The Tree of Knowledge

At Miranda’s prompting, I’ve been reading Plato’s Symposium. They had some really beautiful ideas about love, albeit ones colored some seriously intense misogyny. But then, it was written in 380 B.C. They pretty much thought of women as cattle. Funny how we seem to have bounced back to that notion just lately.

Jeff is teaching me to cook. It is not going well. But every time I burn our breakfast it just makes Jeff more determined. It’s a challenge, like a sport to him. We make our own fun out here in the desert.

Everyone demands I sing every night now during out campfire stories. I never thought my ability to remember song lyrics would be of value to anyone.

I’ve been teaching Bonita to climb. She’s amazing at it. I think she might be part monkey.

A couple days ago, I accidentally called her Little Bird…

And today we woke shivering to snow falling outside. And all I could say was, everyone, you absolutely must drop everything now. The hunting and gathering and preservation of culture can wait.

Because, as it turns out, Bonita has never been in a snowball fight.

We haul ourselves to the surface. There’s a brief discussion about choosing sides that devolves almost immediately into an all out, take no prisoners, free for all.

An hour later, we’re exhausted, laughing, and soaked to the bone.

We’re just discussing going back in, lured by the promise of mulled wine and stew when the man approaches.

Out of the corner of my eye I see him step out from behind a rock. The man looks right at me.

An eternity passes in just a few seconds. In one moment, I have a new life. I’m happy, finally happy, playing in the snow without a care in the world. And in the next everything shifts. Changes.

In one second, the man steps into view, and looks me in the eye. In the next, he levels his gun at me. As the gun rises, I push Bonita to the ground. She cries out in surprise, going face first into the fallen snow. Everyone looks at her, confused, but I’m still watching the man with the gun as he calls out, “Kit Williams?”

Now they see him too. Susie screams.

“I don’t want any trouble from any of you.” The man says calmly. “I’m just here for her. I’m not going to hurt her. You can all just go about your business.”

“What do you want?” I ask. My throat dry from panic, the words come out in a rasp.

“I’ve been hired to bring you home. Your husband has gone to a lot of trouble and expense for it.”

This isn’t happening. I’m going to wake up in my sleeping bag inside and make burnt bat bacon for breakfast.

“Alright. I call bull shee-it.” Billy announces.

“Sorry?” the man says.

“I call bull shee-it.” Billy repeats. “You said you ain’t gonna hurt her. I call bull shee-it. You know what they intendin’ to do to her when you bring her back? They gonna throw rock at her pretty lil’ head till it burst open. You call that not hurtin’ her?”

The man all but rolls his eyes in exasperation.

“It’s not my place to judge God’s will.” He says.

“Bull shee-it.” Billy says again. “God’s got nothin’ to do with this. You’re here ‘cause you hopin’ to get paid. Well you’re gonna have to tell your employer you’ll be refundn’ his deposit because she ain’t goin’.”

“Look,” the man says, “Let’s be reasonable.”

Billy levels his shotgun.

“I said, She. Ain’t. Goin’.”

Seconds pass in silence, both men with guns raised.

“Kit,” Billy says. “You go on now and git inside…all ya’ll, git!”

“Billy…” I protest.

“I said git, girl! Don’t make me have to-”

And the man shoots him in the head.

Bright red blood splashes on the white snow, a spray of it splattering on my face, on Bonita. Compared to my cold skin, the blood feels hot, like stepping into a shower. My ears ringing from the shot, I dimly register that someone is screaming. It takes a few seconds before I realize it’s me.

Bonita’s crying. I see Marcos reach for his gun.

“Stop!” I yell. “Just stop! Don’t hurt them! I’ll go with you!”

I’m not sure when it was I started sobbing…

I was so close. So close to being happy again. And Billy… oh god Billy, why did he do that? Stupid, stupid Billy.

I stand next to the man, and he points the gun to my temple. He keeps it there, poised, and demands that everyone climb back down. This action takes a long time to carry out, and transpires in almost complete silence. One by one, they disappear over the edge. Marcos is the last one down. He stares at me with so much pity and guilt in his eyes, and for a moment looks like he’s about to say something, but he thinks better of it. I watch his face disappear over the edge with the rest.

I’m alone again.

And now it feels like it’s my weeks in the cave that have been the dream. And now I’ve woken up.