2: The High Priestess

TW: Animal death

Outside, the winter is harsh and cruel, but inside, Enid sits on the floor of the cabin, crouched in front of her open dresser drawer, tearing small pieces off a slice of bread and feeding it to a mother mouse. The mouse takes the bread greedily, eating the first few pieces then hiding the rest in her nest near her babies. They are still pink, the babies, miniscule and fragile, little jellybeans relying completely on their mother.

From the sound of the front door slamming shut, Enid can tell that Theo has returned home. She carefully closes the drawer and leaves their bedroom to greet him.

He kicks the snow off his boots and drops the firewood he’s chopped into the pile by the stove.

“Hello,” Enid says.

Theo barely looks up at her, focusing on her hands. “You’re feeding something,” he says. “What is it this time?”

Enid almost hides the bread behind her back, but instead, she takes a bite. “I’m not feeding anything but myself.”

 Still not looking up, he adds a log to the stove and checks the stew he’d left simmering on the stovetop. “Eat stew if you’re hungry,” he says. He scowls, his eyes slowly looking around. Enid can tell he’s listening for whatever animal she’s let stay in the house.

Enid grabs two bowls and two spoons from the cupboard and goes over to the stove. “I was waiting for you,” she says. She pours them both a bowl and sets them on the table. The whole time, Theo inspects her face, staring deeply, hoping to crack open her lie through will. But Enid doesn’t budge. She sits at the dining table and begins to eat her stew. Reluctantly, Theo sits down to join her, his hunger defeating his suspicion.

As they eat, they don’t speak. They hardly speak these days, mostly sitting in a heavy silence with occasional pleasantries and accusations thrown between them. At one point, Enid knew she loved him. Now, she can’t be so sure.

. . .

Empty bucket in hand, Enid stands in the snow at the well by their cabin. She gently shuts her eyes as she listens: listens to the breeze in the trees, the animals in the wood, and, most importantly, listening for Theo.

Not for the first time, she thinks of how easy it would be for her to run away from this life, this cabin, but she knows the winter would take her before she could get anywhere. Enid couldn’t kill an animal even if it’d cost her her life; that’s what she needs Theo for.

Does she really want to run? She ponders this thought as she keeps her eyes closed and feels the winter wind tugging on her coat. Does she really want to be alone again? Does she want to risk dying alone under some snow-covered pine in the middle of nowhere, her bones unceremoniously gnawed on by wolves? Theo and this cabin keep her safe, do they not? But something’s missing. Enid wonders what that is.

Her thoughts are cut off by the distant sound of a rifle firing. She knows this means Theo will be coming back with dinner in tow. He rarely misses.

. . .

In the faint morning light, Enid lays in bed next to Theo and pretends to be asleep. Theo’s sitting on the edge of the bed with his head in his hands. He’s been sitting like that for a while. Enid stares at the muscles in his back, unsure if she sees them and feels admiration, lust, or fear. She knows he’s gotten them from chopping wood and carrying home large bucks. From a capability for violence.

As Theo turns to look at her, Enid closes her eyes. She keeps them closed until she hears him slowly get up and leave the room. Then she opens her eyes, not feeling the need to peak, carefully gets out of bed, and slowly makes her way to her dresser to check on the family of mice.

She knows food is scarce for the little family in the winter, and the only reason the mother felt safe enough to nest and have babies was because she knew she could steal from Enid and Theo. Enid knows this. Enid also knows that, if the mother goes hungry, she’ll eat her own babies. So Enid feeds the mother and counts the babies daily.

Enid hears Theo coming back into the room and resists the urge to slam the drawer shut. Instead, she looks into it, like she’s looking for something, then she closes it slowly and opens the drawer above it. She rummages for a sweater and puts it on before closing that drawer the same way. When she turns, Theo is watching her. She pretends not to notice and walks past him and into the bathroom.

. . .

It’s warmer out today, but still the winter chill seeps through the drafty cabin windows enough to make Theo light the fireplace. He’s napping on the couch in front of it now while Enid washes dishes in the adjacent kitchen. She scrubs them mindlessly, on autopilot, humming softly to herself. The prospect of winter ending soon puts a song in her heart.

Then there’s a snap and a squeak, and the song dies.

Enid drops the dish she’s holding, and it splashes into the sink, spraying her with water that she doesn’t notice. She crouches, opening the cupboard under the sink. It’s her mouse, neck snapped, stuck in a trap Enid didn’t even know they owned.

She knows it’s her mouse; she’s certain of it. Something about the soft pink of its nose, the slightly darker patch of fur above its tail. Gently, she disarms the trap and pulls the mouse’s body out of it. Then she cups the mouse in her palm as she sets the trap on the counter.

Outside, in front of the cabin, Enid uses their shovel to dig a small grave for her mouse. The frozen earth is difficult to push through, but she manages. She doesn’t go very deep, doesn’t see the need for it. Decay and rot will come for the small creature anyway, and it will in turn become the grass in the spring that its children will frolic in. Enid can only hope to become something so beautiful in death.

She places the mouse into its resting place and, with her hands, covers it in cold dirt, making sure to pack it down nicely. When she stands, she feels a presence behind her. She knows it’s Theo before he speaks.

“You’re burying it?” he asks.

“What?”

“Trap finally caught a mouse. And you’re giving it a funeral.” He sighs. “I know there’s more of them. I hear them squeaking at night. I’ll need to set more traps.”

For a moment, he stands there next to Enid by the grave. She feels the weight of the shovel in her hand, and she can’t help but contemplate hitting him with it. She sees herself swinging the shovel before he has time to react, smashing it into his face, hearing his nose break, his skull crack, seeing the red of the blood spill into the frosty ground. The image makes her feel conflicted. Instead, she drops the shovel and walks back into the cabin without another word.

. . .

The sky outside is thick with snow, and fat flakes stick to the ground in clumps. Enid wraps a blanket around her shoulders and stares out the window as Theo adds more wood to the roaring fireplace. She watches the spot where her mouse is buried, watches as the snow piles on top of it. She wonders if she’s started to decompose or if the cold weather has preserved her body. Is she frozen in the ground? Or is her body still soft and limp, as if she were just sleeping in a burrow?

Enid’s been feeding the baby mice pieces of milk-soaked bread in their mother’s absence, though it’s been harder to take care of them without Theo noticing. Sometimes she has to skip a day between feedings, but miraculously, none of the babies have died. They’ve grown fur already. Soon their eyes will start to open. Soon they won’t need her anymore.

“We should have enough firewood to outlast this storm,” Theo says in the deadpan way he speaks. “Food may be an issue though. We’ll have enough to survive, but we’ll have to ration it.”

“Is survival all you care about?” Enid asks. She turns from the window to face Theo. He looks at her as if she’s a child, as if he senses the opportunity for a lesson.

“I don’t understand the question,” he says.

“Do you only care about survival?” Enid repeats. “Is that the end goal here?”

“Of course that’s the goal, Enid. My top priority is your safety.”

“What if I want more than to just be safe? What if there’s more to life than just surviving?”

Theo rolls his eyes and breathes deeply, intentionally. “What else do you want, Enid?”

“I want to live, Theo!”

“You are alive. I’m keeping you alive.”

“But you’re not letting me live!” Enid throws up her arms in exacerbation, and the blanket slips off her shoulders and falls to the floor. “Eating and sleeping and shitting and cleaning: that’s not a life, Theo.”

He gestures out the window. “When the world is like this, all that matters is survival. It takes work to just keep you warm, to keep you from starving. Don’t you understand that? There’s not time for more. Leisure is a luxury we don’t have, Enid. Be grateful.”

“SOMETIMES I WOULD RATHER DIE IN THE SNOW THAN STAY IN HERE WITH YOU!”

Theo says nothing in response, just stares at her. Enid feels a tightness in her throat. She grabs her blanket from the floor and storms off into the bedroom.

. . .

The snow has melted from the ground, and the sun shines unobstructed in the sky. It’s the first day in a long time that Theo didn’t light the fireplace before going out to hunt.

Enid takes the opportunity of his absence to check on her mice. They’re much bigger now, with open eyes and fuzzy bodies. They squeak when she opens the drawer, excited to see the food bringer, their surrogate mother.

She knows that they’ll start venturing out of the drawer by themselves any day now. She also knows Theo has set more traps, though she’s disarmed every one that she’s found. She knows she has to do this now before it’s too late.

Enid grabs a small box, fills it with scraps of fabric and wool, then gently places each mouse inside. They watch her expectantly, waiting for food. She decides to place some pieces of bread inside the box as well: one last treat.

Before going outside, Enid leaves a note on the counter for Theo. “Gone for a hike.” Then she does just that.

For about half an hour, Enid walks through the woods, admiring the small leaves returning to the branches, the patches of green growing here and there, the birds starting to sing once again.

She finds a nice spot in the woods, a patch of moss against an oak tree, and sets to box down, tilting it sideways to encourage the mice to leave. They sniff the air for a moment, testing the ground beneath them, squinting at the sun, at her. Enid worries at first that they may not leave, but they each do, at their own pace, in their own time. When they’re all gone, Enid lays the box upside down against the tree, like a tent, in case the mice want to use it.

Dusting herself off, Enid stands and looks back towards the cabin. Then she looks further into the woods. And she walks. She walks faster and faster and faster until she’s running. The wind whips at her cheeks, pulls her hair back from her face. It’s not a surprise to her when she realizes she’s laughing. She feels like a kid, like a faun on new legs, like the scent of flowers on the breeze.

When she comes to a clearing, she lets herself fall to the ground, rolling in the soft green of the newly sprouted clovers and grasses. The smile on her face and the giggle in her throat warms her from the inside out. Finally, she thinks, it’s spring.