A Slice of Life

“Yo, what’s in the box?” Jewels yelled in his best Brad Pitt impression. The group snickered as the lady looked up at them from behind thick sunglasses, lowering her journal slightly. Jewels ducked down to not-so-effectively hide. Yasmin took over the jeering.

“What’s in the box, what’s in the box?!” she shouted as Hector tried to “shh” her.

The lady in question was wearing a pink bathrobe, wide-brimmed straw sunhat, floral print blouse, tan slacks and a pair of crocs. She was writing in a maroon leather bound journal, and a medium-sized cardboard box sat in front of her. She had not interacted with it for hours, instead writing and sipping her coffee.

The three of them had been wondering for at least an hour as they waited for their next class to begin, what exactly she had in the package, until the conversation escalated to jokes about severed heads and psychopaths. Jewels had taken it upon himself to begin making audible jabs and now, Hector feared they had caused an unnecessary distraction.

To his horror, the lady gathered her items and strolled over to their table.

She placed the box gingerly onto the table and looked at the three. “Do you really want to know?” she asked.

“Nah, we were just joking,” Hector stammered.

“I wanna know,” Yasmine glanced at the others. “You know, see something, say something, like in an airport.”

“Ah, like an airport,” the lady said with a wry smile. “But that is only for unaccompanied packages.” She drew back an empty chair and looked at the group, waiting for official approval. Nervously, Hector nodded and the lady sat down, placing her journal to her left, her coffee to her right. She reached in her pocket and withdrew a vape pen. “You don’t mind if I...”

“S’cool,” Jewels nodded. The lady smiled and took a long drag, before blowing the steam away from the group, nearly hitting a barista, who turned sharply and hurried to the kitchen. Then, the lady began to speak:

“There was once a chief of a distant, humble village who was summoned by the king.” She spoke with the wistfulness of a bygone age, and her words felt like the cool mist of lands fantastic.

“One does not reject a call from his royal highness. So the chief prepared himself and the family horse to ride across the land toward the great castle that his daughter had spent years of her life dreaming about.

“When he and the numerous other leaders from around the kingdom who had also been invited, were greeted as equals, escorted to the palace by palanquin and presented as princes and princesses to the king and queen. The chief was overwhelmed by the decadence that the royals lived. He began to find himself feeling shame over his meager, albeit honest life.”

The lady took a dainty sip of her coffee, wiping a small droplet from her lips, before continuing.

“In the hall, the chief and the others who had been invited stood at attention, unsure why they had been summoned. Before them, the king and queen sat in their golden thrones and ruby-red robes, silver circlets about their heads. The queen, with her flowing black locks and deep green eyes, rose and spoke in a graceful, yet commanding tone:

“My husband, the king, returned yesterday with a special kill. After much discussion with myself and his advisors, he has decided to share this meal with you, the leaders of the local villages. He wishes for you to join him and become knights unto this land.”

“The leaders, including the chief, stood in silence, attempting to understand. Each of them had the same look of confusion and concern.”

“I bet it was a monkey,” said Jewels. “That's something that would be pretty special. Like Indiana Jones.”

He was hushed by the others, and the lady smiled.

“Gracious you are impatient,” she said, clasping her hands before her, “No, it was not monkey. But none of the men knew what it was. They stood as you sit now, debating what the meal would be, yet the royals refused to supply an answer, the servants having no idea either, instead ushering the chiefs into the dining room. Our chief was the second to last to enter the room, with the final leader excusing himself to the privy.

“The chief was seated next to a rather short individual, another chief from a village some ten miles from our protagonist’s own domain. They debated between themselves what their prey was to be, each growing more and more comfortable as the night ran on, the table growing rambunctious as the predictions became more and more ridiculous.

‘I bet it were a bear,’ said one man, throwing his hands in the shape of claws.

‘Oi ‘eard it was a great elk,’ another postulated.

‘Nah, it's probably just a horse all dressed up. A way to make us look foolish,’ one chief spat.

“While this debate continued, the chief began to settle, drinking glass after glass of the wine the servants were more than willing to bring. Soon the world began to swim, and he had no actual desire to know what he would be consuming.

“However, as they were still in the middle of the lively discussion, the man who had gone to the privy returned and signaled for everyone to follow. Everyone, the servants included, wanted to see what could be the issue, and he led the crowd not to the privy, but to the kitchen doors. Every man had to look in one at a time, and the chief was lined up at the end. Face after face approached, curious and overly-confident, only to leave with a face of abject horror, of sadness and regret.

“The moment the chief neared the door, he could make out a bright light emitting from its gap, changing from color to color, never settling on just one. Yet as he looked toward the table in the center where the food would be prepared, he was yanked away with whispers from the crowd that the king and queen were almost to the dining hall.

“Every man sat in their chair with a grim look of hopelessness, save for the chief, who tried to mimic their faces. No one spoke, but each looked at each other and shook their heads in silent agreement that what was presented to the table would not be consumed.

“When it was finally brought before them, the chief could only describe it as a steak with a distinctive smell, with what appeared to be a shifting spectrum of light coming from its bones. The smaller chief who sat next to ours tapped him on the leg and shook his head to indicate that this meal was not to be eaten.

“Instead, the chiefs each wrapped the meat in their napkins without the notice of the king and queen who eagerly consumed their meals.

“Then, as they left to return home, they tossed the slabs of meat in the moat, to be consumed by nature, for whatever they saw was so horrible that they could not even conceive of its taste or texture.”

“Except for the chief?” Hector asked.

The old lady smiled sadly and took a drag from her vape pen. “Except our chief, who had not seen the beast that such a meat had come from. He brought it home and left it out on the counter where…” She took a longer drag, savoring the flavor, then sending it out in a vapor that carried with it the scent of cedar and berries. Yasmine could swear the mist almost took the form of a village, a land much older and simpler, the shape of a thatch roof cottage taking center stage. “His wife would find it in the morning.” She sniffed and sighed deeply, the remnants of steam trickling away from her nostrils as she looked away from the group, each of them waiting with bated breath. The steam that had once been a village dissipated, leaving behind the wooden table and its many coffee stains.

“When the chief saw her eating the meat, he grew frightened. He did not know the meat’s origin, but he knew that not a single other individual had taken their piece, and there might have been a reason.

“The woman saw no ill effects from the single bite she consumed. Rather, she felt more health and energy than she had held in her entire life. The rest of the meat was thrown out, the chief refusing to partake. Only one stray piece that had fallen from her plate remained, which she hid from her husband, concealing it in her kerchief.

“However, the wife noticed that the rest of the village grew older and older, while she remained the same age. Year after year, season over season, the friends she had, her neighbors, her family, everyone that had not eaten of the meat, grew, aged, and died in succession.

“Neither did the meat slice she had preserved age. It maintained its discoloration but never faded in scent or taste. She considered sharing it with her husband but waited just too long for him to join her.

“One generation, someone was able to figure out her agelessness and declared her servant of the devil. The woman was chased from the town and chose to seek out the king and queen, only to find they had been gone for years, vanished into the wind. With few options remaining, the woman lived her life, always fleeing those who found her existence sinful.”

The lady looked back at the group, her eyes red and full of stars that silently crept down her cheeks, not acknowledging the barista returning with the bill.

“It has been 2000 years. I have seen families, friends, allies, enemies all perish. I buried my husband and my daughter in a hole in the earth in an age I can hardly picture anymore. I have seen nations rise and fall in what felt like weeks. I have seen both the best and the worst this world can offer. I have seen invention repeat invention, ideas rise, be discarded, only to be renamed and repackaged.” She rested a hand on the brown box, her nails clasping its edge with a grip of a hawk. “I have searched and hunted for so long for you, and I have but one question: what did I eat?”

The group stared at the lady as though she would break into a smile or pull a rabbit out of the box. The air seemed to grow heavy and thick with moisture, like after a summer rain , and the only sounds that could be heard was the clatter of dishes of the kitchen.

“Ningyo,” Yasmine shouted suddenly, smacking her hand on the table. Everyone jumped, then looked at her with curiosity. She grinned. “That’s just the story of Yao Bikuni, the girl who ate the magic fish person. That's Japanese folklore yo.” She snapped her fingers in triumph. When she noticed Jewels laughing, she punched him in the arm. “I pay attention in ELA, stupid.” She laughed as well before her face grew dark. “Yo, lady, you just ripped off a story from folklore. That’s messed up.”

“Oh it certainly is,” the lady said, not letting her fingers off the box. “But stories of this nature tend to travel and be retold in new and exciting ways. But I do like your idea of it being a ningyo.” She let go of the box. “How about it, your highness? Did we partake in the ningyo, the half fish immortal?” The group now looked at her with renewed uncertainty.

“Who are you talking to?” Jewels asked.

“She’s crazy,” Yasmine said.

“I don’t remember anymore,” the barista with flowing black hair and emerald eyes whispered from behind the lady, just audible enough to be heard as the world turned on its infinite gyre.