Wrath Becomes Her by Aden Polydoros

Author:Aden Polydoros
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Inkyard Press
Published: 2023-08-17T20:39:14+00:00

CHAPTER 17

Past the window, the sky lightened to shades of pink. The rising sun was the brightest crimson. This close to the city, it was too dangerous to leave when the sun was up, so we settled into the cellar for the long wait.

The cellar was ten paces long by five paces wide. Too restless to stand still, I paced it twice, soothed by the familiar ritual of walking wall to wall.

I couldn’t stop thinking about what we’d heard on the radio. The Giruliai Forest was nearly twenty kilometers from here, if what Gulzifa said was true. Even if I’d run straight there, I knew it’d be too late. There would be no survivors.

Rickety shelves were cluttered with jars of pickled beets, tomatoes, and mushrooms. Other containers held liquidlike contents that glistened in the lantern light, casting ruby reflections across the wood when our candlelight struck the glass. I walked over to study them.

“Jams,” Miriam said, joining me. She held the lantern up to them. “Bilberry and lingonberry. My mother used to make them from the bushes that grew along our fence.”

“Jam,” I echoed softly. My lips puckered around the word. I remembered sweet bilberry jam spilling from hot blintzes or enveloped in cold, satiny cream. The memories were not my own, but it soothed me.

She cocked her head. “Have you had it before?”

“No, not me.”

She snuck a glance back toward the ladder leading up to the ground level then set her lantern on the shelf and picked up a jar. She twisted off the lid and handed it to me. “Try it.”

I stuck my fingers in the jar and spooned the thick, sticky jam into my mouth. Closing my eyes, I savored its sweetness.

“What do you think?” Miriam asked.

I inhaled another mouthful before I could stop myself. “It tastes like summer.”

“Summer?” Miriam asked.

I nodded, though I couldn’t find the words to explain why exactly it made me think of the warmer months.

“Hey, Vera, toss it to me,” Akiva said from his spot on the old potato sacks piled in the corner.

I walked over to him instead, afraid that I would turn the jar into a deadly projectile if I tried gently punting it.

“It does taste like summer, I suppose,” Miriam admitted.

Akiva took a gob of jam and thrust it into his mouth. “No, this tastes like winter evenings, served with some strong black tea. Summer is, ah, beef shashliks grilled on charcoal, or cold borscht, or a whole leg of lamb roasted over an open fire, surrounded by your friends. That’s summer.”

A hint of a smile touched his lips as he spoke. He swallowed another mouthful of the jam before passing it to Miriam, who sampled it in turn. By the time the jar returned to me, we had eaten nearly half the thing. I felt a twinge of guilt as I returned it to the shelf. Unlike Gulzifa and the others, I didn’t need to eat to survive.

They took a couple minutes to settle into their separate corners. Miriam offered me one of her blankets, but I assured her that it was all right.

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