(Peeta's POV)
The landlord's house is nothing like Cai's. It's surrounded by a low inner wall, specifically for the house and distinct from a much higher wall that surrounds a larger part of the landlord's property. Instead of every item in the house being functional, there are some whose purpose is decorative, including a map hanging on the wall. I'm drawn to the map immediately, of course. It was probably intended for functional use at one time. It isn't anything like the highly accurate and very new military maps I'm used to seeing, but it may still be useful
Cai watches me with curiosity as I place my fingers on one point on the map and then another. I try to stop my face from falling. The map drives home the truth once again that getting home is next to impossible unless the Chinese armies or the other allied armies retake this area. Their advance here seems unlikely given the remoteness of the location. It doesn't appear to have any strategic value. Rivers block several paths to escape. The country is so large that the distances alone seem insurmountable, especially given the limitations of my poorly healed broken leg. Cai was right all along. Leaving on foot would be suicide, especially in winter. Friendly areas are simply too far away. If I the landlord forces me to leave, I'm a dead man walking.
The landlord, the only person I've met since the plane crash who wasn't rail thin, chuckles a little when he sees me. Wondering what that means, I hesitate to walk over to greet him. He approaches me instead, looks me over from head to toe, and then turns to Cai.
"He seems well," the landlord says jovially, gesturing in my direction.
Compared to half-dead after the crash I suppose I am well. But my family would not consider my thinner, paler, quieter self "well" if they could see me now.
"Much better than he was," Cai answers.
"The Americans will be pleased if they find him. You've done well. He's a pilot?" the landlord asks.
"Yes. He wasn't piloting the plane that day, though," she tells him.
"A bomber, then?"
"Yes," Cai answers.
The landlord smiles, as if he's glad he's meeting someone who drops bombs on his enemies. There's no need to explain my specific role on the plane. He seems to be glad to believe what he does, and there's definitely truth in it.
The landlord addresses me directly for the first time.
"Do you want to stay here?"
"Yes," I answer, looking to Cai for approval after I've said it. I use my most respectful Chinese words, thinking back to my grandmother's lessons on greeting important people. "As long as I have your permission, Sir."
The landlord smiles.
"You do," he answers, and he chuckles again when he sees my sigh of relief.
"But may I ask you about your map?" I ask.
He nods, looking impressed.
Pointing to places on the map that were under Chinese or allied control at the time of the crash I ask about them. I make sure not to point out any military bases, but I know where the airfields are. Then I draw lines with my fingers around the areas under Japanese control at the time our plane crashed.
"Have you heard whether any of that has changed?" I ask.
"We get news slowly," he says, "but I don't think much has changed near here. I'm afraid you may be with us for some time if you choose not to venture out on foot."
He's simply confirmed what I already knew. I can't make it home. Probably will never make it home. For me to survive and get home we'd have to win the war. The US would have to be on friendly terms with the Chinese government after the war. China would have to be politically stable enough for the army to look for me. Plus, I'd have to survive the threats of disease, starvation and capture until all that happened. So many factors coming together in my favor sounds more like a miracle than a possibility.
The landlord turns back and gestures with his hand toward Cai.
"And what about this woman?" he asks me. "What are you going to do about her?"
"What do you mean?" I ask.
"You are living together with her in her family's home," he points out.
"Gao told me to do that," I explain, sensing that the landlord finds our living arrangements distasteful.
The landlord raises an eyebrow in surprise.
"He told you to?" he asks, clearly skeptical. "Gao never mentioned that to me."
"He said I could protect the family better that way," I say.
"I doubt that is the only reason he would ask," the landlord says. "Are you going to stay with her?"
"Uh…should I stay somewhere else, Sir?"
"I only want to know if you plan to stay with her or if I need to try to find her someone else. I know her mother isn't well," he explains. "I feel it's in my interests to make sure she finds someone."
"I…I…"
"Peeta has told me his intentions are to stay with me," Cai tells the landlord. The landlord raises his eyebrows as he glances in her direction. "Of course, I have been told that before. This time, maybe the promise will be kept."
The landlord smiles broadly.
"He will bring us good luck," he tells her. "I'm sure of it."
"You are like fish in clean water," he says to me with a pat on my shoulder.
That sounds like a compliment.
"Thank you and thank you for allowing me to stay here, Sir."
One of the landlord's servants comes into the room and whispers in his ear.
"I have to go," the landlord says a moment later, "but good luck to you, Peeta."
/
"What did he mean 'stay with' you? I ask Cai once we've left the boundaries of the landlord's home and are walking back to the farm.
"He thinks you have promised to marry me," she tells me.
I stop midstride. Cai turns to face me, not seeming nearly as stunned as I am.
"Have I?" I ask her, bewildered.
Surely my Chinese isn't that bad.
"No," she says, "But the landlord doesn't need to know that."
"Are we allowed to do that? Be engaged?" I ask her, my heart picking up speed at even the thought of a real, recognized relationship with Cai.
"If he says we can, then we can," she explains. "It wouldn't be very official, but nothing is with the Japanese in charge. We try to avoid them at all costs. It wasn't that different before, though. The landlord is in charge of the people on his land and makes their lives his business."
"So you are telling me that we could get married? But sort of secretly?" I ask.
"Yes," Cai answers, looking a bit confused, as if she believes I should already know all this.
"So why did you tell the landlord I had told you I wanted to stay with you?"
"Because you did," she says as she turns away, starts walking again, and motions for me to follow her
"But I didn't mean marriage."
"I know that, Peeta. Just let the landlord believe whatever he wants as long as he lets you stay. You don't want to have to leave, do you?"
"No. No."
"Then trust me," she says.
"So, are we going to fool him into thinking we've married?
"Maybe. Thinking we are engaged might be enough to appease him," she says.
"But what's going to happen to you, Cai? Don't you want to find someone who can be your husband for real?"
"It's never going to be for real, Peeta. I've given up. If you want to help me you can play along and pretend to be engaged to me. We'll all just do the best we can on the farm. Maybe one of the neighbors can be persuaded to help with the heavier work for a few years. Then maybe we can break tradition once again and allow Min to marry before I do."
Cai sounds sad, but resigned. I reach out to her, pulling gently on her arm to ask her to stop walking. She does, glancing at me before casting her eyes off in the distance as if she can't look at me right now.
"Is that what you want?" I ask her.
"What I want doesn't matter. It never has," she says.
"No, Cai! There has to be somebody for you. You're beautiful, smart, and kind. There's no reason…"
"Stop it!" she says. "Please don't say those things."
"But I mean them," I tell her. "I do."
She scowls. "But they are hard for me to hear."
/
When we arrive back at the house Min is sitting near the fire with her mother, who is turned away from us. Cai huffs and takes a few quick steps toward her sister and mother, complaining to Min.
"What are you doing? She shouldn't be there! Peeta's right here." Cai says.
"She got cold, Cai. Peeta is living with us. It's alright. Besides, you seemed very familiar with him earlier today. I know you trust him," Min says. Her voice is defensive, and she clutches her mother's wrist as she talks to Cai.
"I was going to tell him, but..." I overhear Cai whisper.
"I'll just go…" I start to say.
"No. No, Peeta," Min pleads. "I actually think you can help. Will you talk to our mother and see if she knows you.
"Min!" Cai screams. "Don't say that! Peeta, you should go. I hate to tell you to do that, but could you wait in the barn?"
I'm unsure of what to say or who to obey at this point, but Cai is the most forceful about the matter.
"I want to see if she knows him. He's the only one she hasn't known a long time. It's a good test," Min objects. "Let him stay."
Cai looks between us, and thinks for a minute before nodding, giving in to Min's request. Then she reaches up to her mother's hair, which is hanging down her back. She slowly twists it and begins wrapping it in a bun at the back of her head. Very gently she readjusts her mother's shirt and rubs her shoulder.
"I'm sorry you got cold, Mother," Cai whispers.
I suddenly realize that Cai's mother hasn't reacted to this argument between her daughters. She's not responding to Cai fussing over her or talking to her either.
"Peeta," Cai says softly, "can you come over here?"
This is what I wanted anyway, my curiosity peaked by this strange situation.
As I walk over Cai motions for me to join her in kneeling beside her mother. I do, noticing how the woman seems frail, and she didn't seem frail at all when I first met her. She keeps staring ahead and doesn't react to the noise of my approach or my presence beside her.
"Mother, look. Do you know this man?" Cai asks. Cai's mother doesn't move, but Cai grasps her arm gently and asks the question again.
The woman turns to look at me, her eyes squinting and then widening in surprise. She suddenly shifts away from me as if startled.
"It's alright," I reassure her.
Cai, sounding frustrated, asks her mother again, "do you know this man?"
Min leans in closer to her mother.
Cai's mother says "Mellark."
She says my last name perfectly, and I didn't even know she knew it. My shock must show on my face because Cai shakes my arm and asks me what's wrong.
Cai's mother grazes my hand with her fingertips. When she raises her head she smiles.
"Do you know what she means?" Cai asks, apparently not recognizing the word as my last name either. Maybe I've never told Cai my last name.
"Mellark is my family name," I explain.
Min smiles broadly and wraps her mother in her arms.
"Mother, you remembered a name we don't even call him. Very good!" she says.
I'm still confused.
"Cai, can I talk to you?" I ask.
She nods. I take her hand and lead her to my sleeping place.
"I know you might not want to tell me this, but why is your mother acting that way?" I ask.
Cai bristles and then crosses her arms defiantly.
"I just want to help," I tell her.
"She is not well. She gets that way sometimes. We don't know why. It's happened several times since my father died. Usually she gets better after a few months."
She glares at me.
"Look, I'm the one who should be upset," I tell her. "You didn't even tell me about this. I would have tried to help earlier."
"Min and I can take care of her," she says.
"Fine. I won't help. Whatever you want."
I watch Cai slowly lower her defenses, uncrossing her arms and softening her facial expression.
"Did you know my name?" I ask her.
"Yes, Peeta," she sighs.
"My whole name, Cai?"
She raises an eyebrow.
"Are you testing my memory?" she asks.
"I just want to know."
"Peeta. Just Peeta. That's all I know."
"No, my name is actually Peter Mellark. You mother knows my last name, and I don't know how she could. I've barely talked to her since I've been here. Does she read English?"
"Of course not," Cai says. "You must have said it to her and don't remember now. I might not have realized it was your name if you said it. When you speak English I don't know if what you say are people's name or words."
"Well, your mother knew."
"Just chance, Peeta. Just chance," she says.
But I cannot get out of my mind that she knew my name. Spending the rest of the night thinking about it on and off I conclude that Cai's mother must have known how to read my name. My uniform and other personal items were labeled with my name. Somehow she must have read it.
(Cai's POV)
Knowing that our landlord will allow Peeta to stay with us indefinitely and would wholeheartedly supports a marriage between him and a woman on his property is a great relief. Peeta is in no danger from the landlord. It is the closest thing to full acceptance of his presence that we can hope to have. The neighbors will most likely respect the landlord's wishes.
The stories we farmers have heard recently from travelers make me ever more leery of any contact with the military, especially the Japanese military. The more irrelevant we seem, the safer we are. Though I hope our soldiers, the Americans, and the many others I have heard are fighting against the Japanese are successful, I can't afford to have my family personally involved. I have people to protect, people I love.
Peeta is very conscientious as a member of the household. He spends most of his time behind his small petition. At first we rarely talk the way we used to because Min and my mother could overhear, but after a few days I truly begin to miss spending time alone with him.
On the fourth night I wake up in the middle of the night to a noise. Slowly, despite my sleepiness, I realize that it's Peeta's voice I'm hearing. Not unlike the day I found him dreaming in the cave he's speaking words I don't understand and sounding upset.
A nightmare.
His voice becomes a bit louder and I hear something fall over near where he sleeps. Fearing he'll wake everyone, including mother, I jump up from my sleeping mat and navigate through the dark to reach where Peeta sleeps.
Whispering his name, I reach for him as I kneel near the petition by his mat. He startles awake, crashing into me, hitting my collarbone with what must be his forehead. I sense him backing away, and he tries to catch him breath.
My hand instinctually covers my stinging shoulder.
"Peeta, you were dreaming. You're fine," I tell him.
"Dreaming?" He repeats sleepily. "Oh. Oh. It was just a dream?"
His voice doesn't reveal much relief, and he seems to be wrapping his arms around his knees.
"What was it?" I ask.
"I. Uh. No. Can't talk about it," he says unevenly.
"Why not?" I ask gently.
"You would not think of me the same, Cai. I can't."
I don't say anything. Instead I fumble in the darkness until I find him. His skin is clammy and cold. When I reach up to touch the place where I believe he hit his forehead against me he flinches, but I notice that his forehead and hair are sweaty.
"You need to sleep again," I tell him.
"No!" He says a little too loudly before lowering his voice. "I don't want to sleep. Not now."
"Do you want to talk, Peeta?"
"Yes," he whispers.
So I sit down, and I tell Peeta a story. He loves it when I tell him stories. This one is a tale my mother used to tell us when we were children, but it has just as much value for us now that we are grown up. It is the story of a man who felt he owed a debt that he wished to repay, but in repaying it he destroyed himself.
Peeta leans against my shoulder.
"Now I'll tell you one," he says. "It's about a boy who leaves home before he was supposed to leave home. His father had enough money that his two sons would inherit it when he died, but the boy who was leaving home asked for his money early. Then he traveled far from home and wasted all the money instead of using it for anything good."
Peeta sighs sadly and pauses before continuing.
"Some bad things happened to the boy. He was desperate and hungry. He remembered that the servants at his father's house didn't feel desperate and hungry like he did, so he decided to go to his father and beg to be a servant in his house. He thinks his father will be angry, but when his father sees the boy he is so happy that he tells the whole house that they are going to have a party. He brings the nicest clothes for his son, and he accepts him despite everything he's...um…done. Everything."
Peeta's voice starts to crack. I gently kiss his cheek and feel the wetness there but choose to stay quiet. He needs me to be here with him but not talk too much.
"That is a beautiful story, Peeta. The father forgave him," I say.
"Yes, but the boy didn't kill anyone," he whispers.
"Oh," I say. Forgetting Peeta has spent several years fighting in a war is easy because he's such a gentle person, but he fought just like anybody else would when he had to fight.
"The boy had no need to do so. He left home to live a life of pleasure not one of duty, a life of shame not one of honor," I tell him.
Peeta sighs again.
"If it was what I had to do then why does it give me nightmares?" he asks.
I kiss his cheek again.
"Because you don't like to see anybody die. Right, Peeta? You wish nobody else had to die. You want the war to end, and you want to go home. Maybe return to your father?"
Peeta's voice is suddenly confident.
"That's not really what the story is supposed to be about," he says. "But maybe that's one reason I told it."
We talk for a long time before Peeta finally decides to lie down. He tells me how he learned this story and what his father, who is a teacher of his religion, taught him about it. It is a story from the book they read. He tells me more about his father and how they used to fish together on a lake. I sit beside Peeta until he finally drifts off to sleep, his final words to me for the night being, "thank you."
/
Peeta consumes my thoughts. I forget to do some of my chores around the house and to be careful with the rationing of food. I still do these things, but not as well. He distracts me, but I don't dislike the distraction. I very much like it.
I look at him and see beauty. He is a handsome man, as many men are. He is also kind and warm to me. How can this happen to me? I do not want it to happen. Doesn't a woman have to want a man to love him? I talked to Peeta about marriage and love when I had troubles with Gao, but suddenly I'm embarrassed if those subjects drift remotely into our conversations.
One day Peeta asked me what he should do if one of the landlord's servants or a neighbor speaks to him about us.
"Does everybody know that the landlord believes we are promised to one another?" he asked.
I felt my face burn with a heat I hadn't expected. Unable to speak, I just nodded to him and cast my eyes to my feet. Sometimes I stare at him, and Peeta is not oblivious to my stares. He stares back, to the point that Min has tried to get our attention by asking one of us a question, presumably to break the trance.
Our affections have dwindled to soft brushes against one another that might appear accidental but probably are not. Sometimes at night when we hear the other is awake I go to Peeta's area of the house, and we steal a few kisses in the dark.
I believe that I "love" Peeta in the way he has described love, and I don't know what to do. Peeta has become so important to me that I cannot imagine letting him go, and yet he must go someday. And this must be what Peeta means by a broken heart, because I can feel my chest hurt when I imagine him leaving with his fellow soldiers someday, someday when we are free of the war in our country. Peeta will be free. He will be the boy who returns home. He should not be ashamed or need forgiveness, but he will return to his father and be given the wonderful things his father can offer him. I will be here. Without him. Without love.
Sometimes at night when I believe Peeta and everyone else is asleep I cry tears of frustration, wishing that I did not love. I wish that I never had to think about marriage because then Gao would not have done what he did to me. More surprisingly I wish that I did not love Peeta because it hurts too much to love him and know he can never be my real husband. We can pretend to be promised to one another to keep him safe. We can even pretend to marry, but his love and loyalty will always be with the people he left behind at home. He loves them. That is as it should be. And as this winter grows darker, colder and more hollow every day, I think about how Peeta will most likely be the only man I ever love whether I live a few more months or another sixty years.
[AN: continued thanks to Loueze for her invaluable help with this story]