Chapter 25 #2
The same went for the other woman who was much younger, closer to Cat’s age really, almost still a girl.
She had scars, on her face and on her hands which I could see were slightly misshapen by the tight scar tissue.
She was sharpening a knife, clearly waiting to carve meat from the roast, and she handled knife and stone as if the tightness clawing her hands was nothing, or at least something she was used to.
Her hair was plaited into braids on either side of a darker skinned face that shared a jawline and a nose with the Bear, so I wondered if they were related.
She reminded me of Cat too, not just because of her age, or because she had a similarly wiry body, always – like Cat’s – in motion, doing something, but because she too talked intensely and every now and then punctuated what she was saying with a slow grin that took you by surprise.
I couldn’t believe that they might be Russians.
They were the opposite of the man I’d killed.
I couldn’t imagine them doing the things Storm had described the others doing either.
And like I said, not having had much experience of other people, I still didn’t think those who did bad things would be as easy and likeable as these three seemed to be.
You could see they were close and that they liked each other, even as the two new women were quizzing Bear Shirt about something.
I don’t know what it was because I arrived late in the conversation, but it was clearly a source of great incredulity to Scar Girl who finished sharpening the knife, cut a piece of meat off the deer and held it out to the Grey Hair on the point of it to taste.
Grey Hair picked it off the knife and then flinched and almost dropped it because it was so hot.
Pew-tan! she said. Say show!
It didn’t make sense to me but it made the others laugh as she juggled it from hand to hand to cool it.
Then Scar Girl carved another slice and held it out to Bear Shirt to taste.
Bear Shirt reached for it, and then Scar Girl pulled it back just out of reach, as if an important thought had just struck her.
So wait, she said. After everything he’d done, everything he’s stolen, all the cheating. All the damage, the boat… after all of that… you what? You decided to trust him? I mean, enough to what. Sit up all night, talking? Being friendly?
Not all night, said Bear Shirt, snatching the meat and eating it.
Not all night? said Grey Hair, as if she meant more than the question said.
We slept, said Bear Shirt.
You slept, said Scar Girl. Oh well, that’s fine. That’s normal.
She said it in a way that made it clear it was anything but fine or normal, but that it was completely beyond her understanding. She shook her head and cut a piece of meat for herself to taste. She blew on it before popping it in her mouth.
You just slept, she said. In the one bed?
She was now staring at Bear Shirt, so still she appeared not to be breathing. I recognised that stillness as the exact opposite of the calm that it would be so easy to mistake it for. There was some great force being held at bay behind those unblinking eyes.
Yes, said Bear Shirt, and there was a matching kind of quiet defiance hidden in hers.
And did he…? Scar Girl began.
No, said Bear Shirt. Well. No. It was… stranger than that.
The flames cracked and popped as the fat from the roasting deer fell into them, sending them higher and brighter, which made me pull back further into the cover of the shadows
Scar Girl looked at Bear Shirt as if waiting for more, and then when nothing more happened, she finally moved and looked sideways at Grey Hair. Grey Hair shrugged her shoulders with such a tiny movement it would have been easy to think you’d imagined it.
But he took—began Scar Girl.
I know what he did, Bear Shirt said, rubbing the fur behind the dog’s ears. I know what he stole, what he burned, what he threatened. But—
But, said Grey Hair.
They both looked at her. She shrugged again, bigger this time, something unsettlingly close to a smile lifting one corner of her mouth.
But, she repeated. Such a small word, but oh so very big are the things that it can drag along behind it.
But how could he be truly bad and make that music, said Bear Shirt.
You like him, said Scar Girl. After all he did, you like him.
If he hadn’t done it, I wouldn’t have found you again, said Bear Shirt.
That was an accident, said Scar Girl. You didn’t have to—
I did what I wanted, said Bear Shirt, eyes unblinking, chin tilted upwards in defiance, as if daring Scar Girl to disapprove it.
There was a long period of silence after this, the only sounds being more crackling of the fire as the green wood popped and fizzled with the fat dripping on it as the wind rattled its way through the leaves on the trees all around us.
Did you hurt his pride? said Grey Hair quietly.
The question seemed to wing into the firelight out of nowhere. They both twisted their necks towards her in surprise.
What? said Bear Shirt.
A man will cross the world to avenge his pride, said Grey Hair. Or burn it.
I didn’t do anything to his pride, said Bear Shirt.
I should have killed him instead of his damn boat, said Scar Girl, voice flat and uncompromising as a knife.
I’m glad you didn’t, said Bear Shirt, voice suddenly quieter.
Scar Girl snorted and threw another log on the fire, sending a shower of sparks high into the night, towards me and my hiding place. I pulled my head back into the deep shadows in case any of the three pairs of eyes instinctively following them might catch sight of me.
Well, he knows where to find you, said Scar Girl. He knows where to find all of us on the island.
Mangle-ee, said Grey Hair, looking at them both for confirmation. Somehow the way she said it broke the ice that had been forming between them.
Mingulay, said Bear Shirt.
Mangle-ay, said Grey Hair.
Close enough, said Scar Girl.