The White

I don’t like it when we have to go into the bunker on the hill. Mummy says it’s to keep us safe, but it stinks like old wood and rotten fruit, and sometimes there are spiders and Samsa from the weaving house starts screaming that she feels them crawling on her skin. Then, when it’s finally time to come out, everything is so messy that we spend the next weeks having to clean and rebuild the village. But I guess that’s better than staying out in the valley where the village is. At least we won’t die in the bunker.

We’re in the bunker now. It’s howling like evil spirits outside. Fin says it’s the souls of the dead coming to eat our faces off and they’re angry that they can’t find anyone so they’re screaming because their bellies hurt a lot. My belly hurts a lot too because I’m soooo hungry, so I understand why they’re screaming, even if I wish it wasn’t so loud. Da would say to Fin and me that there’s no such thing as face-eating souls and the sound is just the wind and rain, but Mummy only tells Fin to stop being mean. 

Whatever it is forcing us into the bunker, we get them a ton. “Extreme weather bouts,” Da called them. He was smart, my da. He knew things about the Before time that we’re not supposed to talk about. Like how they used to have cool things called automobiles that you could ride in instead of horses and carriages, and they went faster. Boxes with fake brains that you could ask questions to, and the answers would pop out. You could speak into them and hear people from faraway places—even as far as the other side of the mountain—speak back to you.  

Mummy says it’s fake, but Da said it was real, and sometimes they got in fights about it because the Before time is an evil thing that we shouldn’t talk about because people of the past caused us to have these “extreme weather bouts,” except Mummy and most people call them Mother Nature’s retributions. I normally didn’t listen to my parents’ fights about it, though. I know that’s bad because you have to listen to your parents, but I liked colouring more than listening to them argue.

I’m colouring now because I always have crayons in my safe box. That’s the box I bring into the bunker when we have a retribution to hide from. It’s filled with crayons and has my favourite rock, Ned, in it. 

My picture is not going to be very nice because the lighting is bad in the bunker. It’s only gas lamps, and we have to share them with everyone, and that’s the whole village, so a lot of people. Like, one hundred or some big number like that, plus the farm animals. I can’t count all the way yet and I don’t want to ask Fin because he’ll call me a stupid baby. But it’s a lot of people and animals in this muggy space, so there is not that much light for my colouring. 

The picture is of our house with the wattle and daub walls and the wooden porch and the way my room and Fin’s room connect. I think maybe the house won’t be there when the retribution is over, so the picture can help us when we’re trying to rebuild it. That way, hopefully, it looks the same because it always looks a little different when we try to rebuild it, and then it takes me a long time to get used to it. 

“What are you drawing there, Ivy?” Kayto asks me. Kayto works in the harvest fields where Mummy works, so I think he must be strong and gentle like Mummy, too. He must come home stinky and cry on the porch in the middle of the night when everyone else is supposed to be sleeping. 

“It’s my house. In case we have to rebuild it because of Mother Nature’s retribution, I have the house plan. Da used to make the house plan, but I do it now.”

He makes a weird face at my mummy that I think means he’s sad, except I don’t know why he would be sad, unless it’s because he’s hungry too, or because he doesn’t want to think about rebuilding his house. “I can make a house plan for you, too, but I don’t know what your house looks like, so you’d have to tell me.”

“That’s okay. You’re a good girl, Ivy.”

I smile, but then I see that I’ve drawn the porch wrong: it’s five steps, not six. I got confused because we had five steps and I was five years old, but then I had my birthday, so the number of steps no longer equals the number of birthdays. So now I have to redraw my plan.

***

The village is mostly not destroyed, so I don’t need to use my house plan, but I keep it in my safe box just in case I need it next time. Ned will keep it company. 

Only the far end of the village got flooded by the rain and ruined by the winds. I think the rain is Mother Nature’s tears, and I wonder why she’s sad. Fin says the wind is when she’s farting her guts out, it’s so loud and violent. Mummy yells at him for that. The far side of the village is where the weaving houses are, so they’re all crumbly and bad right now, but I think that’s better than when the drought retribution destroyed the harvest fields because everyone was crying that we wouldn’t have food when that happened, and no one is crying now. 

Mummy tells us that we’re going to the service for Mother Nature tonight, and I groan, but not actually, only in my head, because if I groan out loud, Mummy will get mad at me. Services for Mother Nature are boring, and that’s not a good thing to think, but it’s also true because it’s just the village singing songs and throwing things like wine and dried fruits into the fire. That’s supposed to make Mother Nature happy with us and not send another retribution so quickly, except it only works like half the time because sometimes we get another one a month later. Then I have to go to another service. 

But anyway, Mummy says we’re going to the service tonight and tells Fin and I to get clean. “I want you two looking like scrubbed potatoes, not ones just pulled from the earth,” she says. 

Fin laughs at me. “Mummy thinks you look like a potato.”

I don’t like Fin sometimes. I always love him, but sometimes I don’t like him, and Da told me that’s okay because we don’t always have to be happy with the people we love. 

“Well, you look like a potato too!” I say.

“You look like a deformed potato with those weird knobby things coming out of it, all covered in dirt and hair and mould, and no one wants to touch you.”

“Well, you look like a… like a… like an ugly potato!”

“Would you two please stop?” Mummy asks. She’s rubbing her fingers over her forehead. She does that when she’s sad. I take her hand and give it a squeeze because that’s what Da would do for me whenever I was sad, and it made me feel better.

“Sorry,” we say.

“Just go get clean. Being in the bunker makes you dirty anyway.” She strokes my cheek. “You silly potatoes.”

We go to the well to pick up water and then lug it back, taking turns carrying the bucket because it’s super heavy. 

The water from the well is cold, but neither of us wants to make a fire, so we suck it up and wash with this. I try to scrub my back. Da used to do that for me all the time. But he’s gone now. He died in the wildfire retribution when he was trying to save the farm animals. I was five when that happened. It was so long ago, like almost a year. Sometimes, I can’t picture his face anymore. I should make a drawing of it, just in case.

“Do you think Mother Nature hates us?” I ask Fin.

He shrugs. “No. She hates people from the Before, remember? They were bad to her, so now she sends retributions to remind us not to be bad to her.”

“Yeah, but she killed Da. She must hate us.”

“She didn’t kill Da.”

“Her fire did.”

“Well… okay, yeah, but that was an accident.” He starts scrubbing my back for me. “It doesn’t mean she hates us. Trust me, I learned about it in school.”

“Okay,” I say. But I still think that she probably hates us because I don’t understand how anyone could have killed my da, even in an accident. He was too nice.

***

I don’t like the days after a retribution because I always have so many chores and no time to play. I have to help pick up the garbage around the weaving houses and rebuild. I get splinters. I hate splinters. Mummy tells me I have to be more careful when I show her in the evening. She pinches my palms with her nails to get them out, and I try not to cry. 

I wish Mummy was cleaning up with me and not in the harvest fields because then maybe she’d sing songs with me while we work, or play I Spy, or help me with my numbers. So, I choose a loom weight that’s broken and name it Lucy and she keeps me company while I work instead. She’s still not as good as Mummy, but she’s better than nothing.

At night, I have some free time before I go to bed, so I always colour. I’m working on a drawing now that has my da.

“Do you like it, Lucy?” I whisper, showing my loom weight the picture. 

“Yes, it’s a very good picture,” she answers. “You’re so talented.”

“Thank you. I drew all the drawings in my room.” I show her my walls, filled with pictures. There are some of my family, and some of the cows and chickens, and some of the mountains. 

“Wow. That’s a lot of art. I bet everyone loves it.”

“Yes. My da really loved it too. I drew him lots of pictures. But he’s dead now, so you won’t get to meet him.”

“That’s too bad.”

“Ivy!” Fin shouts from his room, which is only separated from mine with a small curtain. “Stop making your rock talk! It’s so stupid and annoying.”

Actually, Lucy’s a loom weight, but I just say, “Sorry,” and  place Lucy on the pillow next to me and pat her head. “Goodnight, Lucy.” Then, to the picture I am drawing of my da: “Goodnight, Da.” I give him a kiss, then go to sleep.

***

The weather has been strange, and everyone is scared because they think another retribution is coming. Mummy tells me everything is fine when I ask her about it, but everyone is always staring at the sky and it’s super quiet around the village. It has only been two weeks since the last retribution, and no one is ready to face another one so soon. 

The weird thing is that it’s cold. It’s never cold in the village. It kind of feels nice compared to the boiling-hot weather we always get, but it probably means a retribution is coming.

I wonder what the next retribution will be. A flood? A drought? A drought that leads to a fire? I hate fires.

“Ivy, come help me make dinner!”

I come out of my room to help Mummy. She’s making soup. 

“Fetch Mummy some of those herbs, will you?” She points to the table, so I pick them up and drop them in the pot. 

“The weather is funny.”

She smiles thinly. “Yes, it is, isn’t it? That’s okay. Everything is fine.”

“I drew another picture.”

“What did you draw, dear?”

I run to my room to pick it up, then show her the masterpiece I have been working on. 

“That’s lovely. What’s happening?” 

I point to the big lady in the middle. “That’s Mother Nature. See, she has flowers in her hair and she’s making it rain with her tears, and those are her big muscles.” I don’t actually know what Mother Nature looks like. I can only guess. I hope she thinks I made her beautiful so we don’t get a retribution. “And the man she’s holding in her hand is Da. She’s bringing him back to life with her magical dust.”

Mummy’s eyes get watery and now I feel bad because I thought she would like the picture. 

I squeeze her hand. “Mummy?”

“It’s a beautiful drawing, Ivy, but you do know that not even Mother Nature can bring your da back?”

“I know.” I pause. “The picture is for you, if you want it.”

She swallows. “Thank you.”

In the middle of the night, I wake up and see her crying on the porch, gripping the picture I made her. 

***

I wake up to people screaming, “It must be another retribution! The White is a retribution!”

I rub my eyes and grunt, wondering what Mother Nature sent this time. I really hope we don’t have to go back to the bunker.

But this isn’t a retribution I know. It isn’t ugly or scary. It’s… pretty? It’s falling from the sky in wisps of dust, making everything white like paper. But glittery paper. Like magic. Like in the picture I drew of my da.

I get out of bed and run outside, looking for my da. But when I step on the White it’s cold on my feet and I jump. I’ve never felt anything this cold, but I kind of like the feeling. 

I think Mummy and other people are screaming my name, but I need to find Da. I giggle and run further into the soft, sparkly White, calling his name. “Da! Da, it’s me, Ivy!” Everywhere I step I leave a footprint. I am drawing in the White! 

When I finally look back, I see I am past the bunker. The White is whirling fast now and gets caught in my eyelashes, stings my skin ’til it’s pink. I sit down. It’s quiet here; I like it. It’s a nice place to draw. I stick my finger in a patch of white and pull, making a line. And another. And another. I draw my da lying down, and I lie down next to him.

I feel happy and oddly warm now. “Thank you, Mother Nature,” I say, putting my hand over my da’s. “Thank you for bringing him back to me.”