Lungs and Legs

Chapter 3

It is autumn now. In early mornings we find the water in pots and basins frozen over. The trees are golden and the air is white, clear and cool like drinking from a well.
I do not quite know how, but that day of arm-wrestling changed things. There are still curious looks when I walk through the village, but no smirks or comments when I pass. My days become filled with chores and as I go about my work, I meet people. Slowly, we get used to each other's presence. Berta seems happy to have me around, although she would probably never say so aloud. Ian has gotten into the habit of calling me Little Arms and I have come to greet this with a smile.
Everything seems to have fallen into place. Time in the village flows with a regular rhythm. The gestures of dawn subtly bring us into movement, the work of the day carries us into the quiet evenings, and the evening imperceptibly turn into nights.
Only the mornings are hard, when I awake from a night spent back in the soft, ever-flowing embrace of home.
I have been learning things. I have learned to weave and sew and darn. I know how to make a fire in the fireplace and always remember to keep it alive, even though the flames still scare me a little. I have learned to cook, and to bake, and to make bread – round, heavy loafs which fill the air with their smell at daybreak.
I have learned that I can walk all the way to where the forest gives way to the hills before getting tired, and to the other side of the hills before the pain in the legs calls me back. How I have run and dragged myself the whole distance from the sea when I came here, I cannot quite imagine.

I have also learned that this body bleeds. The first time this happened was a little over a month into my stay here. I would have screamed if I had a voice. Berta found me in the morning, fingers in my mouth, staring at the flowering of dark spots on the bed.
"God bless you child!" she exclaimed. "How old even are you?!". And then, when I seemed no more reassured, more softly she asked "Did no one explain this to you?". I shook my head vigorously, so she did. She sat me down and told me all sorts of confusing things about this body that I have come to live in. For days after that, whenever I was alone, I would look down in disbelief. Berta said there could be a tiny human in my belly, which seemed like such a wild idea. She also said I had to get married for that to happen, although from what she said I could not really work out how wearing a dress to church fits into all this.
Still, perhaps that is what Ian has in mind. From time to time, he puts he's arm around me and says "Well, Little Arms, wanna be my wife?". It always sounds like a joke, but some times I look up at him and see his face is dead serious.
At first, I would not had considered it, not even a minute. Ian resembles one of those wooden logs he spends his days cutting. He is massive, square in the shoulders, round in the belly. Even his skin is a little like wood, rough and unequal. There is hair all over his face too, curly, reddish-brown, and a little scary.
Once, when Berta heard Ian talk like that, she later asked what I thought of it. I shook my head and when she asked why I showed her it was all the hair and made faces until she could not stop laughing.
After a while though, I have gotten used to the look of him and he does not scare me quite like he did. He is always kind to me, too. He often does not understand what I try to tell him, but he does always try. He makes jokes I do not quite follow, but will not let anyone in the village make fun of me or say a bad word about me. So maybe I should be his wife, after all.

I have been pondering this for a while now, and perhaps that is why when this morning Berta sent me to the forest to gather firewood I found myself wandering off from the path. I still like the woods, even though the shimmering leafs are all but gone now. Yellow and brown, they lay on the ground, making noise as I shuffle through them. The sensation of being held in something vast and moving is still there, though, and it helps me think.
It is late in the morning when I come back, arms full of branches and twigs for the fire. I am a little worried Berta will be angry at me for taking my time, but when I come near the house all that worry dissipates. There seems to be some sort of commotion in the courtyard, with plenty of people gathered in a circle. I see one of the little children running in that direction, so I stop her, point and spread my arms, questioning.
"It's Rosa!" she girl says excitedly. "Rosa is back!". She is off on her way before I can learn more.

I squeeze past the villagers to the front of the crowd. There is a sort of wagon outside Berta's house, old and battered, and painted green and red. In front of it, in the middle of the human circle, there are two people moving about. They are both dressed in the kind of colors I have not seen for a while: vivid red and orange, clear blue, and shiny yellow. Their faces are half-covered with strange, grimacing masks. One is very fat, a round, protruding belly jumping up and down as the figure pounces in front of the crowd. The other one is smaller and slender, moving on tiptoe behind. It looks at the crowd and places its finger on its lips, then extends a foot. The fat-bellied one walks right into it and falls down, hands waving in exaggerated gestures. The crowd laughs and so do I.
This goes on for a while: the two figures are clearly telling a story. The smaller one has stolen something from the round one and uses a series of tricks and subterfuges to ridicule the pursuant. I watch, fascinated. Not a word had been said and yet everyone understands perfectly. Each new joke is met with laughter, each successful trick causes applause, each trap makes the crowd hold its breath.
Finally, the slender figure manages to escape with its bounty and the story is over. The crowd hovers for a while, then disperses slowly. I am still standing right where I was, transfixed. I have completely forgotten the firewood in my arms.

The fat figure has now disappeared into the wagon, but the smaller one is still outside. It removes its mask and hat, revealing what turns out to be a young woman's face. Waves of black hair spring out from under the hat and fall on her shoulders. She has noticed me now and comes towards me.
"You must be the girl everyone has been telling me about" she says. "I'm Rosa, Berta's niece. And that loaf you saw" she point towards the wagon "is my brother Greg. We'll be spending the winter here".
There are so many things I would like to say. I would like to tell her that I am happy she will be staying and that I loved what I just saw. I want to ask her what exactly that was, how it works, how they live like this, if they travel far with their wagon, what the story they told us was and where it came from. But I have to settle for a nod and a smile.
"Berta tells me you have no voice" she says. "And that you talk in gestures. That must be quite something!". Then she suddenly looks at me and adds "There, let me take this from you" snatching the firewood from my arms. My hands are free now and she is clearly waiting for me to do something with them, so I give it a try. I point to the wagon, to her, to the space where they did their tricks and jokes, then spread my hands. Rosa looks as confused as most people when I do this, but only for a fraction of a moment. Then she asks "You want me to tell you about what we do?". I nod, delighted to have been understood.
"We are comedians" she says, and when that does not seem to make it clearer for me she starts explaining, all the while walking towards the house. She tells me about performing, and about the troupe they travel with, which has chosen to spend the winter in the big city, and about how they travel far and wide with their wagon, amusing the crowds. She tells me that it is a hard, and ungrateful, and sometimes dangerous work, but that she would not change it for anything in the world, and I think I understand why.
"You have such a wonderful, expressive face" she tells me and somehow that makes me very happy.