Hell Fire

43 July 5, 2005

A man walked briskly across the fields in Geirastadir.

His eyes were fixed on the path and his heavy boots left no mark on the dry earth. His arms were swinging like oars in water, his cheeks were stinging and burning, and his mind was boiling over. There were flocks of fat black crows all over the fields, and they lifted as he approached, squawking and shrieking. He eventually got there. His mouth tasted of blood and iron.

“Can we stay here one more night?” Simon asked.

“No, we have to go home to the rabbits. Granny will pick dandelions for them when we’re in Africa.”

“What are the black spots?” he asked as he picked at the surface of the folding table.

“Fly poo,” Bonnie said. “But don’t worry about it. Look, I brought some cards; I’ll teach you to play Crazy Eights. It’s easy. And you’re smart, aren’t you, Simon?”

“Yes,” he said proudly. “I’m smart and rich.”

Bonnie had to laugh. “First you need to know the four colors and suits,” she said and spread the cards out over the table.

“But there are only two colors,” he said. “Red and black.”

“No,” she explained, “we say there are four. Red hearts and diamonds, black spades and clubs. You see?”

He nodded.

“So the aim is to get rid of all your cards,” she told him. “You lay them out on the table, matching numbers or suits. So heart on heart, OK? And clubs on clubs. And you can change a card to another suit, but only after an eight. And then you should change it to the suit you have the most of, so you get rid of as many cards as possible. You get it?”

“I get it.”

“Right, I’ll deal out the cards, then,” she said. “I’ll keep you straight as we go along. You mustn’t show me your cards. I shouldn’t see them; they’re secret.”

Simon was wearing his new tracksuit in red, white, and blue. He had hung up his calendar counting down to their Africa trip by the window. Copying his mother, he made as big a fan as he could with his little hands. The cards were smooth and worn, and he held them up to his nose. They smelled good. His head was full of lions in Africa and his mother in her white dress with ladybirds on it.

He arranged his cards as best he could, but they kept slipping out of his hands and several fell onto the gray linoleum floor.

“Don’t look,” he said to his mother, “I’m going to pick them up.”

She waited while he got down on his knees and picked up the cards. When he had gotten them all, he clambered back up onto the sofa. That was when he noticed the man walking down across the fields.

“There’s someone coming,” he said. “It’s a man.”

Bonnie nodded. “He’s probably just out for a walk,” she said. “He’ll have come down from Geirastadir.”

Simon knelt on the sofa and watched the man approaching. He knew that he’d seen him before, by the house. The man had tried to push over his bike, had stood in front of him like a troll and scared him.

“He’s coming here,” he told his mother. “He’s coming here to us.”

Bonnie nodded happily. She wasn’t frightened of people coming to the door anymore. She had nothing to fear and it might even be good news.

“It’ll be one of the Poles,” she said. “He must have a message for us.” She smoothed her dress and straightened her back.

“Open the door, Simon, and see who it is!”