Page 74 of Why Cheese?
“Are you…?” My eyes dart to the way he’s twisted the cloth up in a near knot, then back to him. “Okay?”
“Hmm? Oh, yes. Why?” He blinks and follows my gaze to the cloth. “Just prepping another round of cheesecloth.” He folds it in half, pulls a knife from his boot, and slits the cloth in half. “Got to keep moving. You know how it is.”
I do?
“We need another two wheels of cheddar from the stores. Can you handle that, Cheddy?”
“I’m on it.” He moves to salute with the knife in his hand. Luckily, the flat part bounces off of his forehead. After slipping the blade back into his boot, Cheddy faces the wall hiding the mystery vault. “Um, can you…?”
Sighing, I put my hands over my eyes and turn away.
“It’s nothing personal. Roq’s just paranoid after what happened in… Ah! You can look now.”
Happened where? Was this the Marseilles incident? I want to ask so badly I can taste it, but the hulking shadow in the chair keeps me quiet. Maybe if I ask Cheddy instead he could spill the secret without even knowing.
Whistling the same old song, Cheddy slips down the barely lit alleys between shelves of cheese piled on top of each other. I chase after, trying to keep up. Cold air stings my naked back and arms. Rubbing them for warmth, I stop beside Cheddy as he pries up a shelf to reach for a wheel of cheese.
The scent is nearly overwhelming, not pungent, but not exactly roses either. I’m not sure if I want to cover my nose or breathe deeper. He tucks one wheel under his arm, then reaches for a second. All those bulging muscles dotted with freezing sweat cause me to pull hair out of my ponytail and curl it around my finger.
He’s working without end, not even pausing to take a break. They all are.
“What did you mean back there?” I ask.
“Oh, Roq’s not so bad once you get to know him,” Cheddy says. He places the two exhumed wheels onto a small table, then lowers the shelf to squish down the remaining stock below. “He’s just very private. Which I guess makes it hard to get to know him.”
“I meant when you said that I understand why you work so hard. Or without end.”
“I did?” He reaches for the cheese wheels but stops to stare at me.
“Not in those words, but you implied that I also work to keep moving. I think.”
“Wow. I didn’t know I could imply. Here I thought my darning was awful.”
“What?” I shake my head, fearing I’m losing my mind. “It isn’t about sewing, it’s…”
The goofy man crosses his arms and leans back against the table. “Do you really wish to speak of this?”
“Yes,” I cry out, before a sense of dread squelches in my stomach. “I think so?”
The words I’ve been dreading for two weeks fall from his lips. “The way you lock the shop…”
“It’s not—” I race to stop him, but it’s too late.
“You get the voices.”
Oh god.They’re going to think I’m possessed. That I’m crazy and can’t control myself. Okay, I can’t control myself, that’s the whole point of the diagnosis. I so badly want to tell him that he’s imagining it. But where will that get me? They’ll start watching, start counting just like I do, to prove I’m a liar.
“Do…?” I lower my voice and lock my fingers together in a self-prayer. “Do you?”
He shakes his head and my heart drops. For a second, I hoped… No. No one’s haunted by a gremlin living in their head. I’m special that way.
“I knew a knight though who had to pray four times facing the four directions. If he didn’t, he said he’d be shot by an arrow. Before battles, he’d do it four or five times, always in sets of fours. ‘Blessed Mary, protect me from…’ And so on.”
A knight from long ago had OCD? My mother blamed it on cell phone towers, microwaves, too much sugar—all things a medieval knight wouldn’t have had. “What, um…what happened to him?”
“Joined the church. I guess that religious fervor served him well. Last I’d heard he made it to bishop before I was cheeseified.”
A bishop implied a man of means and respect. People had to see it, to understand, and maybe even respect him.
