No Free Lunch

There were tales of this old guy who always seemed to have food, meds, equipment, batteries, and who was friendly with young women. Word had it to watch out for that old guy. No one said exactly why. What’s the worse that could happen if some old man wanted to exchange scav for something only a young woman could offer?

The tale of the old man with scav came up during a conversation at my gal pal’s squat. Her grandma said if we ever came across him to be nice and get scav. My friend was younger than I was and still sheltered with elders who looked after her. My friend wrinkled her face as if smelling something awful.

I could see where the conversation was heading. Exchanging sex for food was such a common occurrence that even grandmothers would chide you if you turned down stuff for sex. As her grandma was about to do. We’ve heard it before.

“Girl, are you crazy?” My friend’s grandma said. “Sex is the only thing you can give that you don’t lose after you give it. Like the magic potato bag. You take a potato out and another one appears in its place.” Grandma holds up the potato in her hand to emphasize her point.”Sex is like that. In fact, the more you give the better you become at giving it. Unless you aren’t paying attention to how men respond to things you do.” The grandma said and laughed to herself. She was peeling a potato that had a hundred eyes on it before she started. I know she’s going to plant those eyes in compost she made from the communal toilet. The thought of that made me skip the offer of eating potatoes at my friend’s squat.

“But grandma,” my friend protested, “What if I don’t like the man?” She said as she pulled down her moth eaten sweater over her new formed breasts.

I thought her grandma was going to throw that potato at her, but no one wastes food now days.

“It don’t matter if you like the man. If he has something you want then you like the thing he has that you want. Who he is doesn’t mean nothing.” Grandma threw the potato into the bucket and grabbed another. “He could be ugly or bent in weird directions, if he is offering food or antibiotics, then like those things and overlook his imperfections. You ain’t going to be young and pretty for very long and you got to take advantage of it while you can.” The grandma said and moved a lank lock of white hair out of her eyes with the back of her liver spotted hand holding the knife.

Grandma best watch out or she’ll stab herself in the forehead, or worse, her eye.

My friend still wasn’t convinced. Her family was putting pressure on her to pull her weight, bring in scav, anything that can be converted into coins, or something that can be eaten. If she brought in copper scav’d from a building site then that would save her from having to let men put their hands on her, or their things in her.

She wasn’t good at scav’ing. She’d have to either fight with the men and big boys who were also scav’ing the building site or she’d have to let them put their hands on her and still lose the copper.

I listened to her grandmother. My mother and grandmother were both lost in the last big upper Filmore Heights fire. I was on my own, finding places to sleep during the day, because I walked all night. It was not safe to sleep at night as a female.

One night as I was walking I came across this old man. He was sitting in a doorway so still I didn’t know if he was dead or alive. His head was down, chin on chest, his long gray hair hiding his face. I slowed down to look at him and he looked up at me through his curtain of hair and said, “You look hungry.”

I was surprised, stopped in my tracks, “Who isn’t hungry now days?” I said, not wanting to admit to my hunger. I had half a powdery apple in my food bag, some stale bread, and almost a full liter of questionable water I got from a drain pipe beside a building.

“I have food, if you don’t mind eating with an old man.” He said. His laugh was like crinkling paper.

“Why would you offer me food? You don’t look like you got much your own self.” I said, not trusting his generosity.

“I’ll be dead soon. Sooner than later. Company is harder to find than food scav. Come on up,” he pointed to the door of the stoop he sat on, ‘It’s just up a flight. I won’t bite you.” He said. His laughter sounded like wood on fire.

I thought I might as well. He looked too old to be much of a bother. Most old men want someone to talk to because their sex drive is all but gone. If he tried to put his hands on me I could fight him off pretty easily. I did have my knife with me.

“Sure, since you promised not to bite me.” I said and tried to laugh, it sounded like a croak. I hadn’t laughed in so long I forgot what my laugh sounded like on a good day.

He raised himself up slowly, holding on to the side of the brick door way. I reached over to offer some help. I held him up under his arm. He was skin and bones, lighter than I thought.

“You able to walk up the one flight of stairs, Mister?” I asked him. I felt sorry for him. What a way to end one’s life here in the ruins after the big fire, at the end of the modern world.

Something, scientists were not able to figure out what, caused all the electricity, satellites, internet, phone lines, to just blink out. It took time for word of mouth to spread and some speculated it was a gamma burst from outer space, since the effect was world wide. Without all that tech holding things together shit just started falling apart. No oil for cars, nuclear plants went cockeyed because no cooling for the rods, what ever that meant. Bit by bit civilization just crumbled.

Word had it that there were a few people who had already got a head start on living off grid. Not many could manage that if they started after the Blip happened.

Step by step the old man went up the stairs. He paused at the top of the landing to catch his breath. “Just down the hall a little ways.” He wheezed, hunched over.

“Do you need to stop and catch your breath for a minute?” I asked him, my arm around his shoulders now.

“No, thanks, you’re a dear for asking.” He said, “I think I can make it.” He reached into his pocket and rattled out some keys.

The keys were the only thing I could hear on the landing. No other apartments seemed to be occupied. His wheezing, my breathing, the keys rattling, the floor boards creaking as we walked down to his squat.

He opened the door and drew me in before turning on the light. I was more concerned with him making it to the apartment before falling over in a faint I didn’t notice the aroma. It was the aroma of food. Fresh food. Lots of it.

He turned on the light, closed the door, and before me there was a table ladened with fresh food: fruit of all sorts, cheeses, cooked meat, bread, rolls, and cakes. Pitchers of what looked like juice. It all glistened like it was dusted with glitter. I could only stare in wonder.

“I told you I had food to spare.” He said in a stronger voice than before.

I turned around and he didn’t look quite as bent over and old. Maybe it was because of the light or that he was in his own squat.

“Please,” He said and pulled out a chair at the table, “sit down, you must be thirsty at least.” He walked over to the side of the table with the pitcher of juice. He grabbed a crystal goblet and poured the juice the color of a sunset, then handed it to me. “Here, wet your whistle.” He said and smiled. His teeth were numerous, straight, white and gleaming.

I took the goblet, dumbfounded, and took a sip, and fell in love. I fell in love with the way the light reflected off of the crystal goblet. I loved the taste of the juice that was a mixture of fruits that mankind had forgotten existed. I fell in love with how my throat was seduced as the juice slid into me.

I looked up at the man, who was no longer old, but rather middle aged. He had more hair with only a suggestion of white at the temple. He held out a piece of cake that was yellow and smelled like lemons, with a snow white frosting on top.

“Here, have something as sweet as you.” He said. His voice was deep, steady, and seemed to be holding back a laugh.

I took the cake from his hand and noticed brown spots on my hand, but I thought it must be dirt from being on the streets. “I should have washed my hands before eating.” I said and my voice sounded hoarse. I took a bite of the cake and was swept away with flavors that brought back memories of when I was young, innocent, with my mom and grandma. I almost wept with the taste of it. It felt like coming home.

I looked at the man and he was a young man now. No silver in his hair. No wrinkles on his face. No brown circles under his eyes. He poured some of the sunset juice into a silver goblet. I could see reflections of the room behind me on the goblet. I was confused. How could he become a young man? There must have been another person in the room that I didn’t see when we came in.

“Where’s the old man?” I asked, sleepily, gazing at the reflection of the room on the silver goblet.

“I’m right here, my dear.” He said with a voice that was youthful, rich, and strong. “And here you are.” He brought the silver goblet closer to my face, and I saw a wizened old woman, white stringy hair falling to her shoulders, eyes glazed with age, mouth open in a toothless howl of horror, and that was the last I saw, of anything.