Crab Orchard Review Vol. 12, No. 2, our

86 ◆ Crab Orchard Review
Donna Hemans
siblings living on the same compound, the distance between the
houses measured by yards and not miles.
Mom got some fresh fish, which she cooked on the burners in the
kitchen. There was a lizard above the stove, tiny reddish-brown ants
running over the dishes in the dish drain.
“This is almost like camping,” Brad said, “except we don’t have to
build a fire or sleep outside in a tent.”
I half expected Mom to say we were lucky to have had those
experiences, camping, hiking, vacations. Instead she said, “I got some
calling cards so you can call your father. We’ll borrow a phone next
door.”
I told her we should have called as soon as we got there. But she
dismissed me with, “Call him now if you want.”
The first night we ate together. An empty drink bottle served as
a vase between Brad, Mom and me. We sat on picnic-style benches
around a picnic-style table, each with a candle in front of us. It was too
early still to light the candles. I didn’t imagine Mom expected us to sit
there longer than it took us to eat. I, for one, was still unhappy with
the arrangement. The food had a smoky taste to it, not quite like the
smoky taste of a barbecue, not quite like the smoky taste of burnt food.
But I didn’t tell Mom her rice tasted different.
Night came swiftly. Brad and I, sitting in our small room with
every candle lit, couldn’t imagine what to do. Mom lit her candles and
retreated. Our entertainment wasn’t her concern.
“Let’s go,” Brad said. He grabbed a candleholder that looked like
a saucer with a teacup handle, cupped his hand around the flame, and
headed to the door. I grabbed another candle holder, shielding my
flame the way Brad did. The night was blacker than anything I’d ever
imagined. The twinkling and hissing and chirping weren’t sounds I
recognized.
“Where’re we going?”
“Just come.”
Unlike the cabins, the other houses were ablaze with electricity.
White television characters gazed out of grainy scenes. Red was outside
when we approached. He looked my body over, shifted his eyes to our
candles and asked if we didn’t bring flashlights.
“Forgot to pack them,” Brad said, instead of saying simply that we
had no idea we were headed to cabins so rustic.
“Natural sunlight and candlelight,” Red said. “Anyone who stays
in the cabins should know before they come.”