Title: The Fields
Author: alcyone (teagrl83@yahoo.com)
Rating: PG
Summary: The usual. An ordinary day in the life of Superman is not quite so ordinary in the lives of others. In a perfect world...
A/N: Unbeta-ed. Probably has mistakes up the wazoo. I can only hope nothing is too atrocious. *wince*
~~~~
Before his eyes, the ink blurred and spread.
Clark looked up in puzzlement, squinting his eyes at the morning sun pouring from the open window. The confusion vanished in an instant when he turned his head to look up at Lois. Quick as lightning, a pang of worry replaced the confusion and he put down the newspaper.
“What’s wrong?” He asked.
Lois looked away, wiping her eyes. The sunlight glinted off the golden band on her ring finger. “I’m sorry,” she said a bit sheepishly. “I can’t explain it.” She sniffed. “I mean I can try but…”
He placed a hand on her arm. “Tell me.”
“That article…” Lois gestured to the newspaper. “I don’t know,” she continued, stumbling through the words. “It’s got to be the hormones. I mean, I’ve read worse. We’ve covered things like that. But--”
He turned his head towards the open page and then back to her. “Which one? The foreign policy--”
Lois placed a hand on his cheek and shook her head. “Nevermind, Clark. Just ignore me,” she said with a sad smile.
She must have seen his skepticism because she placed a hand on his arm.
“I’m okay,” she insisted. “Really. This is just a silly thing. I’m going to get some tea. Do you want some more coffee?”
Clark shook his head and she gave him another smile before exiting the room. He watched her leave before turning back intently to the paper.
~~
The fields lay silently menacing, a wasteland compared to what they had once been. A far cry better however, than what they had been several decades ago when the sound of bullets and hoarse shouts ripped through the air.
Fortune was fickle and cruel. How had she lived when her son and her son’s wife had died? How had she outlived her husband? He had been so strong; some days at sunset she could swear she heard his footsteps arriving at their thatch-roofed house. Yet, if she paid close attention she could hear that these footsteps were not as confident. Where her husband and son had stood now stood her grandson. But he was not yet a man.
He had come home today with a bag of rice, and her stomach had grumbled, but the look on the boy’s face told her all she needed to know. The boy had gone against her wishes; he had gone to the fields in search of scrap metal to sell. He had succeeded. This time.
The woman looked out to the horizon at the fields where the land was treacherous, where any misstep made the ground shake and one wouldn't even have time to cry out.
She tried to empty her mind of the worry; her grandson had come back.
“Please eat, grandmother,” he said behind her. “We have enough for several days.”
She nodded dully, then exited the house with the pail to go the nearby well while the boy started the fire.
Later, when dusk had turned into evening, the cicadas continued to blare their harsh whine around them as they ate.
“Won’t you have any more, grandmother?”
The woman shook her head. “I’m not hungry,” she said, ignoring the pain in her stomach. Pain meant one more day away from the fields. This pain was nothing at all.
“But grandmother,” the boy said with childish persistence. “You are weak and there is more rice. And when it is done there are more scraps. It is not so danger--”
“Enough,” she said softly, lifting her eyes to him in warning. “Do not go to the fields again.”
The boy sat back and looked at his rice.
“Promise me.”
Her grandson did not look at her, but murmured something in the affirmative. She didn’t believe him, but old age had sapped the strength from her legs and it was hard enough to make the short walk to the market. She sighed.
“Go to bed,” she said, taking his rice bowl when he had finished. “Tomorrow you must see about catching some fish.”
“I tried, but didn’t today. I stayed all day,” he said, the frustration sharp in his voice
“I know,” the woman said soothingly. “But tomorrow you might.” She looked at the direction of their small plot. “We will have some vegetables soon.”
The boy moved towards their bedding in the back and the woman sat at the front entrance looking as far as he could under the glowing light of the full moon. Tonight he would be safe, tomorrow as well.
A strange dot near the moon caught her attention and she squinted. Could it be a plane? But there was no roaring of engines and besides, she could not remember the last time a plane had crossed through these skies at night.
The dot grew larger as it drew closer and she realized it was a man--dressed in a bright blue and red uniform. He glided over the neighboring houses and the village well. His feet touched the ground several feet from the woman and she took in the lightness of his skin, the youth of his features and the hard determined set of his jaw.
Perhaps the rich in the cities could now fly.
He greeted her respectfully in her own language and her eyes widened. The words were unnatural sounding and stilted, obviously influenced by some other tongue, but the mere fact that this strangest of visitors should know how to greet her was entirely unexpected.
“Welcome,” she said quietly when she at last could speak. “What do you seek?”
He tilted his head as if looking for the words. “I seek…fields,” he said. “Bad fields.”
The woman shook her head. “Go back to where you came from. No one should go there. There is nothing but death waiting in the fields.”
The man looked at her uncomprehendingly and she realized that perhaps he knew less of her language than she had thought.
She lifted her hand to point to the horizon. “Death,” she said slowly, then pointed to him. “You, go home.”
“No,” he answered. “I can help.”
The woman looked at him oddly. “Too big,” she gestured, spreading her hands. “It would take years.”
“No,” he said with a smile. “One night. Tonight.”
She tilted her head. He seemed so friendly and silly in his uniform, the soldiers of the past had never worn such bright colors. It was a pity that he was bent on dying.
“Go home,” she repeated forcefully.
“Grandmother?” She heard her grandson’s footsteps and turned in alarm.
“Go back to sleep,” she whispered furiously, but the boy had already caught sight of the strange man.
“Who is he?”
Before she could say anything, the man smiled and said, “Friend. Help with fields.”
The woman felt dismayed, the last thing she needed was someone further encouraging her grandson.
“Go back to sleep,” she ordered sternly. The boy looked crestfallen, but his eyes wandered over to the man.
“How will you help with the fields?” The boy asked him.
The woman took him sharply by the arm and led him back into the house.
“With my hands,” the man called out softly behind them.
Her grandson was about to turn around, but the woman gave him a sharp look and tightened her hold on his arm. He sighed and moved back towards the area under the mosquito net.
She walked to the doorway and look at the man once more. He was still smiling, obviously amused.
“I come back,” he said and with that he flew up into the skies towards the horizon.
The woman shook her head and turned to go inside the house.
~~
The ground was shaking.
A shrill scream rang in her consciousness and the woman jerked, passing onto wakefulness in a split second, every nerve strained to make sense out of what was happening. She took in the light, or lack thereof--it was well before dawn. She wrapped her arms around her grandson and he huddled close to her, crying quietly. She felt him trembling and whispered soothing words, holding him as she had when he was just a child.
There was a rumbling in the distance that she hadn’t heard in years. She struggled to hold herself together as the fear snaked coldly through her. The war had been over for years. Why? More rumbling followed and she closed her eyes.
Then, there was silence, save for the hushed sound of the boy’s crying.
Another endless moment later, she moved away from him. He protested sharply.
“Shh,” she said. “It’s all right. Maybe it was just an earthquake,” she lied, knowing all too well the sound of explosions. “I need to see that our neighbors are all right.”
The boy hiccupped and she passed a hand through his hair.
“I’ll be right back,” she said.
She walked outside hesitantly, wrapping her arms around herself to protect against the biting cold of the early morning. Looking around, she saw other figures emerging slowly from their houses.
The man from the house next to hers called out a greeting and she responded somewhat absentmindedly while she scanned the sky for signs of the approaching dawn. A familiar dot caught her attention.
The man flew closer and there was a chorus of gasps when his feet touched the ground. As he neared the group of people, all of them except the woman took a step back.
She regarded him in shock. His clothing was less bright, stained and slightly smoky, but he wore a smile from ear to ear as he greeted her with the formality he had used earlier.
“The fields,” he said, looking at the rest of the people gathered. “Safe now. Bad things in ground—gone.”
Someone sniffed behind her and the woman turned to see her grandson. She sighed, placing an arm around his narrow shoulders. When she looked back at the man, she realized he had something metallic in his hands. He walked towards her grandson and offered the object to him.
“Here.”
The boy took the metal piece and dropped it on the ground with a grunt. Then he squatted beside it, his eyes round with wonder.
“I saw this!” He said excitedly. Then he turned to address their neighbors, “I saw this yesterday when I went to the fields! I wanted to bring it to sell, but it was too hard to carry.”
The woman looked back at the man in the now-stained uniform, ignoring the images of possible horrors that her grandson’s words were conjuring. “And what of the explosion?” She gestured, moving her hands violently.
The man looked a bit sheepish. “Accident,” he said.
Beside her, her grandson giggled. The man reached to rub the top of his head and gave him another one of his contagious smiles.
When he turned to look at her, the woman bowed her head. “Thank you,” she said.
He nodded and floated up, the movement followed by a large number of gasps. Then he flew up until he wasn’t even a dot on the sky.
“Grandmother?” One of the neighbors said addressing her respectfully a moment later. She turned and they all looked at her quizzically. “Could you explain what happened?”
The woman did not quite know how to begin.
~~
Lois looked up from the book she was reading when she heard Clark land on their balcony.
“Hey, I was wondering when you would come back.” She laid the book on the table and stood up to greet him with a kiss. When she approached him though, she wrinkled her nose.
“Ew, you smell like the pot roast I made last week,” she said turning her face.
“Sorry.” He chuckled, giving her a peck on the cheek. “I’m going to take a shower.”
“Well, hurry,” she said. “I think I finished the last of the food in the fridge. I’m dying for some dinner.” Her hand came to rest unconsciously on the swell of her stomach. He followed her hand with his eyes, noticing how easily it was hidden by her loose-fitting shirt. He was tempted to place his hands over hers, but looking down at his dirty hands, he thought better of it and turned to head into their bedroom.
“You know, I was thinking some more about that land mine article,” she said pensively, following him and sitting on the bed. “I heard that penguins actually don’t detonate them. So it’s actually good for them, because their colonies are protected. Isn’t that just…I don’t know, strange?”
“Where is this?”
“Falkland islands. Now, those places are big spots of ecotourism.”
“Hmm.”
“So where did you go?” She asked. “You seem to be in a good mood.”
“Well—, “ the sound of Lois’ stomach grumbling interrupted him.
“Over dinner,” she said, smiling, before he could continue. “Go take a shower. You stink."
~~~~
end
