DRAGON (mxm)

8. Ice Bird (Chris)

   "So you grow wheat?" I ask, carefully tracing the piece of toast Deon just placed in my hand with the tips of my fingers . 

   I am not hungry. The quantity of food I devoured last night would usually last me for several days. My stomach hurts. It was nothing like the quickly baked fish and wild tubers I am used to eating, after carefully examining them for traces of deadly toxins. Everything was so delicious that it didn't cross my mind spices and overindulgence might not be good for me.

   "No," Deon answers. "Growing wheat is impossible. The soil is no longer fertile enough for the purpose. Same goes for corn and rice. We are forced to go back to the ancient crops that people grew before modern agriculture was developed. I'm talking about barley, teff, oats. In fact, in addition to being more sustainable, they are also healthier. This is a very nutritious bread by an Ethiopian recipe. It contains only teff flour, water and wild yeast. Try it. It will benefit your muscles, strengthen your heart and nervous system."

   "I'm sorry. I don't think I can put a bite in my mouth," I mumble. "At least not now. I am really grateful for everything you do for me and don't want to be rude..."

   "It's ok, Chris," he pats my hand. "Don't worry. You need time to switch to normal food again. Step by step. We're in no hurry. I can give you some antacid if you feel unwell."

   "No, thank you. I'll live. What about the strawberry jam?" I ask again out of pure curiosity. "Is the soil good enough to grow fruit?"

   "Oh, no," Deon says with noticeable regret in his voice. "That would be even harder. Only some particularly resistant vegetables can endure the harsh conditions, even though the environment in the greenhouse is strictly controlled. The jam is from your mom's stash, a twenty-year-old treat. If something has enough sugar in it and is vacuum sealed, it can practically last forever."

   "I doubt it," I laugh. "But why didn't you open it earlier?"

   "Umm, I'm on a special diet," he mutters. "I avoid spices, salt, sugar and some other foods, quite a few of them actually. Not a big deal. Most can no longer be found anyway."

   "Oh," I nod in understanding. "Thank you for seasoning the food especially for me."

   "You should really stop thanking me," Deon chuckles. "You are very welcome. I enjoy taking care of someone so nice and agreeable. You certainly deserve it. Not that I wouldn't do it if you were a grumbler."

   I am about to thank him again when a strange noise, reminiscent of a triggered off security alarm is heard nearby. It becomes louder by the second.

   "Fuck!" Deon groans. "Does it have to be right now? I'm such an idiot."

   "What?" I breathe out. His hesitation about how to proceed is obvious. He is nervous and I feel him getting more and more tense with each passing minute. It is enough to make my heart skip a beat. "What is happening? ORDs?"

   "Listen, Chris," Deon grabs my hand and pulls me to stand up. "Everything's fine. I promise. You're safe. Don't freak out, but I have to ask you a favor and I can't explain why. Please, trust me on this and do exactly as I say. You will go to the second floor and stay there for a while. I need you to put on a coat as well... actually two coats... or three. No eavesdropping this time. No sneaking near the railings. Ok?"

   I am too taken aback to question further and just start nodding energetically in agreement. There is nothing else for me to do, but to believe him. He is the only one who can help me against the mysterious menace and has not failed me so far. I will trust him, although this is all too odd. 

   The noises around me are getting weirder. The windows are rattling. The floor is shaking under my feet. Suddenly, the air becomes freezing cold. A strong blast of wind hits my face, as if all the doors and windows are open while a snow blizzard is raging outside. But it can't be. It's the end of August and still a blistering summer.