theory anyway. In truth, it’s not helping much.
Despite Alecto’s act of mercy, I recall that several of the arrows that flew our way came awful close to striking me. Regardless of intentions, mistakes do happen in this place and far too often as far as I can tell.
I am wearing a dress now, the kind of thing an old peasant lady in Mexico might wear to church. It used to be white but now has concentric rings of brown as if it has been tie-dyed in tea. Some embroidery remains: flowers and ferns and little blue birds.
I found it among a pile of stained and worn out clothing on a shelf. At first I tossed it aside. No way was I going to put on a dress. But the only pants in the pile are ridiculously large. They would drag on the ground and fall down if I tried to wear them. At least the dress fits me. At least it covers my ass.
I’m finding that being a girl isn’t a whole lot different than being a guy. Not as weird as I thought it would be anyhow. My arms and legs work pretty much the same. I’m a bit smaller, but still strong. Imagine that. Girls are people too.
It's not like I've been turned into an entirely different species. It seems that the state of being human outweighs most of the physical idiosyncrasies of gender.
So far, anyway. I'm waiting for the infamous menstrual cycle to assert itself, but maybe that doesn't happen in Lethe. Maybe dead women like me are post-menopausal.
The light is starting to fade outside, and just when I am starting to calm down about the Collectors and all. Night is going to take my fear to a whole new level.
I decide to go out and pee while I still dare. I will not be roaming around this compound in the dark, that's for sure. Sabonis has a slit toilet dug deep into the clay across a small orchard. There's no privacy, but I prefer it that way. I don't want anything sneaking up on me while I'm in a privy.
I pass a pretty little pond on the way—sandy-bottomed with a patch of pink water lilies at one end. Little, blue-bellied fish tend circular nests in the shallows. Dragonflies patrol the reeds. I pick a snail off a submerged leaf. I can’t tell what kind it is, but it’s no Lymneid.
I reach the toilet: two split logs over a pit. I've got the squatting down pretty well, with my dress scrunched up and one hand braced on the ground like a defensive end in a three-point stance. It helps that I'm not wearing any panties. I don't have to worry about peeing on them.
The hill behind me has overhanging ledges with dark holes beneath: caves. Makes me think of a skull with brow ridges and eye sockets; staring. Creeps me out.
When I'm finished peeing, I rub my hands in some clean sand and head back across the orchard. Most of the trees bear tiny green fruits, unidentifiable in their infancy, but one tree has some good-sized pears dangling from it. I use the hook of the spear to cut down some of the nicer ones on the upper branches. They're a bit warty and a little under-ripe but sweet enough to make me want more than one. Two pears and a hunk of dried fish constitute my entire intake in the two days I've been ashore. It's sure to do wonders for my figure, if nutrition really mattered in this place.
I wonder where Sabonis keeps the spare boat he mentioned. The simple quay bobbing in the lagoon was devoid of any craft. One lone dugout canoe sits upturned on the beach. It’s barely large enough to seat two. This can’t be the vessel he intended to take us out to sea.
I resume my mantra. “They can’t hurt me. They’re after him.” The spell fades if I keep silent too long. My hands start to shake; my rate of breathing accelerates. It puzzles me why I fear death so much when I’m already dead. I have proof in Sabonis as Shade that existence persists. Maybe it’s just fear of the new, at every step of the continuum. It makes me wonder what fears Shades harbor.
I wonder how I will respond if and when the Collectors come. Sabonis expects me to fight. Fat chance. I’m hoping that the weapon in my hands will suffice to deter them. Or I might try reason. But what if the sight of my spear provokes them into attacking? My brain reels with uncertainties.
I decide not to re-enter the hut, but to sit on a stump just outside the door. Out here I have two options: run or hide. Inside, I could only hide.
The orb squeezes tighter and puts on a piss-poor simulation of a sunset. The lagoon and sea beyond lose their gloss and darken. No red sky at night, sailor’s delight here. Forget green flashes.
It’s as if someone snapped their fingers and it is night again. The orb stays partly aglow, like a clouded moon and the feeble light helps give definition to the landscape. I’ll be able to see silhouettes approach, whoever’s they might be: Shades, Collectors or demons unknown. What I would give to see the real moon and some stars right now.
A smattering of tentative chirps and whirs and creaks evolves into a full blown symphony of susurration as the bugs and frogs come to life. Some say that insects will rule the earth after a global holocaust. From the sounds of it, they probably would take over the afterworld as well.
I speculate what I would do if they took Sabonis. Stay here in this hut? Comb beaches? Eat pears? Seems peaceful enough here. Lonely, but I could make a decent existence of it as a Squatter.
Some day Gina would have to die. I hoped not too soon, though another part of me wished it would be sooner rather than later. If she did die, would she join me in Lethe? Would it matter to her that I was a girl now?
But what if there were other places for souls to go? Hard to believe that Lethe was all there was to the afterlife, that Lethe was the only path to paradise. What if I could never find her? Ever?
Maybe that relative who Sabonis calls ‘a beast’ could help me. Maybe she’s just some kindly old great-aunt who wants to tell me stories about my grandma and feed me sweets? Though, it would feel creepy meeting someone who died before I was born.
What about my other dead relatives, like Nana Tompkins, Uncle Bert—my mother's brother who died of leukemia when he was forty-two or Cousin Joe, who committed suicide when he was seventeen? Could any of them be here?
The night orb glazes the bushes and trees with a dull sheen that clings like slime and casts squat ugly shadows that never budge. Little creatures hop across the pale dirt, toads, I suppose. I pass the time counting them for lack of anything better to do.
I hear Sabonis breathing inside. I hear him mutter, and if I didn’t know better, I would have sworn he was praying.
Hours pass. How many, I’m not sure. They all run together. I am sure though, that seventeen toads have crossed before my stump. They came in two sizes: large ones that hop along straight without delay and little ones that zigzag and puff out their necks every few hops to croak. I wonder if they are different species or genders.
But now, something new has slithered onto the dirt. It lingers at the edge of the vegetation, then darts across and snatches a toad in its jaws. It’s a snake. A big snake. I grip the spear a little tighter.
The snake has an upturned nose, like a little pig. After it wolfs down the toad, it comes nosing about towards me and the hut. I pull my feet up off the ground onto the stump. All of the other toads, to their credit, have fled. I bang the end of the spear on the ground to discourage the snake. The vibrations make it coil and rear.
A glow appears on the shoulder of the hill, flickering like a torch. Someone or something
is approaching. My insides tighten. Tingles jet through my skin.