Where Are the Roses?

The apprentice girl was kneeling outside by a pot of calamondin tree and touching its little golden fruits when Poppy arrived. She glanced over her shoulder, saw Poppy's black dress waving by, and opened her mouth a little.

The widow stepped in without a word.

The girl rose and followed her inside. It was a small shop, and she moved slowly through it. Poppy lingered at each plant, bidding farewell to their leaves and petals with her fingers like a blind poet. Nearby, the apprentice wiped her hands on her apron. Poppy turned.

"Excuse me. Where are the roses?"

The girl gestured behind her. They were stashed neatly in tall ceramic pots.

"Oh, right here. Thank you. I didn't see them."

Poppy bent down to reach for the flowers. They came in shades of red, yellow, and white. Her hand hovered over them. Her fingertips brushed against the red petals, then hesitated. She withdrew and chose white instead. She pulled out one, then another, paused, before choosing a third.

They went over to the counter. The girl tied the roses with a ribbon before wrapping them in cellophane. She placed the small bouquet on the table and nudged it forward.

"It's good to see you again, Missus." Said the girl in a small voice.

Poppy smiled but said nothing. She picked up the flowers from the table.

The girl kept her eyes lowered. "Have a nice day."

Poppy knew the apprentice followed her out and was watching her from the door. She didn't look back. The stone walls lined the narrow country road, and tree branches arched overhead, casting green shadows on the pavement.

There had been storms, and a weeping brook had overflown onto the road, its tributaries splitting and merging across the pebbly concrete. Poppy took a few steps and stopped to wipe the water from her ankles.

Then in the reflection she saw a submerged face, grey, dissolving, floating downstream. The premonition startled her; she hastened her steps.

The village was quiet as usual. It wouldn't get many visitors until summer. Poppy stopped by its one and only café, where they used to frequent after spending a whole Saturday morning in bed and had nothing left in their fridge for lunch. A ham and cheese sandwich for him and a piece of brownie for her: that was a happier time.

At a table sat some young men from out of town, students on break with funny hair. They were laughing and tossing hats at each other. She walked past them and took off her coat at the opposite end of the room.

Poppy waited. Her eyes skipped through the checkered pattern of the tablecloth and drifted past the forlorn ashtray, sugar packets crammed in a white jar. The empty vase used to hold plastic flowers too colorful to be trustworthy.

She settled her three roses in the vase and examined them, her chin resting on her hands.

From time to time conspiratorial laughter arose from the other table. She kept her back to them.

Then Poppy felt someone looking at her and turned slightly, her eyes briefly meeting one of young men's. His eyes darted away, sweeping around for invisible fairies floating in the air, then slowly gravitated back to her. To her surprise he smiled: a guileless, hearty smile. She lowered her gaze and looked up again.

Then Poppy felt someone watching her. She turned slightly, and her eyes briefly met those of a young men. He had chestnut hair that partly covered his ears.

His gaze flitted away, darted around for invisible fairies, before steadily gravitating to her. To her surprise, he smiled: a hearty warm smile.

Poppy drew her gaze down, her heart thumping. She looked up again and saw the young man's profile. When she turned away she knew he was facing her way again.

"Here it comes, here it comes, gentlemen..." called the owner as he emerged with a plateful of orders.

How much the man had aged! His face was flushed from the kitchen's heat, and for a moment, she feared he might collapse. Yet he steadied himself and set the plates down. The students rubbed their hands together; men their age could eat a cow if left unchecked.

Smiling and chatting, the old man noticed Poppy alone at her table. His expression changed. Taking a deep breath, he wiped the sweat from his temple and made his way toward her.

"Good weather today, warm and sunny, isn't it?" He looked outside.

Poppy nodded. "It is nice out."

"Spring came early this year, it seems. Things will only go up from here," he continued, pausing as he struggled for the right words.

A pigeon had wandered by the door, pecking around its little red feet and staring ahead; it was curious what the café had in store.

Labored with thought he went on, "None of what happened made sense. It sure made no sense to me. The river... it takes without asking." Leaning slightly toward Poppy, his voice became so small she could hardly hear him. "I just want you to know how sorry we all are. I watched him grow up, and you're both so young..."

"Thank you," she stared at his stained collar. "Thank you." At the table nearby, the young man's head tilted ever so slightly.

He double-checked her order and left. The coffee arrived shortly. Bending to set the cup down, he tried to balance the spoon on the small plate, but it slipped and fell on the table. His fingers, stout like baby carrots, were trembling slightly.

"Well," he looked at his own hand and spoke as if whispering to himself. "Come back again soon, will ya? Don't be a stranger now."

Poppy wore a smile as the old man retreated.

She sipped her coffee without sugar, then glanced to the side.

The young man was watching her again, yet his gaze had changed; it now held a hint of awe, much like watching a wounded animal propping itself up. His lips parted briefly before sealing again.

She kept her eyes on her cup and did not look back.

They were playing tricks on him: one on his left slipped his hand over and padded his other shoulder. The young man turned right and started arguing with the wrong guy. When he finished he heard wings flapping behind him and looked at the other table. The vase was empty.

Poppy walked beneath half-closed windows framed by dark green ivy. On the way, she passed a young couple. The boy held a straw hat for the girl, whose collarbones shifted delicately under the straps of her dress. They were burying their faces into each other's necks.

As they passed, the boy's eyes flicked to Poppy. He pulled his lover closer, his arm tightening around her shoulder. He was saying something into her ears. Soon their murmur faded away. Poppy clutched her coat tighter. Her steps quickened, faster and faster, until she was nearly fleeing from some mongrels.

She left the main road and walked down a slope to a secluded garden.

It was serene here. Junipers and groves of yew stood guard over the low-lying stones. She walked to the one housing him and was attacked with a ghastly fright. How long had it been since her last visit? It was overgrown with spring grass and hideous wildflowers.

She began to pull them away. Why wasn't anyone taking care of the place? The blades of grass left deep narrow cuts in her palms that would only be felt later. The roots were twisted together into one grim web. Her wrath made little difference.

Somewhere a magpie was laughing on a branch.

Poppy screamed, flinging the roses to the ground, then slipped by the tombstone and pounded it with her bare hands.

"You bastard!" she cried.

Abruptly, she stopped and with wild eyes pressed her ear against the cold stone. Not far from here, past the woods, the lone river ran, relentless spirit that gave no thought to the living or the dead.

To think that he really was gone.

She still slept on her side of the bed. In the quiet dark before dawn, when every form of existence between heaven and earth was still muddled in a gray mystery, she fancied she might turn and fall onto him.

Or in the morning as she stood over the countertop making her coffee she'd thought of something funny and put her mug down with a smirk, and he'd be laying low on the couch, waiting to leave for another day's work.

For a split second of an eternity it was all achingly real. She swore she felt his soft breath on the back of her head and caught the delicate creaks as he shifted on the couch. Like he was still here, staying in the quiet limbo, an inch out of her touch.

"I can't have it anymore... Take me away, please..." she whispered into the silent stone that was becoming warm with her embrace.

Then, gradually, a stench thickened the air. A raw, acidic odor of something crawling out of a graveyard. There were noises too. It was coming. It was behind her now. Something touched her hair softly.

Poppy opened her eyes without blinking. She turned her head back slowly, like a key afraid of being in the wrong lock.

She could see it now, and what she saw made her blood froze.

Amidst the grey fur knotted together like dirty carpet was a pair of bloodshot eyes. They dug straight into her as if staring back at themselves. Below them a withered mouth was drooling, its crooked teeth the color of rotten wood.

"Wendy... have you missed me..." it said in a grating voice.

It was not him. She didn't know what it was.

Like a startled hare, she bolted. It lunged at her legs. She thrashed a heel straight into its jaw. The thing reeled but did not let go. Again it seized her, and they tumbled, rolling through the dirt and grass. It overpowered her and dragged her back, her fingernails filled with dirt as she tried to grab at the grass.

She screamed and bit at the claws that were tearing her clothes apart. It roared and grabbed the roses by the tombstone and whipped her. The thorns on the long stems scratched her badly. She rolled around in pain.

The thing crawled onto her and tore her dress was in tatters. White rose petals lay all around her. Some had turned red. It was having fits of crying and laughing.

"Don't look now..." its bear-like paw pushed her face into a pile of dead leaves.

It pulled her knicker down her knees and stared. She heard it breathing heavy like a buffalo's. It scratched its head and went on to expose her pale breasts. Its filthy fingers grabbed them hard and forced a squeal out of her, then stalked around her throat.

It bent its weight on her and Poppy's eyes immediately widened.

"don't leave me... I'll take care of you... I'll build you a nice little house..."

Her feet kicked in the dark stiff earth and soon drew two furtive ditches. Except for that it was all very quiet. Above her the weak sun flickered through the shifting branches of a pine. Everything was suddenly clear for her now, things that had clouded her mind and fogged her eyes for a long, long time.

She felt cold water filling her lungs completely now and heard what she took to be birds darting in low shrubs.

She was leaving this world and floating somewhere north.

Suddenly the siege was lifted. The monster howled and was yanked back by its collar. She lay there while the chaos unfolded but was unable to comprehend it. She thought she could no longer make a sound in this world, then a string of violent coughs gushed out of her throat.

Someone cursed in a loud voice. There was a circle of men, kicking and beating. They were the students from the cafe. They had the creature under control now. Poppy saw it was no monster but a tramp covered in filth. She had never seen a human being so degenerate and miserable.

One of the young men came kneeling by her.

"She's alive, thank god." He tried not to look at her naked body. "We're going to swim in the river. But we got lost. then we heard--" he stopped and turned to his friends. "Hey, he's trying to get away!"

Poppy pushed herself upright and glanced around. She reached for what was left of the roses. The petals were gone, the stems snapped and lifeless in her hands. She laid them down again. Then, all at once, her chest heaved, her mouth greedily taking in air, as if she had been frozen for a lifetime and was only now remembering how to breathe.

Streams of warmth traced down her nose and over her lips. It was her own tears. When she was done crying she felt better.

"Don't just stand there, give her something to put on, idiots!" Someone said.

Poppy came out behind a tree with their clothes. She had a pair of jeans from one and shirt from another. The shirt was too long on her. The men She looked like a child playing dress-up.

"Missus, it's not safe out here. Plus you need to get bandaged up. We'll drop this scum at the police station and then take you to a clinic."

"Okay," she nodded. She examined the face that was speaking to her. Was it the young man who was looking at her earlier? She asked, "you said you were going to the river?"

"Yeah, probably too cold for now, but these fools want to give it a try." One of them gave the tramp another kick. The rapist lay prone on the ground like he was chewing the grass.

The cut on Poppy's palms started to creep in as she wiped the blood from her face.

The river sounded closer now: sullen, untamed and intractable spirit thawed from a great height. She still felt its pull, its promise. The wind lifted, and she shivered. The warmth of borrowed clothes clung to her skin. She blinked slowly, as if just remembering what year it was.

The young man was in his boxers, having donated his jeans to Poppy. One of his feet was scratching the itch on the other leg's calf. "Well, missus, should we get going now?"