FIC: Culture Shock [5]
Back to Chapter Four
That morning, Marton found himself trailing along behind Karl as he headed off on an expedition to trade. To his horror, he'd overslept, and had awoken to find he'd been separated from Sean for the day, the other officer already off somewhere with the big man, Eric. The thought of the two of them in company with one another amused him for some reason, and he had a difficult time firmly squashing his desire to smile at the idea.
But then Karl had 'suggested' he accompany him on this trip and he found himself stumbling along another one of those excessively narrow and winding trails, puffing and panting as he tried to keep up with his host, and his mirth entirely evaporated. To make matters worse, Karl was carrying a heavy load in the form of a large pack, stuffed with, of all things, skins! It was horrendous; as Marton trailed ineffectively along behind, the odor of the freshly tanned hides in his nostrils was unavoidable.
Karl hid his smile. The guy was fit, but not trail-fit. He was probably accustomed to long hours on flat surfaces and it was sidestepping roots, stepping over logs, and the up-and-down nature of the track that was doing him in. But he was doing his best to keep pace, without any complaint, which Karl had to admire. To be nice and not because he needed to, Karl paused at the next hilltop where one could look down over the entire valley. The hull of the Patience was just visible among the trees to their right and he could see one or two figures moving about beneath it.
Marton almost forgot to stop and nearly cannoned into the smelly backpack, but managed to pull himself up in time. Grateful for the rest, he bent down, resting his hands on his knees and tried to draw more oxygen into his starving lungs. Glancing up, he spotted the movement near the Patience. "They're not…?" he began, already feeling his anger beginning to rise. But Karl shook his head.
"No. They won't touch anything." he reassured. "That's Nels and his son. He's our unofficial mayor and he'd just be checking to make sure everything's secure. Wouldn't surprise me if he and Sam, his boy, put a tarp over the hole, keep the animals out. I thought of it last night but I don't have one big enough. Nels would though; he's a wood-hooker."
"A what?" Lungs once again functioning efficiently, Marton straightened up and stepped forward to stand by Karl's side.
"A wood-hooker." Karl repeated. "Cuts logs and dries them out, ready to sell in the winter?"
Marton shook his head, not understanding.
"Okay." Karl shrugged. "But that's what he does." He changed the subject, making a sweeping gesture with his arm, aimed at the valley below. "This is our settlement." he said, indicating the few houses visible among the trees and the lazily spiraling smoke from a dozen more, hidden from view. "Down there, in the valley's centre, is the township. We'll be going there later, but first," he pointed to a spot on a neighboring hillside some mile and a half distant. "We're going there."
Marton looked where the finger was pointing and swallowed a groan.
*
Honey! Marton chewed the mouthful of bread, butter and honey and swallowed it, almost sighing with happiness. As a foodstuff, honey was one of the few that could not be further processed and so really, the golden spread tasted exactly the same now as it did when he had it at home. It was the setting in which he was eating it that was making all the difference. That, and the fresh-baked bread and home-made butter, he decided.
He was sitting on a log having a mid-morning snack after the long walk while Karl made his exchange with Milos, the beekeeper. All around him, the bees whose produce he was consuming buzzed and dipped, sampling the nectar from the wildflowers abundant in this meadow. Some twenty feet behind him, Karl and Milos leaned on the paddock fence, Milos' donkey supervising the transaction with pricked ears and lazy swishes of his tail as he nibbled idly on the sleeve of Karl's jacket, while Mrs. Milos hung washing out in the sun to dry from the line strung from the side of the white-washed cottage across the yard to a convenient tree branch. Marton felt a pang of guilt in his gut, the feeling that he was betraying the Collective by enjoying himself hard to shake.
Business concluded and his pack refilled, Karl strolled across the meadow to join Marton, his slice of morning tea growing sticky in his hand. He sat himself down on the log beside his guest without a word, just a happy sigh as he surveyed his surroundings and took a bite of the bread. They ate in companionable silence, Karl stealing the odd sideways glance at his companion, unable to resist the temptation. Man, he was nice-looking! Yesterday's slicked-down dark brown hair was today's riot of dark red and gold curls, while the face beneath them was infinitely more relaxed and consequently twice as handsome, the hazel eyes twinkling as the borrowed shirt picked up the hints of green among the brown. Karl shifted uncomfortably and counted to ten for distraction. Bloody shame, it was. Marton was off-limits, what with being ignorant and probably virginal to boot, and Karl with no clue how to bring up the subject of sex and preferences and all that good stuff. He probably knew what sex was, but how to do it? Karl sincerely doubted it. Best to leave it alone; especially the part where he was curious to know if Altonians understood the same-sex preference or if they even knew what it was.
Marton finished his sandwich and found that some of the honey had run onto his hand. He didn't have a wipe and cleaning his palm on his trousers was unacceptable. Holding his hand out so Karl could see the problem, he gave him a look that pleaded for assistance.
"Lick it off." Karl suggested, doing that very thing to a dab of butter left behind on his finger.
The look Marton gave him was incredulous but he did as suggested, his tongue poking out tentatively at first, but then confidently licking the smudge from his palm.
Karl suppressed a groan of lust and got to his feet. "Time to go." he said abruptly, silently cursing himself. He glanced at Marton who was getting to his feet and then looked away again as he shouldered his pack, now filled with honey, pickle and jam jars, corn flour and the set of tea towels he desperately needed in the kitchen since Eric had pinched his last one as a glue wipe. "We'll meet up with Eric and Sean in town." he went on. "Get you two some more clothes from the general store, too. Weather's improving and you can't keep wearing our castoffs."
With Marton once again trailing along behind (the ideal placement, as it meant Karl didn't have to watch him walk, the curve of his arse, the way his…. Oh, crap!), he set off down through the meadow to connect with the track leading down into the valley. Control yourself, he admonished himself mentally. You are not 'corrupting' this guy! How the hell is he supposed to fit back in once he gets home, eh? You wanna be responsible for that? Feeling much more in control, Karl ventured a glance to his rear. Marton gave him a bright smile, almost a grin, and his resolve fell into ruination and disgrace. Fuck!
*
Brows knit in consternation, Sean trudged after Eric. He was doing his best to not react negatively, and assimilate each new experience on this chaotic world. The man leading the way down to the grouping of buildings Sean could see from occasional turns on the path was not assisting.
The morning had begun oddly, and successively grew stranger. After Eric had buttoned him into a multi-hued jacket similar to the one Karl had worn the prior day, they’d picked their way along the wet trail into the forest. The trees shed water drops on their heads making Sean shudder when some slid down his neck until Eric paused to readjust the collar on Sean’s garment.
The two men did not converse as they walked along. Sean searching his memory for bits and pieces of his childhood in a less urban setting than what he’d become accustomed to when his schooling and work for the Collective began. There were snippets of recollections to vaguely similar sights, sounds, smells. Whenever Eric offered guidance on the path, whatever Sean had been attempting to recall vanished like the mist slowly burning off as the sun rose.
The nondescript, to Sean (Eric beamed and petted and examined each piece for long moments) branches were loaded onto a length of canvas anchored on the sides with wooden slats. Holding his end in one massive hand, Eric again led the way, solicitously pointing out roots jutting into the path or slick areas to Sean holding the rear of the conveyance device. Simple, but efficient, Sean noted, studying the device as they walked.
After dropping off home his salvaged lumber, Eric had a spring to his step as the pair headed to Vincent’s. He breathed deeply of the fresh after-rain smell of everything as he led Sean down to the orchards. It was apple season, and Eric’s mouth watered in anticipation of the goodies the baker would have on hand. The day was warming up nicely, further lightening Eric’s mood. He kept an eye on his companion, turning around with a smile on his face to point out hazards and the like. Sean followed silently, a nod here and there in acknowledgement of Eric’s guidance. Surprisingly, Eric did not feel the need to fill the quiet with his normal chatter. Instead he reveled in the beautiful day, sharing the peace with his new friend.
Trip perfectly timed, Vincent had most of his daily offerings cooling when Eric and Sean burst from the trees, the delicious smells hurrying their steps. Mistaking Sean’s bewilderment at the sensory overload as hunger, Eric selected two of each of a small sampling of muffins, fritters, turnovers, mini strudels and tarts, and ordered a larger selection plus some pies packaged to be picked up on the way home.
Sweat beading his caramel skin and covered in flour to his massive biceps, the baker poured an apple refreshment into thick mugs. Sean sniffed and sipped at it, amazed at the heady combination of spices blended with a crisp apple taste. Perhaps it was the spices making the cold drink feel warm once it settled within his stomach. He sipped and nibbled at something called a turnover while watching Eric and the baker converse. The huge man had clapped Eric loudly on the back when he was engulfed in a hug, flour billowing around them in the small yard. Eric consumed five pastries while discussing repair to some piece of furniture. Sean puzzled over odd phrases such as ‘stressing wood joints’ and ‘bonking in the kitchen’, then shrugged and sipped more of the ‘cider’. His eyes did widen when the other men carried out a table similar to the polished slab of wood with sturdy legs Sean was sat at. One leg of the other table was obviously broken and another wobbled when Eric pushed on it. Arrangements were made for Eric to return with his tools the next day.
Back on the trail, Eric took the lead as usual. He ate one of the turnovers, his fingers sticky from the flaky crust and sugar when he took Sean’s sleeve to guide him around a large boulder. It was when the grouping of buildings Eric called the town began to appear through breaks in the trees that Sean contemplated Eric’s behavior. Yesterday, and today with the baker, Vincent, Eric chattered incessantly and bounded like the young dogs penned in a side yard at the baker’s. Whereas with Sean, last night and today, he was not the behemoth charging ever forward, but a gentle giant, Sean correlated from vague childhood storybook memories. The warmth in Sean’s stomach spread to other internal parts each time Eric offered unbidden assistance. Sean’s chest would tighten, heat suffusing his cheeks and ears.
Approaching an area where their trail joined another and led to the main thoroughfare, Sean saw the next obstacle on the path. He stopped and backed up a step when Eric turned around with a helping hand extended.
“No! Stop… coddling!” grasping the recalled term, Sean’s eyes snapped angrily. “I do not need a… tender, like an untrained child!” Each word was hissed through gritted teeth, the heat within Sean elevating with each syllable.
On to Chapter Six