Page 6 of Homebound
“Of course it was, goose. It’s winter. How was your day, Ravi?”
“We were at school till noon, and then we did chores at home. Every day is the same, Gemma. Why do you always ask?” Ravi intoned from his place at the table where he was meticulously engineering something from random pieces of metal and wires.
“Something always happens. At least, it can happen, and if I don’t ask, how would I know?” she said lightly as she took off her hat and gloves. “Right, Desh?”
“Yep.” Desh smiled at her with his shy smile that revealed badly crooked teeth.
At nine years old, identical twins Ravi and Desh couldn’t be more different in character. A naturally curious, active Desh possessed a sunny, friendly personality and tended toward risk-taking.
Ravi, on the other hand, had been born an old man. He was the wiser of the two but bitter and sarcastic, always worrying about every little thing and deeply unsatisfied with his lot in life. Privately, Gemma had deemed Ravi to have taken straight after his mother, Gemma’s Aunt Herise.
“Do we have running water?” Gemma asked as she headed to her room.
“Nope.”
Inconvenient but not the end of the world. The City’s residents had long learned to be prepared for such mundane hardships.
After putting away her outdoor clothes, Gemma went to the kitchen to lay down dinner groundwork for Aunt Herise. A pot full of water was sitting on the stove, wisely filled yesterday when the water had been available, and Gemma put it to heat over the old gas burner. She got out potatoes and turnips, an onion and a carrot, scraped them with a knife and left them in a bowl for Herise to do whatever. Her aunt was very particular about rationing food, a kitchen control freak, and Gemma’s responsibilities around the house never included the actual cooking. Besides, Herise was a gifted cook, able to whip up a delicious meal out of the most basic of scraps.
Gemma cleaned up after peeling the vegetables and set the table, shooing Ravi away to his annoyance.
“It’s not dinner time yet! Mother isn’t even home.”
“Ravi, you know the rules,” Gemma assumed a stern approach. The altercation with Ravi didn’t happen daily, but just about. “The table has to be set for dinner before your mother comes home.”
“It’s a stupid rule.”
“We all follow it because this is how Aunt Herise wants it.”
Ravi stubbornly stomped his foot, his clear gray eyes shooting daggers at Gemma. Ironically, all the McKinley kids had the same eyes, including her, so looking at enraged Ravi was a little bit like looking in the mirror at her much younger self.
“I wish you went to your stupid Islands.”
He angrily snatched his stuff from the table and stomped to the lower bunk bed in the loft he shared with Desh. Settling into the bed, he turned his back to the room.
Gemma sighed and said nothing. She could’ve pointed out to Ravi that she was not a freeloader but a paying guest, a tenant in the room that his parents rented out anyway. Granted, they could charge someone else a higher premium, but the security of having Gemma, a relative, live in the house alongside their young kids was worth losing some in rent money. Moreover, she contributed food to the table under Herise’s direction and did all the heavy chores around the house.
Ravi wouldn't care. His outburst could have been chalked up on his nine-year-old maturity level, but Gemma knew the situation was more complicated than a spur-of-the-moment tantrum. Perceptive Ravi, like his older sister Leena, had picked up on the subtle but ever-present undercurrent of resentment the older McKinleys harbored toward Gemma. She was tolerated because of the convenience her presence brought Herise and Drexel, not because either of them particularly cared what happened to her.
Desh ran to the door just as the special knock sounded, and performed the same crack-and-peak routine he’d done with Gemma. He must’ve heard Herise’s steps while Gemma’s mind was wondering, preoccupied with her poor relation status at the McKinley’s home.
Herise came in, bundled up against the cold.
“Hello, boys. Gemma,” she acknowledged her with a nod. Without further niceties, she disappeared into her bedroom only to reappear again, wrapped in an apron. As she began to prepare dinner, Gemma settled with Desh to go over his homework while observing her aunt from the back.
Herise wasn’t an altogether unpleasant woman, but terse, and extremely practical. She’d been quite attractive once, albeit with sharp foxy features that with the passage of years had become pinched from constant worry and hard life of a mother who struggled to keep her kids fed and clothed.
Dinner was bubbling on the stove, spreading around a delicious smell. Hungry Desh kept looking in the direction of the kitchen, and Gemma had a difficult time turning his attention around and back to his study book. Even Ravi came out of his sulk and observed the preparations with morose interest.
Gemma’s own stomach was growling non-stop, the prison gruel she’d eaten at noon long digested. That was a great perk of working in the prison, according to Aunt Herise. The free lunch provided to the helpers. No matter that the fare was disgusting and the portions tiny. It was food, and it was free. Gemma should count her blessings.
Leena came home after her sewing classes, chattering about a rumor of a big order the municipality was allegedly getting ready to place with the factory to produce new mattress covers for the barracks. Leena always brought news like this from the vocational training she attended after school. Today it was the mattress covers. Yesterday it had been tarp for some new imported machinery at the docks. Last week she had been excited about a rumored mass production of militants’ underwear. Hope sprang eternal for those looking to obtain employment at the factory. When she turned fifteen in a few months, the family planned for Leena to stop with the school and go work as a seamstress - if they hired her. Leena needed the factory to start hiring.
Uncle Drexel was the last to arrive, bone-tired as usual, and finally, the family sat down at the table.
The conversation ebbed and flowed as they ate, mundane stuff.
“A response team went out today,” Aunt Herise shared, meaning the militant response team. Working in the barracks’ kitchens, she saw a lot of activity. “Some disturbance near the Market Corner. Someone tried to steal something and a fight broke out. In the light of day! Whatever is happening, it’s getting worse.”
