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commonplaceHe returned to the princess
saying, I am but a traveling man
but here is what you hunger for.
The apple was as smooth as oilskin
and when she took a bite
it was as sweet and crisp as the moon.
Their tongues met over such a dish.
His tongue lay in her mouth
as delicately as the white snake.
Annie was outside when Joseph drove up, silhouetted against the red and purple sunset as she embraced the branches of a tall ironwood tree. As he got closer, he saw that she was pulling down one of her looms. She waved as he pulled up.
“You caught me just in time,” Annie said with a smile. “I was planning to leave for the Burning Market tonight.”
“It’s time again already?” He’d noticed the nights were getting shorter, but lost track of the desert months.
“Yep. Do you want to drive with me? I think there’s room for your bike in the back of the pickup.”
“Thanks,” Joseph nodded. “I brought you a few things.” He dragged the overstuffed duffel off the back of his bike. The ride from Sedona had been hard and awkward with the extra weight, and he hoped it was worth it.
The fabrics were easily bartered over, especially because she’d already offered him a ride, and that was worth gas and the wear on his bike. They’d done this every couple of months for almost two years now and neither of them was interested in haggling or pressing an advantage.
“I didn’t make much for you this time.” She looked almost shy. Not much meant three pairs of socks, but that was enough to make Joseph smile.
“I was hoping,” he said. “I wore the heels out in the first pair you made me.”
“Let me see them,” she said, and he dug them out of his saddlebag. Annie studied them for a minute and pronounced them fixable, depositing them on the pile he was trading her.
When they were done, Joseph carried the stack of blankets over to the airstream and piled them on the bed inside. She was picking up the bag as he came out.
“What else do you have?” she laughed. “You holding out on me?”
“No,” he answered, closing the door behind him. “That’s a gift.”
She reached in and pulled out the other bottle of sweet apple wine. Most of the chill had worn off, but she smiled.
“You want me to get that?” he asked, unfolding the corkscrew on his multitool. He reached for the bottle and their hands met for a minute. He tensed and looked up at her. Annie smiled and squeezed his hand a little, and he smiled awkwardly as he opened the wine. She retrieved two empty glasses and one full bowl from the carefully arranged kitchen next to the fire.
“I already ate,” she explained, pouring the wine as he took a few bites of the stew. “I’m glad I can use up the last of it, I hate having to heat it up again.”
They sat together, watching the stars come out and sharing the wine with few words between them. Joseph had heard plenty of other peoples’ stories from Annie, but neither was ready to tell their own yet.
As the desert air cooled, she inched closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. He tensed and then relaxed against her warmth. This was nice, he told himself. Sitting, watching the night come up without worrying about where he was going in the dark, there was an appeal to that. He thought he understood what Annie saw in it.
Unlike most people eking out a living in the desert, Annie migrated only seasonally. She’d explained to Joseph that the effort of rearranging her equipment wasn’t worth it if she did it too often, and the seasons were reliable. She kept a regular schedule, moving ahead of the monsoons and staying out of the worst of the heat and cold, visiting the same camps and towns every year. She said that people couldn’t come to her if they didn’t know where to find her.
“You ready to hit the road?” she asked when he finished the stew. It was true night now, with only a few lights from the nearby town distracting from the stars overhead.
The heat of the day was bleeding out rapidly and Joseph hurried to get gloves and a scarf on before he left his bike in the back of her truck. Both were items she’d made him.
Annie tucked the last of the large loom pieces in around the bike and made sure everything was tied down securely while he attached the trailer to the hitch. By midnight, they were ready to go.
“Full tank,” Annie said as she started the truck. “One of the guys in town sells without a permit.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Even before the crash, the Sonoran and Mojave deserts had more than their share of survivalists, lone artists, and others getting by. Sure, most of the state was in Phoenix, Tucson or Flagstaff, but there were plenty of small towns and ranches where life hadn’t changed since white men got there, and life hadn’t changed much after. These people were happy to buy from Annie and others like her, even if some of the wilder desert life made them nervous.
Then there were the people on the edge of the Phoenix valley who knew both sides of the coin could be spent – they let Ballentyne keep their lights on and their water running, but sold propane, kerosene, ethanol or plain old food and water to the sand rats, the gangs, and anyone else who could pay for it. Ballentyne didn’t care, not really. They had their hands full keeping civilization running in Phoenix and Vegas, Sanfran and Seattle, and keeping the glass desert from expanding.
“Should be an easy drive,” Annie noted as they sped along the highway. “No gangs tonight, they’re probably already out at the Market. And we won’t be close enough to Vegas to have to worry about security personnel.”
It was still dark when they crested a desert hill and saw the Burning Market spread below them. Fires burned in colors natural and unnatural, lights flashed, and a sea of vehicles and tents as large as some of the towns Annie regularly stopped at greeted them. Like desert flowers after a rain, the city blossomed overnight when the season arrived. Districts appeared as groups with similar philosophies or crafts huddled together, but there was plenty of traffic and a minimum of violence. The Market meant too much to too many people for them to let it degenerate.
The Burning Market was, according to the old-timers Annie knew, entirely changed and exactly the same as it had always been. Joseph had tried to imagine what it must have been like before the crash, but he couldn’t understand what the need for it would have been.
“There was no need except art,” Annie tried to explain. “That was what made it beautiful.” She found a space to park her trailer next to a young Navajo woman who was laying out traditional blankets and modern tapestry art. Across the way, a man fought with his llama while arguing in Spanish with an older woman about yarn.
While Annie settled in around the fire with her current knitting project and plenty of company, Joseph went wandering. There were never enough metalworkers to go around at the Market and pretty soon he was getting waved down by a woman he recognized.
“Good to see you, Joe, my boy.”
“Good to see you too, Key.” Key was four inches taller than him to begin with and her afro added another three, so she towered over him as she directed him toward her camp. She was a displaced Angel from the glass desert who said no city was as good as Los Angeles so she wasn’t going to bother with them anymore. She was a seer and a good one, always in demand, and last time he’d seen her she’d been driving a little electric car with solar panels mounted on top.
“Need your help. I traded up to a bigger model, but I just can’t get the power generating right. Can you take a look at it?” She gestured to the equipment on top of a late-model Prius. Peeking inside, he could see that the back seat had been ripped out and replaced with a mattress and all the makings of a cozy little camper.
“Why the trade?” Joseph asked as he took the cover off the wiring and started examining it.
Key smiled. “Needed a hacienda for two. This here’s Locke.” He looked up. Locke was tiny, almost fae-looking, with violet hair and a smile innocent enough that he knew she was dangerous.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, nodding his head to her. “Do you do…” he hesitated, looking for the word, and settled for waving his hands in the air.
“Magic? Sometimes. Mostly I look after Key. Would you like some tea?”
“Thanks,” he said, taking the offered cup and drinking half of it in one swallow. “I think some of your connectors are loose. Let me go get my soldering equipment and I’ll see if that fixes it.”
“Much obliged,” Key nodded, looking him over. “You still know the lady who made those gloves of yours?”
“I came here with her.”
“You tell her I’m looking for a coat, and she brought it for me, and I’d be much obliged if we could reach an agreement about it, okay?”
Joseph nodded. He knew intellectually that Key saw things, in some nebulous way, and that Annie made things for people she hadn’t met yet. That didn’t mean he understood how it worked.
Joseph was on his way over to Annie’s trailer with the offer from Key and Locke when he spotted her still sitting around a fire with several other men and women, all of them knitting or spinning or sewing. He started to come up behind her but hesitated at the edge of the firelight.
“Curse or not, a sweater’s not the greatest labor of love for a knitter.” Annie’s voice carried. He didn’t want to interrupt her and didn’t know how she’d feel about him giving her Key’s message. “Socks are.”
“No way!” argued a woman with flashing needles a few feet away. “Sweaters are bigger and more complicated.”
Annie shook her head. “Complicated depends on the pattern. Socks mean hundreds of tiny stitches in fine yarn. But there’s more to it than that.”
“Heels?”
“Use.” She held up her own project, a sock pulled over a darning egg. Joseph recognized the socks he’d handed her the night before. “You make socks knowing they’re smaller and not as impressive as sweaters or scarves or clever hats, knowing someone can probably still trade for mass-produced ones in Vegas, knowing they’re going to get abused and overlooked in ways gloves and sweaters don’t, and the most you can hope for is that the person you’re making them for will like them enough to wear them out. You have to love somebody to make socks for them.”
Joseph looked down at his feet. He couldn’t see the new socks she’d given him, of course, but he could feel them, warm and soft and dry against the hard desert below his feet.
He nodded to himself, then stepped into the light. Her smile when she noticed him was as warm as his socks.
“I’ve got a message for you,” he told her, and she stood, leading him back toward her trailer.
He waited until they were away from the circle to ask. “Did you mean that?”
“What?”
“About socks?”
She looked down at her darning egg and smiled. “Yeah, I suppose I did.”
“I don’t-”
“You don’t have to.”
“Are you sure?”
“If you want to stick around, I’d like that,” she said, picking her words as carefully as she picked her yarn. “I enjoy it when you’re here. But your work isn’t the same as mine, and I know that.”
“Okay.” He opened the trailer door and went inside, looking behind him to make sure she was there.
saying, I am but a traveling man
but here is what you hunger for.
The apple was as smooth as oilskin
and when she took a bite
it was as sweet and crisp as the moon.
Their tongues met over such a dish.
His tongue lay in her mouth
as delicately as the white snake.
Annie was outside when Joseph drove up, silhouetted against the red and purple sunset as she embraced the branches of a tall ironwood tree. As he got closer, he saw that she was pulling down one of her looms. She waved as he pulled up.
“You caught me just in time,” Annie said with a smile. “I was planning to leave for the Burning Market tonight.”
“It’s time again already?” He’d noticed the nights were getting shorter, but lost track of the desert months.
“Yep. Do you want to drive with me? I think there’s room for your bike in the back of the pickup.”
“Thanks,” Joseph nodded. “I brought you a few things.” He dragged the overstuffed duffel off the back of his bike. The ride from Sedona had been hard and awkward with the extra weight, and he hoped it was worth it.
The fabrics were easily bartered over, especially because she’d already offered him a ride, and that was worth gas and the wear on his bike. They’d done this every couple of months for almost two years now and neither of them was interested in haggling or pressing an advantage.
“I didn’t make much for you this time.” She looked almost shy. Not much meant three pairs of socks, but that was enough to make Joseph smile.
“I was hoping,” he said. “I wore the heels out in the first pair you made me.”
“Let me see them,” she said, and he dug them out of his saddlebag. Annie studied them for a minute and pronounced them fixable, depositing them on the pile he was trading her.
When they were done, Joseph carried the stack of blankets over to the airstream and piled them on the bed inside. She was picking up the bag as he came out.
“What else do you have?” she laughed. “You holding out on me?”
“No,” he answered, closing the door behind him. “That’s a gift.”
She reached in and pulled out the other bottle of sweet apple wine. Most of the chill had worn off, but she smiled.
“You want me to get that?” he asked, unfolding the corkscrew on his multitool. He reached for the bottle and their hands met for a minute. He tensed and looked up at her. Annie smiled and squeezed his hand a little, and he smiled awkwardly as he opened the wine. She retrieved two empty glasses and one full bowl from the carefully arranged kitchen next to the fire.
“I already ate,” she explained, pouring the wine as he took a few bites of the stew. “I’m glad I can use up the last of it, I hate having to heat it up again.”
They sat together, watching the stars come out and sharing the wine with few words between them. Joseph had heard plenty of other peoples’ stories from Annie, but neither was ready to tell their own yet.
As the desert air cooled, she inched closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. He tensed and then relaxed against her warmth. This was nice, he told himself. Sitting, watching the night come up without worrying about where he was going in the dark, there was an appeal to that. He thought he understood what Annie saw in it.
Unlike most people eking out a living in the desert, Annie migrated only seasonally. She’d explained to Joseph that the effort of rearranging her equipment wasn’t worth it if she did it too often, and the seasons were reliable. She kept a regular schedule, moving ahead of the monsoons and staying out of the worst of the heat and cold, visiting the same camps and towns every year. She said that people couldn’t come to her if they didn’t know where to find her.
“You ready to hit the road?” she asked when he finished the stew. It was true night now, with only a few lights from the nearby town distracting from the stars overhead.
The heat of the day was bleeding out rapidly and Joseph hurried to get gloves and a scarf on before he left his bike in the back of her truck. Both were items she’d made him.
Annie tucked the last of the large loom pieces in around the bike and made sure everything was tied down securely while he attached the trailer to the hitch. By midnight, they were ready to go.
“Full tank,” Annie said as she started the truck. “One of the guys in town sells without a permit.”
“I’ll remember that.”
Even before the crash, the Sonoran and Mojave deserts had more than their share of survivalists, lone artists, and others getting by. Sure, most of the state was in Phoenix, Tucson or Flagstaff, but there were plenty of small towns and ranches where life hadn’t changed since white men got there, and life hadn’t changed much after. These people were happy to buy from Annie and others like her, even if some of the wilder desert life made them nervous.
Then there were the people on the edge of the Phoenix valley who knew both sides of the coin could be spent – they let Ballentyne keep their lights on and their water running, but sold propane, kerosene, ethanol or plain old food and water to the sand rats, the gangs, and anyone else who could pay for it. Ballentyne didn’t care, not really. They had their hands full keeping civilization running in Phoenix and Vegas, Sanfran and Seattle, and keeping the glass desert from expanding.
“Should be an easy drive,” Annie noted as they sped along the highway. “No gangs tonight, they’re probably already out at the Market. And we won’t be close enough to Vegas to have to worry about security personnel.”
It was still dark when they crested a desert hill and saw the Burning Market spread below them. Fires burned in colors natural and unnatural, lights flashed, and a sea of vehicles and tents as large as some of the towns Annie regularly stopped at greeted them. Like desert flowers after a rain, the city blossomed overnight when the season arrived. Districts appeared as groups with similar philosophies or crafts huddled together, but there was plenty of traffic and a minimum of violence. The Market meant too much to too many people for them to let it degenerate.
The Burning Market was, according to the old-timers Annie knew, entirely changed and exactly the same as it had always been. Joseph had tried to imagine what it must have been like before the crash, but he couldn’t understand what the need for it would have been.
“There was no need except art,” Annie tried to explain. “That was what made it beautiful.” She found a space to park her trailer next to a young Navajo woman who was laying out traditional blankets and modern tapestry art. Across the way, a man fought with his llama while arguing in Spanish with an older woman about yarn.
While Annie settled in around the fire with her current knitting project and plenty of company, Joseph went wandering. There were never enough metalworkers to go around at the Market and pretty soon he was getting waved down by a woman he recognized.
“Good to see you, Joe, my boy.”
“Good to see you too, Key.” Key was four inches taller than him to begin with and her afro added another three, so she towered over him as she directed him toward her camp. She was a displaced Angel from the glass desert who said no city was as good as Los Angeles so she wasn’t going to bother with them anymore. She was a seer and a good one, always in demand, and last time he’d seen her she’d been driving a little electric car with solar panels mounted on top.
“Need your help. I traded up to a bigger model, but I just can’t get the power generating right. Can you take a look at it?” She gestured to the equipment on top of a late-model Prius. Peeking inside, he could see that the back seat had been ripped out and replaced with a mattress and all the makings of a cozy little camper.
“Why the trade?” Joseph asked as he took the cover off the wiring and started examining it.
Key smiled. “Needed a hacienda for two. This here’s Locke.” He looked up. Locke was tiny, almost fae-looking, with violet hair and a smile innocent enough that he knew she was dangerous.
“Nice to meet you,” he said, nodding his head to her. “Do you do…” he hesitated, looking for the word, and settled for waving his hands in the air.
“Magic? Sometimes. Mostly I look after Key. Would you like some tea?”
“Thanks,” he said, taking the offered cup and drinking half of it in one swallow. “I think some of your connectors are loose. Let me go get my soldering equipment and I’ll see if that fixes it.”
“Much obliged,” Key nodded, looking him over. “You still know the lady who made those gloves of yours?”
“I came here with her.”
“You tell her I’m looking for a coat, and she brought it for me, and I’d be much obliged if we could reach an agreement about it, okay?”
Joseph nodded. He knew intellectually that Key saw things, in some nebulous way, and that Annie made things for people she hadn’t met yet. That didn’t mean he understood how it worked.
Joseph was on his way over to Annie’s trailer with the offer from Key and Locke when he spotted her still sitting around a fire with several other men and women, all of them knitting or spinning or sewing. He started to come up behind her but hesitated at the edge of the firelight.
“Curse or not, a sweater’s not the greatest labor of love for a knitter.” Annie’s voice carried. He didn’t want to interrupt her and didn’t know how she’d feel about him giving her Key’s message. “Socks are.”
“No way!” argued a woman with flashing needles a few feet away. “Sweaters are bigger and more complicated.”
Annie shook her head. “Complicated depends on the pattern. Socks mean hundreds of tiny stitches in fine yarn. But there’s more to it than that.”
“Heels?”
“Use.” She held up her own project, a sock pulled over a darning egg. Joseph recognized the socks he’d handed her the night before. “You make socks knowing they’re smaller and not as impressive as sweaters or scarves or clever hats, knowing someone can probably still trade for mass-produced ones in Vegas, knowing they’re going to get abused and overlooked in ways gloves and sweaters don’t, and the most you can hope for is that the person you’re making them for will like them enough to wear them out. You have to love somebody to make socks for them.”
Joseph looked down at his feet. He couldn’t see the new socks she’d given him, of course, but he could feel them, warm and soft and dry against the hard desert below his feet.
He nodded to himself, then stepped into the light. Her smile when she noticed him was as warm as his socks.
“I’ve got a message for you,” he told her, and she stood, leading him back toward her trailer.
He waited until they were away from the circle to ask. “Did you mean that?”
“What?”
“About socks?”
She looked down at her darning egg and smiled. “Yeah, I suppose I did.”
“I don’t-”
“You don’t have to.”
“Are you sure?”
“If you want to stick around, I’d like that,” she said, picking her words as carefully as she picked her yarn. “I enjoy it when you’re here. But your work isn’t the same as mine, and I know that.”
“Okay.” He opened the trailer door and went inside, looking behind him to make sure she was there.
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