No one will hear you call

It was stuffy since the dawn. The heat was rising every hour, and by noon the air was almost aflame, almost burning his lungs. It was buzzing in the tall, dry bushes as if charged with electricity – what was making this sound? Bees, probably. Or cicadas? The noise made him feel like he was about to boil, black spots multiplied in the sunlight, and the heat condensed and ran down his face and chest, tickling. It was driving him crazy. Anyway, maybe it was his fault, after all, he knew it would be hot. The hottest day of the summer, they’d said on the forecast. He must have gone crazy to go fishing on a day like this, and on a bike, he was not a youngster anymore. Not an old man either, not even fifty… He got tired - that’s all, he should go home and rest. He cycled along the road for a while, drenched in sweat, then got off the bike and took a shortcut through the bushes, thinking of the dinner and the plum compote they would have for dessert, cold and without sugar. That’s how he liked it most. The thought of the compote made him feel even worse. He drank all the water long ago, and the path twisted and turned endlessly, getting narrower and more bumpy. He had walked this way one day in winter, and in winter it was fine, but now it was all overgrown with grass, burdock, and long, vigorous wolfberry vines. And those yellow plumes, he couldn't remember the name. They grew so high that they hit him in the face and clung to his fishing rods and hair. If this were our land, well, it would look different, he thought, but it belongs to the city, so it is what it is...

A thunder rolled over the horizon. He slowed down and raised his head; white clouds were building around but the sun stood in the zenith laughing in his face. The wall, where is it… he knew the graveyard should be nearby. Did he lose his way? Did the path split and he missed it? He pushed the bike forward. The bushes were thinning out, finally, so he was closer now, closer to… He tripped on a stone, wobbled, and almost fell over.

“Fuck!” he yelled. “Fucking… stones…”

Ok, ok, just a few more steps. Far away, above the yellow field, he spotted flat roofs of the housing estate. Thank God. He turned, and let go of the bike that fell, rattling, on its side. He just stood there, panting, with his hands on his knees. Then he straightened up and saw her.

She was looking at him. She must have heard him making his way through those bushes. She must have heard him swear. Damn it. He knew her from school, he knew her face, to be precise, she didn’t attend religion classes. She only bowed to him in the corridor. Not "God bless you," or "Good morning," or "Kiss my ass." She nodded now, and stood there, clutching her smartphone in front of her face. He remembered her parents: a guy with a beard and a graying brunette. They came to the church only on Christmas. But he wasn't one of those who started every Midnight Mass by bashing people he saw once a year. On the contrary, he always had a joke and a few kind words for them. After all, the point was to attract the undecided, not scare them away. That’s what he always thought. Although lately... No, he shouldn’t think about it. Those who start thinking often leave. And he... he had nowhere to go. It's better to be a small-town priest than a small-town loser.

"God bless you," he gasped and smiled with an effort. “Terrible heat, isn't it?”

He always smiled at children in the school corridor. The way he did now. But she stood in front of him, clearly uncomfortable, unsmiling. Like she wanted him to leave. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and narrowed his eyes. A child? No, a teenage girl. A crumpled mustard-colored linen skirt was pulled down over her hips, revealing part of her almost concave, brown belly. A raised hand was pulling a T-shirt up… under quite large breasts. And that hair, those lips…

“What are you doing here?” Perhaps he should go. “You're alone?” He wanted to say it warmly, with concern, like a good shepherd who has just found a lost sheep, but it didn't quite work out. All of a sudden he realized he was no longer tired. “Everything's all right?”

She slipped her phone into her pocket and shrugged. Only now did he notice that in her other hand, she was holding a straw hat decorated with sunflowers and those tattered plumes, the entire field of which trembled in the sun around them, yellow and hostile. At her feet lay a canvas bag and something that looked like a low wigwam made of the same flowers; stems tied together rested on yellow blooms. It looked a bit disturbing – as if they were growing upside down. As if the eternal order of the universe had been reversed.

The girl looked him straight in the eyes but remained silent. He found it annoying. Crazy teenagers. Kids - he always got along with kids, they at least talked, even if nonsense.

“What are you doing here?” he repeated, although it was clear she didn't want to talk to him. But he was unable to back down. Not anymore. “What's that?” He pointed with his head at the strange, upside-down arrangement. 

She looked down at the bunch, then nudged it with her shoe. On her feet, she wore black, lace-up ankle boots that did not match her outfit or this hot day.

“Nothing.”

She spoke up. Something inside him quivered with satisfaction. And suddenly he knew - mimosa - that’s what they call those yellow weeds. It's too cold for a real mimosa here, but these flowers resembled it, especially from a distance.

“What are you doing?” he asked for the third time, his voice changed into that dignified tone with priestly sing-song. Not that he intended the latter, after twenty-five years in the pulpit, the sing-song was a part of the package. “You ripped that mimosa and now you thoughtlessly destroy it? What for?”

Was he imagining it or did she smirk?

“Well, if thoughtlessly, I wouldn't know why." She put her hand on her hip.

Sassy brat. He'd love to wipe that cheeky smile off her face and then...

“And it's not a mimosa. It's goldenrod. A very expansive species.” She looked at him dismissively, as if she caught him at some glaring mistake. Well, she did. He had to admit she was growing into an attractive girl, she couldn't be more than fifteen, but with the makeup and the hand on her curved hip, she looked almost like a woman. When was the last time he?... He didn’t even remember. That is, he did, he remembered all too well, especially how it had ended. Men are allowed less and less, and women more and more, this conclusion came not only from what he listened to in the confessional, but also from his life … What did she say? An expansive species? Well, just like herself… Now women were rearranging reality on a previously unknown scale as if they wanted to take over the world... But think globally, act locally.

“Do your parents know you're wandering around this wasteland alone? If something happens, no one will find you here. No one will even hear you call.” He realized it was true. So did she. The smile on her face faded; she looked around uncertainly. That shudder shook his body again, a shift in his mind, a click, and he was on the other side, at the point of no return. She must have sensed this change as her face paled under the makeup, and that young body curled into itself. Very good. He noticed that she was petite and much shorter than him. “So?” He spread his legs wider, and the sand crunched quietly under his feet. “Have you told anyone where you're going?”

He kept his eyes on her. Her lips trembled, and her hands, when she tried to pull down her blouse… Well, too late for modesty, young lady, he thought. She covered her stomach, but now the neckline showed her breasts almost to the nipples. That's what it's like when you leave the house half-naked, you little whore... The erection was bursting his pants. He wondered if she noticed.

“Y-yes...” Her voice was shaking. “I… I did.”

She was lying, he was sure of it. Middle of the week, noon. When she left the house, there was no one there.

“You did? And to whom?” He felt a smile appear on his lips. They were dry, but he no longer remembered he was thirsty.

“M-my mother...” Tears, finally. Dark with the mascara. She started rubbing her eyes and blinking; now she was completely defenseless and at his mercy. But mercy is a God’s thing. A man should not interfere.

"You're lying and we both know it," he said slowly. Her fear was sweeter than honey. “Your mother wouldn't have let you come to this wasteland. Nobody knows you're here.”

And no one would ever know that she was here or what happened to her - he was sure of that - because she wouldn't tell anyone. They never tell, they don't tell their family, they don't tell the police. Their silence - the last foothold of the old world. The other one hadn't told anyone either. She had just left town shortly after that… that pathetic incident. She never got back. He wasn't surprised. It must have been easier that way.

He moved a little, his foot hitting a rock and sliding off it with a loud crunch. The girl let out a short, terrified squeak and fled, awakening his predatory instincts. He rushed after her like a wolf, like a wild cat - he almost had her. His fingers were grabbing the edge of her linen sk...

He didn't know what it was - a stone? A root? His right foot caught on it and stuck, he instinctively wanted to catch up with the left one but didn't make it… a dull crack, an explosion of pain, darkness. But then the light came back. And pain. It was pounding deep inside his right leg like a drum, at the same time tearing on the surface of the skin, pinching and stinging...

For a moment he lay dazed, then tried to turn around, but the pain immediately pinned him to the ground. Far, far away, he felt warm, sticky wetness. Open fracture? Despite the heat, he felt cold. He must call... But the phone was in his bag. Groaning, he rested his cheek on the ground. The sand crunched. And again, closer. He turned his head with an effort and saw black lace-up boots. He held out his hand and the girl jumped back and stopped further away. Each movement brought another sickening wave of pain, but he gritted his teeth and pushed himself up onto his forearms.

“I have a phone in my bag. Over there, by the bike. Fetch it... please.”

She stood silent, but it was good she was still there. He would explain to her that he was joking. He would say he wanted to scare her - to show her that such remote areas could be dangerous. He would convince her. After all, he didn't even touch her. Hissing and groaning, he rose some more and tilted his head upwards. One look at her face was enough to forget the joke story.

"I think I broke my leg," he groaned, though she had certainly figured it out on her own. “I have to… make a call… Bring me the phone, will you?”

She went. Thank God. He heard her footsteps, heard her stop. Something rustled. More rustling, then sounds he could not identify. A click. And footsteps again, on the other side. She didn't go to the bike. He forgot the pain and turned his head. The girl was putting something into her tote, a makeup case most probably, as her face was no longer stained with mascara, then picked up the hat she dropped while running away, and returned to her place next to the strange little wigwam. And then… she took her phone out of her pocket. Yes! He felt life coming back to him.

“Call one hundred and twelve...” he panted. “And tell them I broke my leg. Hurry…”

She put the phone on the rock and, without looking at him, started fiddling with the waistband of her skirt, then stopped as if something just came to her mind. She turned to him and looking now straight into his eyes, she slowly started to take off the skirt, swaying her hips like a Hawaiian dancer. He blinked. The girl turned her back again, and the skirt fell, revealing round buttocks and the symbolic pink thong disappearing in between. For a moment he was sure the pain made him hallucinate. She bent down slowly, sticking her ass out, picked up that goldenrod wigwam - he was sure he would never forget the name of this plant for the rest of his life - and tied it around her hips. And she turned around again. Looking at him indifferently, she grabbed the lower edge of the low-cut blouse, pulled it from underneath through the neckline, and tied it. The blouse turned into a sort of bra.

“What are you doing?” he wheezed. “Stop it, you have to… you have to call…”

She wasn't even looking at him. She gathered her breasts inwards, picked up her hat, and put it on her head. The sunflower was huge, she pressed it deeper into the weave so it would not fall on the brim... Is it possible that a moment ago he was on his way home after a fishing trip, dreaming of plum compote? The pain was pounding with a steady, dull rhythm, flowing into his stomach and buzzing in his head. The girl bent down, holding her hat in one hand, and picked up the phone.

“One hundred and twelve, quickly... please...” he panted, though with little hope. She was crazy, or mentally disordered, no normal person does things like that… Or a pagan perhaps? Paganism was trendy now, last month he was at a conference about new forms of these old cults that…

“Hello, my friends!” The girl was smiling radiantly at the phone held high. “It's me, your herbal guide from "Green Stories" and guess what, I hit 1,000 followers today – that’s right! That's why I'm so elegant for you, in my green way, of course! Just look…” she swiped her phone down “I even made myself a skirt for this occasion. Thank you so much! And I have a new herbal story for you! I'm in a big goldenrod field right now, yes, goldenrod, not mimosa, mimosas don't grow in our country. So remember, goldenrod! And goldenrod has many unusual properties, so now...”

Her enthusiastic voice whizzed into his brain like a hammer drill. The pain was spreading now through his entire body, and not just his body, the whole world around him was pulsating with hot, yellow pain.

“...hypertension, urinary tract diseases, and various inflammatory conditions. And infusion compresses help fight acne and are great for the skin, so if you've ever wondered why I have such a glowing complexion, you now know my secret...”

Yes, her skin was nice, like everything else, smooth and tanned, but at the moment she just scared the shit out of him. The only thing that scared him more was himself. But he couldn't think about that. Not now.

 “...so you see how simple it is, only three ingredients! The link to the recipe is in the bio, and tomorrow we’ll talk about goldenrod honey, so stay tuned, see you soon, bye!”

The smile disappeared from her face as if someone turned off the light. She threw the makeshift skirt on the ground and grabbed her mustard skirt. She was dressing with the skill of a professional stripper. He watched her through a thickening fog of indifference. This wasn't happening. This was just some horrible, heat-induced mirage… If it weren't for the pain, he could take a nap, or... She stuffed her hat into her bag, slung the bag over her shoulder, and started walking. This sobered him up.

“Come back!” he roared hoarsely, ignoring the pain that clamped its jaws on his leg. “Please… You have to help me!”

She didn't turn around, she didn't even slow down - as if she was deaf.

“Please!” Right now he would love to kill her, tear her to pieces, if he got her, it certainly wouldn't end with… But he could only lie there helplessly and watch her go. Upright and graceful, she was slowly dissolving in the trembling, overwhelming field of yellow. Why did he mess with her, why did he take this bloody shortcut in the first place? Was that God punishing him? No, he knew he was punishing himself. At that very moment - lying in the field of goldenrod, which helps with oral inflammation and poisoning - he finally and irrevocably lost his faith.

The yellow darkened and was gradually extinguished by the shadows of clouds moving across the ground. He placed his hand under his cheek and closed his eyes; now he could only wait for rain.

But it didn't rain that day.