Index:
Chapter Four
The Olive Branch
She’s always been so strong.
I was in high school when I first met Vala.
Well, saw. Stole a look, more like.
My boyfriend was with me.
The boyfriend I had never kissed.
The boyfriend I had told so many times,
“Not yet,” and never known why.
He was talking about cake, or video games, panties,
something like that. Whatever was glued to his
mind that afternoon. He wasn’t much of a thinker.
Vala was walking quietly down the hall,
books hugged to her chest.
Her hair was short, back fanned out to one side.
She wore a plaid button-up, short-sleeve,
and a knee-high tan skirt, canvas. Both ears pierced
five times over. Rainbow bracelets stacked six or seven high.
Weird. Modest. Authentic.
Any other girl would have seemed… small, scared. Like they were trying to
prove something to the world.
But she was just… Vala.
Indifferent.
Unconcerned.
As if she were simply separate from the rest of the world.
As if she knew exactly who and what she was,
and knew just as well
that the rest of us were lying to ourselves.
My eyes met hers. She paused.
Smiled.
I looked down at my shoes.
My cheeks burned.
My boyfriend pointed at her, nudged me in the shoulder.
“Dude, Bekkah. That dyke is totally into you.”
I didn’t look at him. I’d never hated anyone more in my life.
Today
West Palm, Florida – Winter
REBEKKAH’S FEET FELT like lead and air. The floor beneath them was long forgotten, her chocolate eyes scanning her cupboards for the perfect spice, the perfect side. It had been hours since she’d left the kitchen, but there was so much more to do.
She shivered, cinnamon skin covered in goose bumps. The window was open; odd as it was, she had never cared for how the kitchen smelled after so much use. The frigid humidity had frozen her to the bone, but the fresh air was invigorating, stinging her lungs as she breathed in deep. As she fiddled with her heavy jacket, she quietly worried that this was the right thing to do. Would she rather go out? Would she rather order in? Would she be too tired to bother? Would she feel obligated?
So much was riding on tonight.
Vala hadn’t been home since Christmas. It had been almost as long since they’d found the mutual time for a video chat. Phone calls were weekly, but the only place they’d been able to share so much as an “I love you” was online. Words on a screen.
Simulated emotion.
Last night, Vala had celebrated her victory with her best friend. Now, she was coming home.
Rebekkah was nervous. Terrified.
Overjoyed.
The evening had to be perfect, of course.
The perfect food, the perfect gift.
And maybe, if she was lucky, the perfect beginning.
Rebekkah closed her eyes for a moment, head feeling light. Setting down her favorite blade, she put dinner on hold, thinking about her day thus far. Laundry, incense, dishes: check. Incense burning, catbox scooping, and grocery shopping: check. Scrubbing every room of the house: check. Rearranging the furniture for optimal surprise factor and improved comfort: check.
She had thought briefly about stringing congratulatory banners across the ceiling, but the last time she’d done that for a birthday, Vala had made fun of her for a month.
Nervously, she picked up the knife, again, eyeing the setting sun through the tiny window above the sink. She was sure she was forgetting something. Maybe it was—
Her cellphone blared salsa. She jumped, nearly removing the tip of her finger, the cold steel of the blade’s side brushing against her skin. Her heart skipped a beat, fingers trembling with excitement as she snatched her phone from the countertop.
Holding her breath, she peeked at the face. “<3 Vala <3” danced across, confirming her delight.
It rang a second time. She pursed her lips, waiting, taking deep breaths.
On the third ring, she flipped it open, answering as calmly as she could manage. “Hello? Rebekkah Villa Castellanos speaking.” Her voice had crackled. Goddamnit.
“Hey, Rebutter. Guess where I am.”
“Vala!” she finally squealed. “Oh my god, tell me, tell me!”
“I—”
“It better not be far! Dinner is almost done!!”
There was a brief pause.
Rebekkah fidgeted.
“…Well, not too far, or I wouldn’t have called to tell you, dummy.”
She smiled to herself, glancing back out the window, as if Vala were just around the corner. “Pbbtthh, fine. You win. Where?”
“I’m skirting around Orlando. So, couple of hours. You mentioned dinner?”
Rebekkah fought a cringe, silently reminding herself that two hours paled in comparison with four months. “That’s a surprise. And you better hurry up. I might eat it all, myself.”
The voice on the phone chuckled. “No, you won’t.”
“Will too!”
“Then how will you validate your culinary expertise? I know you. You’re waiting with bated breath, staring at your beautiful work and doubting if it’s any better than a microwave dinner.”
Rebekkah wrinkled her nose, giving the phone a face. “You know what? You’re right. I’ll give some to Mr. Sprinkles. He’ll tell me all about how great it is.”
“Pfffft. What’s he know? Stupid puss wouldn’t even eat my pizza. I made it from scratch!”
“Because Mr. Sprinkles is a man of class. He has taste. Unlike your pizza.”
This time, Vala cackled. “Yeah, you’re probably right. Look, traffic is heavy, I’ll see you soon, okay?”
“’Kay. Drive safe. I love—”
Click. The line was dead.
“…you.”
With a deep sigh, Rebekkah’s arms dropped to her sides. She eyed her knife—a honyaki, made by hand in the same manner as a katana. Eyes watering, she picked it up, and sat down at the table.
Setting her phone down, she touched the side of the knife. Her fingertips ran down the engraving, Japanese characters pristinely etched by hand into the high-carbon steel.
She smiled softly. It had been the perfect gift, a meeting of fine dining and history. Vala had surprised her with it the Christmas after her father, Fidel Villa Fernandez, had passed away unexpectedly. Sitting down at the table, Rebekkah thought about that night.
* * *
A Memory; A Dream:
“Do you know what this is?”
“Oh.. oh my god, you… you… this is… how did…”
Her hand strokes my cheek.
“Don’t ask. It wasn’t easy. Finding it took months, you know.”
“This is… I’m… but I’m not even… I’ve read
about these, online. A new one costs over…
over a thousand dollars. Vala, how did—”
She plants a soft kiss on my lips. I can feel my tears on my cheeks.
“Do you want to know what it says?”
“Please…”
When she looks away, I touch my tongue to my lips. I taste fresh berries.
“Hold on, let me find the… here it is. I couldn’t possibly memorize this. Mm.
‘Fukeba fuke
hana wa sunda zou
aki no kaze’
This says some meaning is lost in English,
but that it’s roughly:
‘Blow if you will,
fall wind; the flowers’
time has passed.’”
“That’s… I… I want to say ‘beautiful’, but…
this is… a death poem, right?”
She slides closer. Wraps her hands around my waist.
“From eighteen seventy one. Do you want to hear the story?”
“…Please.”
Her hair smells like moonflower, fragrant only at night. A secret.
“Ok. I’m not very good at this, you know.
Don’t expect your momma’s bedtime stories.”
“Oh, come on. Tell me.”
Her fingers seek out mine, pulling them to my middle.
“Fine, fine. Alright, so in eighteen sixty eight, eleven French sailors
caused a panic at the sea port of Sakai, Japan. It was an accident,
but the local Samurai were testy—a lot of fighting had happened
lately between Japan and the West. They shot the sailors.”
“Were the sailors trying to buy kitchen knives?”
She sighs. Pinches the skin on the back of my hand.
It feels good, but I don’t tell her that.
“No, stupid. Anyway. The French captain was angry, of course. He made
such a fuss that the Japanese not only paid him dearly, but agreed
to sentence the twenty samurai to death. This was enough for the
captain, who was invited to witness the execution. It would be the
first time a European saw sepukku in person.”
“So, they stabbed themselves with kitchen knives?”
Her voice is soothing. Comforting. I close my eyes.
“I’m about ready to stab you with this kitchen knife. No, they used tantos,
like good samurai. At least, I’m assuming. Anyway. The captain
watched as the first eleven samurai gutted themselves one by one.
But he couldn’t take it. Too gross, I guess. So he pardoned the
remaining nine, and they called it even.”
“…Huh. Eleven? I guess he tried to stomach it,
until they were ‘even’?”
She pulls me closer. Rests her chin on my shoulder.
“Probably. Manly man bullshit. This knife, though. It belonged to one of the
remaining nine. The samurai’s father, he was a famous smith at
this point. He had made the knife as a wedding gift. A few years
after the Sakai incident, despite being pardoned, the samurai
quietly excused himself to a private room. After writing that poem,
he used the knife for seppuku. His wife found him some hours later,
along with the poem. Years after, his father engraved the words
in the knife, and gave it to his grandson to pass down.”
“This… this knife was… in his intestines?
That’s… this is incredible. I need to
go cook with this right now.”
I smile, but my throat is swelling. I choke back more tears,
but they pour down my faces, anyway.
“Oh, you baby. It’s not that sad. Pretty cool, actually. I wonder
if you can taste his liver.”
“I… it’s just… this is so… expensive,
and… I’m not even… I’m just…”
My stomach twists. Who am I, to deserve this gift? This person?
“You will. Promise me, you will. You’ll go to culinary, and you’ll be
the best damn cook in the country. None of that housewife
bullshit. A bonafide chef.”
“I… this…
…
…okay. As long as… you promise.
Promise you’ll see me through.
Promise you’ll be there when I graduate.”
I wait. I hope for an instant response.
It doesn’t come, and I start to cry harder.
And then, she laughs.
“Of course I will. Who else is gonna eat your crappy cooking?
Mr. Sparkles?”
* * *
Rebekkah stood slowly. Stepped back toward the counter. Dabbed her eyes on her shirt.
She never had found out what this blade cost, or how Vala had found it. Her own present, from yesterday, couldn’t even compare. She knew Vala would love it, but her forty dollar trinket was no match for this gift.
Eyeing her sushi, she smiled. It was beautiful, but still not enough.
Dessert. A few weeks ago, she had learned how to make Vala’s favorite dessert.
She would make it, and it would be perfect.
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