They'll Never Take the Good Years [Charade]

[Deleted]

Vasco Izar

Yani plucked a stitch of purple heather flowers from the edge of one of the Rhodes’ wooden fences. She twirled a piece between her fingers, and closed her eyes as she breathed in its sweet scent. I knelt down beside her and placed my hands atop her soft little ones, carefully measuring out strips, whispering (ten cuidado) and clucking my tongue. She is wide eyes and gentle brown curls, mystified by the plants that continue to thrive through winter (¿por qué no están muertos?). We walked, hand in hand, along the gravel road, sizing up snowdrops and jasmine. Before long, Yani’s hands held a bouquet of yellows, whites, and purples wrapped together with a strand of twine. A second, smaller bouquet rests in the back pocket of my jeans, tucked underneath a heavy wool jacket.

She did not know the depth of change around her – that she lost a sister before she was born, that her father intended to be mayor, that the world was fragile as the snow at dawn – only that in front of her stood a metal gate leading to a place where her father came to talk to someone that she cannot see. She’s old enough now to read the headstones and trail her little fingers along the stone to feel the etchings. Today we told Gero that he would have hated the winter (too cold for your old bones). We whispered to Salome that Emma is knitting a scarf for her. We were silent for Iago, staring at the leaves that rustled across the yellowed grass. (Te Amo), we said to Raquel, kneeling close, my forehead cold against the stone, eyes closed.

I wondered what world I could have known in a place that did not see death in terms of tragedy or glory, reduced to base and simple things. There are a thousand threads that bind us; death is cutting a single strand. Perhaps I have been lucky to know in my heart that there is more to life – that we live through one another, rather than for ourselves. She will be the same way, I prayed. To what, I wouldn’t know, but something bigger than myself.

(¡Basta!).

We ambled across the gravel path, and crunched the rocks underneath our boots. At the edge of a patch of trees, we sloshed through hills of brown and red leaves, and then covered ourselves in huge piles to hide from the day. She told me that she felt like hiding because of all the people we’d had to say hello to that morning. (I want you all to myself), she said, leaves tangled up in her curls. I kissed her forehead and smiled.

The afternoon sun glared yellow when we arrived along the edges of the Victors Village. Yani’s head lay across my shoulder, and I kept having to shift her along the front of my body as we walked. I never had much a reason to come this way, but the empty houses meant peace and quiet. No one to bother us, no hands to shake or questions to answer. Just an empty path with streetlights that would burn bright after sundown. I paused at a corner to stare at the sight of a woman in a garden, busying herself with what looked like overgrown weeds.

I untucked the flowers from my back pocket and debated whether or not to bother her. I’d intended to hand them to Emma as a nice little surprise (well, Yani was going to toddle in and give them to her) but somehow, that didn’t feel right anymore. None of us had said much about her being gone – I tried not to bring it up to Courtney, at any rate. I know what loss feels like when you have to relive it over and over again. Especially if you never thought you’d see the day to have someone come home again.

I cleared my throat and pressed Yani closer. I held out the set of flowers with a grin.

“Ms. Persimmon? Vasco Izar.” She is younger looking than I remember supposing to be, or perhaps I don’t quite remember what being that young looks like anymore. “I wanted to extend a welcome from the Izars, on behalf of all of us. I trust you don’t much want visitors, but I hoped to let you know that if there’s anything I can do – that my family can do – to help you settle back, well… you can just say the word.”

[charade]

KATELYN PERSIMMON

The gardens were such a disaster. She’d been dealing with weeds and dry topsoil for hours. It would take time and effort to get everything back into working order, but it was worth it. No matter the hits she’d taken over the years, the important thing was getting back up. Finishing the fight. Even if she’d gotten lost along the way for a while. She stopped and worked out a kink in her neck, chiding herself for letting her thoughts swing that way. But she was like the garden, wasn’t she? And like the garden, once she started taking care of herself again, she’d grow.

It was already the afternoon, judging by the where the sun was. She had a simple chili on low simmer in the kitchen. It was already done, but there was no harm in keeping it warm. She figured it would be a few more hours before she was satisfied with the state of her herb patches. It was around that time that she heard someone coming down the path, maybe more than one. Was that a child giggling she heard? They came into view a minute or two later. A man with a leather jacket and a little girl wearing a hat two sizes too big.

Older than her, she thought. Ten years at least; perhaps he was in his forties? He introduced himself as Vasco Izar, and she felt her heart sink a little. The only family in the district to suffer more than the Rhodes.  She didn't believe in coincidences anymore. There had to be a reason for this. She hadn't been back for too long, but the grapevine in Eleven wasn't a very sturdy thing.  She was sure word that Eleven's golden-haired daughter was back from wherever she'd been had spread fast. It brought unwelcome attention sometimes, but she was more or less used to it.   

Wiping some dirt on her jeans, she rose to her feet, taking the offered flowers with a small smile. The Izars.  Though it was little over a decade ago, she still remembered Levi from time to time, her poor district partner. She’d been afraid of him, afraid that he might come for her the way that Iago had massacred the boy from five when she had been thirteen. After Ellexias had split his head open like a pumpkin at the harvest festival, all she’d felt was guilt. Vasco offered a welcome from his entire clan, noting that she probably didn’t want to talk to anyone, but wanting to lend a hand anyway; or offer one at least.

Katelyn studied the man, wondering what he wanted from her. A moment later she discarded the thought, chiding herself for not taking him at face value. Eleven was a community. It was nothing like the Capitol and she had to remind herself of that every day. Still, he had his hat in the ring for the mayor’s seat. The possibility couldn’t be completely discounted. Suppressing a sigh, she stared at the bouquet and reflected on her past. Maybe it had been a mistake to refuse to let anyone get close to her besides those she considered her family. Maybe she should try to do things different. The silence between them was growing in length, reaching towards awkward, so she broke it before it could stretch on any longer.

She let the smile slide off of her face and knelt again, placing the bouquet on the ground and pulling a particularly tough dandelion free of the soil with a grunt. “My…past experiences have made me somewhat cynical when meeting new people. I’m afraid my social graces are rusty.” She grabbed another weed by the base and started yanking on it. So what did he really want from her? An endorsement? An apology? That was the most likely thing.

There’d been three Izars in the games since she had been arrested. If that’s what it could be called. She could have mentored any one of them. It might have made a difference. It had made a difference for two years, before the Capitol had stepped in.

Nineteen. She’d last brought home a victor when she was nineteen.

God help her, she'd only been nineteen. 

"If there’s anyone who should be doing more to help it’s me,” she said without looking up from her work. “I'm sorry for your losses Mr. Izar.” The weed came free of the soil and she tossed it onto the pile. "If you've got the time, you can help me with my garden and tell me how things in Eleven have been for the last few years." Katelyn stopped and held out a small trowel to the man. "I've got a three bean chili simmering inside and a pecan pie I baked last night, if your little one is hungry. Fair payment for your time?"



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[Deleted]

Vasco Izar

There was a moment when I wondered, as I guessed other parents must have seeing Katelyn or the others return, could I have been so lucky to be here with my daughter tending the garden? Yani cooed against my neck, and reached a hand into my hair to break the daydream’s spell. Katelyn was right to be suspicious. Plenty of men had their motives for seeking her out, especially here and now, just returned. Some of my own kin would be all too happy to see her speak against the capitol, no matter the cost. They thought the same of her as did our oppressors - that she was less a person and more an object to represent their fantasies of revolution. It was no wonder that she had disappeared (though it stood to be seen if such a thing was by choice).

Yani fidgeted, and I knelt against the grass, bringing her feet down to let her shuffle around the yard. She paused to pluck a dandelion from the earth, and plopped down onto the ground to inspect her winnings. I didn’t want anything from Katelyn Persimmon - at least, not because there was something I needed in return. Marisol had taught us that happiness was something we could always give to another person without needing it ourselves. We did far more by opening our hearts in love than reaching out our hands in want.

I let the world still, and words don’t come before she’s moved to apologize.

I should say that I’m used to folks telling me they’re sorry. For my loss, for having to go through the pain, and for Raquel’s sacrifice. The worst part of it all? That you begin to forget bits and pieces of her, no matter how hard I could try. Little memories of her on my shoulders, or smiling while I made stories with shadow puppets for her. I turned to watch Yani pluck the white petals from the dandelion in her hands. Emma told me that things were harder for me because I felt too much at any one time. I’d rather that than the forgetting, amigo. There was something sacred in grief over loss. It makes me believe I’m better able to embrace people in love.

“Thank you, Ms. Persimmon. You are... too kind.” We had placed the other bouquet at the edge of her funeral stone before we left. Just a moment where the world was quiet, and it was us and a slab of granite with her name. The same stone I talked to, plucked weeds from, brought flowers to - a cold and flat object that was nothing more than a name, and a dash between two years. But the flowers looked nice tucked up against the bit of snow on the ground, and gave color to the yellowed grass. “We love them all very much, still.”

I brushed off my jeans and took a spot at her side, making sure to give a sidelong glance to Yani, who was now picking up handfuls of dirt and grass and dropping it into the wind. “I would be happy to help you.” I took the trowel in my hands, and set to work on a patch of overgrowth that clung to the soil in clumps. I upended a whole set free from the earth with my hands, and pressed the dirt between my palms so to clear the roots. I gave a grin. “I’ll be happy to grab some Chili when we’re finished. Though I have to warn you, that one over there can eat about twice her own body weight when she’s hungry.”

(No me molestes, papá).

“Well - I suppose things were best, seven, eight years ago? Time goes so quickly now it can be hard to keep track.” I liked to think those were the years of peace for us. Six whole years before another Izar stepped forward, or had their name drawn. “Feels like the capitol was blessing us with some peace, though I can’t say why.” I stabbed my trowel down into the earth and gave a shove, knocking into a root. “Me and mine didn’t have much but we did just fine, three kids and a patch of land - you know the Izar farms, they’re out there. Felt as though things were getting better, up until, oh, ‘bout five years ago?”

“The capitol called for volunteers and, well - no one stepped forward from eleven at first. Which I don’t blame on anyone,” I didn’t, not even when I’d watched it happen. A part of me hoped that this was us taking a stand against the games by not putting one forward. “But then Salome went forward, and Tamron, too.” I grew quiet again, and pulled out more wet earth and roots of weeds with my hands. “Kirito’s done a good job as Mayor, though. Trying his best to make sure we don’t all starve, or worse. Imagine it wasn’t easy.”

“Raquel, she -” I paused, and shook my head with a smile. “My daughter went in the seventy-sixth. You would have been proud of her,” I said, fiddling with another root. A few years ago, I would’ve needed a moment to catch my breath, but now I could look to the woman beside me without so much as a sigh. “We lost Gabriel in the seventy-eighth, too. As good as the district seems to be, I can’t say we haven’t been hurting. Hungry. Tired. Forgotten. Feeling like what we got keeps getting snatched away.”

I pushed forward, scooping out another set of weeds, abandoning the trowel, and plucking dirt. “That’s just the nature of things. But we’re farmers - we know what that means, gardening and growing things. There’s years when the weather’s no good, and soil can be bad, too. But you plant and turn it over, and do your best to grow what you can. Show off a little bit, and share what you have. Hard work -” I huffed out, tossing aside another weed. I rubbed my muddied hands across my forehead. Yani was on her back in the distance, staring up at the clouds, humming. “It’s hard work, and even in the best of times, you see what death looks like.”

I leaned back for a moment, and stared over at Yani, floppy hat, and smile on her face.

“But you have to go on, don’t you?” I looked back at Katelyn with a grin. “And so we do, when you’ve learned - when you have the love and strength to do so.”

“What have we missed, Katelyn?” I look to my little patch of dirt, and then to her.

[charade]

KATELYN PERSIMMON

Kind. She supposed that was why she did the things she did. Because it was the right thing to do. Because it was decent. Because it was kind. But her kindness to those boys had brought death to some of their relatives. Had brought misery to other families. But it had done good for a while, hadn’t it? Was she a good woman? Vasco joined her in the dirt and started to talk. The good times had ended one quell ago, when the food and the money that had poured into the district from three straight wins had started to run out.

When Tamron and Salome Izar had gotten it into their heads to volunteer for some godforsaken reason. That was her fault too, she reckoned. She could have stopped them. Or maybe they had stepped forward in an attempt to emulate her and the boys. Lot of people wanted to be like the three of them,it seemed. Those that didn't want to be with them at any rate. Harb had had a lot of girls making eyes at him in those days. Still did, though she was sure Navya’s gaze was enough to deter the all but the most forward of them.

But the life of a victor was rarely a pleasant one she had decided, and she told the occasional suitor as much. She supposed it brought a certain kind of man hope, knowing that she was still on the market at twenty-eight. The patch of herbs was starting to take shape again as he told her of the good job Kirito had done for the district as mayor the last few years as bellies had started to ache again. Hearts ached too; Katelyn felt another stab of guilt as he revealed that Raquel had been his daughter, the one who’d been beaten to death with a spiked baseball bat if she remembered right.

Twelfth, no eleventh place, having lost her life in the feast. They’d lost Gabriel two years after that. Katelyn grimaced as she yanked another weed free of the earth. The farthest any female tribute from eleven had made it since Harbinger’s victory was fifth. The Emerson girl wasn't it? Tamron had made third, but it wasn’t home. So close. She agonized over thinking that with a little bump from her brand of guidance, maybe they would have made it back alive. Vasco said that what little they had felt like it kept getting snatched away and she hid her face for a moment, hiding watery eyes that threatened to spill. Just the ragweed , she told herself.

He went on to say it was just nature. That life in the district was no different than the garden, and she thought with a small smile, that here was someone who understood her. His daughter hummed at the sky, no doubt amusing herself by cloud watching, and Katelyn couldn’t help but grin at her, even as Vasco brought up that death was just a part of living. He was right, of course, But Katelyn hadn’t been doing much living. For herself or otherwise.

If there was one thing the past had taught her, it was that while it was a bad idea to dwell on it, it taught you what to do. You moved on, harder and tougher. It made you stronger. Vasco was right about having to go on. When you had the love and strength to do so. A somewhat bitter smile curled her lip as he asked her what they’d missed. It was a loaded question, and she knew he wasn’t talking about the weeds. What had she missed? Katelyn hadn’t spoken to her parents in years, even before she’d been arrested. They just hadn’t understood who she was anymore, and she couldn’t explain it to them either.

The things she’d been through; the pressure she was under. It wasn’t easy being the most famous person in the entire district.  She didn't have time for things like love. Love? She had the love of her brothers and their families. But love? Was that something she deserved? To have someone the way that Harbinger and Kirito did. It sounded nice, this being in love business. Perhaps the next time someone asked her on a date at the market she’d say yes instead of politely turning them down. Is that what was missing?

It clicked for her a moment later that his question had merely been about the topics they’d been discussing and she felt like an idiot for letting her mind wander so far. “You’re an interesting man, Mr. Izar.” She said at last. “You’ve helped me more than you might know.” She stood, stretching her back and dusting off her knees.

"Well, I believe I promised y’all a hot meal.” She said a bit more cheerily, a little bit of her regional accent leaking through the proper speech of the Capitol for a moment. She took her gloves off and slapped them against her leg, shaking a few tiny clumps of dirt away. Once up the path, she opened the great double door and headed inside to the foyer. “Please, make yourselves at home.” She told them as she kicked off her boots and let down her hair. The socks she'd bought in the Capitol were holding up well, she noted before heading for the kitchen; hopefully Vasco and his daughter wouldn’t get lost.

The first floor had the study and two of the bedrooms in addition to the living room. There was even a whole room for a fireplace that just needlessly extravagant, just like all the furniture that the place had been furnished with. And that was without even ascending the ornate marble steps to the second floor. The master bedroom and three others not counting the office. There was another door on the first floor that led to the basement, the place where she kept her jams and jellies.

She’d spent the last week cleaning out dozens of mason jars that had gone bad in her absence and refilling them whenever she got home from the market. Part of it was set aside as a wine cellar as well, but she’d never stocked it. In the kitchen she washed her hands and face before she wound her way around the island in the middle and got the china out. The whole area smelled like cayenne and cumin, garlic and chili powder.

She was pleased to see that the beans had softened well, the kidney, chickpeas and black beans made a good medley. There was a little bit of jalapeno that she had minced with the onions and fire roasted tomatoes for a little kick, so she hoped that the Izar’s were okay with spice. She tasted it, and after a moment’s thought added a little black pepper to the mix before ladling it out into three bowls. She put a dessert spoon in the bowl for his daughter.

What was the kid’s name anyway?

Returning to the cutting board she’d left out earlier, she sliced up some olives and cilantro, sprinkling them on top of the bowls and adding a hunk of crusty bread for dipping on the side. It was a simple enough loaf; water, flour, salt and yeast. But it tasted like her childhood, and that meant comfort. She filled the three glasses with fresh lemonade and placed the meals by the chairs closest to her as the long rectangular table could seat twelve. When they joined her, she lifted her spoon in acknowledgment and handed his daughter a gingersnap. 

“I don’t entertain often, so it’s nice to get some use out of this table.”

Even before she’d left, she tended to bring any food she’d made to the other houses in the victor villages. She had preferred eating in Navya’s dining room, or with the miristiomas rather than inviting them to her lonely isle.“I read the speech you had printed in the paper.” She said between bites. “It was good; they’re calling you a real man of the people.” Of course, that didn’t mean she was going to endorse him. She wasn’t going to endorse any of the candidates. Jen had been quite clear about that in the Capitol. Which begged the question, which of the three people running did they not want to win the election?

"What’s this little munchkin’s name, anyway?” she said instead of bringing up more politics, pointing her spoon at the girl.

“And how many more of them do you have?”


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