Ember by Brock Adams

Author:Brock Adams
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781938235337
Publisher: Hub City Press
Published: 2017-06-29T00:00:00+00:00

INFERNO

IT’S ONLY A FEW DAYS BEFORE THE MINUTEMEN come back.

Virgil and Dante spent the morning hunting. When they return, Dante goes inside to clean the guns, and Virgil sits down on the porch steps, two rabbits at his feet. Lisa sits beside him. It’s nice outside, the midday ember warm on her shoulders.

“You know how to skin them?” Virgil says.

She’d see Chisulo do it once: a savannah hare he’d shot at the edge of his father’s property. He made it look so easy, as if he was simply pulling a coat off of the hare. “I’ve never done it,” she says.

“Dad taught us.” He picks one of the rabbits up and pulls a knife from his pocket. “Like this,” he says, and he cuts a notch into the hide near the rabbit’s neck and puts two fingers inside and pulls. It’s just like the hare in Malawi; the skin comes off like a glove. It’s clean, nearly bloodless. Some fur remains on the feet, so Virgil cuts them off, and then he removes the head. He guts the rabbit, spilling its slick innards into a bucket, and then sets the cleaned rabbit on the step in front of them. Skinless, it looks like a creature that stalks the floors of hell.

“You’re good at it,” Lisa says.

“You want to try?” He hands her the other rabbit.

Lisa touches its fur, soft and a delicate sandy brown. She hated hunting before, yelled at Guy the time he went duck hunting years ago. Such a waste; killing these animals for sport. Now, though, it feels essential. The rabbit is serving a purpose, and its death has some small meaning. Everyone working to survive beneath the ember, and to survive, some must live, and some must die.

Virgil wipes the knife on his pants and presses it into Lisa’s hand. “So cut him here,” he says.

She does what he says. He guides her through the whole process. It ought to be gross, but she finds herself exhilarated by it. It is raw and primitive and what she was meant to do. She pictures a distant ancestor of hers, some sun-darkened woman in the vast plains of Africa, crouching beneath a strong sun, cleaning her dinner. An ancient kinship.

“You’re good at it too,” Virgil says.

“Thanks.” They look at the two clean rabbits at their feet.

“So we’d hunt with Dad,” Virgil says, “and we’d bring the stuff home and Mama would cook it. She’d make stew with the rabbits.” He’s rubbing his hands on his thighs, looking off into the distance.

“Was she a good cook?”

“Lot better than Dante.” He smiles, and they both laugh.

He’s fourteen, but as Lisa looks at him now, Virgil could be ten. He’s biting his lip, fighting back tears. “She’ll come back, Virgil,” Lisa says. “I’m sure she will.”

He nods, looking his age again. “Yeah. Maybe.”

Lisa knows it’s not true. She knows that Virgil knows it’s not true. Still, they let the lie hang there between them. It feels good to have hope. She lets the hope wash over her too, as she pictures Dante cooking the rabbit.

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