Tag: friendship

Neither Ariane nor Katie moved until the group of men was well out of sight and sound. They did not release each other’s hands until Ariane saw she dropped one of the tomatoes. She whispered ‘Oh no’, she knew how much her mother disliked wasting food, and now the red fruit lay bruised on the gravelly ground. She crouched down quickly to pick it up, ants could be quick on the Hunting Trail.

As she bent down to pick the fallen fruit, Ariane gazed into the surrounding greenery in passing and saw two eyes. They were looking back at her. Ariane stopped, startled. She opened her mouth to speak, but the eyes became a face with a finger pressed against its lips. The eyes did not ask, they commanded silence. The insistence was so clear, it was equal to Father Clairborne’s piercing looks when he turned to the whisperers in the pews. Ariane did as she was told. She picked up the fallen tomato and straightened, Katie was already tugging on her arm to walk on. Ariane couldn’t help a last look over her shoulder as they walked. ‘What is it?’ Katie asked impatiently. ‘Are they coming back?’ Ariane shook her head, ‘No, I was just making sure I didn’t lose more, you know how Mama always counts’. Katie smiled ruefully, she knew of Mrs Bellamy’s strictness. ‘We should go, Ria,’ she said, tugging at Ariane to hurry. ‘Officer Turlington looked very serious.’ Ariane looked into the greenery once more. There was nothing. She must have seen wrong.

*

The two girls walked on, quicker than before, even running a little, their smooth calves kicking up the muslin of their white skirts, their young sandal-clad feet quick on the bright trail. They finally reached the chaplain’s house and the pathway to the Freeman’s farm where their ways had to part. Katie did not stop to say good-bye, she said a quick ‘Please tell Father Clairborne I’ll come tomorrow!’ and ran. In a matter of heartbeats, Katie was out of sight, beyond the wooden gate of the Freeman’s farm. Ariane turned to her own destination, her heart still quick in its beat. She must have seen wrong.

There was a small copse she had to pass before she reached the compound’s back gate, only a few feet to walk, but right then those twenty-five steps seemed like miles and miles, lined with greenery on one side as they were, and a picket fence on the other. It was a tall fence, painted white by her own and Father Clairborne’s hands. The Father never shied from using his hands, he saw such work as honouring the Lord on High for giving him such strength and health for so long. The picket fence was a bright contrast to the dark gloom on the other side of the small path, the wildness and green seemingly constrained by an invisible wall from encroaching further.

Ariane hurried to the gate, still holding the broken tomato in her hand, the cord of her woven bag, heavy with fresh vegetables, cutting into her shoulder. Seven, ten, twelve… Ariane began to feel relief, she was about to reach the latch when, with horrible suddenness, something jumped out of the green, grabbed her wrist – and something burst with wetness in her hand. There was no time to scream, her heart skipped several beats. Staring, transfixed, Ariane tried to understand. The wildest, dirtiest man she had ever seen was on his knees before her, eating the fallen tomato out of her hand, not even waiting to release it from her grip, but eating past her fingers like an animal until that was not enough and he pried her fingers open and ate on until the entire fruit is gone.

Ariane just watched, too shocked to move, to even try to stop what was happening. She felt the eerie tickling sensation she always had when one of the Freeman’s dogs licked her hand like her mother detested. She could not laugh now, however. Nor could she remove her hand when she had enough, for she did try, yet every tug was met with a growl or grunt of some kind, the grip on her wrist unrelenting. In those moments of shocked silence, the creature before her seemed more thing than man to Ariane, more beast than human. He had not seen water for days, if not weeks, and smelled accordingly. What was once a shirt was now rags, the pantaloons torn ragged things ripped at the knees showing scarred and bare feet, horribly dirty. She could not see much of the face, what she could see was just dirt and grime, but there was hair, a whole thatch of it, much like a crow’s nest, though crusted with dirt and littered with twigs and leaves and other things she did not care to inspect further.

All this took place in what felt like three claps of a hand. The tomato was eaten in rapid speed and the thing, the man, lunged for her bag full of vegetables. Ariane turned it away, ‘No, you can’t have that,’ and was fixed with feral eyes, bloodshot and wild, almost mad, and for a moment Ariane was certain the thing would bite her. Instead, it grabbed the bag in lightning speed, yanking it off Ariane’s shoulder violently, but Ariane refused to let it go, she could not return home with nothing. There were heartbeats of confusion, and suddenly her arm was grabbed and wrenched behind her back so painfully, Ariane let everything go in a sharp cry of pain. ‘Ariane! Viens!’ came suddenly, blessedly close, from the garden. ‘Don’t idle, child, the Master will not wait all day for his dinner!’

In flash Ariane’s arm was freed. There was movement, quick, and a rustle of greenery. Ariane turned around and saw that the small path was empty of mad, violent creatures, her bag and half its contents scattered on the dusty ground. Right then Mrs. Bellamy opened the gate, holding a carving knife and a plucked chicken. She stood large and matronly at the picket fence, looking sternly at her daughter, ‘Ariane, what is this? Why are the vegetables on the ground?’ ‘I – fell,’ was all Ariane could say and hastily picked up everything, though she was careful to leave one tomato and a carrot, gingerly pushing both into the greenery with her heel. Then she quickly followed her mother past the gate and into the safety of the compound, her breath finally returning when she heard the latch click into place.

 *

Ariane could hardly follow her duties. Cutting and stirring, helping her mother prepare Father Claireborne’s roast chicken dinner, Ariane could only think of the thing-man that was in the green, and what Officer Turlington said, that there was a dangerous criminal on the loose. She thought of how she struggled with the thing, and how she could have been murdered if he was truly that dangerous. It did look mad. Or rather, like someone lost in the forests for so long he knew nothing of language or civilization. Father Clairborne had spoken of such people, poor souls so lost to mankind, they hardly found their way back again once returned to safety. She had only heard grunts and growls from the thing. Standing at the kitchen window as she was, cleaning carrots and cutting tomatoes, Ariane could not help look out towards the herb garden, the picket fence, the gate. She tried to see if anything moved there, but there was nothing, just the usual view, a broad green lawn with a sanded pathway curving through it like a smooth river, and Father Claireborne’s herb garden at the far end, with the orange and lemon trees at the back.

It was a quiet compound, peaceful, it was what Ariane knew as her home. And yet, looking out, it no longer exuded peace but was simply the last frontier to the mystery and danger beyond. It is out there, the man-thing, and who knew, maybe Officer Turlington and those dangerous dogs and rifled men already found him. Ariane felt a tinge of pity, a soft prick of sadness beneath her ribs. She knew what happened when escaped convicts were captured. They were hung at the gallows in less than a week. She continued cutting the cucumbers and tomatoes her mother wanted for the salad Father Clairborne called ‘Greek’, he had known a man from Athens in his seminar, a man whose sister apparently made miracles with fresh foods. Father Clairborne’s voice always acquired a particular kind of softness when he spoke of his Greek friend’s sister. Ariane often wondered if her mother was aware of this change when the Father talked of that particular lady. It did not change the fact that beyond the picket fence, that creature was in the green. He has nothing to eat. Ariane could still feel the heat and wetness of his hungry mouth, the sharpness of those feral teeth as he ate the tomato right out of her hand.

How hungry must one be to not even take it, but eat it right out of her hand? Ariane stopped cutting cucumbers and looked at her hand, dark as the caramel her mother made for the special dinners, and light as toffeed cream on the other, in the rainy season almost white. Ariane had always wondered why this was so, what trick of nature and providence it was that gave her such promising hands on one side and then diverted it all with the back. On the other hand, Father Claireborne often said the Lord made all by design, and since the Lord was all Wisdom and Benevolence, He had to have put some thinking into it, and so Ariane let it be. Yet she could not get rid of the sensation of that man-thing eating out of her hand, so hungry like a starved dog who was ready to bite her if she did not release her bag. Did he get the tomato, the carrot? Did he see them, pick them, before some bird or insect found them? Ants were everywhere on the Hunting Trail, one had to be careful. Ariane looked out, but there was nothing to be seen except the usual peaceful garden, her mother working busily behind her, asking her to hurry, Master had guests waiting, one of the magistrates had come to talk about some business again.

© 2014 threegoodwords