The Berries

When Irene fell ill, a dark mood fell over our village. What started as a headache a few days prior had turned and wiped her off her feet. Now, pale and helpless, the very air around her was sweltering and unbearable. I had never seen her like this before. Honestly I had never seen anyone like this.

Adam stood above her. His face was mostly emotionless, but the way his wiry eyebrows came together gave me an indication of the storm raging inside of his chest. His arms were crossed as if that would keep it all at bay.

Only rarely had Adam ever excluded me from their company. On the very few instances where he bade me "go find something to do" - promptly vanishing into a whisper of Irene's laughter - he had seemed a little funny and confusing to me. Gentle in a way he usually wasn't, the creases on his forehead suddenly smoothed and his hands appearing less scrunched.

Now, he was both things at once. He was the creases on his forehead, as well as what seemed to be new ones around his eyes and mouth. He was his balled fists, nestled into his chest. Yet he was gentle, too, his eyes softened and gaze close, here on Irene, not somewhere else far away. It made me nervous, watching him guard her. His mannerisms became gargoyle-like. I found I didn’t know what to do with myself.

So I brought water to her tent a few times, only to find the mugs I left beside her full and untouched. Her tent was so still that my footsteps made little rings on the water’s surface. I tried to walk softer.

After dark the village gathered for supper. The conversation ebbed and flowed around the fire, whispers blended and trickled into spirited discussion. Yet a cloud hung over all of us and the energy was more tense than happy. Little food was actually eaten. In a village of 50 opportunists, food left on a plate after meal time was a rare sight indeed, as there was always someone who wanted more.

Adam and I normally sat together, across the circle from Irene. Sometimes Adam would initiate a bit of folly and then we watched her laugh or try not to laugh. Their absence tonight made me feel pushed out of orbit. I wasn’t sure where to settle in so I decided to sit nearby, slightly outside of the circle. I tried to follow the bickering, but eventually the cyclical nature of the debate made me anxious and frustrated. It was midnight when I quietly peeked inside of Irene’s tent. Adam was sitting on the side of her cot now. He gazed down at her, his face had softened even more in the darkness and now contained a feeling I didn’t recognize. Just before I turned to leave I saw him bring her hand to his lips and kiss the back of it softly.

I ran from her tent then, avoiding the others and racing to lay in my hammock. Confusion kept me awake. I implored the universe for forgiveness and squeezed my eyes tighter and tighter until I fell asleep.

***

The smell of eggs and the harsh light streaming through the cracks in the walls woke me the next morning. I knew instantly that I had slept too long and found myself jumping out of my hammock. Outside of our shack Adam stood over a cooking fire, transfixed on his skillet. I found his silence at my tardiness unsettling but I started for Irene’s tent anyway.

“We have work to do,” he growled.

I turned to look at him, but he remained laser focused on his cooking. My cheeks burned as I pivoted towards the shack. On this day starting chores felt about as impossible as catching wind in a net. Normally I could enter auto pilot mode, if I wanted to, and mindlessly drift around the shack completing everything in order of efficiency. But Irene was a powerful distraction. In an effort to hurry I had to consciously focus on each of my tasks.

I started with the worst chore: Collect water from the stream. It was easy enough but took the longest to finish and required the least amount of mishaps.

Next was to check the roosts around the shack for chicken eggs. Count the animal carcasses. Cut a hind quarter into manageable pieces. Grind beans and brew coffee. Wipe the counter top down. Open the front doors. Place baskets outside. Polish the thermometer on the door post and the “ve A Lo” sign leaning against the front wall - a critical task, according to Adam. After all that was done I could sit inside and wait for people to show up. Despite our shack sitting on the very edge of the village, people always came.

Mr. Shirley and Mrs. Wyatt usually showed up as I was polishing the sign. They would say good morning to Adam and then follow me inside.

“Two cups of coffee, please,” Mr. Shirley would say, tapping the counter softly. “I brought my own cream.” He would proudly produce a flask from his pocket and hold it up for me to see.

He would take a sip, leaving a small, white mustache on his scruffy upper lip. They would ask me the same five questions they always did while they drank their coffee. Then hand in hand they waddled out of the shack, marking the ve A Lo open for the day.

But today Mr. Shirley was quiet, and Mrs. Wyatt watched me intensely as I poured the coffee. She cleared her throat with a pointed cough, and our eyes locked.

“Are you feeling ill now, Allen?”

“No Ma’am.”

“Good,” she leaned towards me slightly. “Make sure to eat some dandelions. And garlic, of course.” She leaned in a little more. “You should do that everyday, you know. Keep your insides clean.”

“Oh leave the boy alone with that,” Mr. Shirley barked at her, gently.

“Don’t tell me what to do,” she giggled, waving him off. She pointed at a bulb of garlic sitting on a shelf behind the counter and then at me. “Anyway love, do come see Irene, but don’t stay in that tent too long. Can’t have our one and only boy on bed rest, can we?” She pinched my cheek as they left.

It was a strange day indeed, when Mrs. Wyatt made me feel uneasy. The sun had set by the time I felt brave enough to leave the shack again. Adam and I trekked to the other side of the village to see Irene. He carried a bowl of food that I knew he usually kept locked away for special occasions or special bribes.

Irene didn’t wake when we settled in around her. She didn’t wake after we waited for an hour either, so we left our offering and walked home in silence.

***

I woke the next morning to the sound of things falling to the ground.

My eyes struggled to adjust, lids heavy and refusing to open. All I could see was Adam’s blurry silhouette darting around the shack. He quickly scanned every item he found, stuffing some into a duffle bag slung around his shoulder, moving others into more secretive places around the shack, and tossing the rest in the general direction of where he found them. He was so focused on the things in his hands that he walked into the tool boxes and crates on the floor every few steps.

The morning light was soft but quickly intensifying. By now my eyes were clear enough to watch Adam put half of our supply of water purification tablets into the bag.

The old man was losing his mind.

“If you want to come with me, better get your boots on,” he said calmly.

My heart fluttered a little.

Adam routinely made the trek over the mountains and into “the old world” in search of food and equipment for the village. He had never taken me with him; Adam always went alone, and always charged me with tending the ve A Lo until he returned. He always left with a small bag, and always came back with a load on his back. He always slept for a few days upon returning, and he always walked around with a twinkle in his eye and a pep in his step after he woke up.

But there was something else he always did that made today’s announcement most unusual. Adam always made a fuss about collecting requests. In the days leading up to his departure, he would walk from shack to shack and tent to tent, or start loud spirited discussions around the fire. He would ask every single member of our village what they most wanted from the old world, prefacing his question with “I can’t promise anything but...”

During these calls the men of our village always cackled, dubbing Adam “Santa” and joining forces to pressure him into getting wasted on old whiskey by the end of the night, “just in case.” I didn’t know really what they were implying, but it always made me feel uncomfortable and nervous.

Adam would stumble back to our shack just before sunrise, clutching a single sheet of paper. In the darkness he would hold the list like it was a key to something special. He would tell me that having a list helped his eyes find the important things. The next day he always moaned and cursed as he read the list.

I didn’t understand the game they played, but sometimes Adam would return from his journey with something I had never seen before. On those days I felt mystified and amazed at what the world used to be. Now I was about to go with him, into the old world.

My guts did somersaults and I felt my hands become clammy.

“I gotta pee,” is all I could say in response before I bolted out of the shack.

The sunlight did little to ease the waves of excitement making me feel sea sick. I let gravity pull me 100 feet down the familiar slope to the stream. My socks were soaked as well as covered in pine needles now, so I stood in the stream and let the cold water soothe my nerves while I tried to make sense of Adam’s offer.

Upon returning to the ve A Lo a few minutes later I found Adam was no longer alone. The other men from our village stood with him in a circle. Their voices were hushed and secretive. I stifled my curiosity and made myself busy packing more food and water. At the end of their conversation, instead of laughter and the usual jokes, the men stepped forward, closing the circle around Adam a little more. I watched as they clapped Adam on the back and bowed their heads as they turned away. The last two of them handed him weapons and without another word they were gone.

Adam stood motionless, looking out our open doors.

“Uncle Adam?”

I watched him remember that he was not alone. The moment was over, and he walked towards me.

“We need to hurry,” he whispered, pushing a bunch of socks into my chest. “Don’t forget these.”

***

We walked for only a few hours before we reached the farthest point I had ever gone from our village. From here the trail we followed started to gradually incline up the side of the mountain, and large swaths of the path ahead lacked any trees or natural cover.

My feet walked on steadily, but inside I was dismayed and my excitement was waning.

“From here, how do you return to the village?” Adam asked gently.

“I follow the trail. Right?”

“Are you asking or telling?”

“I follow the trail.”

“What if it’s dark? Too dark for you to see?”

I pondered.

“What if you have lost the path?”

I tried to take in the forest around me, which was already starting to feel alien and unfamiliar. My nose responded to my reconnaissance first and returned with the familiar scents of dampness; decaying plants and logs, moss, fungi. Behind them, the faintest hint of running water and stone. I watched the leaves and needles above us tremble, and heard the breeze continue its journey up the side of the mountain. Underneath those sounds, a steady, gentle rhythm ran through the forest.

“Follow the water,” I replied, pointing. “I can hear it.”

He nodded, slowly. “Good. But how do you know if the stream you find is the one that will take you back to your village? You know, if you can’t see.”

“Maybe-”

“Think about it a little longer.”

My brain felt strained from trying to come up with the answer Adam was looking for, so when I could commit no more brain power to the problem, I tried to memorize the path we took.

After the fifth “very large boulder” and the third “perfectly straight row of trees” I started to get desperate.

“Uncle Adam?”

He grumbled in response.

“Do you have a map of the ridge?”

To this he laughed. “Now you’re thinking, boy.”

He shoved his hand into the pocket of his jean jacket, retrieving a little book nestled against a crinkled, brown paper bag. The bag was far more familiar to me than the book: Adam’s Berries. The Berries, it seemed to me, had magical powers, because when he ate them, he felt happy. I knew they made him happy because when he ate them, he sang happy songs and his feet moved in any direction other than straight ahead.

He promptly shoved the stained paper bag back into the depths of his pockets and held the book out to me. The cover of the book was long gone, and the edges of the pages were starting to crack and crumble away. The map was drawn on the back, covering the once empty page entirely with winding lines, imperfect circles and miniscule numbers. But the darkest, most obvious line led to the bottom of the page, where a bloody smudge covered the mark of a skull and crossbones.

I looked up at him. He smiled back at me.

Afraid to ask any more questions, I walked beside him in silence until the sun slipped below the horizon in a blaze of orange and red. Up above us a sliver of the moon was visible now, an eerily perfect smile on the darkening sky.

We made camp and ate in silence too, our bodies growing more heavy as we gazed into the fire. The more my limbs and back relaxed the more obvious the pinching of blisters on my toes and ankles became to me. I was too afraid to take my boots off and examine the damage, but Adam insisted I do just that. We rubbed ointment from a green tin on every offending soft spot. Momentarily relieved, I could do little more than dread tomorrow on behalf of my feet.

Adam had other plans. He stretched out on the ground, fluffing his duffle bag and using it as a pillow. He proceeded to eat his berries, one at a time, as he looked up into the darkness. I followed his gaze, and for the first time in my life I could really see the night sky, unobstructed by tree branches. The longer I stared the further I fell into its depths, the more spellbound I was by the mystique of the stars.

“Why did you take me with you?” The question slipped through my lips before I could wrangle it back in.

“To see the world beyond the village. To see the old world.” He gestured up at the sky. I noticed one particularly brilliant star seeming to point back at him.

“It’s just, you never have before. Brought me with you, I mean.”

He sighed. “Long overdue, I know. One day you’ll have to cross this pass alone. There and back again, if you have any luck. It’s time you learned.”

“Why would I have to go alone?”

“For the ve A Lo, of course.”

His answers thus far seemed logical enough. It still felt like a lie to me, though. A lie that was packaged in the truth.

“Is she okay?”

“Who?”

I paused before responding, hoping he would not make me answer the question but knowing he would.

“Aunty Irene.” Her name came out as a whisper, and Adam let the tension hang in the air until I felt fidgety.

“She will be, yes.” He replied firmly.

“How do you know?”

I watched him pull a few more berries out of the crinkled paper bag and drop them into his mouth. After a few minutes I heard him chuckling softly.

“She’s stubborn, that one.”

“But, what’s wrong with her?”

“Well, it depends on who you ask.”

“Why?” I persisted.

He chuckled again. “Sometimes I think we like the pain.”

He started singing a song then, and I knew any further discussion would result in nothing more than jokes or nonsense. I looked up into the universe and wondered if it could even hear me, as small as I was. I wondered why it would listen to me, even if it could.

***

Part Two - The Old World