A Single Page from my Book (Study of Elke)

I reworked this page with the help of Larry Habegger, of Traveler's Tales, who is brilliant. My book is made up of many such character sketches, and I will be sharing them here on my blog occasionally, after final edits. Hope you enjoy them.

Elke.

She waits outside my door as she does every morning. As soon as I let her in, she hands me a bunch of muddied limp carrots she had stolen the night before. I am always impressed that she brings a gift, even if it's a stolen one. Now she stands still in my kitchen, waiting. She waits as if waiting comes naturally, almost perfectly still, a small statue with flickering eyes.

Mud stains her rumpled and unbuttoned clothes, giving the impression that she slept outside last night in the milpa, the corn field. Her baby pink sweatpants are wet with urine, her sky blue blouse printed with faded stars, her hair matted to one side of her face. She seems unaware of her clothes, her smell, her dirtiness. Blank, expectant of nothing, her diamond face pinches itself into practiced resignation.

I offer her a hard boiled egg, and she moves towards it nonchalantly, feet gliding on the peeling linoleum floor. Taking the egg, she gently cups it into her hands before it disappears into her pocket, tonight's meal.

~

Photo credit York Museum Trust/Jan Van Os

Glancing around the room her eyes settle on the new fruit bowl, full of purple and green plums. As her body moves forward her hands flutter towards the fruit, hovering in the air, circling like vultures. She inhales deeply as her fingers dance over the plums, eyes closed, face unguarded for one brief moment.

Which one?

My kitchen is still except for the sound of her hard breathing. The smell of plums fills the room, almost sickening in its sweetness. I leave Elke to her private moment and turn away, ashamed to have a an entire bowl of fruit while she sleeps outside each night. I stare out the window at the trash on the hillside, children sorting through garbage, thin dogs leaning in.

The kitchen is now quiet and I turn to look for her. She's gone. The fruit bowl is empty.

Amy Gigi Alexander

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