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. Supplies are coming in today.We needhelp taking delivery. Can you help? Miyako asks, sizing me up.She isbroad through the shoulders, and very tall if she hadenough to eat, she would be an Amazon.As it is she is allmuscle and sinew.I shake my head. I I m not strong enough. Hunter and Miyako exchange a look. The others will help, Hunter says in a low voice.Thenthey pound up the stairs again, leaving me alone.Later that afternoon they come back, ten of them,bearing heavy-duty garbage bags.The bags have beenplaced in half-full wooden crates in the Cocheco River atthe border, and the crates have floated down to us.EvenRaven can t maintain order, or control her excitement.Everyone rips the bags to shreds, shouting and whoopingas supplies tumble onto the floor: cans of beans, tuna,chicken, soup; bags of rice, flour, lentils, and more beans;dried jerky, sacks of nuts and cereal; hard-boiled eggs, nestled in a bin of towels; Band-Aids, Vaseline, tubes ofChapStick, medical supplies; even a new pack ofunderwear, a bundle of clothes, bottles of soap andshampoo.Sarah hugs the jerky to her chest, and Ravenputs her nose in a package of soap, inhaling.It s like abirthday party but better: ours to share, and just for thatmoment I feel a rush of happiness.Just for that moment, Ifeel as though I belong here.Our luck has turned.A few hours later, Tack takesdown a deer.That night we have our first proper meal since I vearrived.We dish up enormous plates of brown rice, toppedwith meat braised and softened with crushed tomatoes anddried herbs.It s so good I could cry, and Sarah actuallydoes cry, sitting and sobbing in front of her plate.Miyakoputs her arm around her and murmurs into Sarah s hair.The gesture makes me think of my mother; a few days ago Iasked Raven about her, with no luck.What does she look like? Raven had asked, and I hadto confess I didn t know.When I was younger she had long,soft auburn hair, and a full-moon face.But after over tenyears in Portland s prison, the Crypts where she hadbeen my whole life, while I believed her dead I doubt sheresembles the woman from my hazy childhood memories.Her name is Annabel, I told her, but Raven wasalready shaking her head. Eat, eat, Miyako urges Sarah, and she does.We alldo, ravenously: scooping up rice with our hands, lifting ourplates to lick them clean.Someone from the other side has even thought to include a bottle of whiskey, wrappedcarefully in a sweatshirt, and everyone cheers when thatmakes the rounds as well.I had alcohol only once or twicewhen I lived in Portland, and never understood its appeal,but I take a sip from the bottle when it makes its way to me.It burns hard going down, and I start coughing.Hunter grinsand claps me on the back.Tack nearly tears the bottle outof my hands and says, curtly, Don t drink it if you re justgoing to spit it up. You get used to it, Hunter leans in to whisper, almostan identical refrain to Sarah s remark a week ago.I m notsure whether he s talking about the whiskey or Tack sattitude.But already there s a warm glow spreading throughmy stomach.When the bottle comes around again I take aslightly larger sip, and another, and the warmth spreads tomy head.Later: I m seeing everything in pieces and fractions,like a series of photographs shuffled randomly together.Miyako and Lu in the corner, arms interlinked, dancing,while everyone claps; Blue sleeping curled up on a bench,and then borne out of the room, still asleep, by Squirrel;Raven standing on one of the benches, making a speechabout freedom.She is laughing, too, her dark hair ashimmering curtain, and then Tack is helping her down:brown hands around her waist, a moment of suspensionwhen she pauses, airborne, in his arms.I think of birds andflying away.I think of Alex. One day Raven turns to me and says abruptly, If you wantto stay, you have to work. I work, I say. You clean, she counters. You boil the water.The restof us haul water, look for food, scout for messages.EvenGrandma hauls water a mile and a half, with heavybuckets.And she s sixty years old. I Of course she s right, and I know it.The guilt hasbeen with me every day, as heavy as the thickness of theair.I heard Tack say to Raven that I m a waste of a goodbed.I had to squat in the storeroom for almost half an hourafterward with my arms wrapped around my knees until Istopped shaking.Hunter s the only one of thehomesteaders who s nice to me, and he s nice toeverybody. I m not ready.I m not strong enough. She watches me for a second, and lets the silencestretch uncomfortably between us so I can feel the absurdityof the words.If I m not strong by now, that s my fault too. We re moving soon.Relocation starts in a few weeks.We ll need all the help we can get. Moving? I repeat. Going south. She turns away, starts retreating downthe hallway. Shutting up the homestead for the winter.Andif you want to come, you re going to help. Then she pauses. You re welcome to stay here, ofcourse, she says, turning around and raising an eyebrow. Although winters are deadly.When the river freezes, wecan t get any supplies.But maybe that s what you want? I don t say anything. You have until tomorrow to choose, she says.The next morning, Raven shakes me awake from anightmare.I sit up, gasping.I remember a fall through theair, and a mass of black birds [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]
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. Supplies are coming in today.We needhelp taking delivery. Can you help? Miyako asks, sizing me up.She isbroad through the shoulders, and very tall if she hadenough to eat, she would be an Amazon.As it is she is allmuscle and sinew.I shake my head. I I m not strong enough. Hunter and Miyako exchange a look. The others will help, Hunter says in a low voice.Thenthey pound up the stairs again, leaving me alone.Later that afternoon they come back, ten of them,bearing heavy-duty garbage bags.The bags have beenplaced in half-full wooden crates in the Cocheco River atthe border, and the crates have floated down to us.EvenRaven can t maintain order, or control her excitement.Everyone rips the bags to shreds, shouting and whoopingas supplies tumble onto the floor: cans of beans, tuna,chicken, soup; bags of rice, flour, lentils, and more beans;dried jerky, sacks of nuts and cereal; hard-boiled eggs, nestled in a bin of towels; Band-Aids, Vaseline, tubes ofChapStick, medical supplies; even a new pack ofunderwear, a bundle of clothes, bottles of soap andshampoo.Sarah hugs the jerky to her chest, and Ravenputs her nose in a package of soap, inhaling.It s like abirthday party but better: ours to share, and just for thatmoment I feel a rush of happiness.Just for that moment, Ifeel as though I belong here.Our luck has turned.A few hours later, Tack takesdown a deer.That night we have our first proper meal since I vearrived.We dish up enormous plates of brown rice, toppedwith meat braised and softened with crushed tomatoes anddried herbs.It s so good I could cry, and Sarah actuallydoes cry, sitting and sobbing in front of her plate.Miyakoputs her arm around her and murmurs into Sarah s hair.The gesture makes me think of my mother; a few days ago Iasked Raven about her, with no luck.What does she look like? Raven had asked, and I hadto confess I didn t know.When I was younger she had long,soft auburn hair, and a full-moon face.But after over tenyears in Portland s prison, the Crypts where she hadbeen my whole life, while I believed her dead I doubt sheresembles the woman from my hazy childhood memories.Her name is Annabel, I told her, but Raven wasalready shaking her head. Eat, eat, Miyako urges Sarah, and she does.We alldo, ravenously: scooping up rice with our hands, lifting ourplates to lick them clean.Someone from the other side has even thought to include a bottle of whiskey, wrappedcarefully in a sweatshirt, and everyone cheers when thatmakes the rounds as well.I had alcohol only once or twicewhen I lived in Portland, and never understood its appeal,but I take a sip from the bottle when it makes its way to me.It burns hard going down, and I start coughing.Hunter grinsand claps me on the back.Tack nearly tears the bottle outof my hands and says, curtly, Don t drink it if you re justgoing to spit it up. You get used to it, Hunter leans in to whisper, almostan identical refrain to Sarah s remark a week ago.I m notsure whether he s talking about the whiskey or Tack sattitude.But already there s a warm glow spreading throughmy stomach.When the bottle comes around again I take aslightly larger sip, and another, and the warmth spreads tomy head.Later: I m seeing everything in pieces and fractions,like a series of photographs shuffled randomly together.Miyako and Lu in the corner, arms interlinked, dancing,while everyone claps; Blue sleeping curled up on a bench,and then borne out of the room, still asleep, by Squirrel;Raven standing on one of the benches, making a speechabout freedom.She is laughing, too, her dark hair ashimmering curtain, and then Tack is helping her down:brown hands around her waist, a moment of suspensionwhen she pauses, airborne, in his arms.I think of birds andflying away.I think of Alex. One day Raven turns to me and says abruptly, If you wantto stay, you have to work. I work, I say. You clean, she counters. You boil the water.The restof us haul water, look for food, scout for messages.EvenGrandma hauls water a mile and a half, with heavybuckets.And she s sixty years old. I Of course she s right, and I know it.The guilt hasbeen with me every day, as heavy as the thickness of theair.I heard Tack say to Raven that I m a waste of a goodbed.I had to squat in the storeroom for almost half an hourafterward with my arms wrapped around my knees until Istopped shaking.Hunter s the only one of thehomesteaders who s nice to me, and he s nice toeverybody. I m not ready.I m not strong enough. She watches me for a second, and lets the silencestretch uncomfortably between us so I can feel the absurdityof the words.If I m not strong by now, that s my fault too. We re moving soon.Relocation starts in a few weeks.We ll need all the help we can get. Moving? I repeat. Going south. She turns away, starts retreating downthe hallway. Shutting up the homestead for the winter.Andif you want to come, you re going to help. Then she pauses. You re welcome to stay here, ofcourse, she says, turning around and raising an eyebrow. Although winters are deadly.When the river freezes, wecan t get any supplies.But maybe that s what you want? I don t say anything. You have until tomorrow to choose, she says.The next morning, Raven shakes me awake from anightmare.I sit up, gasping.I remember a fall through theair, and a mass of black birds [ Pobierz całość w formacie PDF ]