Fruits and Vanity

TW: violence, death

“The bigger the fruit, the easier they fall.”

That was what the stranger said a fortnight ago when the two of them had been in the garden to harvest the already plump, reddish mangoes. Because of the drought however, there were only two to three trees left for harvesting, and the distances between fruitful trees and withered ones were surprisingly far.

Then, the sun had already begun to set, and the cool of the night wind was already starting to depose the sweltering afternoon heat, now dispersed across the darkened sky in amber hues like a leaking egg yolk, brandishing an end to their labor. The two boys, each carrying two baskets a quarter-full of the mangoes across their shoulders with a yoke, were preparing their leave, checking that none of their precious cargoes were blemished or tarnished, when they noticed a strange figure hooded in black, as thin as a rice paddy, pointing its bony, enamel-like fingers at a swollen but fallen mango on the ground. It was then when it said the words that would later prove to be portentous.

“The bigger the fruit, the easier they fall, but it’s the biggest of fruits which are the sweetest is it not?”

Its voice was surprisingly gentle and lucid, possessing a peculiar childlike tone. When it came to face the two boys, they were shocked to see that this thing had no face of its own, or if it were to actually have one, the darkness had cloaked it fully, leaving behind a black, vapid hole in place of where a visage ought to be.

Given the circumstance, shrieking for help and running away seemed par for the course, but having been completely wrung out, the two boys were already too exhausted for fear or for clarity of thought for that matter, and had already covertly resigned themselves to their fates.

After observing silence for a couple of seconds, the taller of the two nodded at the stranger.

“They sure are sweet, but you sure are going to pay for it if you do eat it. One of the old men apparently kicked the bucket because of it, and I don’t know about you but that’s a pretty sad way to die. You agree?”

The shorter one nodded with vigor, like a servant subserviently agreeing with his master, but the stranger only chuckled at the two as though it was recalling a comical memory from the past.

“His case was certainly an amusing one.”

After a brief silence, the two boys looked at each other in befuddlement, and quickly began to start their walk, each step of their boots, exuding a rustle as they pounced on the arid soil, before the stranger called out to them from its seemingly non-existent mouth.

“I have something to ask of you. A favor,” it said, “Something you’d be delighted in helping me with.”

The two boys stopped and looked back with a sceptical gaze.

“What is it?” the taller one asked, his left heel bouncing up and down as if ready to make haste.

As the sky turned a darker shade, the trees which they had previously climbed on were now adorned with black and its branches were sprawled across the sparse and clouded stars, resembling a cage ensnaring the earth. Now the boys’ heels were bouncing even more.

The stranger tilted its head slightly. From the darkness of its enshrouded face, human-like teeth emerged, mimicking what seemed to be a coy grin, but nothing else could be seen.

“I am hungry, you see? I need food.”

The short boy picked the smallest mango he could find in one of his buckets and offered it to the stranger from a distance, planning on throwing it the same way someone would toss breadcrumbs for a band of pigeons to feed on.

“No, not that,” the stranger said, “I do not feed on what you humans eat.”

“So, what do you want?” the tall one said, barring the smaller one behind him. Neither of them seemed to fully catch the stranger’s implication.

“I want hearts, human ones,” it said, “But there’s no reason to worry, neither of you would be apt. Only corrupt ones will do, innocent ones do not.”

The two turned back and walked as quickly as possible, but the stranger called out to them again.

“If you’ll do what I’m about to say,” it said, “You two will no longer be a bunch of nobodies.”

The two of them halted once more and returned their gaze at the non-existent face.

“My job is simple. I devour corrupt souls and only corrupt ones, clear? An upholder of justice—yes, that I am. If you were to help me get an evil soul, then you’d be the same. You'd be the village's darlings."

“Just spit it out! What do you want?” the tall one asked.

“Just proceed with your plan, and give me a bite, that’s all. If you’re not convinced, I’ll pay money of course, as much as you’d like.”

The boys paused and looked at each other again, as if talking through telepathy.

“What plan do you want us to carry out exactly?” the short one said.

“Bring the vilest person in town to me. I’m certain you know who that is. I want him dead, and I know you do too. Just bring his corpse to me, and there will be a sack of gold waiting, and people will remember you as the hero who liberated the village from a despot.”

The two boys scowled at the brief mention of that person.

“We were planning to snuff him from the start,” the tall boy said.

“And?”

The taller boy held his chest high, with a supposedly charming smile on his face, which only came across as vain.

“If one is truly a hero, then must money be necessary to spur him to action?”

The stranger only smiled, bemused, baring its human-like teeth, only with slightly sharper edges in closer inspection.

“How noble of you,” the stranger said, though in truth it was laughing at the stupidity of the human in front of it.

“I assume the same for you as well,” the stranger said to the shorter one, and he nodded meekly in response, not at all with the naive yet straight-laced manner the taller one responded.

"All the better for me then," the stranger muttered again.

Before anything else could be asked, raindrops started to fall from the sky. The cold droplets on their sun-baked skin gave the two boys a little shock, and when the rain began to grow harsher, the two boys knew they had to be quick. When the boys looked back at where the stranger was after glancing at the darkening, dense clouds, it disappeared as though it had dissolved in the rain.

The tall boy walked on with the same, calm expression he had always worn, but the shorter boy sported a frown on his face.

***

It's 8 p.m.

Two weeks had already passed.

The two boys' shoes made clopping sounds like the hooves of stallions atop the cobblestone pavement which connected the straw-roofed houses with the motif of blood vessels. Carrying their signature baskets with their carrying poles, they roamed about the village knocking door to door, to sell off the overripe mangoes which didn't sell that morning. In between each stop, the two boys continued to argue.

“If we are really going to kill someone, we should’ve at least taken the money,” the shorter of the two said.

In the two weeks since the encounter that was all the two of them bickered about.

“How ungainly,” the taller one said, “A true hero needs no compensation.”

“A true hero wouldn’t kill anybody. What we’re going to do is murder, you hear me? Cold-blooded murder. At least money would be a proper motive "

“Murder is the killing of a human being, that old coot is not.”

"What do you mean he's not?"

"He's the one who killed our families, y'know? I'm surprised you're not of the same mind as me."

The little one went silent for a while.

"But he's the village elder."

"So what?" the tall one yapped, clicking his tongue afterwards, "That doesn't change the fact that he killed them. He has abandoned us! Do you hear that he doesn't even go to the communal meetings anymore? He doesn't care about any of us. He's leaving us here to rot like our families.

Remembering the image of his emaciated little brother dying on the roadside during the partially ongoing famine, a worm coursed his body that made him clench his fists. As it wriggled in him, he could feel the throes of a long-suffering rage.

"So today's the day then," he said.

"Yeah, we'll need a new leader though, when the old man's gone—us."

"Us?"

"Yeah, we'll be able to save everyone. And I will finally fulfill my promise."

"What promise?"

"One of those stupid promises you make in your childhood. I promised my old sis I'd be a hero."

"Then that makes me your sidekick then. Let me steal half the credit."

Giggling at one another, the two boys walked onwards. Two scrawny stallions clopping along the streets.

It was then 9 p.m.

The plan had been initiated.

The two boys arrived on the doorstep of a large house—not at all a humble abode. It was at least thrice the size of a regular home, its door made of a prime variant of maple wood that would fetch an exorbitant price in the market, enough for a village feast. Instead of the mud-cow dung cocktail, the walls were made of proper concrete, and the roof was tiled with granite rather than flimsy strands of desiccated straw. Even the window casing had a glint of gold. Pretentious man, pretentious home.

The taller boy knocked on the door carefully, not wanting to make the slightest dent on it. Once they've gotten rid of the geezer, it could be put to gold use.

From the opposite end, they could hear a dull clack, the sound of the bolt being forcibly pushed aside from the latch. The door let out a squeal, and the light from the inside leaked outside. A small, pale hand crept out the door, and a woman's voice came. Her voice was stern and astute, almost authoritative in manner.

"Who might you be?"

"I'd like to ask if you would like some mangoes," the short one said.

The other one was in the back of the house, attempting to climb up a high-reaching fence that led to a miniature paddy field. The patch of land was not so far off from the entrance door, so whilst climbing, he could still hear what his accomplice had to gibber out to divert the attention away from the metallic screeches and thumps of his climbing the fence.

"No thank you. They wouldn't be necessary," the woman answered.

"Are you sure? They're the sweetest among this week's batch!"

"I'm certain."

"Alright then."

The short one began to display a woeful expression on his face, and hung his head down. He shifted his body sideways and dawdled two steps from the entrance and plopped down his bottom.

"Do you mind if I take a rest?"

A tang of disappointment was appended to his voice, but the lady paid no heed. She nodded and closed the door almost immediately, and the dull shutting of the latch followed. What a cold lady, the sitting boy thought. Did his partner even make it in yet?

No, no he hadn't. His feet were still on the railings, letting loose a metallic din or two. Thank God, the curtains in the back windows were closed. Though that was the part of the plan, for some reason, the windows were simply blocked off from the outside world at all times as if the residents inside were vampires. Imagining him as a vampire, he chuckled. Close enough.

Slowly, with decent footing he practiced in climbing mango trees, the boy contrived to enter the old man's grounds.

But then a door creaked open again. Its sound sent a quick jolt to both boys. It might as well be the moan of a ghoul. But it wasn't the backdoor which opened.

The short boy looked back at the shaft of light which came behind him. The door opened quietly, and there stood the old man. If he were told he was a vampire, he'd believe it. The old man's skin was alabaster white, his paunch resembling a marsupial pouch, and his skin slack akin to that of a shedding snake. Juxtaposed with the dark night sky, he seemed like an oddity.

"Ah," the old man said, wrinkling his forehead, pointing at the boy's rag-tag clothes, "Aren't you cold outside?'

"Huh?"

"You deaf? I asked if you are cold outside?"

"I guess so "

"Guess so?" the old man smirked, "Whatever, come on in. Got a hot-tempered guest, but you wouldn't mind, would ye?"

"No, sir," he said.

This was not at all a part of the script. Neither boy expected the diver to voluntarily leave the shark cage, but it was a welcomed surprise. Once his sidekick's in though, the tall boy was blind to whatever's happening indoors. He walked across the small field, and by one side of the house, there's a small patch of land reserved to station flowers. Slightly above them, was a window, uncovered. If things were to go awry, he'd be ready to jump in and help. Perhaps he was the sidekick all along.

Inside, the short boy was served tea by a small stool in a room, which was partitioned off from where the old man was going. From this other room, he could hear the voice of the lady from earlier and the old man in a dispute.

The short boy didn't really care much for what was being exchanged but he was confused as to why the wicked old man, the same one who starved his village, would be willing to offer him tea. Whatever! The short boy shook his head. His partner was right. No matter how he had acted to him, the old man was wicked. If he were to kill the old man surely he'd be a hero. Not just some sidekick, a real hero.

He picked up a small carving knife from his boots and began to sneak into the partitioned room.

"Like I said, dad," he heard the lady say, "I need more! Life in the city's expensive!"

"I'm not giving you anymore! It's your fault you racked up so much debt! Because I've given everything to you, I couldn't afford aid during the famine!"

"Why not sell this house?"

"I can't. It's for you!"

"Like hell, I'm living in this junk!"

Suddenly, a burst of blood spattered the table. The short boy who only heard white noise in his ears, had stabbed the old man in the back thrice without neither the father nor the daughter noticing. Without saying anything as if his life had long left his body, the old man's body flopped over, cold and dead. The lady looked at the boy in shock, both of them unduly smeared in blood.

The boy from the outside smiled bitterly. Suddenly the dread of having seen someone die took over his body and he vomited on the discreetly arranged flowers outside.

The only thing the short boy could think of though, was that he had become a hero, but when looking at the woman in front of him, he had a different impression of his action.

He asked, "Am I a hero?"

Thinking of the inheritance money she'll be getting, and whatever she could leech from this boy, she smiled.

"Yes. Yes, you are."

A relieved look appeared on his face when suddenly he felt something clenching his heart.

"Looks like you did it," said the familiar voice. It was the stranger's. His figure wasn't present however.

"I sure did. If possible, I'd still like the money too," he said half in jest aloud, confusing the lady.

"That wouldn't matter, " the stranger said, "The old man was innocent. His heart is too pure for my belly."

"What?"

"But fret not, I have something—someone to fill me up. Remember what I first said when I met you? The bigger the fruit, the easier they fall. The more beautiful you think you are, the more likely you'll be an ugly on the ground, and the fruits on the ground are the sweetest one of all. The tastiest one."

"What do you mean?"

Fear appeared on his face, as he felt a hand groping his heart. The stranger's face suddenly appeared in front of him, smiling.

"I lived up to my promise, did I not?" It said.

At that moment, the boy's heart stopped.

His heart was eaten whole by the stranger.