4.2 A phone call
Catullus returns to his friends and I prepare for my last performance for tonight. My confidence has been boosted by the good reception I received during my previous two sessions. Consequently I decide to risk adjusting my costume so that my own senses drive my performance to a higher and more erotic level. As I step onto the stage I realise I might have been too optimistic about the audience's continued good behaviour. My twenty minute break has given Griff ample opportunity to sell more drinks, and there are several in the audience who are inebriated. I'm not bothered by those who have simply fallen into a drunken stupor. It's the ones who seem to be spoiling for a fight who pose a problem.
I begin my routine and the audience watches me intently. As my dance progresses my own arousal takes hold, driving me to lewder actions. The audience presses closer for a better look, and more than a few reach out to touch me. I manage to diffuse a few minor arguments by dancing close to the protagonists, but inevitably someone takes a swing at their neighbour and a more serious scuffle breaks out. I don't stop my dance, so many of the patrons simply ignore the fight. But not Griff. He leaps over the bar with more athleticism than I thought him capable of managing. He's breaks up the fight by brandishing a thick cudgel which he obviously keeps behind the bar for such occasions. A peacekeeper and a soldier both end up nursing sore heads.
My routine ends and I quickly collect my tips. I don't know how long the patrons will continue drinking, but without any entertainment they may start to create their own amusement. I change back into my street clothes and retrieve my strongbox, which now contains a tidy sum of money along with the Jewels of Desire. All I have to do now is get safely back to my hovel and return the strongbox to its hiding place.
The back door to the Jolly Miner is locked, so I'm forced to work my way through the crowd. More than a few patrons see me, and try to delay my departure. I politely refuse their offers to join their party, and continue to head for the door. It's a slow process, but eventually I reach my immediate destination. Now all I have to do is navigate those lurking about outside. Although fewer in number than those inside the Jolly Miner, I sense that these people are more menacing. I suspect many of them have been thrown out of the Jolly Miner for being drunk or disorderly.
I walk past the groups hanging about. I've more sense than to run or show fear. Like a pack of dogs, they would be on me in a matter of seconds if they sensed prey. I casually draw my knife which I've had hidden in my boot, and pretend to admire the blade as I walk away. In reality I'm watching every movement of those nearby. I can't tell whether it is my blade which deters any approach, or if I've simply overestimated the threat. Either way, I'm soon clear of the Jolly Miner and heading towards my meagre home. Every now and then I check in case anybody is following me.
Once I'm in the relative safety of my temporary home, I count my night's earnings. I'm pleasantly surprised. It's more than I could have made working for a month in a shop, but it isn't regular income. I've enough to buy food and clothes, but without a steady job, I'm unlikely to find anyone to rent me a room. I suppose I could go and see Griff tomorrow and see if he'll hire me to dance on other nights. He must have made a tidy sum at the bar tonight. I just hope the soldiers didn't trash the Jolly Miner before returning to their barracks.
I think back to my brief meeting with Catullus. He mentioned he had spoken to Cato over the telephone. It must have been within the last few days if Cato suggested that Catullus contact me. Telephones are a rare luxury in the districts, but I recall that Hunger Games victors have one installed in their homes in their district's Victors Village. Which means, of course, that Haymitch will have a telephone. I make my up my mind to go and visit Haymitch tomorrow and ask if I can phone Cato.
Haymitch is looking worse for wear when I call at his house on Saturday morning. Even though he's known for months that he'll be District Twelve's male tribute for the 75th Hunger Games, he still hasn't come to terms with it. I'm not looking forward to being his mentor ... assuming I don't get reaped as a tribute myself. I'm another one who has a certain ticket on the train to the 75th Hunger Games. The only difference is that I won't know until the reaping whether I'm going as mentor or tribute.
I feel like demanding that Haymitch lay off the booze, but I don't want to jeopardize my chances of him allowing me to call Cato. Besides, who am I to tell him how to cope with what is almost certainly a death sentence. Haymitch allows me to call Cato, and I'm lucky enough to catch him at home.
"Katniss! Hi!" says Cato in pleasant surprise. "How are you doing? Is everything alright?"
We exchange news of what has happened since we parted company. "I met your cousin Catullus last night," I say. "He said 'hi' on your behalf as you asked him to do."
"I don't see how that's possible, Katniss," says Cato. "I haven't seen or spoken to my cousin for nearly two years. He got involved with some anti-government activists and had to go into hiding when the peacekeepers started sniffing around."
"Oh?!" I reply. "He said he was your cousin, and he certainly looks like you. He's ..."
Haymitch promptly slams his hand on the phone, cutting off my conversation.
"Someone else might be listening in on your call," warns Haymitch. "Be very careful what you say over the telephone. You could put yourself and Cato in danger by careless talk."
What I thought was going to be an innocent conversation takes a sinister turn. If the man I saw last night isn't Cato's cousin, then why did the he claim to be Catullus? He knew some details about Cato's life, but I suppose that could have been learned from the frequent television broadcasts about Cato. Every Hunger Games victor spends much of their life in the public eye. As the most recent victor, Cato would have received more public attention than most. Cato didn't deny he has a cousin called Catullus, although he didn't refer to him by name. Even if the man was Cato's cousin, it seems strange that someone who was an anti-government activist should join the Panem military. I don't know much about the process for joining the military, but surely they make some form of background check before accepting new recruits. None of this is making any sense.
"So, where did you meet this mysterious dark stranger?" asks Haymitch as he pours himself another drink.
"Fair, not dark," I reply. "I was dancing at the Jolly Miner last night and he and his friends were there."
"Perhaps he was simply trying a pick-up line," suggests Haymitch. "I presume you were prancing around in nothing but those jewels. I sometimes think that you underestimate the effect you have on young males. And older males too, I suppose."
"If it was a pick-up line, then he didn't try very hard. He seemed genuine enough, but obviously I was mistaken."
"Are you likely to see him again?" asks Haymitch.
"I doubt it. He said he was part of the military unit stationed outside of town. Of course, that could have been a lie, but I don't think so. There were twenty or so other men and women with him, and they all had military style haircuts. How long has the military base been here in District Twelve? I didn't think there was anything the military would be interested in this far from the Capitol."
"The soldiers arrived a month or so back. I've no idea why they are here. I'm not on the must-call list of anyone important, so I've only the rumours to go on."
"And what do the rumours say?" I ask.
"The rumours are as varied as they're probably wrong. Some suggest that there's a rebel army based in the hills where District Thirteen once stood. Others hint that rebel saboteurs are planning to target the District Twelve mines to cut off coal supplies to the Capitol. If anybody really knows, then they're not talking."
"I doubt the loss of coal supplies will have much effect on the Capitol for a long time," I reply.
It's common knowledge that nearly all of the coal produced in District Twelve goes to keep the mills and factories in the districts going, and district people warm in winter. If the mines are the rebels' target, then they are attacking the wrong people. Those in the districts will suffer severe hardship long before any resident in the Capitol notices a problem.
"Well, I don't buy the rebel army story, either," says Haymitch. "Where would they get the weapons to match those of the Panem military stationed here. Have you seen the weaponry the soldiers camped at our gate have at their disposal?"
"Not really," I reply. "I noticed the military base near the train tracks when I arrived from the Capitol. But I don't know enough about military hardware to tell the difference between a missile launcher and a fire truck."
I'm careful not to mention anything about what I learned of District Thirteen while I was in the Capitol. President Snow said I must keep to what he referred to as 'the script' if I wanted to avoid further trouble. Haymitch's tendency to drink too much makes him an unreliable confidant.
"Well, take it from me that they've enough heavy weaponry to hold off an aerial or ground assault for quite a while. Even the peacekeepers are intimidated."
I might not know anything about military weaponry, but I agree with Haymitch's observation that the peacekeepers are subdued by the presence of the soldiers. Given the peacekeepers' brutal treatment of District Twelve's residents, I can't say that I'm sorry to see the peacekeepers constrained. I'm about to leave to see Griff at the Jolly Miner when the telephone rings. It's Cato calling back, believing it was a technical fault which caused our previous call to be cut off. I heed Haymitch's advice to be careful about what I say. Cato must realise the cause of my sudden reticence and neither of us mention Catullus, or whoever he might be. After a while Haymitch leaves me in peace once Cato and I start whispering sweet nothings over the telephone.
My afternoon is less than a resounding success. Griff was pleased with my routine last night, but he already has a regular dancer. I think he would keep me on if he could, but his regular dancer is hovering over his shoulder guarding her turf. It seems that I only got to perform last night because his usual dancer was nursing a sore leg. I leave him with my address in case his dancer's delicate leg should cause her any more trouble in the near future.
I take a walk to where the military base is located. I can't reach the base itself since it's located on the other side of electrified boundary fence, but I can get close enough to see a good part of the barracks. I suppose I'm really hoping to see Catullus, if only to confirm that he wasn't lying about being a soldier. Unfortunately there's not a lot of visible activity going on inside the base. I can see a line of heavy vehicles parked at one side of the base, but I've no idea what function they perform. They certainly look impressive, though.
I wait a while, but all I see are the sentries at the gate and a few people moving between buildings. For all I know, the majority of the soldiers could be out on manoeuvres, or whatever the military get up to when there's no war to fight. Finally I decide to head back to my hovel. I take a detour to visit ma and Prim. I suppose I should have visited them earlier, but despite Prim's warm words I still feel like a pariah.
