The Scorpion's Voice: living in the desert
Published by Cynthia E. Bagley at Smashwords
Copyright © 2012 by Cynthia E. Bagley
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Cover Image from Public Domain.
Dedication
To my husband Otto. You are my star, my hero
The Scorpion's Voice
"Kat, it's my turn," Stephie said. She tried to pull the binoculars out of my hands. Clink. They bumped my glasses.
I rolled away from her, pebbles clinging to my stomach.
"Just a minute," I said. I trained the binoculars on the small trailer next to the road.
"But, it's my turn."
I didn't answer her. You see, Stephie was the one who had insisted on this little jaunt. And, Stephie was the one who spent much of her time coming to this spot with Dad's binoculars. No, this time it was my turn.
We were stretched out on the hard ground, elbows supporting bodies in small stones and gravel. The greasewood in front of us provided a screen to protect our spying. The greasewood, a plump oily plant, grew along a small ditch that we called a canal. It supplied water for irrigation and for our stock.
Our neighbor. Physically, he was big enough and strong enough to carry the two of us all day. But, like a beast of burden, he was mentally weak. We were fascinated with this child in a man's body. What did he do? How did he live? Why did he live with his parents?
We lived in a community that didn't recognize weakness. A family that lived five miles away from us hid their retarded girl child in an attic room until she died. At her funeral, we looked into the coffin, fascinated, trying to understand why a family would lock up a child. And, she was a child in an adult's body.
Maybe she was soooo ugly Stephie had said before the music swelled, signaling the start of the funeral. I guessed that she was violent. But, we couldn't tell. We only saw the corpse of a sad old woman.
I watched Troy walk out of the trailer. He raised his hands above his head, stretching his whole body. We could see his stomach peeking from under the bottom of his shirt.
"Let me see. Let me see," chanted Stephie.
"Shush," I said.
He looked towards the east. The morning colors changed from black and white to full color. I handed Stephie the binoculars.
"He just walked inside," she said. "What did you see?"
"Nothing."
I rolled over until I was on my back. The smell of greasewood, the soft gentle light of dawn and my tiredness put me to sleep. I closed my eyes.
"You only give me the binoculars when nothing's happening," I heard. Stephie was already tired of holding the binoculars. They were heavy. I turned to look at her.
"It was your idea," I said. I liked to piss her off. My little sister. More like my bigger younger sister. She was much larger than me. I was slim and she was stocky. I was blonde and she was brown. She didn't burn like I did.
She wiggled into a new position, her elbows scraping against the hard dirt. But as she tried to get comfortable, I opened my eyes and saw something, something white . . .
"Don't move," I said. She froze.
I sat up-my head barely over the greasewood. I looked for the white that had flashed at me. A small scorpion, not quite the size of a little finger, was nestled against her stomach with its tail up.
"Don't move," I warned again. I pulled a small stick from under the bushes. Quickly, I flipped the scorpion away from Stephie. The scorpion scuttled to the bushes we were hiding behind.
"Sit up," I ordered. She obeyed me.
"What happened?"
"A scorpion."
Stephie shivered. We had been warned about the dangers of our new environment. Snakes, coyotes, and scorpions were on Dad's list of dangerous creatures we might find in our wanderings. I don't want my girls to be stupid he had said as he gave us the lecture. A scorpion sting can kill.
"We're in a bad place," I said. "Let's go."
"But what about . . ."
"We don't know if there are any more of them," I said.
Stephie did not always listen to me, but this time she brushed herself off. We slipped out of the bushes and walked to the road. We watched for snakes and scorpions.
Once safe, Stephie started again.
"I want to see what Troy's up to," she said.
I had forgotten about our mission. The scorpion had knocked it clean out of my head. I wondered at her persistence. I wondered what her next argument would be. Why was Troy so important?