I Live With You (22 page)

Now and then Sebastian and I find a moment to ourselves. Once we went into the donkey shed.

Cold weather is settling in. I keep him in with us though it’s not allowed. But most of my other men didn’t last through the winter. I’m weaving in the evenings and piecing out the wool for trousers and jackets for all of us. We’re quiet and cozy. It’s Sisi who talks and asks. I find out things about him I never would have learned without her.

“Do you have a sister? You’re old. Is your mama alive? Is she too old, too? Do you miss your sister and your ma? Have you ever gotten shot? Did it hurt? Did you ever almost cut your thumb off? I did. Did you ever throw up? I did. Did you ever cough so hard you turned yourself inside out? Did you have a picnic on your birthday? Do you like my mom?”

(It’s yes to all these.)

When have I ever been this happy?

The next sunny day he says to bring a picnic and not tell Sisi. We pack bread and lamb fat and a blanket. There’s no place to hide near the terraces. We go higher, up into the trees and boulders but far from where the goats are browsing. He spreads the blanket for me.

His beard has grown. It’s soft against my cheek. It’s coming in mostly white though his hair is only partly grey. I say, “I love you,” but I know it won’t do any good. All he thinks about is war.

After, he hides the blanket under a thorn bush. I’m happy, thinking, it’s for another time. But it isn’t.

Well, that’s that, then. My pistol’s gone, too. I don’t want to ever bother with another prisoner. I’ll do the work myself.

Not only that, eight of our prisoners went with him. Thank goodness nobody knows it’s my general did that. Nobody even knew he was a general.

I should have guessed. Before he left he slaughtered two goats for us. Hid the meat so it looked as if he’d only killed one so we only had to give a part of one to the neighbors.

I have a feeling the men went up to that old castle. I remember how he looked at it and thought about it.

I climb to where the snow begins and look for tracks. I ask Sisi to tell me if she sees any. I tell her they might be from Basti and we need to know where he is and if he’s all right. She doesn’t act like herself at all now that he’s gone. I hear her crying at night. She doesn’t want me to know so I pretend I don’t. She curls up beside me but I lie flat on my back and look up, stiff with fear.

I’m pregnant. Not a one of our men has been back here for months. Everybody will notice soon.

Every night I look at the lights shining from the castle. They look warm and inviting. I have such yearning. But I don’t even know if Sebastian is up there.

I don’t tell Sisi what I’m planning. I pack when I’m supposed to be on the terrace. I pick her up on my way. Our goats follow.

Sisi is frightened. I can tell because she doesn’t ask any questions. Not only that, she doesn’t talk at all. We go fast. The goats love this. The steeper it gets the more they like it.

I thought we’d be there by evening. The trail is washed away in so many spots—that makes it take longer. We huddle down for the night. Sisi says right out, she wants to go home.

“Don’t you want to see Basti?”

“Not this much.”

“Of course you do.”

“How do you know he’s there?”

Now I’m the one ready to cry. I say, “I don’t know what to do.”

“It’s all right, Ma.” She hugs me. “You don’t need him, you have me.” Then she says what I always tell her. “You’ll feel better in the morning.”

She falls asleep right away, but I don’t. She’s right, I don’t know where Sebastian is. If I were a general and had eight men with me I’d try to get back to my own army. I wouldn’t climb up to the castle. What good would that do?

From here, so close, you can see long strings of lights up there. They’re so intriguing. They look warm.

But next morning we look up at the grey cliff, streaked with breaks and lengthwise cracks, stained as if etched with black. The castle is made of the same grey rock it sits on. Now that we’re this close and it’s daylight, I can see the castle isn’t a castle at all, but a fort with redoubts every hundred yards or so. It doesn’t look as inviting as at night. And it does look haunted. Who would want to be here? What land is it protecting except land too steep to use?

There’s no way to get up there except from around the back. I’m starting to feel as Sisi feels. Why am I doing this? And what about that woman that got shot?

We eat the rest of our food. We all—the whole herd of us—take off, skirting the cliff below the fort.

Sisi says, “Is it the enemy’s? Is Basti up there because he’s an enemy?”

“Maybe.”

“He’s not
my
enemy.”

“Nor mine.”

“I like enemies.”

Of course those are the only men she’s ever known.

We keep circling. We find a sort of stairway. Actually, the goats find it. If they’d not been here we wouldn’t have noticed it. It’s almost too steep for a human being. There are chains along the sides to help pull yourself up by. It winds in and out of cracks in the cliff until we’re finally right up against the fort.

A shot hits the dirt in front of us the minute we step out from behind the rocks. Somebody calls down from the wall. “Who goes there?”

“A woman and a little girl. We don’t know the password.”

“Approach so I can see you.”

We do. “It’s Mara and Simone, come looking for General Sebastian.”

“Climb to the left and enter through the gap.”

There’s a ramshackle wooden door. It’s so beat up we probably could have crawled under it. The man who opens it is wrinkled and white haired and bent. He’s an old-age kind of thin. He’s wearing an officer’s uniform of the enemy. The elbows and knees are completely worn through, threads hang from the wrists. He has a dozen medals on his chest along with food stains. He points an old rusty rifle at us as we come in, but he puts it down so as to check us for weapons. Even Sisi, top to bottom. When I object he says it’s regulations. With me he spends more time than is necessary on my stomach. I’ve been wearing loose clothes down in the village, but they don’t hide anything from him. He says, “You’re pregnant.”

“This is the general’s baby.”

“The general does as he wishes.”

Sisi gives a little yelp of surprise.

The old man picks up the rifle and holds it, again as if to shoot us if we make a false move. “Come.”

We go in, goats and all, past another rickety, rotting door.

There’s no “inside” to the place—just one side of the wall and the other. There’s the side where there’s nothing but cliffs, and this side, rocky and full of rubble. It’s the same as headquarters, just as dirty and full of garbage—smells just as bad, except headquarters is flat.

There are men all over, all of them ragged and thin and old. Most are squatting over smoky fires. (I wonder how long our goats will last.) Those who are walking are hobbling over the rubble. Some use their rifles as canes. At first I think they’re all the enemy but then I see our uniforms are there, too. There’s the yellow-brown goat’s wool tams of their side and the navy blue caps of our side.

The old soldier puts us in a tent with a little heater. It has a wall of stones up to about three feet and then a canvas roof. I can just barely stand up at the center. There are two cots. I ask if we can have supper. The old man says it might be possible.

The minute we’re alone Sisi says, “Why didn’t you tell me you’re having a baby. I thought you were just getting fat. I’m glad. I always wanted somebody else.”

We wait. Nothing happens. Sisi says she knew coming here was a bad thing, and, “Why couldn’t we stay down there and have the baby?”

“We can’t. The women don’t want an enemy’s baby around.”

Sisi puts her hands on my stomach. Just then the baby kicks. She yelps again. Says, “I love you,” and gives my stomach a kiss.

Finally they bring us food—brought by another old man very like the first. He brings outer cabbage-leaves and goat cheese. They have no better fare up here. Or maybe just not for us.

We wait again. It gets dark. No one brings us a light. There’s nothing to do but try to sleep. Sisi and I cuddle up on one of the cots. Sisi falls asleep right away. I’ve had a hard time sleeping ever since I brought Sebastian in on my cart.

He comes in the middle of the night. Bringing a lamp.

Finally.

We hug. Or rather I hug. I surprise him with it. It feels like hugging a board. He’s been too busy being a general. He sees… feels right away the shape I’m in. It takes a minute before he lets go—softens into a different kind of man, his arms around me, his lips against my neck. Finally we sit on the other cot. We whisper. Sisi still sleeps.

“Why are you here? You’re not that old.”

“Why are you?”

“I was looking for you.”

“I’m going back. I’ll pick up the rest of your prisoners on the way down. I’ll bring the old men the battle they’ve been hoping for. I’ll take you home on the way down.”

“I can’t go home like this. Why can’t we go off together, someplace where there’s no war? But which side will these old men be fighting for?”

“Their own side … a third side. A side to end all wars.”

“End wars by war?”

“Remember these are their fathers. The men look up to them.”

“You’ll swarm down from the hills and attack our men from the rear?”

“We will.”

“These old men are the ones who started the war in the first place.”

He just grunts.

“You never had a real life either, did you?”

He grunts again.

“You think of think of nothing but war. Let’s stop. Let’s run away.”

“We’ll wipe out your terraces on the way down. They’re so steep it won’t take much. One landslide would sweep them all away. Since your hut is the highest, it will be wiped away, too.”

“I wish you’d wipe away the whole valley. Cover the garbage with nice clean gravel. I’m so tired. If this baby is a boy….”

The old men are eager to get to fighting. They’re making sure all the old rifles are in good shape.

Everybody is busy. The whole place is changing. At the prospect of fighting again they’re all standing straighter, doing exercises, push-ups and squats, marching around the area—as best they can over the rocks and rubble. Trumpets are sounding again. They’re practicing the charge, though they’re still sounding out a lot of wobbles and burbles.

They put Sisi and me in one of the redoubts. The stone walls make it colder and damper than the tents. We have a room to ourselves and one narrow window. Sebastian comes every night. We don’t make love—I’m too uncomfortable and he’s too tired, but he warms me in his arms. There’s no doubt he needs somebody to hold him. He still wakes up yelling now and then, or sometimes has a long series of groans as he sleeps. I always think: Why don’t we run away? but I don’t say it.

Sisi comes in with us whenever Sebastian yells. It doesn’t matter anymore. Besides, it’s warmer for all of us.

And all this time he’s looking even gaunter than before. The circles under his eyes, darker than ever. This doesn’t make sense. The third side will make everything worse. It’ll be more of a shambles than it already is. I think he thinks so, too.

One evening I say, “Please, please, please,” hardly meaning to. And he says, “What?”

He thinks I mean something about myself, says, “I’ll see to it that you’re looked after.”

“No, I mean you. What about you?”

But I’m worried about myself, too. What will happen when my time comes? Not one of these men will know how to help me. And I have not taken very good care of myself. I’m cold all the time—even with Sebastian’s arms around me. He finds me a sweater. Olive drab. One of his own I suppose, and it isn’t as if he isn’t cold himself. He looks worried all the time now. I wonder if he thinks none of his plans will work.

I run away to have the baby. I don’t want anybody with me. I climb yet higher. I find a sheltered spot as far from everybody as I can. I hide behind rocks. (There aren’t any trees up here.) I don’t bring a lamp. I don’t bring anything. I just go. Fast as I can. I feel dread. Fear. I don’t know why. I don’t even make sense to myself. These men are too old. Too warlike. It’s as if, if the baby is a boy, they’ll take it from me right away.

I thought it wouldn’t take so long this second time, but by the time the baby finally comes, it’s gotten dark. I can’t see it. I think I did everything right. I wrap the baby in my cloak and in Sebastian’s old sweater. I put it to my breast. The baby has a full head of hair. Our babies are usually bald. This is the enemy’s child for sure.

In the morning I’m too worn out to try and get back. Besides, I don’t want to go back. I don’t feel like moving at all. Off and on I sleep. Later—much later—I hear people crunching and sliding on the scree. Panting. It’s a hard climb. I’m in a little depression surrounded by boulders. I chose this spot specially. It’s hidden and cozy.

I hear people calling out to each other, and calling for me, too. They’re noisy. I’m glad I came up here and hid. I don’t answer. I move even farther under the stones nearby. When it gets to be twilight, the people leave and I feel safer. I sleep again.

I wake when I hear tiny noises of pebbles trickling down. I see a light, a tiny dim light wobbling back and forth. I’m even more frightened than I was earlier. It comes closer.

“Mara.” He calls in a whisper. As though not wanting to scare me. But I
am
scared.

Then the little light flashes in my eyes, hesitates there, blinding me. And then it’s lowered.

“Mara.”

He doesn’t touch me. He turns the light out and sits nearby looking up at the stars. He doesn’t speak. Hardly moves. When he does start to talk it’s as though to a frightened animal. First it’s about looking at the stars and the new moon. Then, “I have food and blankets. I even have a little stove. I saw where you were when we came looking for you earlier. I thought to come back later alone. Can I light the stove?”

But I can’t answer.

“I’ll light the stove. You’ll feel better after you have something to eat. It’s been two days. You’re starving.”

It’s a tiny stove but burns bright and bluish. He leans close, over a small pan. Again, as in front of our fireplace, I see the light flickering in his eyes but this time it shines blue and scary. But the soup smells good.