“You disrespectful little brat! I git ye dis pie and ye mock me when I get cross! I’m not even gonna bother takin’ ye back ta da slaver camp. Tomorrow, I’m sellin’ ye ta da brothel!”
Maren began to shake. She didn’t know what a brothel was, but she imagined it must be a place where people who aren’t wanted were thrown away. She stared through the man in front of her and sat in silence as her mind tried to process the consequence of her giggle.
Kugun stood up from his chair, took the girl’s plate, tossed it back onto the counter, and grabbed her arm with a painful grip. “Yer goin’ back ta yer cage! If yer lucky, the ladies at the brothel will feed ye tomorrow!” He then dragged her to the back of the building, tossed her in her pen, and closed the lock with a heavy metallic clack. With face red and fists curled, he stormed back into the building and slammed the door.
Still smarting from the slap, Maren’s lip quivered and a tear ran down her face. She deeply missed the kindness of her friends. It was late afternoon, and she had the evening and night to think about what was going to happen the next day. She was hungry, lonely, and in pain. After staring through the bars into the filthy back alley for several hours, she fell asleep.
The aroma of eggs, fish, and fresh bread filled the air. Maren could hardly open her eyes since her sleep through the night was once again filled with fear and restlessness. As she laid curled up against the side of the cage, she could hear the sizzling of the eggs as if they were a mere handbreadth from her. It then dawned on her that the top of her head could feel heat radiating upon it.
She jolted upright and was shocked to see a man sitting in the cage with her. He seemed to be cooking breakfast on a pan, but she could not see it, nor could she see the flame it rested upon. The morning was still young and the daylight hadn’t fully broken through the last remnants of night, but she could see that he was old yet strong, and gray but youthful. Strangely, she wasn’t at all afraid of him, for she sensed a certain undefinable quality of goodness about him.
“Good morning, Maren!” the man said cheerfully.
There was a peculiar chime to his voice, and his words seemed to be more felt by the girl than heard. As his simple greeting washed over her, an excellent clarity was present in her thoughts in a way that she had never experienced before. It was as if there had been an unnoticed buzzing in her head her entire life, and now it was gone. Wanting to say something, but not sure what, the girl exclaimed, “That breakfast smells delicious!”
“Don’t look at it,” the old man instructed plainly. “Just keep your eyes on me.”
When he spoke a second time, Maren was drenched in strange sensations. She began to giggle for no reason, and her shoulders felt so light that she thought she might float up to the top of the cage and hit her head. Then her eyes began to water, and she cried. She wept and laughed, felt sorrow, joy, and everything in between, all at once. Feeling out of control, she started to fear. Just as she began to panic, she felt the man touch her hand, and there was peace. It was not simply the kind of peace one feels on a quiet afternoon picnic though. Rather, it was an absolute assurance that whatever she had to be afraid of was already dealt with, and her only part now was to appreciate it. She was about to ask the man who he was, but she already knew. Instead, she inhaled deeply, then asked, “What are you doing here?”
The man smiled and raised his eyebrows. “I was going to ask you the same thing,” he stated. He then swept the hair from her forehead and said, “So lovely, so creative, so passionate. You don’t belong in a cage.”
The words moved through Maren like wind through a wheat field. Her lip began to tremble slightly, and she admitted, “I thought I was going to help with the festivals.”
The old man tilted his head, looked lovingly at the girl, and sighed, “Oh, Maren, we both know that is not the reason you are here.”
Maren felt ashamed for being dishonest with her answer. She could still smell the breakfast cooking in her cage, and she glanced around.
“Don’t look at it,” he reminded her. “Now, my dear, why are you here?”
Looking into the man’s eyes, she swallowed and answered, “I wanted more.”
“Hmmm. And what was it you wanted more of?” he asked, rubbing his chin.
“More pie,” she confessed.
“You do like the sweets,” the man said. “And how can I blame you? They’re delicious! And what else did you want more of?”
Maren remembered the food, the music, and the pirate play. They distracted her from the responsibilities of the farm. They came easily and felt good, but she was beginning to see the dear cost for her decisions. “All of it,” she sniffled.
“Thank you,” the old man said. He then took a deep breath and leaned slightly forward toward the girl. “You have a beautiful imagination,” he beamed with a smile growing wider beneath his beard.
“I do?” she asked.
“Oh yes, definitely. And do you know what?”
“What?”
“I gave
