Chapter Twenty-Four
Fifteen minutes after Rachel left, Marcius knocked on the front door of Clark’s house. Clark was dismayed to see that the camera crew was with him.
Clark had been sitting on the couch in the living room, staring blankly at the television, which wasn’t even turned on, and trying to understand why his life had gone so wrong so quickly. At first, when he heard someone knocking on the door, he hoped that it was Rachel, but when he used his X-ray vision to look through the door, he quickly schooled his face to look neutral and let Marcius in.
“Where were you this morning?!” Marcius demanded to know.
“What?” Clark stared at him in confusion.
“Where were you? When we arrived here at ten, you were nowhere to be found.”
“I went to see my parents,” Clark told him, refusing to elaborate further.
“You live
here,” Marcius pointed out.
“I
slept here,” Clark informed him. “Then I went to see my parents — just like I told you I was going to do.”
“Do you know how much trouble I went to in order to get the camera crew up by nine? You could have had the courtesy to wait for us.”
“I didn’t
know you wanted me to wait for you,” Clark informed him crossly, “and anyway, I left at 4:30.”
“4:30!” Marcius looked at Clark like he’d grown two heads.
“Days start early on the farm. The animals have to be cared for.”
“But you don’t
need to do
that anymore. You’re a victor now. You don’t have to work for a living.” When he said the word ‘work,’ he made it sound like a dirty word.
“I
want to work,” Clark told him. “My parents
need my help. They fell behind on things while I was gone.”
Marcius leafed through the papers on the clipboard he was carrying. “As a victor, you’re supposed to develop a talent. Here’s a list of suggestions.”
Clark glanced at the paper Marcius handed him, then set it aside. When he did, Marcius gave him an irritated look.
“Where were you when we got here?” he asked Clark. “You had five and a half hours between the time you left to see your parents and our arrival.”
“It’s three miles to the farm,” Clark pointed out. “Not only is it a long way, but there’s a lot of work to do. Also, I had breakfast with them.”
Clark wasn’t about to mention that he’d gone to visit the Rasens, or that he’d been to the tribute cemetery to visit Becky’s grave. The fact that people mourned the death of his young district partner was the last thing the Capitolites wanted to see. Who cared if Becky’s family missed her desperately? Why should Clark mourn her death? He was a victor now. He had a nice house, plenty of money, and an “exciting” life. With all that he’d won, why should he care about the lost life of one sickly little girl?
The Capitolites undoubtedly would have found his confrontation with Rachel entertaining, but Clark was glad the camera crews hadn’t been there. He and Rachel had been friends for several years, and their relationship may have been slowly growing towards something more, but that, in all likelihood, was over now. Clark doubted that Rachel would ever forgive him for what she saw as his betrayal with Lois, and even if she did, he didn’t think they could ever be comfortable enough with each other again to regain their lost friendship.
Clark didn’t want the Capitol to see his private life — not any of it. He didn’t want to give them anything to gossip over. The end of his friendship with Rachel, whatever it might have become, was incredibly painful for both of them, and he didn’t want the Capitolites to hassle either of them for the scintillating details, nor their families and friends. He had no intention of ever mentioning it to any of them.
“Are we interrupting something?” Martha Kent stood in the doorway, watching her son and Marcius glare at each other.
“Of course not, Mrs. Kent.” Marcius immediately turned on the charm. “In fact, perhaps you can help me with something.”
“Help you with what?” Jonathan asked, somewhat suspiciously, as he and Martha stepped into the house.
“As a victor, your son needs to develop a talent.” He handed a copy of the list he’d given Clark to the elder Kents. “Perhaps you can help him select something appropriate, something that will make him stand out amongst victors.”
“He’s already a very talented young man,” Jonathan said carefully.
“Of course he is, but if he chooses one to develop, he could become very skilled.”
All three Kents stared at Marcius. He looked back at them, confused. He had no way of knowing that Clark possessed some very outstanding talents and abilities — but not ones that he could ever let anyone see.
“Well,” Marcius continued when the silence grew uncomfortable, “it’s nearly time for the banquet. I suggest you three get dressed for it.”
“We’re already dressed,” Jonathan told him. He and Martha were wearing the best clothes they owned.
“Oh, well … I suppose you look all right by outer district standards.”
Clark clenched his teeth, stopping himself from saying anything that would get him in trouble. Marcius’s comment had been incredibly rude. He was also fairly certain that the man had no idea just how obnoxious he sounded.
“I’m going to go put on some clean clothes,” Clark told his parents, heading for the stairs. When one of the cameramen started to follow him, Clark turned and glared at him. “Don’t follow me!” he ordered. “I can and will get dressed
by myself!”
A few minutes later, Clark returned, dressed in the plainest items Rosaline had designed for him. His clothes were newer than those his parents wore, as well as being far less worn, but he had foregone a tie and blended in with them enough that they didn’t stand out.
Marcius looked at him critically. “That suit needs a tie,” he told Clark. “I can’t believe they let Rosaline go home instead of coming here with you. You obviously know nothing about proper dress.”
“He looks fine,” Jonathan interjected. “Normal.”
Unlike you, his expression added, though he didn’t say it out loud.
Marcius glanced at the clock on the wall. “There’s no time to fix things now. We need to get to the mayor’s house for the banquet, or we’ll be late.” He looked at Clark. “Maybe you can buy a car with some of your winnings. Then you could get places more quickly.”
Clark just gave him an annoyed look. Jonathan and Martha laughed softly, but when Marcius looked at them questioningly, they just stopped and didn’t say a word.
*****
The day after the Victory luncheon and dinner was Parcel Day, the first of twelve, and it was one of the few times Clark felt happy about winning the Hunger Games. The cameras were still on him as he helped distribute the extra food that the people of District 9 were entitled to because of his victory, but for once he didn’t have to fake being happy.
He was genuinely pleased to see people enjoying the packages of food, and helped deliver them to those who couldn’t make it into town. With District 9 being so large and the population being so scattered, many people didn’t come into town except for the Reaping. In addition, the largest items distributed on Parcel Day — hundred-pound sacks of grain and huge cans of oil — were too large to carry easily, and as such were delivered directly to each family’s home.
Clark helped deliver the grain and oil to each family, riding along in the truck used to transport it. Because he was a strong, healthy young man from a farm, no one questioned his ability to carry the heavy items, and he took care to make it seem like it took a little effort to lift the sacks and cans. He smiled at the expressions on the faces of the chronically hungry people when they saw the large quantities of food. The grain was the same mixture issued as tesserae rations, but Clark could tell by the smell that this grain was fresh, rather than stale, which was usually the case with tesserae, and though even he couldn’t smell the contents of the sealed cans, the dates stamped on them indicated that the oil, too, was fresh, rather than the rancid stuff given as tesserae.
Clark remembered the last time there had been a Parcel Day in District 9, but few people more than a year or so younger than him could remember it — most had not yet been born. He had been five years old when Matilda had won, but he still remembered that there had always been enough to eat that year — the small size of the Kent family meant that the sacks of grain yielded more than enough flour for all of them. They’d even had some left over for the next year. He also remembered the other food items in the parcels — a variety of canned foods, dried beans and fruit, staples like salt and sugar, even candy — many of the items rare treats.
Clark couldn’t help but smile at the looks on the faces of hungry kids who had never known a Parcel Day. Some ran around, shouting with joy as they waved such rare but favored treats as cans of applesauce, tins of meat, and a variety of candies. Some kids from very poor families had never tasted the foods in the crates. Many of them just stared in surprise and disbelief at the bounty, hardly daring to believe that it was all for them.
Some families lived so far from town that their parcels couldn’t easily be delivered from there, though the town was located in the center of the district. A freight train was used to carry their food packages, stopping at each of the four isolated stations located outside the town to deliver the parcels. Clark rode along to assist with the deliveries, refusing Haver’s offer to take his place. He knew that Haver wasn’t strong enough to carry the sacks of grain, and even the somewhat lighter cans of oil were hard on his back. Matilda was surprisingly helpful — she was sober for a change, rather than high on morphling or drunk — he left the older victors to help distribute the remaining crates of food to the people from the town and the nearby area and went with the Peacekeepers and Capitolites to distribute the food to the people living in more isolated areas.
Though the main town in District 9 was in the middle of the district, each of the outlying stations also had a small community around it. Everyone in the outlying areas farmed — there were no factories, and the population was so sparse that trying to make a living any other way was impossible. Nevertheless, each of the outlying stations had a few buildings nearby, usually containing a small general store, an office for the midwife/healer — though she often made house calls — a school containing one or two rooms, depending upon the local population of kids, and a fueling station for the few vehicles people owned.
The barracks for the two Peacekeepers assigned to each station were also located nearby. Most Peacekeepers assigned to the outlying areas of District 9 were being punished for something — usually for being too lenient. Few Peacekeepers wanted such an assignment, as there was little chance for advancement and the job was generally boring — most of their work involved making sure people went to the Reaping, picking up kids who were truant from school, and arresting people who would get drunk on quasi-legal homebrewed alcohol and make trouble. Many of the Peacekeepers assigned to the outlying stations would become experts at locally-needed skills because there was literally nothing else to do.
It was a sign of how starved people were for both food and entertainment that almost everyone in the area showed up at the station to collect their parcels, then stayed and watched while the Capitolites and Peacekeepers argued over who would drive the truck with the grain and oil. The Peacekeepers felt that they should drive the truck because they were familiar with the roads and terrain, while the Capitolites felt they should do it because it was their job. The people living near each station where these arguments took place — three of the four outlying stations — gathered around, commented, and even made bets on the outcome of the arguments. Such excitement was rare.
The people living in the outlying regions didn’t usually welcome the trains — they were never allowed to ride on them, not even to the Reaping, and for the most part resented their presence, as the trains took away their hard-won harvest and left them paltry amounts of money in return, or brought the meager tesserae rations and the expensive items sold in the general store. The trains also brought outside Peacekeepers to inspect the farms after the harvest to make sure the farmers weren’t holding any of their crops back; while the local Peacekeepers were generally tolerated, though grudgingly, the outside ones were strongly resented, particularly since they tended to strong-arm people into showing them any possible hiding places for the crop they were not permitted to keep, and then severely punished anyone suspected of stealing the Capitol’s grain.
Clark greeted the people with a smile, something he knew audiences in the Capitol would love, then helped load the grain and oil into the truck at each station, a truck which had been borrowed from a group of nearby farmers. The farmers would ordinarily have resented the fact that their trucks were being used, since they were given no compensation for the fuel or for the wear and tear, but Clark gave them each sufficient coins to cover the cost of using the trucks.
At the first two stations, the local Peacekeepers drove the trucks while Clark delivered the grain and oil. At the third station, the Capitolites won the argument and attempted to drive the truck, only to get stuck twice and flatten a tire. Though they didn’t know it, Clark’s strength was the only thing that got them unstuck the second time. They finally gave up and let Clark drive, assuming that since he was from District 9 he would know the roads. In truth, Clark had never driven into the outlying areas before, but he had run through there plenty of times at night and had also flown over the area more than once, giving him a good idea of what he was doing. At the fourth station, the Capitolites didn’t argue when the Peacekeepers took the keys, but instead grumbled about the poor quality of the roads and tried to make it seem that driving the truck was beneath them, rather than something they weren’t good at.
It was well after dark when Clark returned to Victor’s Village. Half of the Capitolites had departed the night before after the Victory dinner. The other half, including Marcius, left after all the parcels were distributed. A far smaller number would be back in a month for the next Parcel Day, but the camera crews were gone until the beginning of the Victory Tour, and Marcius had promised to stop by three months before the tour to see how Clark’s “talent” was developing.
Clark was relieved to see them go. Though it had been easier to smile and look happy when he watched people enjoying the food and entertainment at the Victory dinner and when they collected their packages on Parcel Day, he was glad that the cameras were gone. He didn’t have to watch what he did so closely without them, nor did he have to put up with the camera crew’s outrage at the fact that he liked to get up early, while they usually didn’t rise before ten.
He was particularly glad to see Marcius leave — the District 9 escort had complained endlessly about the primitive conditions in the district, even when he was in Victor’s Village or at the mayor’s home. He had added insults to his complaints by saying that the conditions were fine for people who were used to living like this, heavily implying that they were dim-witted and unable to appreciate the fine things that the Capitolites had. The mayor, who Clark had been seated next to at the luncheon, had gotten angry enough to confront Marcius, and only his wife’s staying hand on his arm and her whispered words that Marcius wasn’t worth getting into trouble over had prevented the mayor from doing something that would at best have cost him his position, and could have cost him much more if Marcius had been sufficiently angry and spoken to the right people.
Now that the cameras were gone, Clark hoped that his life could get back to some semblance of normalcy. It was harvest time, so he had plenty to keep him occupied, and he could only hope that if he worked long and hard enough, he could push away the memories that plagued him and brought terrible dreams each night.
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