Fic: The Odyssey, xxxii. kore
Warning: Mentions of cannibalism.
--
“Have you ever been hungry, with children, Captain Kirk?
Have you ever been brought down below your knees--
there is nothing to eat, nothing to earn;
your partner is conscripted in our great tlhIngan fleet.
You have not seen her for four years and counting;
your children are crying for something to eat.
There are bodies of the dead, the shattered and dying;
there are bodies but nothing, nothing to eat.
You have eaten the leather of your shoes and coat
you have boiled newspaper to grey pulp to relieve
their cries and the endless, endlessly gnawing--
you dream only of fields, of orchards, and meat.
You already know the conclusion to this.
My children were dying, my partner likely dead.
I kept their mouths clean, their conscience unburdened
in the blackest time I did. I desecrated the dead.
My children are living, my son sent for training.
Whatever the army, they give food and a bed.
My daughter lives with me, we don’t speak of my partner,
whose name has gone missing from the registry for bread.
I have no opinion. I have no answer. I have only
my children with me. I have shoes on my feet;
I have food every day now. Sometimes my daughter
will bring something sweet. Sometimes my son
sends us a package of things we had forgotten
to dream of: honey, brown spice, and cured salty meat.
But this thing you offer, this strange yellow fruit,
is nothing like I have ever once seen.
The scent of the peel, the taste juice and sour,
as though to expel any lingering sting.”
“Christine Chapel has said that eating a lemon
cuts any bitter in half and brings you back to now.”
“It reminds me of a day my beloved
asked me to hold her hands in a vow.”
She smiled, lemon juice still wet on her lips
ate peel and another second remembered,
still smiling, then licked her stained fingertips.
“That is my story. It is not uncommon
for many women with children who lived through that time.
This fruit is quite strange-- I have not forgotten,
simply shifted perspective to this thin yellow rind.”
“Keep the seeds. Maybe someday you’ll plant that orchard
a row of lemon trees for your beloved.”
“The soil here is poor, I will not expect it
to grow, flower, fruit, for the branches to spread.”
“You never know. Spock told me once
how the same vine, the same seed, can grow in other lands,
produce different fruit that is none the less brilliant
for being produced outside native sands.
Keep it. Perhaps she will return
one day, one day touch your hand.”
She was silent, closed her eyes, shook her head.
“Do not look for hope. But I will plant a seed
and let it be. We will see what happens.
That’s enough for me.”
--
--
“Have you ever been hungry, with children, Captain Kirk?
Have you ever been brought down below your knees--
there is nothing to eat, nothing to earn;
your partner is conscripted in our great tlhIngan fleet.
You have not seen her for four years and counting;
your children are crying for something to eat.
There are bodies of the dead, the shattered and dying;
there are bodies but nothing, nothing to eat.
You have eaten the leather of your shoes and coat
you have boiled newspaper to grey pulp to relieve
their cries and the endless, endlessly gnawing--
you dream only of fields, of orchards, and meat.
You already know the conclusion to this.
My children were dying, my partner likely dead.
I kept their mouths clean, their conscience unburdened
in the blackest time I did. I desecrated the dead.
My children are living, my son sent for training.
Whatever the army, they give food and a bed.
My daughter lives with me, we don’t speak of my partner,
whose name has gone missing from the registry for bread.
I have no opinion. I have no answer. I have only
my children with me. I have shoes on my feet;
I have food every day now. Sometimes my daughter
will bring something sweet. Sometimes my son
sends us a package of things we had forgotten
to dream of: honey, brown spice, and cured salty meat.
But this thing you offer, this strange yellow fruit,
is nothing like I have ever once seen.
The scent of the peel, the taste juice and sour,
as though to expel any lingering sting.”
“Christine Chapel has said that eating a lemon
cuts any bitter in half and brings you back to now.”
“It reminds me of a day my beloved
asked me to hold her hands in a vow.”
She smiled, lemon juice still wet on her lips
ate peel and another second remembered,
still smiling, then licked her stained fingertips.
“That is my story. It is not uncommon
for many women with children who lived through that time.
This fruit is quite strange-- I have not forgotten,
simply shifted perspective to this thin yellow rind.”
“Keep the seeds. Maybe someday you’ll plant that orchard
a row of lemon trees for your beloved.”
“The soil here is poor, I will not expect it
to grow, flower, fruit, for the branches to spread.”
“You never know. Spock told me once
how the same vine, the same seed, can grow in other lands,
produce different fruit that is none the less brilliant
for being produced outside native sands.
Keep it. Perhaps she will return
one day, one day touch your hand.”
She was silent, closed her eyes, shook her head.
“Do not look for hope. But I will plant a seed
and let it be. We will see what happens.
That’s enough for me.”
--