Full Vessels (11 page)

“Observe what the people eat,” Elza said.
“The ones who pick out insects get sick. Flesh needs to consume
flesh to survive.”

“You're wrong. About that and the rest of it,
too.”

“Rotten fruit juice is the best invention
ever,” Hess said.

Greg shook his head. “Ridiculous. And the
last thing you said didn't mean anything. It was just a list of
names.”

“A very important list.” Elza folded her
arms. “Each of those names belongs to an Observer. You're not the
only one, Greg.”

Hess raised both hands in an exaggerated
shrug. “That is why you don't argue with Elza. Now, try not to look
too disappointed. We're going to make up for your humiliation by
teaching you how to rot fruit.”

Kerzon shrugged at the attention on him.
“Well, I'll just get started then. Hi, my name is Kerzon, and I
have just about every type of addiction known to man. Woops, wrong
kind of meeting.

“Seriously, though, I'm messed up. See, from
the first days of my life, I was only ever able to want something
that belonged to someone else. Because of my Observer status, I
took pretty much whatever I wanted. The Creator needed my input, so
I took things in the hedonistic direction. Lots of sex, drugs, and
rock 'n' roll. Side note: methadone is the hardest drug to kick.
Don't do drugs, kids.

“Anyway, I used to think my pleasure sense
was broke. Then I realized no one wants what they have. They just
aren't entitled pricks like me, so they learn to be content with
what they got. Wish I could do the same. I'm always wanting
something but never happy when I get it.

“I guess people are designed to always want
more. And Observers are inserted into people-bodies, so same deal
with us. Makes sense, in a way. What would everyone do if they had
enough? Nothing interesting, that's for sure. So desire makes the
world go round.

“I know none of that was particularly
profound, and I feel a little guilty for running, so here's another
nugget of wisdom. There's no such thing as a need. When someone
says they need something, that just means they want you to give it
to them out of guilt. I hate that. When I want something, I take
it. That's dynamic, right there. Take what you want. Whining till
someone takes pity on you is just a bitch move.

“And . . . that's it. I don't pretend to be a
genius like others around here, so someone shout out a question or
tell me I'm full of shit so I can get out of here.”

Griff perked up as if coming awake. “What
kind of gambling?”

“Kittens versus rats is the headliner. Don't
tell any of the wait staff, but those kittens are rat food. I still
have to round up some critters for the opening acts. Tell you what,
I have another lesson for the group. Gambling is the best. I
really, truly mean that. The randomness, the wins, the losses, the
excitement.” Kerzon glanced to Elza. “And I am dead serious about
this being my thing.”

Greg threw up his hands. “Let's just quit for
the day.”

“Fine by me,” Kerzon said.

He swung his spear with all the torque he
could generate and crashed the haft against the skull of the man
walking before him. Gill collapsed to the ground unconscious.
Kerzon dragged his brother to the edge of the pond and submerged
his head. Gill woke too late to do more than thrash his limbs in
uncoordinated protest. The deed done, Kerzon posed the corpse as if
it had tripped and struck its head, then returned to camp.

It took two days before another of the
hunters discovered Gill. Kerzon wept convincingly at the burial,
dedicated his contribution to the next feast – a moose, no less –
to Gill's memory, regaled everyone with tales of posthumous glory,
and only then proceeded to claim his inheritance: Emma.

Kerzon moved her into his tent six days after
Gill's discovery. Long enough to show respect for the dead but not
long enough for any of the other men to claim her. He resisted the
urge to bed her the first night to heighten his anticipation. The
second night they rutted like animals.

Though not a beauty, Emma exuded passion in
everything she did. In speech, her entire body participated. In the
drudgery of women's work, her expressive eyes danced free. In the
dark of night, she moaned soft sighs of encouragement and surprise
and approval. As she had with Gill, Emma cooed and gasped and
giggled, coaxing him to glorious completion. The swap of mates
appeared to have gone unnoticed by her.

Night after night, he claimed the sex that
had been denied him while Gill lived. For a month or two, the
midnight heat bedazzled him. Kerzon imagined the Creator would be
quite pleased with the sensations he had experienced.

And then he noticed how much more attractive
Meran was than Emma. Meran was woman to his uncle, top man of the
tribe. Her curvy figure flared outward from a tight waist in both
directions, wrapped in unblemished skin and crowned with golden
hair. She drew the eyes of more men every year as if gaining the
beauty other women lost to age.

In an instant, Emma's spell shattered. That
night, her noises reminded him of the deranged hooting made by a
simple-minded child the tribe had abandoned two winters past. It
grated on him until he commanded her silent, whereupon she withdrew
her affections for the night.

The next day, he followed his uncle to the
privy pit. While the older man squatted, Kerzon chose a rock as
large as two fists and approached. His uncle had just begun to
stand when the rock connected with his temple. His uncle collapsed
into the pit. Kerzon hefted a spear and drove it down in vicious
movements until blood and shit coated the body.

Immediately upon his return to camp, he
announced that his uncle had confessed to killing his brother out
of fear of being usurped. When the men warned him that he would
have to face the wrath of his uncle for making such a claim, he
took them to the privy to look upon the corpse of their top man. A
tense hour followed, at the conclusion of which one of his cousins
became the new top man and Kerzon received Meran as his woman.

Kerzon evicted Emma and bedded Meran while
the sun still shone. For days, he did little else but rut with his
woman. After the passage of a few hours, the sight of her would
stir to life the fire of his loins and he would take her again. His
manhood ached with overuse, a sensation akin to being bruised from
his abdomen to his thighs, but he still hardened and still managed
to finish.

The bliss lasted, again, no more than a few
months. This time, his disappointment arose from the declining
condition of his life. Tarps had come loose on his tent, his
clothing remained unwashed, food came to him cold, the stench of
menstrual blood clung to their blankets, and the other men ogled
his woman without respect for him.

His subsequent attempts to improve Meran's
work failed. Everything she did reeked of laziness. Kerzon became
so disgusted by the way she collapsed on her back as if sleeping
during sex that he lost all interest in her. Eventually, he evicted
her from his tent.

While trying to decide which woman to take
next, the other men accused him of murdering his brother and uncle,
then crushed in his skull with stones. Their violence ended
abruptly when he returned to life in their midst. As the men
stumbled back from him in horror, Kerzon decided that what he
wanted next was not a new woman.

He wanted to kill his cousin and claim the
position of top man.

Hess took advantage of the short meeting by
consuming a late breakfast. As he sat down with a generous helping
of complimentary bread and jam, the other Observers entered the
room. Kerzon split from the group to join Hess, spinning a chair to
straddle it backwards.

“What's the deal with you and Erik? Ingrid
saw the two of you taking out horses yesterday.”

“We're getting off this island before the
volcano blows.” Hess glanced at the line of Observers loading
plates. “Have the rest of you formed a breakfast club? And what
about your urgent business with the gambling ring?”

Kerzon shrugged. “We're all struggling with
the early mornings.”

“Nine is an early morning?”

“That depends entirely on the hours you're
keeping.” Kerzon's eyes darted down Hess's figure and back up. “You
should have run off with me two Iterations ago. I was gonna fuck
you silly before Erik and the rest barged in to catch us. Instead
you finished your shift at a gas station and had to go straight to
the torture without any of the pleasure.”

“Did you really think I would believe you
were Elza?”

Kerzon twisted his face into an odd
expression. “Erik thought it would work. Ingrid – Jerome, I mean –
told us that your time underground messed with your mind. It was
worth a shot. I had you collared, so you weren't getting away from
us either way. I'm telling you, Hess, I was hot in one four four.
Everything hung just right.”

“This conversation isn't going anywhere I
want to be,” Hess said.

“Shit, man, you never bedded down with any of
us except for Elza. Aren't you curious? Even Elza did San once. You
ought to give it a try. Do it with another man and you can check
two firsts off your list at the same time.”

Hess finished his meal and stood. “Sorry,
Kerzon, it doesn't matter what my relationship status is with Elza.
I'm a man on a mission and you're not remotely tempting as a
distraction.”

As he walked away, Kerzon called after him.
“You know, it's pathetic how much penises freak you out.” The
occupants of the room turned to stare at Kerzon, who met their
gazes with casual hostility.

By the time Hess emerged from the hotel, Erik
looked ready to kill. He handed over the reins to one of the horses
without comment. They retrieved the travois, then Erik led the
horses while Hess scaled the general store's fence to liberate
extra-large burlap sacks and a flat shovel from the warehouse.

For most of the day, they snuck onto private
property, loaded sacks with silage, and hauled them back to their
staging area. They managed to do six loads before it grew dark.
Then they returned the horses and sat down to a large meal at the
hotel's restaurant.

“Hessie, we got one more day to get shit
squared away. No late breakfasts tomorrow. I decided I'm gonna be
generous and forgive your tardiness this morning. I'll see to
getting us a freight wagon and a couple of draft horses for the day
after tomorrow.”

Hess leaned forward. “Watch yourself, Erik.
You would be braving the ocean in a rowboat if not for me. No,
worse than that, you wouldn't even know to stay behind at the end
of the world. You owe me.”

“Just told you, all's forgiven. Pull your
tighty whiteys out of your ass.”

They finished the meal in silence. On their
way up the stairs, Hess spoke. “I'll need to collect a few things
before we leave. Food, fish hooks, a salt water still for drinking
water.”

Erik nodded. “Then soon as the last
presentation ends, we split to get our shit in order. Shouldn't
take too long the last day, it's just you and Natalia. We'll meet
at the hidey hole before stealing our ship.”

Fifteen minutes later, after a brief scrub in
the bath, Hess dove into his bed. The next morning, he woke late
once more and rushed to get downstairs on time.

When he arrived at the meeting room, a
luxurious buffet awaited him. Hess hesitated, then noticed Elza
seemed to be enjoying the food. “Did San make any of this?”

San laughed. “It's safe, Hess. I know a lot
of recipes that work in a traditional way. The time for
experimentation has passed, so I won't be serving any more
bleach-tinis. This is just good food and adequate company.”

“Thanks for complimenting my adequacy.”

“Oh, Hess, you're one of my favorites. In the
top twelve for sure.”

Hess glanced at the contents of the closest
tureen, at what looked like a jumble of autumn color. San looped
her arm through his. “Honestly, I'm not playing any tricks on you
today. This is me proving to everyone that I'm more than the one
who eats weird things. I discovered some phenomenal combinations
while walking the worlds.”

“What is this one?”

“I call it kitchen sink stew. It has three
types of meat: duck, pork, and horse. Plus assorted vegetables:
carrots, celery, peppers, peas, and ginger. Half the broth is made
from caramelized onions and garlic. The other half is based on
lemongrass and mushrooms. After I combined everything, I seasoned
it up to perfection. The thing beside it is noodles in a creamy
wine sauce that you will not believe. Whatever you do, don't leave
without trying the pickled salad.”

Hess glanced around the room. “Is this your
presentation?”

“I'll do the talking thing too. This is
mostly me showing off.”

When San left to speak with a newly arrived
Ingrid, Hess glanced to Elza, who without looking up from her plate
signaled back with a thumbs up. Hess placed a single spoonful from
each tureen onto a plate and sat one seat away from Elza. As the
room slowly filled, Hess took a tentative bite of the kitchen sink
stew.

“You have to admit it's good,” Elza said.

He smiled. “I admit nothing.”

“I hear that nothing is pretty popular these
days.”

“Only if it's differentiated.”

“So they tell me.” Elza took a sip of a dark
liquid. “You would hate this one. It's too bitter, too sour, and
too sweet all at once. The lighter one is more your style. I think
it's sassafras mixed with wheat beer. Somehow she made it spicy, so
don't drink too fast.”