Morgan Rice - Arena Two

Yet still, we are all morose. Because beside us, lying there, groaning, is Rose. It is obvious she has reached the point of no return, that she could die at any moment. All the color has left her skin, the black of the infection has spread across her shoulder and chest, and she lies there, pouring with sweat and writhing in pain. Bree’s eyes are red from crying. Penelope sits on Rose’s chest, whining intermittently, refusing to go anywhere else. I feel as if I am on a death vigil.

Normally, I would gorge myself on the fresh meat, but tonight I eat half-heartedly, as do the others. Bree didn’t even touch hers. Even Penelope, when I handed her a piece, refused to take it. Of course, Rose wouldn’t take a bite.

It breaks my heart to see her suffer like this. I don’t know what else to. I gave her the remainder of the sleeping pills, three at once, hoping to knock her out, to alleviate her pain. But now she’s in so much pain, it’s not doing her any good. She cries and moans and squirms in agony. I sit there, stroking her hair, staring into the flames, wondering when this will all end. I feel as if we’re all stuck in some interminable suffering that has no end in sight.

“Read me a story,” Bree says.

I turn and see her looking up at me with red eyes.

“ Please ,” she pleads.

I put one arm around her and hold her tight; she rests her head on my shoulder, crying softly.

I close my eyes and try to remember the words of The Giving Tree . They usually come to me, right away – but tonight, I’m having a hard time. My mind is jumbled.

“I…” I begin, then trail off. I can’t believe it, but I’m drawing a blank. “I’m sorry. I can’t remember.”

“Then tell me a story,” she says. “Anything. Please. Something from before the war.”

I think back, trying hard to remember something, anything. But I’m so tired, and so frazzled, I draw a blank. Then, suddenly, I remember.

“I remember one night, when you were young,” I begin. “You were maybe four. I was eleven. We were with mom and dad. It was a summer night, the most perfect, beautiful night, so still, not a breeze, and the sky filled with stars. Mom and dad took us to an outdoor carnival, I don’t remember where. It was some kind of farm country, because I remember walking through all these cornfields. It felt like we walked all night long, this magical walk through open farms, up and down gentle hills. I remember looking up and being awed at all the stars. There were so many of them and they were so bright. The universe felt alive. And I didn’t feel alone.

“And then, after all this walking in the middle of nowhere, there, in the middle of these country fields, there was this small town carnival. It lit up the night. There were games, and popcorn, and cotton candy, and candy apples, and all kinds of fun things. I member you loved the candy apples. There was this one stand, where the apples floated, and you’d dunk your head in the water and try to bite one. You must have tried a hundred times.”

I look down and see Bree smiling.

“Did mom and dad get mad?”

“You know dad,” I say. “He gets impatient. But you were so insistent, they waited. They weren’t mad. By the end, dad was even cheering for you. Telling you how to do it, giving you direction. You know how he is.”

“Like we’re in the Army,” she says.

“Exactly.”

I sigh and think, trying to remember more.

“I remember they got us all tickets for the Ferris wheel, and the four of us sat together, in the front. You loved it. You didn’t want to get off. More than anything, you loved the stars. You were really wishing it would stop while we were at the top, so you could be closer to the sky when you looked. You kept making mom and dad do the ride over and over again until finally, you got what you wanted. You were so happy. You’re so good with the sky: you pointed out the Milky Way and the Big Dipper and everything. Things I didn’t even know. I’d never seen you so happy.”

Bree has a real smile on her face now, as she rests her head on my shoulder. I can feel her body starting to relax.

“Tell me more,” she says, but now her voice is a gentle whisper, falling asleep.

“Later, we went into a hall of mirrors. And then into a freak show. There was a bearded lady, and a 600 pound man, and a man who was two feet tall. He scared you.

“dad’s favorite game was the guns. He made us stop at the BB guns, and he fired again and again. When he missed a target, he got mad, and blamed the manager for the faulty gun. He insisted that he never missed a shot, that there was something wrong with the gun, and he wanted his money back. You know dad.”

Thinking of it now, I smile at the thought of it. How little something like that would matter now, in this day and age.

I look down, expecting to see Bree smile back, but find her fast asleep.

Rose grunts and squirms again, lying by the fire, and this time, it seems to really upset Logan. He gets up, walks to the mouth of the cave and looks out the snow, ostensibly watching our boat. But I know he’s not watching; there’s nothing to see out there. He just can’t take her pain and suffering. It’s upsetting him, maybe more than anyone.

Ben sits opposite me, staring into the flames, too. He seems to be coming out of it more and more. I’m sure he must feel a sense of self-worth for feeding us both these nights.

I sit there in silence, staring at the fire for what feels like hours, Bree asleep in my arms. I don’t know how much time has passed, when Ben speaks:

“What happened in New York was horrible.”

I look up at him, surprised. He looks right at me, his large soulful eyes staring, and I can see that he wants to speak, that he wants me to know. That he is ready. He wants to tell me everything.

“I caught the train my brother was on,” Ben says, “and it took me deep in the tunnels. It stopped at a huge mining station, deep underground. Hundreds of boys chained together, working like slaves. I looked everywhere for him. Everywhere. But I couldn’t find him.”

He sighs.

“I snuck up to one of the boys and asked him. I hid in the shadows as he asked around. I described him perfectly. Finally, word got back to me. They said he was dead. They were positive. They saw one of the slaverunners get mad at him for not moving fast enough, and they said they beat him with a chain. They saw him die.”

There is a long silence, and then a muffled cry, and I see Ben wiping away his tears. I hardly know what to say. I can’t comprehend the guilt he must feel.

“I never should have left him alone,” Ben says. “Back in the mountains. I left him alone, just for an hour. I didn’t think they’d come. I hadn’t seen them in years.”

“I know,” I say. “I never thought they would, either. But it’s not your fault. They are to blame, not you.”

“The worst part of all of this is not seeing it for myself,” Ben says. “Not seeing him dead. Not knowing for sure. I can’t explain it, but I don’t believe he’s dead. A part of me still thinks those boys might have mixed him up with somebody else. I know him. He wouldn’t die. Not like that. He’s strong. Smart. Smarter than me, stronger than me. And tougher than me. I think he escaped. I really do. I think he worked his way back up the river. I think he’s going to come back to our house, and wait for me there. Back in the mountains.”

I look at Ben and see a frenzied look in his eyes, and realize that he has taught himself to believe this fantasy. I don’t want to ruin his fantasy. I don’t want to tell him that that is nearly impossible. Because in this day and age, we all need our dreams, as much as we need food or water.