Chapter 9
A rain of tears

Part four

"I'm not coming with. I don't feel well."

They were halfway to the bakery when Haymitch said it. It'd been Tessa's idea, when they all met up after school. The Mellark's was a fine place to be when it rained. Warm and secluded and filled with the wondrous scent of freshly baked goods.

The dirt road was filled with puddles that they all zigzagged past. Everyone but Maysilee who walked straight through. Graham had Tessa's school bag slung over his own. She was like a delicate princess next to him. When she smiled it always made him smile too. Smile and talk. Graham, who never said one word more than necessary.

Haymitch had been quiet all week. And now the closer they got to the bakery the more undecided he'd become.

"You go," he said just as two women, both miner's wives, both with a toddler on the hip, passed them. One of them stared over her shoulder and muttered to her friend,

"With town's kids…"

"I'll see you all tomorrow, 'K?" Haymitch said.

Eventually they all walked on. Everyone but Leonore.

"I know where you're going, Haymitch," she said and his cheeks flushed pink. "Mr Harold says you're not supposed to."

Haymitch put his hands in his pockets and stared sullenly back into her piercing blue eyes.

"Grandpa didn't say I'm not supposed to. He just said that I shouldn't… he didn't forbid it…"

"You've been following her around. I've seen it," Leonore said. "And Madam doesn't want you there either, Haymitch. You'll just get in trouble."

"Nobody needs to know."

"But Mr. Harold…"

"No one will know. Not if you don't tell 'em, Lea", Haymitch said brusquely. "Just keep your mouth shut or I'll… I'll tell everybody about how you wet the bed."

Leonore's mouth fell open but before she could respond Haymitch had already run off.

He knew he'd been unfair to his friend but the guilt only made him run faster. And it wasn't just Leonore.

He'd never disobeyed his grandfather before.

Haymitch was small for his age but he was the fastest in school. Water and mud splashed up his skinny legs as he went. The rain worsened, drenched him all through but he just wiped the water out of his face and went on and on, until he saw the distorted lights of Madam's cot.

Panting and wetter than a drowned rat he reached the old house. The lights from inside shone over his soaked features.

He lifted his hand, hesitated for a split second, then knocked. His heart beat in his throat and it didn't take long until the door swung open and he saw her there, as big and broad as ever.

For a moment, neither of them spoke, just sizing each other up. The big woman and the tiny boy.

Haymitch swallowed thickly. He tried to keep from shivering and when he spoke, his voice sounded much more confident than he felt.

"Teach me."

Madam's eyebrows came together, her face as hard and unrelenting as a rock.

"Teach me how to play," Haymitch said. "The Branch'll never let me. No one'll let me. But I wanna learn. Please, Madam."

She pursed her lips. Wasn't fond of that name, he could tell.

"You little shadow," she said finally. "You think I haven't noticed you sneaking around? If you're going to follow somebody, learn to do it properly."

But those hard as flint eyes that could make grown men quiver in their boots wandered over him, taking in his hunched, trembling shoulders, his clothes clinging to him and his gray eyes that seemed all too big for his pale, skinny face. She sighed.

And she stepped aside, holding up the door.

"Well, get in," she said when he didn't move. "Before you catch your death out here."

Haymitch stepped over the threshold and Madam had already turned away from him, walking over to the fireplace.

Haymitch stood where she'd left him while a rain puddle slowly grew at his feet.

"Get yourself a towel," she said without turning around. "It's in the wardrobe."

He did as he was told. The towel was so old and stiff you could cut yourself on it. He patted it against his face and his eyes went to the piano.

"Here," Madam said and he looked up to see her hold out a dripping, steaming hot mug to him.

"Um… no… thank you."

"Don't be ungrateful when I'm offering," Madam said and made him accept it. "I'm not going to poison you, child. Whatever your little friends might have told you."

Haymitch took a tiny sip. Mint tea. He warmed his icy hands around the mug.

"What was that song you were playin'?" he said, watching the piano. "It sounded like rain."

"'Playing'," Madam corrected. "It won't kill you to speak properly, boy."

"But you can teach me, right?"

Madam drew a deep breath.

"Why?" she said. "It will never be of any use to you."

"Dancin'… I mean dancing is of no use," Haymitch said. "But people dance. We dance at the Harvest Festival. All the time. Please. I want to play like you."

Madam was quiet. Haymitch took a big mouthful of his mint tea as if that would put him on her good side.

"You're too young for Vivaldi," she said.

"What's a Vivaldi?" What's that?"

Madam grunted and gestured him over.

"Stay over there," she said as she sat down in front of the piano. "And if you're going to be in my house," she added, "the first rule is you'll speak when spoken to. So if you think you can keep quiet, I'll show you the basics. Can you do that?"

Haymitch nodded.

xXx

"Your feet are like two icicles, Haymitch," pa said when he tucked them in that night. The flames from the fireplace made Haymitch's cheeks glow warm and red and ma and pa sat by his bedside like they did every night. "So, how was your day, kid?" pa asked.

"Good."

He looked up at their kind faces and knew this was when he was supposed to tell them about Madam.

The words were at the tip of his tongue.

But he didn't.

Pa placed a kiss on his cheek and Haymitch flung his toothpick arms around his neck before his parents retreated back to their own room where Amadeus already slept in his cot.

Lying in the kitchen sofa bed Haymitch watched the pale moon through the window and remembered how his fingers moved from one ivory to another and how it had sounded.

"These notes are the alphabet of music," Madam had said. "Memorize them and you can play every song there is."

It was the last thing he thought before he fell into a deep sleep.

The next day it had finally stopped raining. Saturday and the Seam was filled with morning sounds. This would have been when he ran over to the twins's house and asked if they wanted to play.

Instead he ran in the other direction, right back to Madam's house.

When no one answered his knock he walked around to the back garden. This was where Madam grew the potatoes she made booze of. Beyond were just woods and the woodland cemetery where his grandmother was buried.

Haymitch was just watching a large monarch butterfly land on a late summer bloom when the door to the outhouse opened and Madam appeared. In today's bright sunlight, the threads in her dark hair shone like silver. It was pretty, in its own way. The only pretty thing about her.

He half-feared she'd chase him off with a stick but she didn't.

And sipping another cup of scalding mint tea he got to take his old spot next to her by the piano.

Two years came and went. Haymitch spent his days with the twins and sometimes Graham and Tess, he did his homework, played with Amadeus and at least once every other week he went over to Madam's, when the coast was clear.

His worst fear was that someone would see him and tell ma and pa. He never dared to visit her on the same day of the week and he never took the same route there twice in a row.

He felt guilty for keeping secrets from his parents, he never had before. But he was terrified they'd put a stop to it and say just like Madam, "Playing the piano is useless in District 12."

Madam still reminded him of that quite often but she kept teaching him all the same. He wondered why sometimes because she didn't seem to like him all that much. But of course, Madam didn't like anybody. Sometimes she would grab him by the lapel and throw him out the door like she couldn't stand having him there a moment longer.

She was fearsome and confusing but not enough to keep him from going there again and again and her door was never closed for him.

"Why do you like to play the piano so much?"

It was on a clear summer afternoon that Maysilee asked. The Hunger Games were over for the year, a nightmare they were all trying their best to forget and the five of them sat together on the Meadow, like so many times before. Tess leaned back against Graham who had his arms around her, making a crown of flowers that he rested on her golden curls. Haymitch whom had tried to teach Leonore how to play on a grass straw lowered his hands at Maysilee's question.

It wasn't easy to explain because he was still only 9 years old and could hardly even make sense of it himself.

"I just do," he said.

Madam was a tough teacher. It was almost impossible to impress her. But in the end it was what spurred him on. To always get better. And he was a fast learner. She had introduced him to several of the "great masters" – Vivaldi being one of them, but had also taught him the common songs, old and new, that they sang in music assembly.

Most of all he enjoyed to play freehand or try and learn a new melody just by ear.

When it rained they played four hands and always the same song. 'A rain of tears', the one she'd played the first day.

"It was her favorite," Madam muttered, massaging her crooked hands after the last tone had died off and Haymitch knew better than to ask any questions.

Playing the piano, it consumed him.

He knew he couldn't make any money from it and still it was the only thing he knew he wanted to do. It was like he forgot the world when he played. There were no fears or want or poverty. There were no Hunger Games.

Just the music.

The only other time he ever felt like that was when he read to his brother. Baby Amadeus who wasn't a baby anymore. Ma had come up with his name, an even more impossible one than 'Haymitch' and Haymitch loved him more than anyone else in the world.

If you passed the Abernathy's when Haymitch was at school you could be sure to see the four year old sitting outside waiting for his brother to come home while he played with a pile of rocks. Haymitch's precious collection that Amadeus had gotten for his third birthday.

Haymitch led an eventful life with Maysilee and Leonore and sometimes Amadeus had to wait forever. But sooner or later he'd always come home.

"Haymitch!" Amadeus called, waving. "Haymitch, here! I'm here!"

And Haymitch slumped down on the front step and put his arm around his brother's shoulders.

"Can we go to the bookshop?"

If Haymitch loved playing the piano Amadeus loved stories.

They didn't come from a family of readers. Books were expensive but it was more than that. There were books that circulated in the Seam, (Capitol approved books but still) and they got read to shreds. But ma's eyesight wasn't great. That's why she had to keep the lamp so close when she worked by her sewing machine. And pa, he said he could never concentrate on a book. He just ended up reading the same sentence over and over.

But Amadeus loved stories and Haymitch took him to the small bookshop in town whenever he asked. It was run by a Mr. and Mrs. Henderson. They had black skin and graying hair and if the store was empty, which it was most of the time, the Abernathy brothers got to sit and read together in the old armchair even though the couple knew the two boys could never afford to buy anything.

It was always the same book. A large beautiful old volume with leather-bound covers and elaborate illustrations for each story. Amadeus would then crawl up on his brother's lap and have Haymitch read to him.

"Can we go there?" the little boy pressed now and tugged at his arm until Haymitch took his hand and they headed into town together.

And while the two brothers sat perched up in the bookshop's armchair reading, someone else arrived at the Abernathy's door.

Helena poured him tea and Glenn wrapped his large hands around the mug. The sun shone against his broken nails that were ingrained with coal dust.

"I'm worried for him, Mrs. A."

Dom couldn't keep up, he told her. Not the way he used to. He was sinking the rest of his crew down. Glenn and a few others had tried to help fill his daily quota when the peacekeepers looked the other way but he'd still gotten warnings more than once.

Glenn's eyes were red and tired as he met Helena's across the table and she saw how hard it took him to say it. But Dom's crew mate had always told the truth straight and he did so now too. The reality which her husband had tried to keep from his family.

"He's got Black lung."

Helena nodded. She'd known for quite some time, even if Dom denied it. His strength had always been his pride. He was the man in the house, the one to put food on the table. It was just the way he'd been raised and that they even needed Helena's small income to make ends meet was a sore spot.

She'd tried to bring up the topic of her finding a way to support the family and get him out of the mine's foul air once and for all but he wouldn't speak of it. Here in Twelve, the only place where there was work was in the mines and Dom would rather die than he let her into that hell. And even if she went anyway, they wouldn't have her. Not a scrawny woman with no experience.

The terrible truth was they needed Dom where he was. To keep Haymitch and Amadeus clothed and fed. To keep their family running.

And then one morning the thing happened that couldn't be allowed to happen.

Grandpa Harold, who had stood by his machine at the woodshop ever since he turned 14, suddenly sank to his knees. It happened without a sound, not any sound that could be heard over the loud machines and if it hadn't been for his co-worker who turned to blow his nose in that exact moment and could pull the old man away, his arm would have been cut clean off.

It was a stroke.

Haymitch hoped against hope that if his grandfather just got to rest he'd get better. Get some of his strength back.

But Harold would never be the same again.

He moved in with them. Dom carried him into their bed that would be his last station in life and Helena tended to his every need.

Haymitch and Dom helped as best as they could but grandpa would almost never let anyone near but Helena and when they still tried, it hindered more than it helped. He couldn't move the left side of his body, couldn't do anything by himself. Not eat, not go to the bathroom. Sometimes he started to scream for no reason and hours could pass when he called out Violet's name over and over even though his wife had been dead for years.

Amadeus was terrified of him and Dom had to sign up for more work to feed their family of five.

Only he wasn't getting it.

Coal mining was a daywork business. The workers were hired on a daily basis and paid thereafter. If you couldn't keep up there were ten people ready to take your place.

And Domeric Abernathy, who was as strong as an ox, whom had worked the mines for 22 years; whose father and grandfather and great grandfather had all mined coal for as long as anyone could remember – found himself being sent home in the morning.

They sold grandma's old sewing stool. They sold everything that could be sold. Ma cared for grandpa in the day and sew during the night, working as fast as her eyes allowed. Pa went to the mines every day and every day – nothing.

"Come back when you can draw a proper breath," the manager said.

And slowly but surely the family began to starve.

Amadeus would sob, curled up in their kitchen sofa with Haymitch's arms around him.

"Try and sleep, you'll feel better," Haymitch mumbled.

"Can I get somethin' to eat? Promise I'll be good. Promise."

"I'll tell you about the prince and the dragon. You want to hear about the prince and the dragon?" he asked, caressing his hair. But Amadeus sobbed and clutched his stomach. A pain no story in the world could make go away.

Finally he fell into a restless sleep. Exhausted from crying.

Haymitch didn't. All night long he lay there, listing to the whimpers his little brother made in his sleep.

And before dawn, when even ma slept cramped together with pa on the old mattress on the floor, he got up.

Harold lay there, gasping like a fish out of water, his limp and helpless hands on top of the covers. Those once so strong hands that had helped build the twelve houses of the Victor's Village.

Haymitch looked into his pale eyes, listened to his jagged breaths and for a moment he wished he would die. Just die. And then maybe it'd be easier for the rest of the family. Easier for Amadeus.

But the moment he thought it he loathed himself for wishing something like that on his grandfather. He took the glass of water from the nightstand and helped Harold to drink a few sips. He saw his lips move, as if trying to say something and Haymitch leaned in, his ear close to his mouth. The words were a mere whisper but he heard them still.

"Stay alive."

Haymitch looked back at him. Maybe he was just imagining that he saw something in his eyes, like a flicker of the old man who used to teach him his craft so that one day he wouldn't have to succumb to the mines.

"Stay alive." His grandfather nodded as if needing confirmation; needed Haymitch to understand.

"Yes, grandpa," he said and Harold's head fell back against the pillow.

It was that simple, wasn't it? A simple choice.

And when school was over that same day Haymitch went straight into town.

With or without his grandfather's lessons, he was still only eleven. The master craftsman wouldn't have him.

Instead Haymitch went from door to door to the few well-to-do they had in Twelve, asking for work.

Most of them wanted him out of their hair but you couldn't get rid of him until you gave him at least something to do and he was cheap. He got a feeling many of them just took pity on him. But Haymitch painted fences, he mowed lawns, weeded vegetable gardens, mended Undersee's rabbit hutches. He washed windows, run errands, pruned rose bushes.

It didn't give much. But little by little, coin by coin, he helped keeping him family afloat.

Playing the piano wasn't to think of. He hadn't been at Madam's in… he didn't know how long. Ages.

But then one winter afternoon when he was on his way home he saw her ahead of him on the snow packed road. She carried a bag of groceries. She must have heard him because she turned her head. Their eyes met and the moment after, the bag slid out of her hands spilling its content on the ground.

Looking back on it later he wondered if she'd dropped the bag on purpose but as it were now he just hurried his steps to help.

"Thanks boy," she muttered as he put the food back in the bag. She didn't do any attempt to take it when he tried to hand it to her though, just walked on and Haymitch followed.

"I haven't seen you around much," she said once they'd reached her house and she was coaxing the few coals into a flame.

"I have to take care of my family," Haymitch said.

"Hm," Madam just muttered as usual. She sat down on the bed while Haymitch put away the groceries for her.

"I can't come here no more," he said when he was done. "I'm grateful but I need to help put food on the table and I can't do that if I'm here playing the piano… you know."

"So you're doing odd jobs in town?" she asked. "Gardening, cleaning…"

"Yes," Haymitch said, warily as if waiting to be judged.

Madam rubbed her palms over her swollen knuckles, her bony fingers.

"These hands," she muttered. "They aren't what they once were. They're aching most of the time."

"I'm sorry," Haymitch mumbled.

Without a word she got up and walked over to the bureau. Haymitch frowned as he heard the chinking of coins. She turned to him again.

"I will pay you these if you clean up the house, thorougly", she said. "Does that seem fair?"

Haymitch was dumbfounded for a moment.

"You sure?" he finally asked. "I mean…"

"Of course I'm sure, boy." She put the coins in his hand and closed his fingers around them. "Otherwise I wouldn't have said it. Now, get going."

So that's what he did. He swept the whole cabin. Warmed water for the dishes and scrubbed the floorboards until they shone in a whole different color. He washed the cabinets inside and out and the windows that had not been clean in years.

While he worked, Madam lay on the bed, her crooked hands folded over her stomach. It seemed like she was sleeping. But when Haymitch had wiped off the sink she opened one eye and looked at him. She glanced around the house.

"My," she said. "That's a job well done."

Haymitch was beat but he couldn't hide how proud he was.

Madam looked to the clock.

"There's fourteen minutes left", she said. "Play me a song, child."

Haymitch's eyebrows shot to his forehead.

"What?"

"I'm paying you by the hour. So if you don't want me to dock your pay you'll play me a song."

The muscles around her eye twitched. It wasn't quite a wink but Haymitch's face broke out into a huge smile.

It wasn't until he began to play that he realized how much he had missed it. His fingers moved over the ivories and it was like all fatigue and every troubled thought just vanished. The smile never left his lips and he was happy, truly happy for the first time in a long while.

It was near pitch dark when he walked home. The cold bit his skin but Madam's coins chinking in his pocket made it an easy walk and he hardly even noticed how tired he was.

The Seam was crawling with coal miners and he made sure to not go in their way. He was just about to slip inside the warmth of his own house when he heard a voice.

A voice he recognized. He turned his head and all his happiness went away.

His father had just said goodnight to Glenn and now he saw Haymitch too.

Haymitch stared at his father back in his old miner's clothes, his hands and face all black with coal dust.

Dom saw his expression and walked over to him.

"I do this for you and your brother," he said. "For your mother and grandpa Harold. The new manager, he doesn't know…"

But before he could say another word Haymitch flew at him. He didn't know what he did. He just hit him and he didn't care that it was his father, he screamed the most vile things at him and hit his fists everywhere he could.

Dom caught his wrists and Haymitch fought to get free, to keep hitting him.

"What kind of man am I if I can't take care of my own family!"

"You're gonna kill yourself!" Haymitch cried. "I can make it work! And soon I'll be twelve and can sign up for tesserae and…"

"You're not!" Dom thundered. "I'm your father and I forbid it!"

"I hate you, I hate you!" Haymitch wrestled himself free and ran. Dom called after him but he didn't stop. He didn't even know where he was going. Just away from him. Away from everything.

Tears blurred his vision and it wasn't until he slipped on the ice and fell over that he finally stopped.

He lay on the ground, panting. He choked back a sob and rubbed his tears before they'd get the chance to fall.

I'll just lie here, he thought. The peacekeepers can come and take me. Who cares.

It wasn't until he heard a dog bark that he finally looked up. He was on the Meadow and a small ruffled dog ran up to him. It barked, jumped backwards and barked again.

"Here boy!" a voice called and the dog dashed away again. Haymitch followed him with his eyes and saw a dark haired girl stand just at the edge of the Meadow with the Seam at her back.

He got to his feet. Brushed the snow from his knees. He knew who she was even if he'd never spoken to her, had seen her often enough in the dining hall at school.

Gwen's and Pissin' Joe's daughter.

Tara.

She was from the Seam just like him, a year older and with the the longest eyelashes he'd ever seen. She peered at him, watchfully curious. Her dog barked at her feet. It was a tiny, unusually ugly muck. But all Haymitch really noticed was the book the girl kept to her chest.

"That's mine!" he gasped out. "That's my book!"

The girl's brow crinkled.

"It's my mother's and mine."

"It's mine!" Haymitch said and his voice rose in anger.

Tara pressed the book closer to her chest and she turned on her heel and walked off, back into the Seam.

"I was gonna buy it," Haymitch said heatedly and he had to run to keep up with her. The small dog jumped at their feet and barked. "For my kid brother!"

"I bought it. Go away!" Tara said and Haymitch's cheeks flushed redder than they already were.

"I'll pay you! Alright! I'll pay you anythin' you want."

"You don't have any money!" Tara said. "And it was my great grandmother's book. We had to sell it years ago. Go away!"

"Tara!" Haymitch called but then they'd reached her house and she closed the door in his face. Haymitch knocked hard, only to hear her turn the key. Furiously he kicked a big snow heap, making a cloud of ice crystals. He jammed his hands in his pockets and walked off. Home. Where else could he go.

"I thought you'd never come home to me no more," Amadeus whispered when they lay in their kitchen sofa. The boy rested his head against his big brother's arm like so many nights before and Haymitch squeezed his shoulder.

"I'll never do that again, I promise," he mumbled. "K?"

"OK."

Amadeus fell asleep long before Haymitch did. He lay there and stared out into the darkness. When the door to their parents' bedroom creaked opened he knew who it was without looking.

"Haymitch?" Dom mumbled. He hadn't come to say goodnight to them that night but here he was. "Haymitch, you awake?" Haymitch heard his short, raspy breaths and the anger shot up inside him again. It was like a hard, ice cold clump in his chest and he didn't move, just pretended he was asleep.

His father stood there, for a long moment he stood there watching his oldest boy.

And then he turned back to his own room and closed the door.

to be continued...