Five Potatoes

Five Potatoes

Five, I thought with satisfaction as my bony finger touched the last scrawny potato.

I’ll eat for five days.

The smile on my dry lips only lasted for a moment because I recalled that the radio had announced that relief couldn’t reach this village for at least two more weeks.

Survival requires good decisions, but it was harder and harder to think clearly in my weakened condition.

This disaster seemed to go on endlessly. I couldn’t remember the last time I had a real meal. Or a bath, for that matter.

I almost laughed at the thought of a bath. Fortunately, I have gotten used to my own stench.

But it was the loneliness that was the most oppressive. If only there were someone to keep me company. No. That wouldn’t be good. I couldn’t possibly share my potatoes.

BAM!

Where the horizon ends, there was an explosion striking the heart of the village. It was the fourth one today. That was unusual.

It caused considerable damage, and a massive plume of smoke rose into the atmosphere. I closed the window. I had coughed up enough ash for one day.

Was anyone else still alive?

Before the world changed, I might have been able to run to a faraway city. But I couldn’t do it. It was too frightening.

Now it’s too late. I’m too weak.

A month-old newspaper sat on the sofa. I’ve read it many times, but the news never changes. The only other information I have comes periodically from a portable emergency radio that I must crank. Electricity was lost last week. I’m lucky; I still get a trickle of water.

It’s strange to sit in the dark and rotate the radio dial, trying to tune out the scratchy static. The faint voice of the announcer warbled as if the speaker was underwater.

While it’s terrible to listen to the suffering being endured out there, it was the only source of hope for me.

The newscaster said, “The army has retaken a major city where celebratory dancing to music on the main square has replaced the humdrum physical activity of survival. The enemy troops left the city without electricity, water, heat, or cellphone service. Officials warned of a looming humanitarian crisis. People said conditions were terrible as they waited for food, water, and medical attention.”

Soon it will be my turn.

I would never forget the day the war started. I grew up in this village and always felt at peace in my home. I thought the violence would be far away and not come into our lives.

How naive that sounds now.

My father, who loved books, ran a bookstore below our apartment. He had a wonderful laugh and was forever telling tired, silly jokes. Though money was tight, our apartment was a comfortable fit for our family.

Despite her fears, Mother remained tight-lipped and never complained. She always gave her children a lot of love. Unfortunately, she died in the first month.

Dad did his best for Sophie and me. When I asked him why there was a war, he said, “War is evil. And like water seeking a crack in a dam, war will find your weakness. If you can’t recognize evil, you’ll live in a world beyond your understanding.”

When an artillery shell killed him, Sophie had had enough. She took the family car and fled along the dangerous mined road. I don’t know what became of her.

Now, I wander aimlessly through the nearly empty apartment. Everything of value was bartered away months ago.  Since there is no heat, electricity, or internet, the cold, dark gloom wrapped around me like a shroud.

Soon the evening darkness nibbled delicately at the edges of the day.

What am I to do?

I looked at the sad potatoes.

I’m so hungry. Perhaps I could eat two today?

No. I mustn’t give in to greedy temptation.

Once the potatoes are gone, they’re gone, and there is absolutely nothing left. This war puts people in a terrible dilemma.

I forced myself to be patient.

I must wait for help to come.

The heart of the problem was to put off eating the potatoes for as long as possible so I would have something to carry me through the final days until help arrived.

I decided.

No potato today.

I was proud of myself for showing such resolve, just like my people.

Tomorrow will be a better day.

I will wait for it.

***

The next day, I woke as the sky grew pink with the rising dawn.

I was having breakfast with my family. Mom made her world-famous pancakes, and Dad splashed syrup over a large stack. Sophia hummed a tune while listening to the music on her cell phone. Joy filled my soul.

But the dream vanished as quickly as a visiting spirit.

I spent the rest of the morning gazing out the grimy windowpane at the dress shop across the street. In the spring, the shop window displayed a lovely white cotton dress with a gorgeous pink rose print. It was low cut and rather short, and I hoped it would be my prom dress. That was before Danilo was arrested and dragged away. I hoped he would return, but there are ghastly stories of what happens to captive young men.

A drink of water distracted me momentarily until I saw my distorted reflection in the glass.

Is that me?

What have I become?

I looked at the table, and my emaciated fingers touched the potatoes. I began counting.

When I reached five, I resolved to be strong and spend the day reading. There were many well-worn tomes available. My favorite was Pride and Prejudice, but I also enjoyed Anna Karenina.

And, of course, there was the bible. It helped. But not enough.

I sobbed quietly until the weeping receded into stuttering, snot-thick breaths.

I decided.

No potato today.

***

The Red Cross spread throughout the newly liberated village, searching for survivors. The destruction of roads, infrastructure, and buildings made progress slow. The workers removed many bodies from the streets and houses.

One rescue team entered a dilapidated building and went room by room, looking for survivors until they found a tragic scene.

“This is strange,” said a nurse. “What happened here?”

“What do you mean?” asked another worker.

“I don’t see any trauma or physical injuries on this woman,” said the nurse. “It looks as if she died of starvation,”

The worker said, “There have been many such cases. Conditions in this village were gruesome.”

“Look,” said the nurse pointing at the table.

There were five potatoes.

THE END.