Page 38 of All Your Days
At first glance, the sheds look like chaos, but after watching for a minute, it’s obvious that it’s a well-oiled machine, with everything in its place. It’s just that the place is everywhere, all at once.
The sights and the smells are a lot.Especiallythe smells. The stench of bodies, animals, leather and food cooking on the barbecue pits kind of hits me in the face and then the guts as we approach.
“Right, give me the cart.” Jacob leans on the handle of the cart while he waits for us to reach him. “I’ll get this sorted with my contact. You lot can all go have a look around if you want, then we can meet back here when we’re all done.”
Four heads swivel as one to look at me, then back to Jacob. Their shock that he’s willing to let me go wander through the unwashed masses without him plastered by my side is visible in their slack-jawed stares and raised eyebrows.
Jacob, not being a total idiot, doesn’t miss their reaction. His face darkens and he gets twitchy, avoiding catching their eyes. He rubs the back of his neck and sucks at his teeth, rubbing the toe of his boot in the red dirt.
“Stay safe. Don’t be dickheads. Don’t start fights.” His hand flexes on the handle of the wagon, lips working like he wantsto say something more. And he does. “And for fuck’s sake, stick together, ‘kay?”
He sounds exasperated—likewe’vedone something wrong and I’m glad he’s kind of being a dick today. It’s easier to be angry at him. Being angry is a lot easier than wallowing in self pity. I can do that alone in my tent tonight. When Cale and Ryan both agree, Jacob grunts and pulls the heavy wagon towards another entrance. I watch him drag the thing over the rocks, struggling with his gun slung across his back and narrowly dodging three kids in rags who bolt out from what feels like nowhere into his path, chased by a barking dog.
“Right.” Lou’s heavy hand claps onto my shoulder. “Let’s explore.”
And we do. There is so much to see, I can barely keep my eyeballs inside my head. Before we left, we all packed things to trade when we got here. And I’m glad we did—there're all kinds of treasures to be found.
There are tables for everything and it’s hard to find where to begin. Malcolm tries to find some practical things. His sister is a craftsman, a weaver to be exact, and so he goes out of his way to hunt down some needles and different things to bring back. Cale trades for grog. Ryan spends a distressingly long time comparing blades amongst a table of hand crafted knives and weapons.
Lou finds someone trading in medicines, with all kinds of jars of all different salves and creams. I actually get something from there, too—a tin of pleasant smelling ointment that the man at the booth swears heals all your sores and aches.
None of that means anything to me—it just feels like it’ll make excellent lube which can be hard to come by at The Facility sometimes. Malcolm gets it—he gives me a little wink as I hastily shove the metal tin in my emergency bag.
I could never have imagined that there would be so much here. Tables filled with food—mostly dried and preserved—from all over the Union, bolts of fabric, tools and equipment from decades before refurbished and repurposed.
“Where’d you even get all this?” I can’t help but ask one trader as we pick over their table. He has a little of everything, from massive jars filled with nails and screws to tarnished jewellery, to picture frames filled with art from before the Rains, to towers made of spools of wire and colourful hand woven reed baskets.
“Ach,” it’s a cross between a grunt and a sneeze. His eyebrows are so big and bushy they look like they are weighing down his eyes. His long white beard has shining beads threaded through it, and like most outpost inhabitants, his clothes are nothing like the regulation pants and shirts favoured by the Union and The Facility. He wears a simple skirt made of leather, baring his knobbly, hairy knees and a buttonless shirt, the collar so big and wide it droops off his shoulder. “I got people. Run around the country, they do. Fearless thems are.”
The man seems excited to tell his story to someone new. His voice rises and his hands join the story telling.
“Fearless, I tell ya! Go tah old cities all over finding fings we be needin’. Risk them’s lives, they do! I tell ya, one had tah fight off a lion! Yup! Too right he did!” The man jabs a finger, stained with dirt, across the table, even though none of us contradicted his story. “Beastie almost ate ‘im alive, it did! But he fought ‘im, fought ‘im and survived!”
He looks at us with raised eyebrows, and with some minor prodding from Lou, we all exclaim at the right moment.
“Yup, too right. An’ they bring ‘em backs here tah me tah trade.” There is spit flying with each ‘tah’, but I’m too fascinated to care. “The old cities, they be dangerous to enter. Crumbled down mess. ‘M glad for me people.”
I can’tnottrade with him after that. I end up parting with my honey to get one of the framed pictures. It has a house made of stone in the middle of a mass of flowers and smoke curling from the chimney. Green rolls in gentle hills behind the home. I’ve never seen anything like it.
I tuck it carefully in my emergency bag and we keep going. By the time everyone is done, I manage to find something I really shouldn’t give up the socks I got from Moby for, but I can’t resist—a bracelet made of old glass and seashells on a thin strip of leather. The bright colours sing out to me—they are irresistible.
And the beads remind me of the ones Jacob used to wear in his hair when we first met. I get a couple of curious glances when I tuck it into a small compartment of my bag to keep it safe, but they have enough sense to keep their mouths shut.
Except the bastard thing just burns a hole in my bag, and with each step back to Jacob I second guess my trade. What a waste. Maybe I can just give it to Jessica or something as a ‘congratulations on getting pregnant’ thing when I get home?
We don’t meet Jacob outside; we meet him at the table set up he’s been at since we arrived. Right near the entrance, they seem to be the largest trader here. Their table is actually at least three, with a tall woman in a dress made of rough looking fabric patched together. Her hair—white from either age or the sun—is piled in a mess on top of her head, held in place with what looks like dried flowers and bones from a small critter stabbed through it. An enormous amount of earrings—too many really—hang from her ears. Beside her sits a man in a chair with wheels. I’ve seen similar kinds of chairs at The Facility. Only ours look like they were made that way. This looks like the wheels belonged to something different before they were stuck to the chair. The thing squeaks loudly when the man laughs at Jacob.
Laughs. AtJacob.The sight is probably the strangest one we’ve come across, because sure enough, Jacob is leaningagainst the table, fidgeting with an old, hinged silver thing, laughing, too.
“What the fuck?” Cale murmurs under his breath, lightly hitting Malcolm in the stomach. So I’m obviously not the only one thrown by Jacob chattering away.
Our feet are hesitant as we approach, and the closer we get the more Jacob shutters away until he’s the man we all know and tolerate—that magnificent happy smile gone again. The woman behind the table notices the change, too, giving us a curious look when we stop.
“This your new lot, then?” She nods in our direction, scratching at her chest. No. Not at her chest. There’s something in the fabric strapped to her. When she withdraws her hand, a little head with big twitching ears pops its head out, seeking more pats. A joey! The thing’s silly ears are almost enough to take the sting out of Jacob’s complete lack of regard for us.
“Yeah, Union decided to change things up.” He introduces us to Shelly, Bobby, and Opal the kangaroo and we all smile and wave in turn like children meeting the commander.
“You fellas ready to go? I thought we’d have one last meal at the pub and get going.” He turns back to Shelly and explains to her—not us—“gotta get to the first bore before dark.”
