XIV
You Don't Know Me
あなたは私を知りません
The Hunter stood over the grave, holding in his hands a mixed bouquet of lilies, dogwood, and lavender flowers. He'd picked them on the way, straying off the path he'd walked so much that the grass was stooped over into an everlasting trail.
An aging bundle of dying flowers stiffly swayed in the breeze, lying atop a piece of vertical flagstone. The tombstone was without a name, without a day of birth and a day of death. That's how the Hunter wanted to keep it, for only a few words were imprinted on the stone's face: "This Is Where I Keep You".
He removed the flowers from the tombstone, replacing them with the new bouquet. They would wither in eight days' time, he surmised, but that was okay. It gave him an incentive to return, to visit.
The Hunter never understood why some talked with the dead, as if their kind words of recollection would land on their ears. They were dead. They could neither hear, see, smell, nor talk. A state of absolute inactivity. The temptation to communicate, however, was a powerful one. Would it ease the pain, speeding up the grief process? Doubted it.
The Hunter turned to leave; he'd spent enough time here than he should've. He set his hand on the shoulder of his Companion as he walked by. The Companion remained where he was for several heartbeats before walking away himself.
They returned home by noon. The majority of the village was out of doors, collected in the roads as they conducted business with the semi-annual harvesters that visited. The Hunter hadn't expected them this early. Spring was fading and fall would begin soon, leaving him a narrow window of opportunity. They wouldn't return for some time.
He walked out of the living area, leaving the television idle on international news. The reporter went on about some missing woman from New Helic City. The Hunter didn't catch the tail of it, went out back. He fetched the deer meat he'd collected over the past several months; some were fresh, smoked, salted, sliced, etc. A sizable share he would sell, leaving him enough to make it through the winter. His Companion wasn't in the cottage; he wondered where he'd gone. No matter. He'd show up sooner or later.
The Hunter went out into the marketplace, pulling a pair of ice chests behind him as he approached the bustling crowd. Plenty of smiles were being exchanged, laughed, and plenty of money. That's what it was always about. The real money was made when the harvesters collected the goods, shipped it out, and doubled the price elsewhere. All the while, the villagers were paid a modest percentage for their efforts.
The Hunter despised it, hated to see them taken advantage of. But they knew nothing else, only what they'd been taught through generations and generations of agriculture. Simple folk.
Some of the villagers caught sight of the Hunter as he made his way to the portable tents where the harvesters stood. They moved out of his way, holding their belongings close to their sides to avoid physical contact. Whispers and murmurs bounced off the Hunter's ears. He'd heard it all by now—the stranger, the secluded one, even the phantom. The Hunter let them have their opinions, their rumors.
He stood before the harvester, gestured to the ice chests. "Venison."
One of the harvesters, a khaki-clad man of average height and narrow shoulders, looked over his dark shades that settled on the bridge of his nose. He frowned, actuating the reddish marks against his skin. Eczema, the Hunter supposed.
"Let's see it," the harvester said as he passively waved his stylus.
The Hunter turned aside from him, flipping the leads up to reveal his stock.
The harvester came from around his collapsible table, analyzing the whole carcasses, the cuts, and the other apportioned bits with a scrutinizing glare. They were prime specimens, flawless.
He allowed himself an acute smile, looked up at the Hunter with satisfaction. "We usually have an influx of venison this time of year, but the best always comes from the Harvest Colony." He pecked his tablet with his stylus. "I can offer a sizable share."
"Fine." The Hunter accepted the offer for his usual amount without protest. It was enough to carry him through the next few months, if he spent wisely. Most would've taken the money, travel to one of the major cities thousands of miles away, and enjoyed themselves with luxuries uncommon to them. The Hunter wouldn't act with such incompetence. There was no need for him to travel outside. There was nothing out there. Nothing for him. Maybe pain, maybe misery, maybe an open abyss waiting to swallow him whole. Didn't need it. Didn't want it.
The Hunter watched a crew of two load the chests on a flatbed connected to a Gustav. It rolled off, shuffling toward a Whale King that was grounded just outside the village.
With nothing further to conduct, the Hunter turned and left out from the harvester. An older man passed him, hauling a modest rack of kills he'd collected. He eased through the crowd, keeping his eyes low as he flipped the hood to his coat over his head.
Don't look at me. I don't exist. Let me go in peace.
He'd maneuvered his way out from the crowd, steadily making his way to his cottage where'd spend the rest of his day undisturbed.
"—no, I can't accept anything lower than that. You can't find this anywhere else and you're offering me zip."
The Hunter retracted his intended step, looked over his left shoulder. A woman was standing in front of another harvester. She was moderately young, big energy, priming to explode as she was approaching crisis battlemode.
Her small fists went hard against the table. "I'm not asking for much, just what's fair!"
The harvester remained calm, caught in the woman's uproar. "Miss, keep your voice down. This is the rate you were quoted. The quantity isn't synonymous with the profit. Increase your quantity and we'll consider raising your percentage."
The woman bit her lower lip hard, shaking her head. She ran her hands through her abnormal white hair that fell below her tan shoulders. "I can't increase the quantity; it's not that simple. I can't make a living with what—"
"Look, Miss…" the harvester leaned forward, palms flat against the warm plastic. "This is what I'm offering and this is what you'll get. If you desire greater income, relocate. It's that simple." The harvester pulled back, folding his arms against his broad chest. He looked the woman over with intrusive eyes, traveling down her neckline before settling on her the way she nibbled her lip.
The Hunter looked on, hands deep within his pockets.
"Y'know, we may be able to come to an agreement," the harvester purposed.
The woman's oceanic blue eyes expanded. Her nibbling ceased and her fists loosened. "Let me hear it."
"It's not so much words than actions." The harvester eased his slender hand across the table, caressing the woman's hand flinched when he made contact. "The question is, how bad do you want it?"
The woman snatched her hand back, her brows furrowed. Her face was flushed red, and she could feel her heart accelerate. A roiling rage began to reach its boiling point.
The Hunter kept watching, kept studying. He didn't want to get involved, as he hadn't involved himself with anything since he'd arrived. She would undoubtedly make the right decision, he surmised. No need for him. But as the Hunter proceeded to walk on, it continued to nag him. Why would he help her? She didn't know him, neither had he known her. He was an outcast, a recluse. A choice he'd made; but a loner, nonetheless. She would probably resent his help, cast him aside in the shadows like a whipped dog.
Just leave her be. Let her sort it out for herself. This isn't your problem. You don't save people and you're not a hero, even in the faintest sense of the word. You can't let them know you.
It was then the Hunter began walking, walking, not in the direction of home, but toward the woman and the harvester. His legs carried themselves, separate from his mind that still attempting to catch up. Walking harder now, boots assaulting the flagstone. A steady heel-toe, heel-toe march that he hadn't flexed in a long period of time. It almost frightened him that melted into the form so easily. No rust. No hesitation. No timidity. Muscle memory rejuvenated in an instant. Primal and uncontrolled.
The woman never spoke a rebuke before the Hunter was there, and she couldn't recall even hearing his approach. He was just there, standing closer than she'd ever been to him. His scent of pine needles and male tang.
There was a hand. Quick and unrelenting, fingers curled into the uniform of the harvester. A sudden jerk pulled his upper torso across the table. His tablet fell to the ground and the table creaked.
"It's never enough with you people." The Hunter's voice was even, matter-of-fact. No room for interpretation. "You cheat us but you want our dignity as well. I find that loathsome. There is a profit, both for you and us. Pleasure isn't synonymous with profit." The Hunter released him before anchoring his hand atop the harvester's. A vice grip ensued and the Hunter made a subtle twist. "You owe her something. I suggest you give her that. Rare produce, no matter the quantity, is granted for increased value. Those are your rules."
The harvester grimaced, teeth gritting against the throbbing in his wrist. A single twist and he'd never use the hand again. He could radio for security, but that would do little. In the hustle and bustle, their response time would be a detriment to him.
"Look, sir, I'm just doing my…"
"Don't say you're 'doing your job'," the Hunter said. He looked at the woman. Her eyes spoke in volumes beyond what words could formulate. She appeared alarmed, though he couldn't quite determine if she was genuinely frightened. He figured she was trying to make sense of the situation.
Snatching the tablet from off the ground, the Hunter shoved it into the harvester's abdomen. "Make a profit."
"I'll… I'll need my other hand," the harvester stammered. He began to tremble, swallowing hard.
The Hunter replied only by tightening his grip.
The harvester leaned right, moaning behind tight lips. He fumbled with the stylus, pecking quickly across the cracked screen and uploaded the appropriated funds. He finalized the transaction, ending it with an approval. "Okay, it's done! Let me go."
The Hunter opened his hand, and the harvester's hand swiftly retracted from underneath it. He briefly made eye contact the woman, pulled his coat taut, and walked away.
The woman was handed a transparent card with a barcode imprinted upon it from the harvester before he broke down the table and scurried away like the rodent that she knew he was. She held the card in her hand for a moment, scanning the crowd for the Hunter. He was gone. No one noticed. The entire ordeal was already a developing memory, a pocketed event that the woman wished she could grasp for additional meaning.
She stared aimlessly into the crowd. "Thank you."
Author's Note: I'm back! It's felt like an eternity since I've posted anything. But more is already in the works. The past few chapters may seem obscure, but I ask for your resilience. Also, the next few chapters may be shorter than normal, but they'll grow in length. What can I say... I gotta knock the rust off.