Just Desserts

 

“Where’s the berry mash?” Fallon asked, glancing around the shed next to the soldier’s quarters.

“The soldiers were kind enough to take it,” Sisseku said, stirring the giblets of the calf in the soup over the fire.

Fallon sighed, looking up to the vent where the smoke from the fire swirled up to the pale blue of the early evening sky. He remembered the words of his father, “Some days will be easy. Cherish them. They are few.” He shrugged on the large cloak to hide his muscles and frame, then shuffled to the soldier’s barracks.

A brown bearded soldier stopped him as he entered the barracks. Bent over, Fallon looked up at the pock mark on the cheeks below the soldier’s eyes. “Hey, old dog,” the soldier said, “this isn’t the graveyard.”

Fallon turned to several voices laughing. Two soldiers held bowls of some liquid that they tipped to their mouths. He couldn’t let them know he understood what they were say. “Hey, I’m talking to you, dog!” The soldier pushed at Fallon’s left shoulder, and Fallon was careful to curb his reaction.

The pressure of the soldier’s hand indicated that this was not his dominant hand. Glancing at the two companions, Fallon saw that they also held their drinking bowls with their left hand. Was this a custom or were these warriors left-handed? There were few left-handed People and those few did not become warriors. These humans would be a formidable force because they were unusual.

Fallon turned to the soldier and made swirling motions with his arms, careful to keep his forearms disguised under the cloak. He put his fists together, one on top of the other, and made stirring motions. The soldier pushed him back. “You animals, none of you can speak,” the soldier said.

Fallon artfully stepped back, feigning a loss of balance before he stood again, shoulders bent. He repeated his stirring motion. In the background, behind the soldiers in front of him, he caught a glimpse of the instinctual hierarchy in this warrior troop. Soldiers of lower station bowed to their superiors who raised their chins to show their superiority. Fallon tried this subtle language, bowing his head forward as he repeated his stirring motion. The soldier stepped back, sweeping his arm. “Go on, you baboon.” Fallon wasn’t sure what a baboon was, but he understood the dismissive and haughty tone of the soldier’s voice.

Fallon shuffled past the soldier to the large pot where the dessert berry mash sat. As he reached forward to pick up the pot, he realized that this would give away his strength. He made a grunting sound as he appeared to strain with the weight of the mash.

“Step back. You’ll just spill it, you dog.” The soldier’s voice came from behind Fallon’s right shoulder and Fallon feigned a cringe, but didn’t step back, fearing that it might signal he understood. Reaching around Fallon, the soldier placed his palm on Fallon’s shoulder and pushed him away from the mash. “Come on, fellas, someone give me a hand,” the soldier said. Fallon followed a respectful distance behind the two soldiers as they carried the pot of mash back to the shed.

Fallon imagined slashing the soldier’s neck but bowed his thanks and waited for the two soldiers to leave the shed. “Do what you have to do and we’ll take it back,” the soldier said. He looked at Sisseku, then glanced down at her hips as she turned to Fallon. He turned to his companion. “This one. I like the way she moves.” His companion laughed.

Fallon imagined smashing the soldier’s teeth, twisting his neck and looking at the eyes as the life left him. He looked up at the soldier with what he hoped was a questioning look and betrayed none of the anger he felt. The soldier mimicked Fallon’s stirring motion. “Stir, dog, stir!”

Fallon turned to the table where he had put the bag Alithea had given him. When he turned back to the pot with the mash, the soldier stopped his motion with an arm. “Let me taste that.” He dipped a finger in the mound of hazel fury berry and stuck it in his mouth. His tongue licked his lips. “Ooh, that’s good. Put it in there.”

Fallon dumped the poisonous berries in the mash, giving a sidelong glance at the soldier. Was this a fast-acting poison, he wondered? If the soldier fell dead no one else would eat the berry mash. He stirred deliberately to mix the berries into the mash.

“We don’t have all day, dog!” The soldier took the wooden stirrer from Fallon. He must have seen a look of defiance in Fallon’s eyes and shook the stirrer in front of Fallon’s face. “Want to fight me, dog?” Fallon looked downward and the soldier rapped the stirrer on the top of his head. He inspected the stirrer. “Better not have any lice, dog.”

When the soldier had finished stirring the berry mash, he threw the stirrer on the table, then he and his companion took the pot out of the shed. Sisseku reached up and swiped her palm over the top of Fallon’s head. He reached up and held her forearm, looking around for water.

“What are you doing?” Sisseku asked as he put her hand in the pot of water, then lowered his head over the pot and cleaned the top of his head with his hand. “It’s just berry mash,” Sisseku protested. Fallon turned to the table, picked up the stirrer and washed it as well. Sisseku looked at him suspiciously. “What was that?”

“Berries,” Fallon said, not knowing how to allay Sisseku’s suspicions. “Ripe berries.” A thought came to him. “They have no fur. Some of our people say that we can catch their disease and will lose our fur. I don’t want us to die.”

Sisseku made a puffing sound with her lips. “That’s just talk. Nothing to it. It’s not a disease.”

Fallon shrugged and the cloak fell from his shoulders as he stood to his full height.