Page 29 of Homebound
With deliberate slowness, she spoon-fed him little by little so as not to overload him, letting him swallow at his own pace. She stopped twice to wipe her suddenly runny nose and laughed quietly from profound joy.
“You’ve done it, Simon. You ate it all up. You’ll be alright now. I know it.”
She had no idea if he would be. He might yet barf, and all her efforts would be for nothing.
They waited, but his condition didn’t change. He breathed evenly in and out and stared blankly at the docks across the vast clutter of the junkyard.
Happy and satiated as if it was she who ate the yogurt, Gemma returned Simon to his cell by the appointed time and went back to work.
She felt like she’d just opened a new page of her life.
Chapter 9
They slipped into a routine. Gemma would stash the yogurt in the bricks on her way to work, and during the courtyard outings when the third floor emptied save for the green crazy man, she’d take Simon outside and feed him, always careful to return him to his cell on time.
Weeks went by, but so far the boost in his nutrition brought no noticeable changes in his appearance or his attitude. He continued to look pale and malnourished and stared fixedly in front of him.
But there were signs, subtle vibrations around him that Gemma picked up on every time she came to take him to their walks. Like he knew. She fancied he liked his outings and his yogurt.
Caring for Simon filled Gemma’s life with purpose. The two of them had formed a bond, and if it might be a tad one-sided, she wouldn’t think too much of it. She needed a conviction that she wasn’t alone in the world.
Suddenly, the prison no longer seemed a terrible place to work. The miserly pay lost its power to depress her. Every morning now Gemma’s feet felt light when she walked through the heavy rusty door into the cold lobby with its unpleasant musty smell and empty echoing walls.
Every morning at roll call, she stopped by Simon’s cell to check and make sure he was okay and let him know she was here, even though he wouldn’t know the difference.
She smiled often.
She even extended a tentative olive branch to the Obu who had gone into deep melancholia because Gemma refused to pet him ever since that frightening courtyard incident. Reasoning that the beast was innocent on the account of being dumb, it didn’t take her long to mellow down. She gave him his morning pats at the roll call where he was always waiting for her, body pressed flush with the bars on his door, eager for her attention.
But in other ways, nothing had changed. The work was hard and often disgusting, with no potential for improvement.
Gemma was mopping the floor in the corridor - would it ever stay clean for at least a day? - humming a happy melody. Ruby had gone down to check on the bedding for a new inmate who was coming in, and Arlo took a Tana-Tana down to complete his checkout process - the alien was being released today.
The cells stayed pretty quiet today, with the inhabitants holed up in their close quarters. Gemma had learned that the afternoons were the worst for the third-floor inmates. With the yard outing complete and lunch over with, there were no stimuli to arouse their interest, nothing to look forward to except a brief animation of a meager dinner.
She started to sing in a low voice, swishing her mop in an organized pattern.
“Mistress! Hey, mistress cleaner! Gemma!” a childish voice called.
Without breaking her song, Gemma waltzed over to cell number 28, doing proper box steps and feeling her body making that smooth rise-and-fall action. Waltz was forgiving to her lame foot, concealing the limp when she lowered her weight on the heel of her boot at the end of the third beat.
“Yes, 28?
The Sakka housed in cell 28 was fretful. Most Sakka were, their gentler nature predisposed to order and cleanliness. Dirt and clutter stressed them. That, combined with their non-confrontational character, made Sakka great domestic servants, and they were one of the very few aliens actively imported to Meeus to work for its wealthier citizens.
Number 28 was waiting for Gemma near his barred door delicately kneading something in his hands.
“I was wondering if it would be possible to replace my cleaning rag,” Sakka was throwing small glances at Gemma’s face without making full eye contact. “I’m afraid this one is getting worn out.” He stopped kneading the cloth and unfolded it, demonstrating several large holes.
Gemma stopped humming and peered inside his cell. The walls were buffed. The toilet sparkled. The metal bars gleamed with a mirror-like sheen.
“Where did you get this in the first place?” she asked the Sakka.
He snatched his rag away and held it behind his back as if Gemma was going to wrestle it away from him. The guy seriously needed to be able to keep cleaning for his mental health.
“Oh, the person who worked here before you gave it to me. I would really appreciate a new one. This one smells,” he added shyly.
Gemma had no idea if simply asking Marigold the Supply Closet Dragon would solve the problem. An inmate was allowed a rag if he wanted one, no?
