Vermilion

Chapter 2

Early in the morning, Mary Budd walked through the forest with a bucket in her arm. It was any other day. Another day like the rest of other days in the past two years that she fetched water from the river on her own. She followed the path --- made by her shuffling feet --- that led to the river.

At first, it was difficult and all most impossible for her to lift a bucketful of water from the river to her house then back and again until the tub was full. But the arduous work became a routine and the bucket began to feel lighter even with water. Even the chores back home were a lot easier than she first thought of it.

She practically fended for herself and it was something she was proud of --- though she is a woman.

That brought a big smile on her face and started to hum as she went out to bright greenery and the sound of the water tickled her senses. Her spirits flew higher as she thanked quietly for her life. She breathed in the fresh air and thought of the happier days.

Kneeling down by the bank, she dipped the bucket into the water and appreciated its clearness. She looked up to see the other side but her smile was abruptly washed off from her face. She bolted and lifted the bucket --- which was already filled but the hasty movement made the water spill off --- to a side.

Given that she was the only person around, she dived into the water and swam toward the floating body. Holding him by an arm wrapped over the broad shoulders, she struggled to swim steadily as her legs felt wobbly as she paddled in the water. This was the third in her eight-and-ten years of living that she felt consternation, but she knew better than crying.

As she gasped, she pulled the man with vise-like grip under his shoulders. She'd slumped on the grass when she finally pulled him out of the water. Trembling in panic, she crept at the drenched man then leaned her ear on his nose. Too disconcerted to determine if the man still breathes, she dipped her head and blew air on his mouth. Once. Twice. She moved to pound on his chest, fiery prickly sensation shot from his fingertips to her head; it made hairs on her nape rose stiffly.

His clothing, from the waistcoat, was ripped apart exposing a big open wound, the meat red flesh hardly clot. It was then she held her breath and doubted that the man was alive. Blood stained the white clothes and she felt she had blanched.

Memories rushed in her mind, those that haunted her long ago. Seeing the unmoving man like the previous tragic events, although brimming with tears, she decisively removed his torn clothes.

"You can't die in front of me," she mumbled as she tore parts of her skirt and that of the man's linens.

Helpless and sick, she wound the clothes on his chest and took pains whenever she had to take the clothes on his back.

A soft groan sounded like a thunder that she jerked erect and her spirits soared high again. Quickly, as her wobbly hands allowed, she finished the bandage with a snug knot. Her hands cupped the man's face and shook it in hope to awake him. Thought the efforts were futile, her stalwart will was not shattered.

Exhausted from her racing heart, she breathed in deep before moving on to his head. Slowly and cautiously, she lifted his head, slipped her hands under the shoulders, and dragged him toward a tree. She leaned him against the trunk, and --- for the first time --- had the chance to scrutinize the man she had saved.

There he was, sitting on the grass, and his back against the tree. He was more like sleeping than an all most drowned and torn stranger.