HANNIBAL THE CANNIBAL - Chapter Five
He had started a morning ritual of pinching himself, not knowing if he was truly awake, hallucinating or dreaming. Bruises marked his pale skin.
Sadly, he was awake. His mother was gone. Had it been days ago? A week? He couldn't remember. He was so dehydrated, tears would no longer form. The last few days, the simple task of retrieving snow to melt and drink seemed too daunting.
Her passing had gotten no reaction from his stepfather. No sense of loss and sorrow of losing someone you loved, as a husband should for a wife. Her body was gone, marked to make sure families didn't eat their own kin; stacked like cords of wood and buried in the snow. He tried not to look too hard and long at his stepfather who looked and acted more deranged as the frozen days blended into one long seemingly neverending nightmare. Maybe he did see a hint of relief, that he didn't have to share from the pots that he nurtured with care. Lewis shared the revulsion that his mother had felt and refused to eat from them, so he didn't understand his stepfather's reaction.
He heard his mother's words whispered in his ear telling, urging, prodding him to do his chores to show life and a will to live. Brush his hair, wash his face, and eat whatever possible, be it leaves or bark or boiled shoe leather…but never the meat. He fingered his mother's ornate mirror hidden inside of his tattered blankets, and silently apologized to her for not having the strength to do what she wanted today. Maybe tomorrow, he promised as he curled under the pile of blankets, and secretly wished he would never wake up. He began to think Patrick Dolan had been right when he stripped naked late one night and let the cold take him.
He had saved her mirror, unbeknownst to his mother. Halfway across the Great Salt Lake Desert, a journey that was twice as long as promised, over half the animals died. Oxen died of thirst and most of the surviving animals fled to find water. With little to no animals left to pull their wagons, many were forced to discard everything but the bare necessities.
His mother had tried discreetly to hide the mirror behind her back, but he saw it. Snatching it away from her, he threw it to the ground. Lewis saw the look of horror and sadness in his mother's face as Mr. Keseberg ground the heel of his foot, shattering the glass and stomping cruelly on the ornate handle. He kicked sand over it and declared it gone in a tone that told her she had better return to her place as the obedient wife.
A cry of despair caught in her throat. She took a hesitant step towards that last memory of her family, stopped and brushed the tears from her eyes with the back of her hand. She lowered her head and followed after her husband.
Lewis tightened his grip on the mirror. Now it represented his last physical memory of his mother.
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The closer Heyes and Kid got to Sutter's Fort, all conversation stopped. It was late when they arrived, allowing them time to secure a hotel room, take the horses to the livery and little more.
"I'm going out," Heyes said suddenly, as he slipped his jacket back on and grabbed his hat. He was out the door before his partner had a chance to respond. Kid stared several long minutes at the closed door, debating whether to go after Heyes. With a resigned sigh, he lay back down and locked his fingers behind his head. He stared at the stained ceiling, needing to get sleep, but knowing his mind would not allow it.
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Heyes passed the poker tables without a glance. Instead, he surveyed the fallen doves, quickly selecting a girl that wasn't the most attractive. Pretty wasn't what he was looking for or needed.
When she started to undress, he took her hand and stopped her.
"You don't need to."
She stopped looking confused. "You don't want me getting naked?"
Heyes slipped out of his coat, took his holster and hat off and set them on the sole chair in the dimly lit cubicle.
He shook his head, "No Ma'am I don't."
Heyes took a seat on the sagging mattress and pulled his boots off.
He raised his eyes and met hers. There was something in the handsome cowboy's eyes that made her sad. He had the look of a man that was about to die or was dying.
"Are you dying?" The whore whispered.
"I don't know…," he said sadly and held his hand out to her.
She hesitated.
"Don't worry honey…stupidly ain't contagious."
She took his hand and allowed him to pull her onto the bed. Heyes turned on his side, pulled her close and rested his head on her shoulder, his cheek on her breast. She was still for several moments, not completely understanding what he wanted, but relaxed when she realized all he wanted was to be held tightly.
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Lewis saw Mr. Hardkoop in his dream. He was slumped against the lone tree outside of the Great Salt Lake Desert. His hands were gently massaging his damaged bloody feet. His stepfather had thrown the old Belgian off their wagon, when most of the oxen had died from lack of water and lacking wagon space for the old man, food and water trumped his life. None of the others were willing to provide transportation either, sealing his fate when he settled against the tree and waited to be taken by Indians, weather or starvation.
He looked up, motioned young Lewis to come closer as he held his tattered coat open.
Lewis wanted to wrap his arms around the old Belgian, bury his head into his chest and allow himself to be comforted by the old man's stories, but he knew if and when he went to the old man he would join him in death.
He had carefully protected his peppermints. He wasn't sure how many were left…not many he knew. He was afraid to suck on one, fearful his stepfather would take them for himself. He tried to share them with his mother, but she refused.
She had looked concerned, when she found the bag of peppermints shortly after they had left Fort Bridger. He assured her he didn't steal it, but was given the whole bag of sweets by the nice cowboy in Fort Bridger. Her look of concern faded, her eyes twinkled and a smile curled the corners of her mouth, at the memory of the attractive cowboy.
Later that day she showed him the secret pockets she had sewn into his extra pair of pants. That night, when most were asleep, he tucked the peppermints into the pockets and rolled his pants tightly together with his few other clothes, binding them in a small bundle with some twine.
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Kid reasoned he must have fallen asleep, because he dreamt of two brown haired, brown eyed people…one young…one older. He knew the young boy was still alive. He couldn't explain it. He just felt it, plain and simple. Kid knew he had also dreamt of his partner, but couldn't remember the dream. He woke with the familiar feeling of Heyes, and of not being alone. He pushed himself onto his elbows and looked towards the other bed, relieved to see Heyes had returned and was asleep in the next bed. His back was to Kid, so he didn't see that his partner was fully awake and dreading the start of what the day would bring.
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Author's Notes: I know I sound like a broken record, but apologies for the long delay between chapters…football season at work gets very hectic.