I'm sorry it's taken me forever to update, but I assure you, Alice has definitely not been abandoned. Unfortunately, real life sometimes gets in the way of fanfiction... But chapter two is ready at last, thank you so much for your patience! It will probably take me at least a month or two to post chapter three, though. It still needs a lot of work, and I'm officially in the final stages of my PhD, so my fanfic time is limited. The next fic I update will be Midwinter.
Thank you so much to my fabulous alpha and best friend Lbug84, and thank you to Otrascosasseries for making the amazing banner. I'd also like to thank everyone who's given me kudos, left a comment or PMed me on Tumblr for your support, feedback and ideas! It's always very inspiring to hear from you.
CHAPTER TWO
Malaya, 1942
It's a hot and humid day. Even Sergeant Darius, our guard, seems tired and confused.
The Japanese have long since realized that we're not going to attempt to escape. There is nowhere for us to go. I suppose they didn't want to waste more resources on us than they had to, so one by one, our original five guards were reassigned until only Darius was left.
Fortunately, Sergeant Cato was the first to be posted elsewhere. He hated us from the very beginning. I suspect he considered herding a group of foreign women and children through Malaya a dead end for his career. For some reason, I was usually the target of his frustration and anger. Even though I kept my eyes downcast and never willingly provoked him, it was as if he couldn't stand the sight of me. The bruises on my arms and legs were caused by his boots and fists.
We could do a lot worse than Sergeant Darius. He never hits us, and sometimes, he even carries one of the children when they are too tired or sick to walk.
"Rest soon?" Effie asks Sergeant Darius. It's almost midday, and we need to get out of the sun. We're not quite sure how far we'll walk today.
"Yes, yes," Sergeant Darius says. We know from experience that Sergeant Darius saying 'yes' doesn't necessarily mean we will actually get to rest soon. He can also say 'yes' because he doesn't want to lose face. Or maybe he feels sorry for us and wants us to keep our spirits up.
"There's a village coming up soon," I say to Effie. I asked for information on the area in Baru, the village we left this morning. "It's called Berharap. Is that where we will stay tonight, Sergeant Darius? Berharap?" I supplement the Japanese word for "village" and motion with my hands, too – sleep. I sincerely hope we'll stop in the nearest village, because it's another four miles to the next one, and we're already tired.
"Yes, yes," Sergeant Darius says again, and the way he nods his head makes me hopeful that it's the truth. He's probably eager to get some rest, too. He must be even hotter than we are; he's wearing his uniform. We are wearing loose, light-colored cotton sarongs, and the youngest children aren't wearing anything at all. Sarongs are far more comfortable in the heat than the clothing we used to wear. We have traded our old clothes off along the way. I sigh in relief, desperately hoping we'll see the village around the next turn of the dirt road. My feet are aching. Posy, despite our insufficient diet, is getting heavy, and even though her weight is partially supported by a sling, carrying her all day is exhausting.
We keep walking, our spirits somewhat lifted with the prospect of some rest. "We should be in the Capitol soon," Johanna mutters under her breath. The official name of the state capital is Kuantan, but everyone calls it the Capitol. "Right?"
"Yes," I agree.
"When?" She presses.
I sigh. "Likely one day's march after this one."
Sergeant Darius says there's a prison camp for women in the Capitol, but I don't believe him. When he talks about the camp in Capitol, he avoids looking me in the eyes. We've heard about this fabled women's prison camp from the guards since we started marching six months ago, but the supposed location has changed several times. Why would it be any different this time?
Even though I haven't spoken with anyone about my suspicions, I'm pretty sure that Johanna shares them. Fortunately, Johanna just nods, and doesn't press the issue here, on the road, where everyone can hear us. We're all sick and exhausted. The desperate hope that we'll reach a prison camp soon is all that's keeping quite a few of the others going. Even though we've been disappointed so many times before, I suppose we need something to believe in. Johanna is too smart to be fooled, though. She and I are still healthy enough to have the strength to consider the very real possibility that we're being lied to.
"I think that must be Berharap," Cecelia says beside me. She's holding the hand of her youngest son Twill, who is five. Her two older children walk just behind them. In the distance, there is a small group of houses, but between us and the village, something else catches our attention.
"Look," Twill says with a delighted smile. "Trucks!" Even though he's one of the healthier children, it's the first time I've seen him smile in days. Twill loves trucks. He points at two heavily loaded trucks which are parked on one side of the road. At least one must have broken down, because two legs are sticking out from under it, and there's a large box next to them – probably a tool box of some kind.
Trucks break down all the time on the dirt roads of Malaya; that's commonplace. What makes us stop when we reach the trucks isn't Twill's interest in vehicles, though - it's the man leaning against the side of the truck with a piece of straw between his shaped lips. Even in dirty, ragged clothes, the man is so picture perfect that I can't find a single flaw in him, which is unnerving. He looks as though he's in his mid-twenties, he'stall and his body is lean build. It's obvious to me that he isn't from Malaya. He has golden skin, bronze-colored hair and the most incredible, sea green eyes I've ever seen.
Johanna smirks when she glances sideways at me. "Like what you see, Everdeen?"
I scowl, annoyed that I've been caught staring. I tear my eyes away from the almost ridiculous perfection of the man standing next to the truck and force my gaze instead on the legs sticking out from under it. His skin is tanned but covered with blond hairs, so he's not from Malaya either. Two Japanese soldiers are clearly guarding the trucks, so the men are probably prisoners of war, too.
"Blight would forgive me for fucking someone who's *that* good-looking, don't you agree?" Johanna whispers in my ear, her voice just loud enough for me to hear. "It's not cheating when they look like that. It doesn't count." I have to stifle a laugh. Johanna may be married, but that doesn't stop her from saying exactly what she means.
"Johanna," Effie hisses behind us. "Manners!" Johanna rolls her eyes.
The only thing that disturbs the perfection of the bronze-haired man, is the way his gaze lingers on us, just a fraction of a second too long. He almost immediately bypasses Wiress, seems fairly uninterested in Effie and Seeder, stays a little longer on Cecelia and me, and there's a definite smile on his lips when he meets Johanna's eyes. He winks at her, and I'm shocked to see that her grin is almost predatory. Finally, his eyes land on Cashmere. I may not be all that experienced, but I still recognize male overt appreciation of a woman's looks when I see it. Cashmere has pulled her long, blonde hair into a knot and covered it with a shawl to avoid attention, but her extraordinary beauty is impossible to hide. She pretends to ignore him, but I can see that she stands up a bit taller.
I narrow my eyes, ready to intervene if the man tries anything. I've heard enough stories of foreigners, soldiers and civilians alike, who take advantage of local, poor Malay women - which is most likely what this Greek god idiot thinks we are. We're all tanned from spending months in the relentless tropical sun, and we are dressed in sarongs. Anyone from Malaya immediately sees that we're not from here, of course, but a foreigner probably won't.
"The truck is fucked," a deep voice from underneath the truck says. It's the first time in six months I've heard English, spoken by a clearly native speaker, from someone outside our steadily dwindling group. "It's going to take several hours to fix this." I can't quite place his accent. He's neither English nor American. He must be colonial.
"Language, young man," Effie says, and covers the ears of her daughter, Portia. Johanna coughs to hide her laugh. She's usually the one who gets a lecture on proper language or behavior from Effie.
The green-eyed man widens his eyes at Effie's words. "Apologies," he says, on behalf of his companion.
The man from underneath the truck suddenly appears. He looks about the same age as the bronze-skinned man, with unruly blond hair, blue eyes and skin which is tanned from spending many hours in the sun. He is of medium height, stocky - he looks like he's all muscle. He's not perfect, like the sea green-eyed man; he is handsome in a more rugged, real way. "Who was that?" He asks. "Who of you speaks English?" He speaks very slowly, as if he's speaking to someone who doesn't know English very well.
"We all do," I answer. "We're all English." Our eyes meet, and for some reason, I can't help but notice that his eyelashes are really long. I wonder if they tangle.
He studies me closely, as if trying to confirm that what I told him is true. He looks at the naked, brown baby on my hip and my bare, dirty feet. His gaze stops briefly at my chest, and it takes me a second to understand why: My sarong has slid down slightly, revealing a thin line of paler skin just above my breasts. The color is in stark contrast with the rest of my body. I quickly adjust my sarong.
His eyes meet mine again. "Straits-born?" he asks.
"No, real English," I tell him. "We're going to the women's prison camp in the Capitol."
I say the words, even though I've stopped believing in them. It's more for the benefit of the others in the group than anything else.
"There is no prison camp in the Capitol," the sea green-eyed man says. "We were there just last week." The flirting look from before is gone. Instead, he looks as if he's… sorry.
I already knew. I did. But still, hearing the confirmation of my fears… "It was just another lie then," I sigh.
"The Japanese will say anything to make you cooperate," he says, his perfectly chiseled jaw clenched.
"You're all really English?" the other man, the one with the eyelashes, says. "Even the children?" He looks at Posy, and to my surprise, she smiles at him. She's usually wary of strangers, I don't know why shew takes an interest in the blond man. I'm taken aback when he smiles at her too. The cautiousness from before seems to melt away as his face lights up. Then he makes a funny grimace, causing Posy to laugh.
I force myself to focus on something else than the twinkle in his blue eyes when he smiles. Or his naked chest, sweaty from working under the truck in the tropical heat. "Yes," I say, hoping I didn't space out long enough for him to notice. "Some of us have been in Malaya a long time, ten or fifteen years, and many of the children were born here. But we're all English. Most of us are married, our husbands used to work in Kuala Lumpur."
Only after the words have left my mouth do I realize that they make it seem as if I'm married too. When in fact I'm the only one among us who isn't.
"Where are your husbands now?"
"In a prison camp in Singapore," Cashmere answers. "At least that's what they tell us."
"That's probably not a lie," the blond man says. "There is a large prison camp in Singapore. The only reason why we're not there too is that we're driving these trucks."
"For how long have you been marching?" the other man says. He has that same accent that I can't quite place. They must be from the same country or colony, but where?
"Six months," I answer. "We've walked nearly five hundred miles."
His sea green eyes darken, to a color more reminiscent of a storm. "With the children?" he asks incredulously.
"Yes."
"And what happens if one of you gets ill?" the man who was under the truck asks.
"Then we either recover, or we die." My voice is matter of fact, almost devoid of emotion. Since we were taken prisoner, I've had to shut my emotions off as best as I can, it's the only way to survive. "We don't have any medicines, so mostly we die. We were 34 when we started out. Now we are only 17 left."
"Oh my word," he breathes. He sizes up the group, but not like the other man did before. I don't think he sees a group of potentially attractive women. He sees dirty, tattered clothes, exhausted children and gaunt faces. We're a sorry sight. His hands clench into fists, and his shoulders tense. "Where are you staying tonight?" he asks, and even though I think he tries to hide it, his voice can't quite conceal his anger.
"In Berharap, hopefully," I answer, nodding towards the village in the distance. "If the village elders agree to take us in, of course. We'll have to stay here tomorrow, too. We can't march the children every day." I don't mention that I'm not sure if Sergeant Darius intends us to stay here tonight, but he probably does – if we were to continue to the next village today, we wouldn't arrive until it's quite late, and several of the children have been pushed too far today already.
"What do you say, Finnick?" He looks at his Greek god friend. "Don't you agree that the damage to the truck appears even worse than we thought? It's going to take another day to fix this. At least."
"Absolutely," the man called Finnick answers. "There must be a problem with that part we still haven't learned the Japanese name of. Shame, we're not mechanics."
"So unfortunately, it looks like we're staying in Berharap tonight too," the blond man says to me with a grin. He takes a step closer to me, and says in a lower voice, "You said you don't have any medicines? Is there anything in particular you need?"
I hesitate. The blond man appears earnest, but I don't know him. I'm not sure if I can trust him. And if accept anything from him, I would owe him a debt I'd never be able to repay.
I meet the blond man's eyes. They are blue, like the tropical sky.
Rory's eyes were gray. They used to sparkle with laughter, but on that last day, they were hazy from fever. In the end, he didn't even recognize Madge. I feel the weight of his baby sister on my hip. What if…
"Quinine," I answer, my voice low too, so the soldiers won't hear us. It's a word they might know in English.
"Is there anything else you need?" He presses. It's as if he knows how hard asking for assistance is for me.
I wish I could afford to say there's nothing else we need. But I can't, and what's more, it must be obvious to him that quinine is far from the only thing we're sorely lacking. "Glauber's salt," I reluctantly say, swallowing what little is left of my pride. "And something for the children's skin diseases. They have rashes all over."
He nods. "I'll see what I can do."
"Thank you."
Our eyes meet, and he smiles. It's the same smile from before, when he was looking at Posy, the one that lights up his face. But now that smile directed at me instead of her, and I'm completely unprepared for the warmth it causes in me, radiating through my body.
Then one of the soldiers guarding the truck barks something I don't understand in Japanese, and I quickly divert my gaze, looking down at the dirt. From the corner of my eye, I see that he motions to Peeta, clearly ordering him to keep working.
"I'll find you later," the blond man murmurs, and then he slides back under the truck, where I'm pretty sure he's going to either invent or create a mechanical problem which is serious enough to warrant being stuck here tonight.
Thankfully, Sergeant Darius did intend for us to stop in Berharap, and I'm equally grateful that the village elders agree to let us stay for two nights. It's usually not a problem to get permission to stay anymore, though. It's partly because our group is a lot smaller now, of course. The villages are a lot less reluctant to take us in now that we don't put such a strain on their limited resources.
But I think the change in attitude might also partly be because now, most people we meet already know who we are. They tell us they've heard of a group of English women and children, forced by the Japanese to march aimlessly all over the country. The people of Malaya have no more love of their invaders than we do, and Wiress says that we must have become something of a symbol of the Japanese oppression. By helping us, even if it's just by giving us some rice or a little bit of cooking oil, people feel as if they're doing something to quietly resist the invaders.
One of the women I spoke to today, Leeg, even knew my name, which really surprised me.
We'll sleep in the village's school building – which consists of only one room with one door and window openings without glass. School is already over for the day, and we rest in the shade, while Seeder and Cecelia prepare a late lunch, which will also double as our dinner. It's rice with some vegetables, as always, but today, Leeg gave us some meat to go with the vegetables – a rare treat.
I try to ignore my growling stomach while I do my best to keep Posy occupied with a few sticks and leaves. But I don't miss Johanna's sideway glances, or the smirk on her face. It's almost as if she finds something amusing. I ignore her. Posy is just as hungry and tired as I am, and she requires all my attention right now. She's too small for her age, but she still seems relatively healthy compared to most of the other children. She's a born survivor, even though she is so little – but I know that all it takes is a few sips of dirty water, or a bite from the wrong mosquito, and then…
Fighting back the lump in my throat, I hug her, so tightly she squirms in protest. I promised Madge I'd protect her children. I couldn't protect Vick and Rory, but I'll do anything in my power to protect her only remaining child. Even if it involves accepting charity from strangers.
However, as the hours pass without any sign of the truck drivers, I grow increasingly annoyed. Not with the truck drivers, really, but with myself for becoming so disappointed. Of course the blond man didn't really mean it. He appeared earnest, but I should've known he was just playing with me.
Nightfall comes quickly in the tropics. Posy is tired after a long day on the road, she's fuzzy and difficult to calm. I hold her close, walking slowly across the floor in the classroom, back and forth, back and forth, while I sing for her.
Deep in the meadow, under the willow
A bed of grass, a soft green pillow
Lay down your head, and close your sleepy eyes
And when you awake, the sun will rise.
Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.
Deep in the meadow, hidden far away
A cloak of leaves, A moonbeam ray,
Forget your woes and let your troubles lay
And when again it's morning, they'll wash away.
Here it's safe, here it's warm
Here the daisies guard you from every harm
Here your dreams are sweet and tomorrow brings them true
Here is the place where I love you.
Posy is asleep before I reach the third verse, but I finish anyway because this isn't just Posy's nighttime routine anymore; singing this lullaby has turned into something that all the children require. I lay Posy down on the straw mat on the floor, and then I lie down next to her.
I allow my aching muscles to relax as I snuggle closer to Posy. It's so soothing to listen to the soft, regular sounds of her breathing as she sleeps. The air is cooler now, and it's filled with the sweet smell of jasmine flowers.
Just before I drift off to sleep too, I think to myself that I don't know the blond man's name.
I'm roused by Johanna.
"Katniss," she whispers insistently. "Katniss! Wake up." I open my eyes, blinking, trying to focus. It's dark, but I can just barely see the outline of Posy's sleeping face close to mine.
"What is it?" I mutter, still half asleep.
"It's one of the Australians from before. The one who was under the truck." Australian. Yes, Johanna's right, he must be Australian. I don't think I've met any Australians before, that's probably why it was difficult for me to place the accent. "He wants to speak with you."
I suddenly feel wide awake. He did mean it. He came after all. "Please look after Posy for me," I whisper. I get up, tie my sarong, and slip on my top. Fortunately, Posy doesn't budge.
"Make sure you don't wake up Effie," Johanna whispers back. "You'll never hear the end of it."
Johanna's right. Even here, keeping up appearances is important to Effie. To her, a single woman meeting a man alone at night is unthinkable. Unlike Effie, I don't have the luxury of worrying about virtue and proper etiquette. Ever since we were captured, there have been more important things to think about, all of them centered around staying alive. Because there is no question that soap and remedies for tropical diseases would help us stay alive, at least for a little while longer, I'll meet with the blond Australian, regardless of what Effie might have to say about it. Effie snores lightly as I carefully step over her. She doesn't move and I sigh in relief. I really don't want a lecture right now.
It's dark outside, but thankfully the full moon makes it easier to spot the blond Australian man. He's standing near the door, by a jasmine bush – probably ready to slip into the shadows if anyone comes out of the neighboring houses. The air is pleasingly cool compared to the heat of the day. The breeze prevents it from becoming too humid.
"Good evening," the man says in a low voice. "I hope I didn't wake you."
"No, you didn't," I lie.
"Let's go over there, so we don't disturb the others." He nods towards a group of trees just across the dirt road.
"Yes," I agree. Everyone's exhausted, and the last thing they need, is me keeping them awake at night.
When we get over to the trees, he holds out a cloth bag. "I got you this. The labels aren't in English, so you might want to go over everything with me."
I hesitate for a second, but then I think of shallow, entirely too small graves under trees by the road. I take a deep breath and accept the bag. "That's quinine," he explains when I take out the first item, a small box.
"Thank you," I say. "That's going to be very useful." I remember the heat of Rory's forehead before he died. If this quinine can save just one child… I clutch the box tighter, clinging to life. Maybe Posy's life, maybe Twill's. Maybe mine.
"I couldn't find glauber's salt, but I did get you some stuff the Chinese use against dysentery," he continues. "The label is in Chinese, but what it says is that you're supposed to make a tea out of three leaves and drink it twice a day. That's for a grown-up person. If it works, keep the box. You can get more if you show the label at a Chinese drug store."
"How much did you pay for this?" I'm not sure how to pay him back, but we do have a few items of jewelry left that the Japanese didn't take.
"I didn't," he says with a sly smile. "The Japanese did. Only they don't know it."
"What did you steal from them?"
My scowl doesn't seem to make an impression on him, because he winks. "Petrol. Oldest trick in the book."
"And what happens when your guards find out the hard way that there's less petrol in the tank than there should be?"
"I have a feeling we'll soon have another unexpected and very unfortunate mechanical failure – one that involves petrol loss," he answers innocently.
I can't help but smile. Damn him. I'm sure he could charm his way out of just about anything. I also strongly suspect, since he's so casual, that this isn't the first time he's stolen from the Japanese. "You didn't have to do that for us," I say.
He shrugs. "It's no big deal." But we both know that it is. If he's caught, the consequences will be dire.
"Are you prisoners?" I ask him.
"Yes, they got us in Jahore. They have me and Finnick driving trucks all over Malaya instead of being in a prison camp. Not the worst deal you can get." He's right. His deal certainly sounds much better than mine. "So how about you, Mrs. Mockingjay?" I freeze, and he must misunderstand why, because he quickly continues: "Sorry, it was just a joke. It's just… I didn't know your name, but then I heard you sing a lullaby to your daughter earlier tonight."
My eyes widen in surprise, and he quickly continues, clearly embarrassed. "I was looking for you earlier tonight, and I heard you were in the school. When I heard the most beautiful voice I've ever heard sing a lullaby in English, I couldn't help but stop and listen. I saw that it was you through the window." He grimaces. "That didn't sound good, now did it?" He scratches his neck nervously and chuckles, almost apologetically. "It hope that didn't make me come across as crazy."
"It's okay," I say, embarrassed, too. I didn't think anyone but the women and children in our group would hear me sing.
"I realized it must be a bad time, and decided to come by later, after your daughter had fallen asleep. Anyway, your voice reminded me of mockingjays. They are a species of songbirds, back home," he clarifies, when he sees the look of confusion on my face. "So because I didn't know your name, I've thought of you as Mrs. Mockingjay after that. I hope you don't mind. I didn't mean any offense."
I don't quite know what to say. I don't suspect him of stalking me. I only froze when he called me Mrs. Mockingjay becuase he used the title 'Mrs..' Though I suppose I shouldn't be surprised. When we met earlier today I had a baby on my hip and I told him about 'our husbands.'
"No, I don't mind," I assure him. I stretch out my hand and he accepts. His hand is large. His skin is rough and warm. "I'm Katniss. Katniss Everdeen."
"Peeta Mellark. It's nice to know your name at last, Mrs. Everdeen," he continues.
The name sounds foreign, as if he's speaking about my mother. But instead of correcting him, I avoid the issue of my title altogether. "Please, call me Katniss. Most of us gave up on formalities and etiquette long ago."
He chuckles. "That's understandable, under the circumstances. So I suppose we're officially on a first name basis now?"
"Yes, I suppose we are." I nervously tuck a stray strand of hair behind my ear, shifting my weight from one foot to the other. My heart is pounding and I don't know why. "You're Australian?" I ask him, mostly to talk about something other than my name. Why I didn't correct him? He thinks that I am married.
"Yes, I am. Born and raised in the Outback." He smiles proudly, and I can see the glint of his teeth in the moonlight. His smile is contagious. I can't help but smile too.
"I never thought that the first time I met an Australian he'd be under a truck, swearing like a sailor," I admit.
Peeta laughs, but he does look embarrassed. "I'm sorry about the swearing. If I'd known that twenty women and children who actually understood what I said were listening to me, I would have chosen my words more carefully." I bite my lip to keep myself from laughing. I haven't really had anything to laugh about in months. Yet this man, a virtual stranger, still manages to coax laughter out of me. "But, if I may say so, I never thought that the first time I met an English woman, she'd be dressed like you."
"We got rid of our old clothes months ago. Sarongs are a lot more comfortable in the heat."
His face becomes serious. "I'm sorry you're in this terrible situation, Katniss," he says softly.
"Thank you." I don't really want to think about the situation we're in today, or what's going to happen tomorrow. Speaking with a stranger offers me a chance to escape, if only for a little while. So to distract both of us from our present predicament, I say: "I've never been to Australia, so I didn't know what a mockingjay is. If you'd called me a nightingale, I would have understood."
"Mockingjays live in the outback," he explains. "It's a very rare little bird. It's black with white spots under its wings. Even though it's pretty and even elegant in a sort of understated way, it doesn't look that remarkable at first glance. But when it sings… Oh my word. The song is the most beautiful in all of Australia."
"Really?" The only thing mockingjays and I have in common would be the singing, I suppose – at least according to Peeta, of course. Surely there is nothing even remotely pretty or elegant about me, in my faded sarong and messy braid.
He nods. "I'll sometimes spend weeks at a time out in the outback, sleeping under the stars. Just me and couple of other ringers, with our horses and our dogs. If I'm lucky, when I wake up at dawn, I'll hear the mockingjays sing. When I do, I always know it's going to be a good day." His voice is warm, clearly speaking of treasured memories. Of a place where he is home, where he is safe.
"It sounds wonderful." It's flattering that he'd give me a nickname which clearly represents something very important to him. I also can't help but hear the longing in this voice. He's homesick. I know very well what that feels like.
We sit down under a tree. I know I should get back to the others, but Johanna will take care of Posy if she wakes. If she starts crying, I'll hear her and can go back inside immediately. The air outside is fresh and cool. What is the harm in staying out here for a while, talking to Peeta?
"We don't have mockingjays in England," I say softly. "I come from London, where nightingales are few and far between." He laughs. "Being woken up by the pigeons which built a nest in the roof of our building was the closest I'd get to nature."
"I can't quite picture what it must be like to live in a city like London," he confesses.
"Have you ever been to England?"
"No." He scratches his chin, which I noticed earlier today had a stubble. "My father came from England, though. Back in 1901. He was a baker, but times were hard, and he decided to try his luck in Australia. He dreamed of Sydney or Melbourne, but it turned out they had plenty of bakers there, so he ended up in a small town in Queensland instead. Fortunately for me."
"What do you mean?"
"I wouldn't last two weeks in the city," he explains. "There are simply… too many people. With the dirt and pollution, houses everywhere…" He shakes his head. "I've been to Brisbane and Sydney a few times. It's exciting at first, but after two days, I get restless and can't go home quickly enough. In the outback, I can ride my horse for days and still be on the same property."
"That would be hard in London," I agree. For me, it's hard to understand how that is even possible. "But you're not a baker yourself?"
"No. I'm the youngest of three brothers, and everyone knew my eldest brother Bannock was going to inherit the family business. The bakery is too small to support more than one family, so I guess I always knew I'd have to find something else to do. I didn't really mind, though. I always preferred riding with my friends to baking. All my friends' fathers were ringers, and they taught me, same as their own sons."
"Ringers?" He mentioned the word before, but I didn't get the chance to ask what he meant.
"In America, they would call us cowboys," he explains, and I nod in understanding. I've seen Westerns, of course. It's not hard to imagine this handsome, well-muscled Australian in a Western. Obviously, he would be the hero.
"So it just made sense that I'd be a ringer, I suppose. I never seriously considered doing anything else. I love being on horseback all day, with my dog by my side. Sleeping under the stars. Waking up to mockingjays singing." He smiles. Even though I know nothing about that kind of life, I can see how he'd prefer the freedom of the outback to a small, hot bakery. "What about you?" He asks, and his question catches me off guard. "What did you do? Before you were taken prisoner."
"I'm a typist." I shrug. "I wish I could tell you that I think being a typist is amazing and that I feel as if I make a difference, but the truth is, it's just my job."
He smiles. "Well, I suppose it pays the bills, right?"
I nod. "I'd give anything to be back in my office in KL now though," I admit.
His smile fades. "I can imagine. So how did you end up here? Did they get you in Kuala Lumpur?"
I tell him the whole story. How the Japanese didn't know what to do with the English women and children that they took prisoner, that we march on, every other day. He already knows that half of us have died, so thankfully I don't really have to cover that again.
"That's the most crook deal I've ever heard," he mutters.
"There is no prison camp for women at all, is there?" I ask tiredly, thinking of Madge's words. "Not just in the Capitol, but in all of Malaya?" Peeta probably drives all over the country. If anyone would know, it would probably be him.
"Not that I know of, no," he says gently.
I hide my face against my knees. I already knew, but still. We are all going to die, one by one, from disease and exhaustion. The soap and medicines Peeta has gotten us will help for a little while, but we're gradually being worn down. There is no end in sight for the war, and there's no way we're going to survive years of marching. We're all going to die, being herded from one village to the next like cattle.
Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that he reaches out his hand, as if to comfort me, but he must change his mind, because retracts it. "Is there anything I can do for you?" he asks softly instead.
I blink my tears away. "Tell me more about Australia?" I suggest. I heard the love and the longing in his voice when he spoke of the outback. He's a prisoner too, there's very little that he can do to help us. But what he can do, is take me away from here, if only for a little while.
"Of course." Peeta sits back, resting against the trunk of the tree. "Before I was drafted, I worked at a cattle station near Alice Springs, called Arena Creek. Do you know where Alice is?" I shake my head, feeling ashamed that I know so little of his country. "It's in the center of Australia. They call it the red center, because the dirt is red."
"The dirt is red?" I find that hard to believe.
"Yes it is," he grins. "That's another thing that's hard to understand for a city girl, I suppose." I nod, smiling too. I feel much better talking about dirt in a far-away country than I do talking about our current situation. Peeta seems more relaxed now, too. "Now, the outback is full of tiny towns," he continues. "Many of them are old mining towns that have had to make the transition from mining to other businesses. Some have done well, like Alice, but most haven't. There are plenty of jobs for the men on cattle stations, and the jobs are well-paid, too. But it's brutally hot and there's little there to attract women, so the girls usually flee as soon as they leave school."
"Where do they go?" I ask him.
"They move to larger towns or cities, places that have more to offer them: jobs, shops, and cinemas. Once they leave, they never come back." He pauses. "Alice is different from the rest, though. Alice is a bonza little town. It has clean streets, shops, and two ice cream parlors. It's a good place to live. People move to Alice instead of leaving it."
"Why don't you live in Alice, then?"
"I suppose even Alice is too big for me" he smiles in the darkness. "I told you I wasn't made for city life. Living near Alice is great, though. Arena Creek is a couple of hours drive from Alice. I can ride for days without meeting a single soul if I don't want to, but it's still close enough so I can easily go to Alice if I want to have a cold beer or go to the cinema."
"You'd drive for two hours for a cold beer?" I ask, incredulously.
"Of course." He chuckles. "I know it must be hard to understand for someone who's lived most of her life in London and Kuala Lumpur."
"So, what do you do at Arena Creek? Do you own the cattle station?"
He shakes his head. "No, I just work there. I herd cattle to water sources and fresh pastures. I brand them, make sure the neighbors don't steal our unbranded calves..."
"They'd actually do that? Steal your calves?"
"Yes, of course! Everyone steals their neighbors' calves."
"Including you?"
He squirms. "Well, maybe I shouldn't have used the word 'stealing'. It's more like… borrowing. And then, after you've borrowed the calves, you make sure to brand them real fast."
"So I was right when I had a feeling this wasn't the first time you've been stealing," I say. My voice is stern, but there is a smile playing on my lips.
"I'm an honest man!" He objects, but he's smiling, too. "I only ever steal when it is absolutely necessary. When the system requires it, so to speak." I raise an eyebrow. "If I don't steal calves from the neighbors, they'd steal all of ours, and we'd end up with no calves to send to the slaughterhouse," he explains. "But if we all steal calves from each other, we're usually pretty much even at the end of each year, and everyone's happy. It's the same here in Malaya. If I don't steal from the Japanese, we won't get things we need, such as food and medicines. Necessities which, I might add, we don't have in the first place purely because of them."
I have to admit that he does have a point.
"I hope to get a station of my own one day," he adds, his voice dreamy. "After the war."
"Near Alice Springs?"
He shrugs. "I don't know. I really like Alice, but Queensland is home. Maybe I'll go back there after the war. Find a place with more rainfall. The more rainfall you have, the more cattle you can keep alive through the dry season, and the more money you can make."
I'm surprised Peeta's able to think about life after the war. All I can think of, is how we can get food and a place to sleep today, and tomorrow. I can't worry about what comes after tomorrow. It would be a constant reminder of how little I can do to keep us safe in the long run, and I fear it would eventually break me. I envy Peeta the ability to think that maybe, one day, it can be good again.
I don't, not anymore. "So there are mockingjays at Arena Creek, and obviously cattle… What about other animals? Do you have kangaroos?"
I hope Peeta won't notice how I steer the conversation away from the future and back to the past. It doesn't seem like he does, because he laughs. "You bet we do!"
My distraction works. Once he starts talking about his home, there's no stopping him. It's clear from the longing in his voice how much he misses the outback. I don't know anything about Australia, but he paints a vivid picture in my mind with his words. The red dirt, the expanse of the brilliantly blue sky. The close relationships he has with his horses, his dog, and his fellow ringers. Above all, he tells me of the endless space, the freedom. I mostly just listen, enthralled, but I ask a few questions here and there when there's something I don't understand.
"I'm sorry," he says after a while, smiling a bit awkwardly. "I guess I got a bit carried away. I didn't mean to bore you by talking about my home."
"You didn't," I answer honestly. The world he's talking of is one that I barely even knew existed until tonight, and to me it seems exotic. Having grown up in a city, the mere idea of riding for weeks without seeing another human being, is incredible. But what truly touches me, is how Peeta seems so content when he's talking about the outback, so whole. Peeta knows exactly where he belongs. He knows exactly what he wants to do, he knows what makes him happy. He's found his place. Whereas I? I have no plans, no direction. Before the war, I couldn't even make up my mind which country to live in. The only goal I have in life, is to see Prim and my parents again.
"How about Finnick? Did you know him back in Australia, too?"
"God, no." He chuckles. "Finnick is from Bondi Beach in Sydney. He used to work as a 'lifesaver' there, before the war." That explains his lean body, then. "You couldn't find two more different places in Australia than District 13 and Bondi. When we first met, I thought Finnick was a typical Bondi playboy. He was ridiculously handsome, and he knew it, too, constantly using his looks to his advantage. Women were all over him, and he flirted with everyone."
"I've noticed that already," I say dryly.
"Well, don't let first impressions fool you. Flirting is like a spinal reflex to Finnick, he does it without even thinking about it. It took me a while to realize that underneath all that surfer playboy veneer, Finnick is actually a good guy. And he never, um…" He's clearly searching for the right word, and it's too dark to be certain, but I have a feeling that he's blushing. "He's never physical with any of women he flirts with," he says, clearing his throat. Which makes me think that the phrase he'd normally use for being 'physical' is much less tactful. "Finnick has a girlfriend back home, Annie. He's crazy about her. He has a photo of her in his pocket, and he'll use any excuse to show it to me. He says he'll propose to her when he gets home."
If Finnick gets home. I swallow. "It must be very difficult for Annie too."
"Yes, it must be hard to be so far away, when all you can do is worry. Annie doesn't even know that Finnick is alive."
Finnick and Peeta were probably taken prisoner at about the same time as us, six months ago, during the first invasion. Poor Annie hasn't heard from her boyfriend in half a year. "I hope she waits for him," I say quietly.
There's a slight pause before he answers. "I hope so, too. But the way he talks about her… I think she will. I think they have something very, very special."
"Do you have a girlfriend back home? Or a wife?" The question just slips out of me. I feel my face burn with embarrassment, and I'm glad the darkness means he won't notice. Why did I ask him that stupid question?
Peeta laughs. "Oh no. The only woman at home who might miss me is my mother. And I'm not sure if even she misses me very much."
"Surely that's not true," I object.
"Well, it's complicated." He seems more uncomfortable now. As if talking about his family is a sensitive subject. "My mother and I are… estranged." He clears his throat. "I should probably get back to the trucks in case our guards wake up. You should get some rest, too. But before I go, I'm afraid I have some bad news. I was hoping we could stay here another day, but they had a car mechanic in the village. Of course he found out that that the problem wasn't nearly as large as we'd claimed," Peeta says apologetically.
"Oh no!" I pale. "I hope your guards didn't suspect anything?"
Peeta shakes his head. "Don't worry. Finnick and I have gotten very good at looking innocent when we have to." He winks.
I relax. "Good." I don't know what to say. Peeta is leaving tomorrow morning. We'll probably never see each other again. I'm surprised by how upset the thought of not seeing him again makes me feel.
There's a long, awkward silence. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see that Peeta opens his mouth, then closes is, as if he changed his mind whether to say something.
"You're staying here tomorrow, right?" He finally asks.
"Yes."
"And after that you're going to the Capitol?"
I sigh. "I suppose." There's no prison camp in the Capitol, but Sergeant Darius probably already knew that. There's no reason why our plans will change. One place is as good as the next.
He smiles widely. "We're going to be in the Capitol for a few days, too. Use it as a base for shorter day trips. Look out for us when you arrive, okay? I'll try to get you some more soap and medicines."
"Thank you." I'm smiling now too, more so more than usual.
His face turns serious again. "You need to be careful in the Capitol, though. Captain Snow is the state's commanding officer, and rumor has it he hates prisoners of war – especially prisoners who are what he calls 'non-productive'."
I shudder at the thought that human beings are only being judged by whether or not they can produce something. That they are dispensable pawns. "I suppose we're not particularly productive."
"No, you're not. The further you are away from him, the safer you'll be."
"Why is Darius taking us to the Capitol?" I think out loud. "If he knows there's no camp there?"
"Maybe he's trying to get rid of the responsibility, get another post." He pauses. "Or maybe he's been ordered to."
I furrow my brow. "Why would he be ordered to go the Capitol? I can't imagine that Captain Snow even knows about us, let alone cares what happens about us."
He shrugs. "I don't know. It was just a thought."
I shiver. Sergeant Darius used to be reluctant to go to the Capitol. Was that for our protection?
"There is one good thing about the Capitol, though," Peeta continues. "It's close to the coast, which is under the control of a different Captain. A Captain Coin, I think. He's rumored to be more humane than Captain Snow."
I nod, although I doubt that Captain Coin would care about us either way. "Thank you for helping us," I tell him. "You have no idea how much this means to me. To us," I quickly correct myself.
His eyes look dark in the moonlight. They meet mine and he holds my gaze. Finally, he takes a deep breath. "It's late. You, uh… should go back to the others, before anyone sees us." He stands up on his feet, and so do I. His hands are buried in his pockets, he looks down, as if he's embarrassed. "Goodnight, Mrs. Mockingjay. I'll see you in the Capitol." His voice is soft, almost like a caress.
"Goodnight, Peeta."
When I return to my mat on the floor, everyone is asleep, even Johanna. I was half expecting her to stay awake so she could pump me for details and embarrass me, but I suppose I was gone too long for that. When I lie down next to Posy, she rolls over, as if even in her sleep she senses that I've returned. I bury my nose in her hair, taking in her sweet baby scent, which mingles with the scent from the jasmine flowers outside.
It's probably safer to keep Peeta at a distance, I think.
I'm so tired that I fall asleep almost immediately, without following my own train of thought. Just why it's safer for me not to be too hopeful about Peeta Mellark.