As the harvest winds down and cold weather begins to set in Cai and I spend less time in the fields, but we don't spend less time together. We prepare the rice for sale knowing that most of it will be sold by the landlord for his profit, not ours. Cai keeps careful records to make sure we keep all the rice we are entitled to keep. She admits that most years what's allowed isn't enough to comfortably make it through winter, but she acts grateful for it anyway. When I ask her why the landlord won't allow us to keep a little more, she doesn't answer.
"Does he have to pay high taxes or something? Can he not get by if he doesn't get this amount from us?" I ask.
"I don't know, Peeta. It doesn't seem that way, but Gao knows more about those things than I do."
"He shouldn't want us to starve," I tell her. "What good would that do?"
"There would be another family who would work the land if we did starve," Cai answers.
"But he knows this family is reliable. Besides, that's just wrong, Cai. He cares so little that he'd let us starve and replace us with another family just to make a little more money that he might not need?"
"You are starting to sound like Gao," she says.
"What does that mean?"
"Gao thinks everything should change. He says we should always get to choose who we marry, and he wants the rich people who own so much land to have to give some of it to people like us."
I listen, choosing not to comment on the internal affairs of a country where I'm not even a citizen. Cai has never known anything different than her way of life. I can say it makes no sense to me for her landlord to keep her family on the edge of starvation, but it's not my place to try to change anything. That's her place. Gao's place. The people of China's place. And yet I feel more a part of China every day and hope for peace in a more practical and urgent way than I would if I wasn't living here. My life back home differed so much from my life in China, its concerns so minor compared to starvation and political unrest.
"What are you thinking about?" Cai asks, taking a break from her figures long enough to stare at me with her beautiful dark eyes.
"Home," I whisper.
Her mouth tightens and she turns her head sympathetically.
She's so ready to accept me for who I am. Not everyone is, not even everyone on this farm. Feeling truly safe is only a distant memory, but I feel safest with Cai.
Looking down at the notes I took in English during the harvest, the two of us go back to translating them into Cai's record keeping system. She's smart. Smarter than most would give her credit for. Sometimes people in the army working in a faraway country will discount the native population's ability to contribute intellectually to the war effort even if they recognize their ability to fight for their land and people. They don't listen to them, which usually results in tragedy. Those of that mind-set would certainly discount this girl, saying she's just a weak woman. She's not. She's strong, probably much stronger than I am in many ways. I suspect Cai might discount herself sometimes, I decide to ask her a question.
"What do you think?"
I sneak a peek at her reaction to my question by raising my gaze a bit.
"About marriage customs and the land?" she asks, glancing up at me without giving the matter her full attention. "I'm not sure."
"Yes you are. You've obviously talked with Gao about it?"
She sits up straighter, as if surprised by my persistence. I mimic her actions as I wait for a response.
"I think we should have more control over the land, but something about taking the land away from the landlord bothers me. Maybe we should own it together somehow? Maybe someone should tell him how he is allowed to treat us so he can't be cruel," she says.
"Is he cruel, Cai?" I ask, suddenly concerned.
"Ours is not, but we've heard stories of cruelty."
"But you can leave if you want?" I ask.
"Yes, Peeta, but where would we go? Things are bad enough here where people actually care about us."
I nod.
"And marriage?" I ask, suddenly wondering if I'm invading her privacy by asking these questions. They are very personal questions, not that we don't talk about personal matters regularly.
"The last few months of my life have taught me people should choose who they marry," she begins, still not looking at me, "but I don't know how a person should do that. I never had to think about what to look for in a husband since one had already been chosen for me."
/
After completing the record keeping project, Cai moves on to cooking. The ingredients, while a complete mystery to me, make my eyes water as she stirs vegetables from the garden into them. When she's finished preparing the strong smelling food she pushes it into clay jars of various sizes with a large flat spoon. Then she covers the jars with lids. I wonder what she'll do with all this food. Honestly, eating it for meals doesn't appeal to me, and there's much more of it than we would normally eat at once. Will Cai be offended if I don't eat it? I know we have some plain carrots left, and maybe she'll let me…
"Peeta," Cai says as she pushes a shovel into my hands. "We need to dig the holes."
I must have a bewildered look on my face because she starts laughing at me. Then she proceeds to start digging a hole not far away with a second shovel. She points to the ground and laughs again.
"Dig one there, not too deep," she says.
We keep digging holes in the ground until Cai stops, arches her back to stretch and smiles at me. My arms ache, but I'm intrigued with all the pride she seems to have in her work. She walks back over to the jars, lifts one from the ground, brings it over one of the freshly dug holes and lowers it gently. Then she turns to me.
"You've never done this before, have you," she says, a knowing smirk on her face.
"No," I answer defensively.
She takes the shovel from my hands and heaps some dirt over top of the jar, burying it in the ground.
"In a few months you'll be very glad for these jars of food," she says.
"I have no doubt of that," I answer, still doubting a bit.
"Really," she says. "You will."
Cai buries another jar, and I help her.
This has to be some kind of "refrigeration" system, though the temperature certainly wouldn't be constant.
"Winter is about survival. Surviving cold and hunger," she goes on. "Make sure you drink enough. Just because you can't eat as much as you did before doesn't mean you can stop drinking. The water will freeze. I'll show you how to make sure you have plenty to drink and how to thaw it."
I nod. I'd expected changes with winter, of course.
By the time we bury the fourth jar we've developed a system. Cai places the jar carefully and holds it while I shovel the dirt in over the lid and her arms. She shakes her arms free of the dust when the jar is sitting firmly while I continue the shoveling.
"We'll ration the rice and other food so we'll have enough until spring," she says. "We do it every year, and it works. But I won't lie to you. It's hard to keep yourself from eating more than you should. You'll be hungry, especially since you've never been hungry like that before."
She sounds sad, or apologetic. I can't tell which. She shouldn't be either.
"I understand," I tell her.
When the last jar is buried, Cai finds rocks heavy enough not to be kicked away but light enough to easily carry and marks the ground where the food is buried.
/
As the temperature drops the family moves most of their activities indoors, a place I'm not invited. I haven't discovered why I'm not allowed in the house, but I think it has something to do with Cai's mother. I rarely see her. She didn't work on the harvest, record work, or food preservation. Gao tends to direct my attention away from the house, giving me a glare whenever he sees me look over toward it.
The cave becomes unbearably cold as the weeks go on. I think of building a fire but haven't resorted to that yet. My "living area" in the cave is a small space, and I'm not fond of fire. Cai brings me my food in the cave again since we aren't outside often anymore. Usually she stays in the frigid cave with me for a while after I've eaten for no apparent reason other than to talk and snuggle close to me to keep me warm.
It's just to keep me warm. She must feel badly that I'm not invited in the house. Maybe she wishes I could be.
All during the harvest, Gao watched us carefully, but he did not interfere with Cai and me as we worked beside each other. Cai enjoyed taking me under her wing and teaching me the skills needed to help. Gao's role was often supervisory. He made sure everything was going smoothly and then joined the harvest effort at the weakest link of "production." While harvest was low-tech in that we did everything by hand, it was not without a system meant to bring us success. Gao spent so much time at the end of harvest trading, negotiating, and visiting other farmers that he was seldom nearby during the day. Cai and I only grew closer during his absence.
Despite Gao's promises to make sure Cai and I maintained the boundaries he so eloquently clarified the night we fell asleep reading a book, he never did much to keep us from spending time together. Now that the weather is getting cold I see Gao less than ever. For my part, I never discourage Cai from coming to see me in the cave or tell her she shouldn't stay so long when she does. Though we are playing with fire, our interactions remain mostly innocent.
After the rationing begins in earnest I'm very hungry even when I've just finished eating. Cai tried to make the whole process very gradual for me but having so little food to eat is still difficult. Sometimes I can't believe they live this way much of the year and have all their lives.
I become quieter after meals, and my stomach hurts. One evening Cai pushes my shoulder after we eat, encouraging me to lie down. Then she places her hand over the place my stomach hurts, though I can't be sure of how she knows where it is. Just having her touch it helps, but soon she starts to move her hand in a gentle circle that exerts just a bit of pressure.
"My mother used to do this when we were little as winter started to come," she says. "It's a difficult time of year, isn't it? You know you have a hard journey ahead of you. Many hollow days. You have to make yourself ready for it."
I close my eyes, feeling more relieved than I thought I could from her simple attempts to comfort me.
"I wish you knew what it was like not to have to do this," I tell her. "I wish you'd never had to feel this way, especially as a child."
The circles slow, as if she's thinking.
"That's how I feel when you talk about dying, Peeta. I wish you didn't have to feel that your life must be short, and that if it is short it will be tragic."
I take in a sharp breath, feeling her hand adjust as I do.
"I don't want to be disappointed," I tell her. " If I am going to die I want to die as myself , without the knowledge that it's going to happen making me bitter and angry. Disappointment can make a person that way."
Her hand stops moving completely, and I turn to look at her to see why.
"I have never seen you bitter or angry. Not once. Only accepting. But in your acceptance don't stop trying to live."
She's breaking some part of me on the inside, some part I've hidden away. How did she even find it?
"I won't stop trying," I tell her, and the hope in my voice seems to come from nowhere. The sides of her mouth rise slightly as her hand begins to move again. I raise my head and press my lips to hers, simply meaning to thank her. Nothing is so simple, though.
Her lips feel dry and chapped, and I suddenly want to pull her down beside me and warm her. As if she understands my thoughts, Cai slowly settles down next to me, still looking into my eyes as we turn towards one another. I lift my hand and slowly start to play with her hair just as I have many times. I allow my hand to drift lower, down the column of her neck and down over her delicate collarbone. Cai's eyes close slowly, and she leans into my touch, like she's falling into a dream. Maybe she feels that she is. I know I do. I hesitate. Comforting one another is one thing, but this is something else entirely. Isn't it?
Taking in a silent deep breath, I allow my open hand to move a little lower. Cai gasps, her mouth dropping open slightly before it forms a perfect circle. Her closed eyes flutter without opening as I take the opportunity to kiss her again. As our lips begin to move against each other's, she makes a small sound that reverberates through me, and I try desperately to stay quiet. I can't deny the beauty of this moment, and yet a twinge of guilt threatens to strip away the pleasure that's easing the sting of hunger and the fear of death.
But I can't keep going. I just can't. Is this fair to Cai? And what about Delly?
I start to pull away. But Cai feels it, and places her hand over mine, stopping me before I can pull away completely. She holds my hand against her, allowing me to feel the small peak of the swell under my palm. She shivers, but I don't think it's because of the temperature. We're both so very cold, except when in each other's arms.
Why did she put her hand over mine? Did she want to keep me from pulling away completely? Did she intentionally press my hand down harder like that?
I close my eyes and lay the side of my head against the ground, an action that actually pushes me closer to Cai. The jolt of the change in temperature that the cold cave floor brings clears my fuzzy thoughts a little, though. I keep my hand where she's holding it until she lets go. Once she does she pushes my shoulder back gently to get me to lie on my back. She brushes her lips gently against mine and resumes rubbing her hand in circles over my stomach to keep the hunger pangs at bay as though nothing happened.
/
The hard shove against my shoulder interrupts my sleep, but it is my eyes focusing on the metallic gray of the pistol that makes me shoot straight up from my pallet on the cave floor in a panic. I back up as fast as I can but am reminded that there's nowhere to go when my back hits a jagged edge of the cold stone cave wall. Cautiously I raise my hands in the universal gesture of surrender.
Gao looks down at me, holding the gun loosely in his hand, his finger resting near but not on the trigger.
"Peeta, we need to talk," he says.
As an airman I never carried my gun on missions. Most of the airmen I knew didn't. Some left their guns behind because they thought carrying them was bad luck. Others thought, as I did, that your gun was more likely to be used against you on the ground as it was to help you escape a dangerous situation. George always carried his gun, though. For the two months he was part of our crew we teased him about it often, telling him he was jinxing us. The gun in Gao's hand had to be George's gun.
"Where'd you get that?" I ask, nodding my head warily at the pistol.
"The plane," Gao answers.
I listen but never take my eyes off Gao's hand.
Mulling over in my mind all the reasons Gao might want to shoot me, I keep returning to his protectiveness of Cai. He must know that we haven't been able to abide by the boundaries he wanted. Despite the fact that I've tried to reign in our temptations, I've only been partially successful. At this point just looking at her turns me on, and Gao might have noticed that even without catching us doing anything forbidden.
"Are you going to shoot me?" I ask, for the first time noticing Gao's glassy eyes.
Gao looks down and turns the gun to look at it as if he's forgotten he's holding it.
"No. No," he answers, his tone sounding stunned by my assumptions. "But I need to ask for your help."
I lower my hands a bit as I realize Gao's intentions aren't violent.
"What do you need? You know I want to help," I tell him.
"I'm leaving, and if you stay here I want you to protect the women," he says. "I don't want to leave them yet, but I have to go."
"Why?" I ask.
"It doesn't matter why."
I want to ask if he's leaving because of the woman he wants to marry or for some other reason, but my eyes fall on the gun again.
"I'll protect them any way I can," I tell him.
Gao nods, looking calmer, almost as though my cooperation is the final stage of some fate he's resigned to but is choosing not to reveal to me.
Gao turns the pistol around in his hand. For a moment I am afraid he means something entirely different by "leaving," but then he reaches for one of my still slightly raised hands and places the gun's handle in it.
"In case you need it," he says. "But I hope you won't, of course."
Gao turns to leave the cave, but feeling the need more information I try to stop him.
"Should I do anything different than I have been? Other than keeping the gun?" I ask.
"Move into the house," he says. "You'll be closer to them that way."
Live in the same house with Cai? The thought is both exciting and terrifying. If it'll make her safer I can't argue against it, not that I really want to argue against it. It'd certainly be warmer in the house.
"Have you told them you're going?" I ask Gao.
"No. It's better this way," he says.
"They're going to be upset, Gao. They'll want to say 'good-bye'
"No 'goodbyes,'" he says. "There are times a man has to fight. He just knows it's right."
"Yes," I say, thinking back to my last Christmas with my family. "But he needs to say 'goodbye' in case it turns out like it has for me."
Gao shakes his head.
"I'm not like you," he says
[AN: Hello, readers! I want to thank all of you for reading so far. I hope you are enjoying the story and finding it interesting. Let me know. I'd love to see Unfailing Love get up over 100 reviews this week. It's getting close to that. Remember to recommend this story to friends who might enjoy it. I think it's growing mostly by "word of mouth." Thanks again!]