Fog by Annelie Wendeberg Read Free Book Online Page A

the trees down there. They are sweet and can be roasted.’
    Taking care to slip from tree cover to tree cover, I walk down to the small stream. Water is hopping over stones and whispering down the mountain. I pluck a few leaves off a chestnut tree and shed my brown cotton pants and sweatshirt. I never wear short sleeves, my skin makes for a repulsive sight. There are freckles on my shoulders and my chest, on my upper arms and very lightly on my lower arms as well. The dots are interrupted by crisscrossing scars that are more sensitive to touch than the unblemished skin surrounding them. If anyone saw this, they would probably retch.
    I scoop up a handful of the reddish clay from the side of the stream, then walk a few steps and sit down in the water that feels wonderfully refreshing in this hot, humid weather. I rub the chestnut leaves over my hair and skin then wash the thin layer of foam off. A layer of clay is next. My fingertips rub the gritty stuff into hair and skin, working my way from head down to my chest. I rarely look at myself, but the changes my body has gone through in the past year are undeniable and rather unsettling. My breasts seem to be in the way all the time, the soft orange hairs in my armpits and between my legs tickle and amplify my body odour. When I was a child, I washed once a week. Now, I have to wash every day to not stink like a mix between a rotting pear and a fox. Sometimes I wonder why the others don’t crinkle their nose at me. But maybe it’s just me being repelled by my own smell?
    I think of Sandra and how she kissed all my secret places. She must have found my flavours quite delicious, because she didn’t seem to be able to get enough of me into her mouth. I loved to feel her soft skin and hair, but other than that, I didn’t feel much. In my heart, I mean. I wonder how love might feel. What does Yi-Ting feel for Runner? I wish I could step in between the two, just for a second, to learn what this love thing is — to taste it. In my head, the word “love” has the flavours of earth and wind and fire, mingling with my own imagination of what it might be like to feel this deeply for someone.
    I bend down to wash my feet, taking care to clean the soles and the gaps between my eight toes. I quickly got used to the loss of the two small toes on my left foot. But I’ll never forget how I lost them. The unconscious Runner was wrapped up in a tent, the bite wound on his neck septic, and I was trapped up to my chest in a frozen river, both rifles wet, and a large pack of hungry wild dogs just behind us. I made it out of the river eventually and walked for who knows how far until Katvar and his sled dogs found us. My limbs were so frozen that my two toes couldn’t be saved.  
    I touch the small dog pendant at my neck. Katvar had carved it from a wild boar tooth, put it on a leather string, and given it to me when we said goodbye. He’d told me in his mute way that he liked me. Does he feel love? Or rather, did he feel love? Was it hard for him to let me go? I doubt he’d felt much, because we didn’t even kiss. All that had ever happened was a touch of his fingertips to my lips. Besides, I don’t miss him, and wouldn’t one miss the other when there’s love between two people? But maybe I’m unable to miss or love anyone. I don’t even miss my parents. I miss things , like the reservoir and the turbines I used to fix. But I don’t miss people. Maybe Cacho recognised this coldness in me and thought that I would make an excellent sniper. Maybe he thought I could kill without conscience.
    I gaze down at my hands, where a pool of water shows my reflection. With a shiver I slap it in my face, rinse the clay off my hair and body, and leave to get dressed and collect chestnuts.
    Runner sits where I left him. But now his face is darkened by a large hat made of palm leaves. White teeth flash in a smile. ‘Make yourself one as well. We want to look like trees from above when we don’t