Inka's Curse Part 11: Ruth
/“Have you heard of what happened to ..." Ruth begins saying.
“I know already, and I have to go by there. So please no more tears. You’ve cried enough for me.”
“But a dreadful thing has just happened. So many innocent people are dead. There are even rumors that the most magnificent wizards can’t understand what had happened there.”
Her eyes were inflamed and red-rimmed. She had been crying. Now I’ve made things worse for her. Maybe I shouldn't have stopped by. I wonder how often I hadn’t made it home on time that she would assume I was murdered.
“Look I know this isn’t what you want to hear right now but I must go right now.”
She seizes hold of me before I can leave and hugs me tightly. Next, she walks back into the room. “Alright, but before you go I’ve got something for you. I made it earlier to keep myself busy but I don’t have the appetite for it.”
She comes back with a savory pie. I sniff and smell its pumpkin. “Wrap up a slice for me. I’ll eat the rest before I go.” I can’t stop grinning. Her baked goods are delicious.
“What happened to your jacket? And your fishing rod?” Ruth’s brows bumped together in a scowl. “And your arm?”
Her mouth gaped ajar. My arm? I put down the fork and looked at my arms. On my left arm is a small, red, dry area of skin. Poking it, I felt a bit of pain. I got burnt probably from the sword. So it's risky to use. Just my luck. “That’s nothing,” I answer then brag the fork.
I begin eating before answering the rest of her questions. Where is my fishing rod? I’ve completely forgotten about it.
“The jacket was destroyed trying to remove this thing. The fishing rod is on the beach. I left it on the rock.”
She walks away a bit annoyed as I eagerly continue eating and came back with a decent coat. “It’s another one of your father’s.”
“You don’t have to keep their things. Donate them to charity. Except for the fishing rods, if there’s any left.”
She completely disregards what I’ve proposed and waits attentively for me to finish up. “I’m going to miss you,” Ruth finally says shattering the peaceful silence. I don’t say anything back. I don’t want to cry and definitely don’t want to make her cry anymore.
“I’ll make you some tea,” she says trying to keep me here longer.
“No thank you. But can you do something about my arm?”
“Are you going to tell me what happened to it or am I supposed to guess?”
“I don’t want to talk about it,” I finally said.
After I eat, she carefully wraps up my wounded arm in a bandage, and we say our goodbyes. I nervously stood at the front door a few minutes reluctant to leave. I could hear shouting in the distance coming from the town square. The glowing sky was still ominous as I walked out into the refreshing air.
By Cristina Collazo