Bottle Green Daffodil

Chapter 3: Of men and masquerade

Strangers depleting Zion's patience was not an everyday phenomenon. Especially the ones who could not decide quickly, this ice-cream or that?

The girl had been standing before the counter, exchanging occasional talks with Benjamin "Benjy" Rustom when Zion sauntered inside. The owner's rheumy eyes were regarding her with the reserved curiosity of watching a monkey skateboarding. She was still standing before the counter when Zion finished picking up his daily quota of cigarettes and a carton of milk.

"Which one is better?" The girl was asking.

Zion looked over her shoulders. She was pointing at two tubs of ice-cream lying like a fallen soldier on the counter- one was peanut flavoured and the other a blueberry.

Benjy's thick lips, resembling a fish's mouth, puckered up. "I like both, young girl."

As an afterthought, Zion returned to the aisle and picked up a packet of liquorice sweet and a tin of cheese crackers. He waltzed towards the counter, minor irritation creeping in his system to see the girl had still not left. While she stood deciding Zion was reduced to staring the back of her head. He suspected her of robbing the azure from sky and dyeing her hair in it. Blame the hair, boy. She could be Tonks from Harry Potter.

This whimsical musing made Zion smirk.

He shifted his weight from one leg to another, hands holding the catalyst of his day's survival, and mentally urged the late Kate before him to hurry.

The linoleum floor looked dull and dirty in the weak rays of morning sun. It could bear a symbolic meaning for his life. "I'll take both." The answer came at last.

Benjy nodded with a forced politeness and began packing her items of purchase. Zion noticed that it consisted of a toothbrush, a packet of spaghetti, packaged frozen meat, instant coffee and two tubs of ice-cream. She had quite an appetite. The very odd thought about the girl staying the night at her boyfriend's place strayed into his mind. Zion tried not to dwell on it. Not when he missed seeing Rosemary this morning. Not when last evening's incident could not be washed away, the dirty stain it was.

A foul mood had enslaved Zion. He was surprised he hadn't growled at late Kate to "sashay her arse faster."

"That'll be eight pounds."

"Right." The girl fished her hand inside the pocket of her oversized jumper and drew out a ten pound note. "Thank you."

It was then that her cell phone rang. Such things did not, normally, pique Zion's interest. No, it would take Vesuvius's grandeur for him to look up from his insignificant life. But today it did. It was the song.

Delightful humming of Cotton Eye Joe was punctuating the sluggish atmosphere. Benjamin Rustom wore an impassive look. Perhaps, he did not like the song. Zion, on the other hand, had his lips stretched so wide it was hurting.

The past was confronting him, making him smell the musty leather, feel the afternoon heat on his bare back, the way his legs were hurting in the confined space, the sleepy drone of the neighbour's land mower. The chants of "Oh, babe... Oh, babe" from the tender creature looking at him in awe as the two moved in an amorous rhythm against each other, hands canvassing the landscape of each other's bodies, gasps swallowing the words, the radio playing Cotton Eye Joe.

It was Betsy's idea, the whole thing. She thought she could save him, help him fill the void Klef had left to occupy the void in burial ground and Zion had let his libido guide him. How displeased Maya had been to learn about it. Her wall of silence had mosses growing on it. Reviewing this tryst from the lens of years passed always left him amused at his idiosyncrasies.