She continued to stroke the lamb’s back, redirecting it back to the food when it tried to turn away. “No, no, little lamb,” she said through a giggle, “stay over here and eat.”
Seeing Leah in the kitchen, Elizabeth called out, “Are you sure you want to kill this cute lamb?”
Leah smiled tenderly before turning toward the back wall of the house. She picked up a second basket and placed it inside the lamb’s stall.
“Elizabeth, could you bring her over here, please?”
Elizabeth gingerly pulled the lamb in from the courtyard and directed her over to this new bucket filled with scraps. The lamb ate intently.
It’s so cuddly, even though it’s just another dinner for this woman.
“Put the gate in front of her.”
Elizabeth patted the lamb on the head, whispering softly, “Let me know if you see Dad, okay?”
As she closed the gate, she asked Leah, “When are you killing her?”
“We sacrifice the animal, not kill it.”
“It’s the same thing,” Elizabeth replied, struggling with the leather-hewn latch.
“No, it is not,” Leah said, raising her voice slightly. “My husband was killed. I know when someone is killed.”
Elizabeth stepped away from Leah and leaned against the wall, never taking her eyes from the lamb. “I’m sorry. I didn’t know you were married.”
“Yes, I was, though not at your age. In many ways I was fortunate that I wasn’t able to marry then, but had to wait until my family was able to arrange it.”
Leah turned back to the pot she was stirring. “Although I was older, it was a very good union, and these past two years have been difficult without him.”
“How did your husband die?”
“It’s not important how it happened, but it did happen.”
In the awkward silence that followed, Elizabeth heard the soft breathing of the lamb, but thought she detected muffled sobs from Leah as she leaned over the pot. She couldn’t tell for sure, so she looked at Leah, seeing that her hands were crossed over her heart.
“Are you praying?”
“Yes,” Leah said. “I am praying for your father’s safe return.”
The streets were emptying, and Michael was beginning to relax. The threat of danger seemed less ominous. Before he was aware of any pain, he glanced down and saw that his sandals were torn and his heels were ripped and bleeding.
Panting, he looked around and spied what appeared to be an abandoned building. He pulled at the broken gate, walking quietly through the littered courtyard and into a dark corner in the rear of the house. Slumping down, he tugged at his sandals, but his fingers were too tired to unbuckle the straps.
On the back of his right heel, a blister had popped and a gash had developed, but this didn’t concern him. He thought he might just rest for a few moments. He had barely slept the night before up on Leah’s roof, and so now, without planning it, he closed his eyes.
A brisk wind pleasantly chilled his face as the ocean waves sprayed over the makeshift barriers protecting the boardwalk. He saw a tangled flag wrapped tightly around the tall metal pole in front of the vacant snack shop. Seagulls tried to navigate safe landings below as the gray winter sky threatened with a sweet smell of snow.
As he and Elizabeth walked under the pavilion, a blast of wind hit them.
“Hold up a sec, kiddo.” Michael pulled Elizabeth’s hood up over her head and zipped her jacket to her chin.
“I’m not a baby, Dad. I’m going to be fifteen next year.”
“Yeah, well, you’re always going to be my baby.”
They walked down the steps to the boardwalk. “Which way are we headed today?”
“Let’s keep the wind to our backs,” he said, turning east.
As they strolled along the wooden planks, the whistling wind obscured the sound of their footsteps. The sea grass danced around them and carried the spray from the crashing waves up onto the shore. He pulled Elizabeth close to him.
Alone in the distance a woman was struggling to maintain her pace against the changing direction of the wind. Elizabeth shuddered when a sudden flurry of snow struck her face.
“I thought you said we were moving with the wind to our back?”
“I guess it changed. Let’s keep walking anyway.” His eyes were focused on the figure ahead.
As he tried to move more rapidly, the wind’s power seemed to increase. He could see the woman had stopped and they were gaining on her. She looked familiar.
The fierce wind caused him to squint. Although it was difficult to see her, he was mesmerized by how the woman’s scarf was dancing in the wind. It seemed to be unraveling, snapping like a snake trying to fend off a predator.
Elizabeth pulled tighter on his coat jacket. They were nearing the woman, but as they did so, the wind swirled around them, whipping at their pant legs. Elizabeth moved behind her father, burying her face into his back.
“Daddy, let’s turn around.”
“No, no, just a little further.”
A fury of freezing air knocked them backward and propelled the lady’s green-and-black scarf over their heads into the air. It dropped behind them on the ground. Elizabeth reached down instinctively and picked it up.
“The lady lost her scarf,” she said, handing it to him.
Michael recognized it immediately. He brought it up to his face and took a deep breath. It smells like home.
He became energized as he took those final few steps toward her. He touched her shoulder gently, enchanted when she slowly turned to him.
It was Vicki. He loved the way the wind moved through her brown hair, swirling its curls back inside her hood. His eyes fell upon her soft cheeks. He had forgotten how rosy they would look during a winter walk. Her lips were parted slightly, as if she wanted to tell him something. He desperately wanted to lean over and kiss her.
He looked up into her eyes, now misty with tears. “You always had the most beautiful eyes, Vick.”
With her scarf gone, he could see the gold chain around her neck. In this cold, it had left red marks on her skin. She reached up, placing her delicate hands over the pendant hanging from it.
Michael was surprised to see how small her fingers were and how the frigid weather was making her hands raw. He reached over to touch them, but a jolt of air punched his face, causing him to wobble back against Elizabeth.
“Dad, please . . .”
He looked down at the scarf in his hand. He couldn’t let go.
“I can’t do this anymore.” Michael looked up one last time at Vicki.
“I’m sorry. I can’t help you,” she whispered regretfully.
7
WARM AIR
“Elizabeth . . . Elizabeth?” Michael called out, staggering to his feet. His senses were foggy from the dream and he had lost all sense of time. He wasn’t sure whether it was dusk or dawn. His stomach ached from hunger, and his feet were stinging. He looked down and saw his bloodstained right sandal. He flexed his legs a few times to generate some circulation.
As he fumbled his way outside, he could see the sun was climbing over the horizon, a new day—was he right to think it could be Monday?
I hope Elizabeth’s okay. I have to get back . . . I gotta get back now.
Michael looked back at the vacant building. He noticed that the right side of the structure was entirely collapsed. Remnants of what he theorized were household items lay beneath the rubble; none of it was anything he would ever use back home. The feeling of complete displacement and isolation beleaguered him as he scratched at his dusty scalp. He knew he had to move forward, and finally his legs complied.
As he started down the street, still nothing seemed familiar. He could hear the ruckus of a marketplace ahead with people already noisily negotiating prices. As he drew closer, the smell of fruit surrounded him, instantly making him feel hungry and thirsty.