The Rokkoh Adventures

Rokkoh and the Old Woman, Chapter 2

The boards creak as we head up the stairs and into the hall. Doors line the walls on either side, each a private place to catch one's forty winks. The space between each door gets wider the further down we go, the room requiring extra space for an additional bed or, as we progress, more. A window shows off the rage of nature at the very end, and only two doors remain. Kym knocks (da-dada-dada-da) on the left-hand door.

"Changed the knock already?" I ask.

"That's a story for another time," she says as the lock turns.

Out from within pops a head, crowned in thin silver strands that cover little of the dome. Milky eyes watch from behind glassless oval spectacles. The nose sticks out, large and hooked like a bird's beak. The thin mouth is curled into a scowl, no signs of teeth in the small gap as she wheezes out a sound like a dying breath.

"Who's there?" she croaks.

"It's Kym, Nana," my barmaid answers, slow and punctuated. "My friend is here with me, the one I was telling you about."

"Jailbird," Nana nearly squawks.

Nana pushes the door open and steps aside, allowing us space to cross the threshold.

The room is minorly decorated, a sole painting of a boy fishing at a river hanging on the right-hand wall. A window on the wall ahead, like the one in the hall, gives us a show of the beautiful chaotic nature. A bed for one sits under the window, its side caressing the wooden wall. Under the painting rests an identical bed. To the left is a third bed, this one wide enough for two. A dresser, plain and with three drawers, sits next to it. The corner is squared off by walls and a door to host a secluded wash room. In the center burns a pile of coal, a ring of stones keeping the rest of the room from setting ablaze. A pot hangs over the low flame; I doubt there is anything inside.

"So we upgraded, I see," I say. "How'd you manage that? The help normally doesn't get such fancy digs."

"Had to bribe the owner," Kym shrugs. "He was pretty easily swayed."

"I could use a good swaying," I nudge her arm with a big goofy grin.

"Gottschalk didn't keep you company?" she jokes, taking a seat on the big bed.

"Not in the way that matters." I take a spot on the bed, stretching out my long legs. Kym scoots up the length of the bed and relaxes back onto my stomach. Out of instinct my hand goes to her head, fingers playing with the tight little curls.

"When was the last time you washed your hands?" she asks, relaxed but snide.

"Funny thing about prison: they aren't that big on personal hygiene," I tell her, that smirk coming back. "Only got to bathe once a week."

"Nasty man." Her eyes close as my digits continue to stroke and occasionally twirl in the black.

The room goes quiet, a peaceful settling. Nana kneels on the bed, blind eyes searching for something out the window, wiry frame invisible in her too-big nightgown. The fire's crackling is just above a whisper, my slow and deep breathing almost overwhelming it. Sleep would come easily should I allow it, but I hold tight to keeping awake. I need to enjoy this moment, this blissful comfortable silence while my love rests on me. The isolation of a cell brought out a yearning that will refuse to fade until it has been satisfied.

Questions about the map and the potential job surface, the adrenaline from the escape begging to jump on the next opportunity, but I quiet it. Sometimes it's good to take a moment to appreciate the little things like a soft bed, good company, the sound of rain on the window. Sometimes it's good to slow down, breathe, just be. The next adventure will still be there, waiting with eager anticipation for us to greet it. For now, there is simply us, casually entwined amongst the storm.