Defective, Page 3
Sharon Boddy
liked being carried from place to place. Pa was useless; a lazy drunk who would be lost without Ma. There was no need to keep him around. Ma was managed for now but Mixer knew that was only a matter of time. She was one of them; she’d figure it out eventually.
Mixer didn’t need to worry about many others. Very few people ever came to the orchard. Every now and again a wagon driver would deliver supplies from the Landlord and there were the semi-regular visits from the Constable, PC Pierre, who came by as part of his rounds or to bring Pa home. He seemed to like the family and that could be useful, too.
The Landlord fascinated Mixer. The Landlord owned the orchard and much of the land surrounding it. Mixer studied how he commanded Ma and Pa and the others to do his bidding, even when he wasn’t physically there to tell them. He was a vulgar, ugly man but wealthy and imposing so he could do as he pleased. He smelled of soap and leather and, sometimes, his mother. This had puzzled Mixer at first. Until he'd learned the Landlord's schedule.
On days that he picked up his cider, while Pa and the others loaded kegs of cider and crates of apples into the wagon, the Landlord would settle up with Ma. Settling up meant balancing what the Landlord provided — room, board and a small garden plot — against the family's labour. The Landlord always took some change.
Autumn
Ma and Pa died on the same day.
Pa was swarmed by a band of Pharaoh’s bees. He ran about trying to shake them off but they stung his fleshy upper cheeks and soon the skin had swelled so much he couldn’t see where he was going. He ran and ran; the bees followed. Ma and the children ran after him, saw him run up towards the cliff that overhung the valley, saw him fall over the edge to the rocks below. Ma, running in front, had held her children back from the cliff’s edge. She held onto the skinny pine tree that hung over the valley and looked down. She shook her head and led them back home.
Ma drowned later that day in a vat of cider rescuing Mixer. All their lives Ma had warned the children not to go near the enormous fermentation vat, for any reason. Ma spotted Mixer crawling along the top of it.
The lip of the vat was slippery and, with a small sploosh, Mixer was in. Ma tore up the ladder, jumped in and flung her son up and over the side. He landed on his well-padded bottom and crawled away, shaking his head back and forth, flicking cider everywhere and licking his thick red lips. The steel vat was three-quarters full and the inner sides were slick with a soapy combination of pearl apple residue, yeast, sugar and water. It was too slippery for Ma to get hold of the sides and she couldn't swim.
Porkchop could have opened the valve at the bottom and drained the vat but Mixer silently reminded her that the Landlord would be coming soon for his cider. Ma and Pa always said the cider came first. Then there was Ma, who was a stickler for the rules. Listening to her cries for help, Porkchop quietly ordered her siblings to their daily chores.
Santa found Mixer in the herb garden, digging in the dirt. She scooped him up and held him tightly in her arms.
___
Two days later the Landlord came to collect his final batch of cider for the year. He rode his wagon into the barnyard. Porkchop was sitting in the open door of the press house oiling clippers when he arrived. The others were all out in the orchard, at Porkchop's order, pruning the trees, mulching and raking, picking up any stray apples they'd missed. They did these things every fall. She didn't see why this year should be any different.
"Where’s my cider?" he boomed at Porkchop.
She explained what had happened. He was quiet for a moment, looking at the girl. Almost a woman, he thought. She was looking at her boots and he could barely see her face. What he could see was half covered in the flat brown hair that flopped over her eyes.
"That still doesn’t answer my question," he said. "Where’s my cider?"
"It’s still in the vat."
The Landlord considered this and decided that the cider would still be okay. She couldn't have been in there that long before one of them had fished her out, he thought. Besides, the drunks at the Piggy Gristle would never know the difference.
"Why haven't you kegged it? C’mon then. Get your brothers and sisters in here and start working. I'll wait if I have to."
The mother might be gone, he thought, but this one’ll do.
"We’re not allowed near the vat," Porkchop told him.
"Then how did you get your mother out?"
Porkchop lifted her head and her hair fell away from her eyes. She didn’t say anything. The Landlord’s face became very white. He left in a hurry, driving his horses at top speed back to Battery where he ordered PC Pierre to deal with the situation.
___
Two days later, after the Constable had updated him about the orchard, the Landlord sat in his office, fuming over his lost profits.
"For obvious reasons, I dumped the cider," PC Pierre had told him.
The last batch of the year was always the sweetest. His patrons would never have known and surely the alcohol would have killed off any diseases the woman had had.
The Landlord wasn't happy to lose his best pressers. They’d been a good investment. At first it had only been the pair of them, newly married, working the orchard, and even though he’d been eventually forced to raise their wages to the family rate, set by the county for a maximum of two adults and two children, they kept pumping out so many kids he was getting many years’ worth of free labour for the price of four. He was even legally allowed to garnish a portion of their wages by leasing them a small vegetable plot on his land. There had also been some other fringe benefits.
He was, however, relieved to be rid of their brood. Whenever he had gone to sample the early pressings or conduct surprise inspections he had always encountered the children. He avoided looking at them unless he had to. He was almost certain that some of them were defective but all of them made him nervous, even Titania. At night he dreamt of her cherubic face, blonde hair and voluptuous body but whenever he encountered her during the day she made him feel as though she were looking right through him.
He needed to hire someone to work the orchard but he didn’t want another family this time or a local. That left the coastal labour auction and the next one wouldn't be held until spring.
Well, he thought, at least they’d gotten most of the work at the orchard done before the end of the year. The trees would survive the winter untended.
___
PC Pierre gently pulled his mule, Josephine, to a stop. Pater liked to lurk in the bushes near the bend in the road and jump out at people. He scanned the area then blew his whistle three times. Dealing with Pater was the more pleasant of the tasks that had been set before him. His first had been to recover the children's mother from the vat.
He’d emptied the vat first. The rotted, sweet smell was so pungent that he’d left the press house while the liquid gurgled out of it into the old metal drains below and from there to the reed beds that lined the roads.
Porkchop had taken the children far into the orchard and he could see them sitting in a circle on the ground surrounded by the trees. Weeks ago, the children had picked the last of the pearl apples, named for the lustrous pink-silver-white flesh that lurked inside the small, red fruit. The bare limbs of the squat, gnarled trees stood stark against the grey sky.
When the vat was empty, he’d covered his uniform with his canvas coat and tied a kerchief around his nose and mouth. He lowered the rope ladder into the vat and climbed down. Her bloated body was slippery and he had some trouble picking her up at first, but eventually he crouched down and was able to slide her up and over his shoulders. He stood and carefully climbed back up. He balanced her at the waist over the top of the vat, climbed out and went to get the cart. He gently laid their mother in the back and covered her with a blanket. Porkchop saw him do it, turned and told her siblings to stay put then started towards him.
"Ma wouldn’t want to be buried here," she said, coming up to him. "She hated it here."
By law the Constabl
e was supposed to bury her in the county site in Battery but he felt a responsibility.
"I’ll find a nice spot," he told her. "I’ll be back in a few days."
He climbed into the front seat and heeyapped at Josephine. Midway between the orchard and Battery, the Constable stopped and took out a shovel. He dug a grave in the shade of a silver maple and buried their mother.
The other task had been to remove the children from the land. None of them had reached the age — Porkchop still had more than a year before she turned — and the Landlord had no legal responsibility to them.
"I don’t want them in my camps," he’d said. "Take them to Andrastyne." He’d handed the Constable a piece of paper with a name and address on it. "He can find places for them."
The Constable had nodded but he also knew the law. It all rested on Pater. He'd come prepared with a cloth bag of trinkets that lay at his feet below the front seat of the mule cart.
Movement down the road caught his eye. A scrap of blue curtain in the front window swayed back in place. He heeyapped at Josephine and brought her to a halt in front of the ramshackle house. He knocked on the door and when a voice barked on the other side he very slowly and carefully opened it.
___
PC Pierre returned to the orchard three nights later. He found the children inside, eating their supper. He laid a hand on the shoulders of the two children nearest
Mixer didn’t need to worry about many others. Very few people ever came to the orchard. Every now and again a wagon driver would deliver supplies from the Landlord and there were the semi-regular visits from the Constable, PC Pierre, who came by as part of his rounds or to bring Pa home. He seemed to like the family and that could be useful, too.
The Landlord fascinated Mixer. The Landlord owned the orchard and much of the land surrounding it. Mixer studied how he commanded Ma and Pa and the others to do his bidding, even when he wasn’t physically there to tell them. He was a vulgar, ugly man but wealthy and imposing so he could do as he pleased. He smelled of soap and leather and, sometimes, his mother. This had puzzled Mixer at first. Until he'd learned the Landlord's schedule.
On days that he picked up his cider, while Pa and the others loaded kegs of cider and crates of apples into the wagon, the Landlord would settle up with Ma. Settling up meant balancing what the Landlord provided — room, board and a small garden plot — against the family's labour. The Landlord always took some change.
Autumn
Ma and Pa died on the same day.
Pa was swarmed by a band of Pharaoh’s bees. He ran about trying to shake them off but they stung his fleshy upper cheeks and soon the skin had swelled so much he couldn’t see where he was going. He ran and ran; the bees followed. Ma and the children ran after him, saw him run up towards the cliff that overhung the valley, saw him fall over the edge to the rocks below. Ma, running in front, had held her children back from the cliff’s edge. She held onto the skinny pine tree that hung over the valley and looked down. She shook her head and led them back home.
Ma drowned later that day in a vat of cider rescuing Mixer. All their lives Ma had warned the children not to go near the enormous fermentation vat, for any reason. Ma spotted Mixer crawling along the top of it.
The lip of the vat was slippery and, with a small sploosh, Mixer was in. Ma tore up the ladder, jumped in and flung her son up and over the side. He landed on his well-padded bottom and crawled away, shaking his head back and forth, flicking cider everywhere and licking his thick red lips. The steel vat was three-quarters full and the inner sides were slick with a soapy combination of pearl apple residue, yeast, sugar and water. It was too slippery for Ma to get hold of the sides and she couldn't swim.
Porkchop could have opened the valve at the bottom and drained the vat but Mixer silently reminded her that the Landlord would be coming soon for his cider. Ma and Pa always said the cider came first. Then there was Ma, who was a stickler for the rules. Listening to her cries for help, Porkchop quietly ordered her siblings to their daily chores.
Santa found Mixer in the herb garden, digging in the dirt. She scooped him up and held him tightly in her arms.
___
Two days later the Landlord came to collect his final batch of cider for the year. He rode his wagon into the barnyard. Porkchop was sitting in the open door of the press house oiling clippers when he arrived. The others were all out in the orchard, at Porkchop's order, pruning the trees, mulching and raking, picking up any stray apples they'd missed. They did these things every fall. She didn't see why this year should be any different.
"Where’s my cider?" he boomed at Porkchop.
She explained what had happened. He was quiet for a moment, looking at the girl. Almost a woman, he thought. She was looking at her boots and he could barely see her face. What he could see was half covered in the flat brown hair that flopped over her eyes.
"That still doesn’t answer my question," he said. "Where’s my cider?"
"It’s still in the vat."
The Landlord considered this and decided that the cider would still be okay. She couldn't have been in there that long before one of them had fished her out, he thought. Besides, the drunks at the Piggy Gristle would never know the difference.
"Why haven't you kegged it? C’mon then. Get your brothers and sisters in here and start working. I'll wait if I have to."
The mother might be gone, he thought, but this one’ll do.
"We’re not allowed near the vat," Porkchop told him.
"Then how did you get your mother out?"
Porkchop lifted her head and her hair fell away from her eyes. She didn’t say anything. The Landlord’s face became very white. He left in a hurry, driving his horses at top speed back to Battery where he ordered PC Pierre to deal with the situation.
___
Two days later, after the Constable had updated him about the orchard, the Landlord sat in his office, fuming over his lost profits.
"For obvious reasons, I dumped the cider," PC Pierre had told him.
The last batch of the year was always the sweetest. His patrons would never have known and surely the alcohol would have killed off any diseases the woman had had.
The Landlord wasn't happy to lose his best pressers. They’d been a good investment. At first it had only been the pair of them, newly married, working the orchard, and even though he’d been eventually forced to raise their wages to the family rate, set by the county for a maximum of two adults and two children, they kept pumping out so many kids he was getting many years’ worth of free labour for the price of four. He was even legally allowed to garnish a portion of their wages by leasing them a small vegetable plot on his land. There had also been some other fringe benefits.
He was, however, relieved to be rid of their brood. Whenever he had gone to sample the early pressings or conduct surprise inspections he had always encountered the children. He avoided looking at them unless he had to. He was almost certain that some of them were defective but all of them made him nervous, even Titania. At night he dreamt of her cherubic face, blonde hair and voluptuous body but whenever he encountered her during the day she made him feel as though she were looking right through him.
He needed to hire someone to work the orchard but he didn’t want another family this time or a local. That left the coastal labour auction and the next one wouldn't be held until spring.
Well, he thought, at least they’d gotten most of the work at the orchard done before the end of the year. The trees would survive the winter untended.
___
PC Pierre gently pulled his mule, Josephine, to a stop. Pater liked to lurk in the bushes near the bend in the road and jump out at people. He scanned the area then blew his whistle three times. Dealing with Pater was the more pleasant of the tasks that had been set before him. His first had been to recover the children's mother from the vat.
He’d emptied the vat first. The rotted, sweet smell was so pungent that he’d left the press house while the liquid gurgled out of it into the old metal drains below and from there to the reed beds that lined the roads.
Porkchop had taken the children far into the orchard and he could see them sitting in a circle on the ground surrounded by the trees. Weeks ago, the children had picked the last of the pearl apples, named for the lustrous pink-silver-white flesh that lurked inside the small, red fruit. The bare limbs of the squat, gnarled trees stood stark against the grey sky.
When the vat was empty, he’d covered his uniform with his canvas coat and tied a kerchief around his nose and mouth. He lowered the rope ladder into the vat and climbed down. Her bloated body was slippery and he had some trouble picking her up at first, but eventually he crouched down and was able to slide her up and over his shoulders. He stood and carefully climbed back up. He balanced her at the waist over the top of the vat, climbed out and went to get the cart. He gently laid their mother in the back and covered her with a blanket. Porkchop saw him do it, turned and told her siblings to stay put then started towards him.
"Ma wouldn’t want to be buried here," she said, coming up to him. "She hated it here."
By law the Constabl
e was supposed to bury her in the county site in Battery but he felt a responsibility.
"I’ll find a nice spot," he told her. "I’ll be back in a few days."
He climbed into the front seat and heeyapped at Josephine. Midway between the orchard and Battery, the Constable stopped and took out a shovel. He dug a grave in the shade of a silver maple and buried their mother.
The other task had been to remove the children from the land. None of them had reached the age — Porkchop still had more than a year before she turned — and the Landlord had no legal responsibility to them.
"I don’t want them in my camps," he’d said. "Take them to Andrastyne." He’d handed the Constable a piece of paper with a name and address on it. "He can find places for them."
The Constable had nodded but he also knew the law. It all rested on Pater. He'd come prepared with a cloth bag of trinkets that lay at his feet below the front seat of the mule cart.
Movement down the road caught his eye. A scrap of blue curtain in the front window swayed back in place. He heeyapped at Josephine and brought her to a halt in front of the ramshackle house. He knocked on the door and when a voice barked on the other side he very slowly and carefully opened it.
___
PC Pierre returned to the orchard three nights later. He found the children inside, eating their supper. He laid a hand on the shoulders of the two children nearest
