Chocolate

After the bombing and the illness came, when everyone was smashing windows and building barricades without canned goods and refueling old cans, my mother said that old Carter had robbed a candy store.

When people first heard about it, they thought she was crazy. Especially in those early days when it was hard to even get water, and no one was strong enough or knew how to get it. Half the time when the city was dark, and while it wasn’t, you didn’t want to see what it looked like anyway. My mother learned to love the dog's taste, she said. But every time he talked about it, he cried.

But in the end, everyone got used to the darkness and ate whatever the old world left behind, whether that came with a canned tin or a collar around their neck. I heard that some people did very badly, but we did not know who would admit it.

When that happened, old Carter started selling chocolate.

He had never had much of it in him, and no one ever knew where to hide it. He would come to apartments and old buildings and gangs would take over and he would knock on doors and greet people. Once, for a while, he shouted, "Chocolate!" but that was not always necessary. We children were watching him. Some of us even though we could smell her - that smell of sweet milk and coconut that made our mouth feel soft and melted inside.

He could trade with our parents, bar at a time. Sometimes it is eaten, sometimes it is grain. Carter didn't think much of taking what was offered. It was a trade he was interested in, talking back and forth about who owned what area, where water could be found that week, who had a child, who lost another. When Carter sat down by our fire, it was like the old world my mother once talked about, where people drank coffee together and talked about other people. We children did not know gossip well. Gossiping, you should have something to gossip about and we were no longer allowed to approach other people.

When he arrived, my mother did not look sad for a few days. Sometimes he melted half of the bar into hot water, and we took turns drinking it at a time.

Carter loved children. He kept the squares of chocolate and if you were lucky enough to catch him on the street, he could give you one. Unless he was standing there making you eat at him watching. Someone once told me he was going to give the baby chocolate and one of the rover groups found the baby after Carter left and killed him for it. I don't know why no one ever killed Carter himself - I think they were too scared to lose the chocolate he had hidden.

I grew up dreaming about it. I think we all did, even after things started to get better with the construction of a wind turbine and things like energy and electricity seem to have probably not been things our parents did to help us sleep at night. But no one could think of chocolate yet.

Then one day, Carter came to our center, coughing and dragging. I had to get him off the wall to get inside. Her skin was very yellow but at least I didn't see any hatred or pockmarks. Maybe he just ate something, I thought. The remaining rovers are not good for their trade; half the time, they'll give you something wrong just because of the disaster.

"I don't know what we got from the drug," I told her.

He shook his head.

"I don't need one. I'm dying, girl. It's not something I've eaten. Just old bones and an old heart telling me it's time to leave. Bring your brothers and your mother. Anyone can find her. I need to tell you something."

I always thought I was Carter’s favorite; we all did. But to come here and die, now, I knew it was true.

I walked down the street shouting that old Carter was dying. It didn’t surprise me that anyone with ears started running to our center. It was nice that the walls were gone, the way people started to crowd around the building, trying to see inside. Trying to hear what he has to say.

Wondering what will happen to chocolates.

She was breathing and gasping as I walked back, holding her chest. I hope someone was thinking of asking for a chocolate bar or maybe just a piece of chewing gum. We had never seen Carter for months and he was breathing like that, I couldn't believe he was dying.

"I'm dying," he told us all again.

There was no loud noise in that. No one really knew what to do. On the other hand, we were accustomed to dying. On the other hand, it was not natural for a person to die with someone who had previously announced it.

"I came to tell you - I buried everything. Chocolate."

Now that caused us all to make noise. Gossip and sighing and the couple's yelps: it would probably have been worse if he had not raised his hand in peace.

"It's the only way to be fair. You have the Finders' goalkeepers. It's all in different places so you'd better be looked after." His head went back to the old boat my older brother hugged and tucked under his head. After a while and a lot of talking, people wander around. I wish we had a shovel at the time. We could sell it for a lot of money. Whiskey, perhaps, or medicine: real things that come in bottles.

When everyone was gone, my mother told us to make sure we had a gun. There was no mention of anyone coming back to see that Carter had left us a farewell gift.

I asked the brothers. He didn't.

I went back and sat next to the old man. Losing a lonely business, I was told, and I thought he should have a company. He fell asleep and woke up again. As soon as my eyes began to close, as the sun was setting through the walls, he whispered something to me.

"There is nothing more."

"Isn't it? Is there nothing else?" I asked, but by then, he was gone. But I knew. He would die just because he had nothing left to give. No lollipops or chocolate drops or pieces of butterscotch. No chocolate.

For the next few days, I watched people dig. At one point, they did not shoot or quarrel. We children made digging tools with old nails and a few pieces of rotting wood we found. I didn't find any chocolate but we found an old can with old iron.

It didn't stay. At least not for everyone. We all went back to doing the things we used to do. Every now and then you would see someone looking down and licking his lips and knowing what he was thinking, or not talking about.

But the story went on. And you could see the baby crawling on the floor and grinning, after a long time no one talked about what chocolate was or how it tasted.

That's when I realized old Carter.