A Basket of Strawberries

The streets of Noewinny were flooded with lights, food, and most of all, people. Every door was open and every window was cracked. The whole town smelled of an assortment of strawberries; baked, fried, cut, smashed, and plates of it were being passed around in the large clearing around town square. Even those indoors were as much a part of the festivities as those dancing in the streets.

Everyone except Caitria.

The little girl ran through the streets, dodging men and crawling under skirts. People yelled as she passed, and behind her, an older woman chased. She was older, dark bags hanging under her pale eyes. “Caitria!” the woman called, and Caitria didn’t turn back. “Caitria! Get back here!”

Caitria flew over the flagstones of Noewinny and through a small passage between two of the brick houses. Coming out of the other side, she no longer heard her name being yelled, but still didn’t stop. Her feet carried her past the edge of town and through the wild bushes of the lush countryside. No one could reach her anymore, not the robins nor the sparrows, and not the woman calling out the name of a girl no longer in town. No one could get to her except me.

Little footsteps could be heard muffled against the grass of the hill. The sprouts of bushes licked at her heels as she ran, and the only thing to stop her sprint was the sight at the top. Noewinny was known for its abundance of strawberries, but the wild berry fields always took her breath away.

Today it wasn’t just the rows of bushes that stopped her, all piled on top of each other and brimming with red fruits. Her eyes landed on me, and I didn’t pretend not to see. She inspected my dark brown braids and Síodóir, woven of green and white linens. Similarly, I watched her. Caitria’s hair was the same color as the strawberries the hill held in abundance, and her freckled face scrunched up into a mix of worry and disdain—she no doubt considered this spot hers, despite its belonging to the bushes.

“Hello,” my voice was that of feathers and butterfly wings. I knew the only reason she hadn’t turned and run was the age I appeared.

Caitria’s grassy-green eyes darted for one of the bushes, and I knew she was thinking of diving in one to escape. I held still as a tree, and watched one of her flats kick at a rock in the hill. “What are you doing here?”

“Am I not allowed on the hill?” I kept a deliberate amusement in my tone. My hands brushed strawberry bushes, and my footsteps were absent around one of them.

“No.” Caitria was sharp, but I didn’t flinch. She took notice. “Who are you?”

“Who are you?” I asked, despite knowing the answer.

Caitria told me her name and stuck out her chest like a bird, trying to appear bigger. I nodded as if to appear impressed. My hand reached through the leaves of a bush, pulling out a wicker basket by the handle as if it had been there all along. “I was picking strawberries. You could help me.”

The girl mumbled something, but her feet pulled themselves from the ground. She joined me on her knees, and we didn’t pay attention to the dirt sullying our skirts. I would occasionally pluck a strawberry from its branch and gingerly place it on the cloth tucked inside of the basket. Most of my attention, however, was pulled to the way Caitria would grab handfuls of the plant, not watching as she shoved them down into the woven reeds.

“The celebration in town seems to only pick up the more the sun goes down,” I twisted a strawberry in my fingers, looking for bruises.

The sun was meeting the horizon by now, and Caitria craned her neck up over the foliage to get a glimpse of the orange painted sky, “Yeah, I guess.”

“It’s for Danu, isn’t it?” I asked as if I did not know the answer.

The offended look on Caitria’s face brought a twinkling of satisfaction to my chest, “Everyone knows what day it is.”

“I don’t live in Noewinny. The strawberries here are famous, worth the hour-long walk,” The lie came easily, “we have this celebration in a week.”

“Hm,” Caitria made the noise as if she understood. I knew she did not. “Why?”

“It is just out tradition. The real question is why you are here, and not down there,” I nodded toward Noewinny. I could hear a group cheering in town somewhere behind us. “Do you not believe in her.”

“I do,” Caitria sounded defensive.

“You do?”

She bristled when I questioned her faith. “She’s the goddess of fertility and wisdom—“

“And wind.”

“And wind,” Caitria’s arms crossed over her chest.

A laugh rose from me as I joined her on my feet. She didn’t appreciate the humor in the moment, but I didn’t mind, “Yes, they are. So you do believe in Danu. Then why do you not want to be a part of the celebrations?”

The solid look on Caitria’s face crumbled into something softer, almost sad. I could tell she was trying to hide it, so I pet my expression still. “My mother wants me to speak to the other children,” Her voice was a confession, “but the other children do not wish to speak to me.”

“How do you know?”

Caitria moved her hands attempting to wipe off her apron. New brown streaks formed on the white fabric, but she didn’t seem to notice. The movement was meant to simply keep her hands busy. “They do not talk to me.”

“Hm.”

The wind ruffled the edges of Caitria’s yellow dress, like a hand guiding her after me as I moved. She followed behind, and I could read it as instinct. We moved to the edge of the hill, watching over the piles of bushes and strawberries as an entire town cheered, minus one. “They seem very lively,” My hands rested over one another, “I find it hard to imagine no one would wish to not speak.”

“They do. The children are very annoying with their screaming and running in the streets.”

“You are also a child,” I pointed out cooly, “should you not also be annoyingly screaming in the streets?”

“No,” Caitria scrunched her face up, the same expression she had walked up the mountain with. When I gave her a look of disbelief, she let her face smooth out, “The other children do not wish to be annoying with me. They do not speak to me, and I get in trouble for it.”

“They do not speak to you?” Now my brow raised. “But you have spoke to them?”

I took Caitria’s grumble as a no.

“Well, I see the issue. A puddle does not know the wind craves its hydration until it creates ripples in the water.”

“What?”

Caitria followed me as I walked around the hill’s edge. My fingers searched for strawberries without my eyes following. I could simply pluck one and throw it in the basket—I knew which ones were good without looking. “They will not know you want to talk until you express such a thing.”

“But the other children know how to talk,” Caitria’s flair was minor, and I let it slide, “I do not.”

“Well, what have they been doing?”

Her head turned towards the lights, “Running around, eating strawberry shortcake, talking to their friends.”

“Then you haven’t been looking.” The face I received from those words was surprised, then angry. I did not judge her expression, I knew what I sounded like. “Let’s see it from a different side.”

There was no argument when I took Caitria’s hand in mine. The press of my sandals in the grass were followed by hers as we made our way around the hill together. The sound of crickets was filling the air as the sun greeted the far-off mountains, but we kept our eyes down. The view of town didn’t shift much, but the corner of a log home was no longer covering the town square, and that was enough.

“What do you see?”

Caitria’s eyes followed the end of my finger. She squinted into town, as if the celebration itself was enough to blind. “I see adults dancing and eating. And drinking. A lot of drinking.”

“That is not what I’m talking about. Look to the woman—the one with the shawl.”

The wind blew again, and Caitria’s head followed. “I see her.”

“Look to her skirts.”

I could see it from around the building. A boy hung at his mother’s clothes like a cat His hands were sticky with strawberry juice and his mouth was clammed shut. Caitria tilted her head this way and that, as though the boy would disappear if she looked a certain way.

“He is your age,” I chimed when she stayed quiet.”

“How can you tell?”

“How can you not?” I say to avoid the question. Caitria gives a huff but does not speak. “Does it look like he is running and screaming?”

Another grumble was as much of an answer as any, however, I did not respond. When she saw that I would not break the silence, a small, “No,” slipped from her.

“Perhaps he could use a friend.”

Her eyes met mine again. “How do you expect me to talk to him? He doesn’t look like he wants it.”

“You didn’t look like you wanted it when you arrived on the hill.” Caitria paused at my words. I was happy to see her think. “How did I get you to speak to me?”

“You just said hello.”

“If the only thing I said was hello, you would have ran off.” Caitria still did not seem to understand my words, so I held up the wicker basket. “I said you should pick strawberries with me.”

A blank stare took up Caitria’s features, as if her brain simply ceased for a moment. I shook the basket of strawberries, and her hands absently picked it up from the sides, “Ask him if he would like to help you finish these. I’m sure you couldn’t do it on your own.”

There was a small back-and-forth between Caitria and me. Despite her snappy words and standoffish demeanor, she seemed guilty about taking something she believed I walked an hour to reach. She was still a child, however, and it didn’t take too much to send her off down the hill, grass and leaves kicked up behind her. My eyes followed her down, watching her weave past people and buildings just as she had before.

“So this is where you have been lingering?”

The voice came from all directions at once, as powerful as a hurricane and as loud as thunder. I did not waver, my eyes following the gait of a young girl in yellow. “I am simply enjoying the celebration.”

“You are not even in town, thank Dagda,” the sky roared. It was not meant to be threatening, only heard. “Come back to the Tuatha Dé Danann. These people are not the only ones with a celebration for you.”

“I do not wish for surprise, Lugh.”

My gaze shifted from the town, and instead to the horizon. The sun spoke, “I just told you we had a celebration planned. It is no longer a surprise.”

A heavy sigh left my lungs, but no air followed. “Fine. I will see you all in a moment.”

The sun fell silent, and I felt enough satisfaction to yield. My hair wisped about my head, shortening down to the skin, and beyond. My body dissolved into something to be breathed in, to blow leaves and fill lungs. I was no where and yet took up every space that could be filled with air. I did not need eyes to see a boy’s hands unfurl from his mother’s outfit and bring a strawberry to his lips.