I've never seen so much food at once. Dinner is served buffet style, so I grab a platter, which is about a foot in diameter, and start loading up. I probably take more than is healthy for me, but who cares about health when you're going to die in a matter of weeks anyway? Jill is already at the table, fernetically spooning down food. I sit across from her and begin to eat as well, inwardly marveling at the richness of the meal. How much did this all cost?
Tyson, Bessie and Jewel are also there, but I disregard the noises that they are making, which are probably words, in favor of the food. Finally my plate is completely empty and I look at them as if just noticing they exist.
"Finally," tyson says sarcastically, "we have his attention. I've never been upstaged by a platter of food before."
"Well if he expects to survive he's going to have to stop worrying about food and start worrying about actually killing people," says Bessie, idly fingering a jeweled dagger. Bessie's skill with knives was the main reason she'd won the 46th games. She had worked in the slaughterhouse for four years before being reaped, decapitating cattle as they moved by on the work line. Speed and accuracy were crucial to success and she was one of the best. In interviews, she had often said that tributes were just smaller kinds of cows, and they weren't moving at the speed of the production lines at the slaughterhouse. To her, destroying them was child's play.
"That's all well an' good," I say to Tyson. "But I'm done eating now, so tell me something I didn't know already please."
"Well, we have a feisty one," he says. He is surprisingly adept at speaking the obvious. "So give me a good reason why I should actually mentor you with any hope that you'll win. You too, Jill, stop staring at that empty platter; you can eat more when we're finished." An awkward silence stretches on interminably. Seriously, why is he being such a synnic? Then I realize that I've been thinking the same thoughts about Jill. But about myself? I thought I might have a chance. A small one, but more than Jill over there, who's probably not going to survive into the second day.
"Well, um, I've been raising cattle all my life so I've got some good muscles," I finally say. Tyson waves that aside dismissively. "Yep, you'll need those. But lots of other people have that. Is there anything, hmm, worth talking about... that you can do?"
"I've read up on wilderness survival and edible plants," I venture. Tyson nods at me, his first ever sign of approval. Then he grunts and stares at the table, pondering. Bessie turns to Jill and asks, "And what about you?"
Jill looks paler than her last name. She doesn't say anything for several minutes, and we all just sit impassively, feeling the gentle throb of the train's interior workings as it rolls along past district 8. A huge factory vents smoke up through the roof, creating a haze and partially blocking out the sky.
"Well, um, maybe I'm not too bad with a knife. I was Left Stomach 1." I have no idea what she's talking about, but I presume it has something to do with the slaughterhouse. Bessie smiles at her and says, "Ah, well, we'll see how good with knives you are in training then. It's not just close combat, you know, but throwing and parrying as well. Reflexes are vital when it comes to knife fighting: Your weapon will generally be smaller and have a shorter reach than your enemy's, so you'll have to close that gap quickly or risk a throw. Knives often come in sets in the arena, so you'll probably have the liberty of throwing and then rearming with a new one immediately. Remember to check the balance of all the knives if you have time; some are made distinctly for throwing while others are designed for hand-to-hand combat, and it's often hard to tell the difference. Tributes who indiscriminantly throw their knives around are stupid and usually don't win."
Wow. Bessie really knows her stuff, at least when it comes to knives. I wait for Tyson to give me a similar lecture about edible plants or wilderness survival or hand-to-hand combat, or anything really, but he just grunts a few caveman-like noises. At least that's what I imagine cavemen to sound like, from the books I've read about them. Jewel Thaddeus breaks the silence by asking in a falsely cheerful voice, "how about we watch the recap of the reapings?"
Jewel, Jill and I head over to a sitting room with plush sofas and vases of beautiful flowers. There's a large screen that stretches all along the back wall, providing a full 180-degree view. And there's a glazed ceramic table, at about lap-height for resting one's feet. A few anemones float inside a small aquarium, the water filter making a barely noticeable hum as it does its work.
The television screen flickers to life, and after a bit of channel surfing the recaps begin. President Snow, a small, clean-shaven man, sits in his eliptical office. A large window provides a grand view of the busy street outside, where extravagantly dressed people are crowded around a hanging outdoor tv as if they are watching the reapings live.
"Welcome to the first of many exciting events of the 74th hunger games, and may the odds be ever in your favor," booms the grand voice of Claudius Templesmith. "It is now time to take a first look at this year's two dozen lucky tributes!"
For the next twelve or so minutes, we get choice video clips of the reapings. President Snow's office disappears as the scene shifts to the square of District 1. A scantily-dressed girl with manicured nails and exquisite makeup saunters up to the stage to volunteer, and I think I hear her name as Glimmer, but she's so excited that she's hyperventilating and it's hard to understand. A brutish boy from district two, Cato, lunges forward, nearly knocking the escort off her feet in his eagerness to volunteer. He, like most of the other tributes from districts 1, 2 and 4, has probably trained for several years, giving him and his fellows a significant advantage over the rest of us. We call those tributes careers, because they have made a point of devoting their childhood to preparing for the games. It's unfair and disgusting, but the capitol turns a blind eye to it because they are the most loyal. That's probably because they have all the money that the Capitol and the other districts don't have.
The District 4 male still has sand in his pants as though he was called to the reaping in the middle of building a sandcastle. He's obviously not a career, and though I expect someone to volunteer in his place, no one does. The female tribute from 5, Stara, pads up nimbly to the podium, like a little fox. That wily glint in her eyes, as if she knows something everyone else does not, is unsettling. Luckily, before I get seriously creeped out, District 6 appears. The tributes from districts 6 and 7 come and go, and the only notable thing that happens is that the district 7 male is so shocked at being reaped that he trips and stumbles over a discarded ax on his way up to the stage, falling comically on his bottom.
The girl from 8 shuffles sideways to the escort while staring off into the sun. Her escort just stares nonplussed for several moments before moving on. That vacant expression, the way her legs are wobbling around, District 8 female is definitely dying in the bloodbath; of that I'm quite sure. District 9's reaping, like district 6's, is uneventful, and then it's time to watch myself. Jill looks even paler on the screen than I remember, and I can clearly see her parents struggling to hold back tears, something I was unable to notice before due to the throngs of people. At least I don't look too stupid as I stoically walk up to the podium and stand there. A huge, dark-skinned boy from District 11, Thresh, strides forward as his name is called; his eyes smolder as the escort enthusiastically compliments his formidable physique and asks for a big round of applause. A few halfhearted claps follow, but it's clear that District 11 is not happy today.
The discontent grows as the female tribute, Rue, is selected. It takes me a second to detect the movement, because she's so tiny. My blood boils with rage at the capital for forcing this innocent-looking girl to her death. Rue is so weak-looking that I imagine that Jill could smash her into a pulp. A deafening silence is the only answer to the escort's plea for someone to volunteer in her place.
I didn't expect anything worth mentioning from District 12, but it's actually the most interesting reaping. The single remaining victor from 12 arrives just as the female name is about to be picked, lurches and falls into a chair, jumps back up and then tries to hug the escort, who hurriedly backpedals away with a look of disgust. The crowd is laughing, jewel is guffawing, I'm trying to remain deadpan but failing, and even Jill's lips curl into a half-smile. The escort's voice is unusually high-pitched and cheerful as she calls out, "Primrose Everdeen!"
A twelve-year-old girl, petite as Rue, stumbles toward the stage as though she were in a daze. I can see that part of her shirt is untucked, like a ducktail, which adds to her innocent look. Unlike the reaping in the previous district, the escort doesn't ask for volunteers. And unlike the reaping in the previous district, another girl volunteers for her. I hear the desperation in her voice and realize it must be her sister. It is confirmed when she says her name is Katniss Everdeen, and the bubbling escort asks for the crowd to applaud their first volunteer in decades. Dead silence. You can even hear the big old clock, dangling from the Justice Building roof, ticking away the seconds.
"Look at her," shouts the victor from 12, staggering toward Katniss. "Look at this one!" He hugs Katniss, then screams some insults into the camera so loud that it distorts the audio horribly, so that I have to cover my ears. He staggers around for a few more seconds, then loses his balance and drops off the stage. He's quickly taken away, and the reaping ends as a stocky, well-built boy is selected to be katniss's partner. The anthem plays, and with a final flourish of strings and a flash of the capital seal, the program ends.
Bessie and Tyson arrive, having watched the recaps on a different screen. "Those tributes look about the same as usual," Tyson comments, "Except that boy from 11, he's going to give Kato a run for his money." Then they start chatting about the other tributes, as though they're already placing bets.
"Yep, I'm betting that if the careers' food is destroyed, Thresh is a guaranteed winner."
"Did you see that kid from 4? He had the whole beach in his pants. I doubt he's even set foot inside their training center, haha. And that tan girl from 3, what was that she was holding? Thing with all the beads on it that moved up and down?"
"A soroban," I say. The mentors just stare. I decide to drop the subject.