Bringing All the Bad, стр. 9
Now that they were beyond the ad-restricted zone of the hospital building, she was being inundated. Harsh and bright, the ads outshone even the sun. The jiggling movements that had lately become popular were jarring. Given their location, most of the ads seemed geared toward litigation for wrongful injury or malpractice, home health services, or quack drugs that would probably make whatever condition they were meant to cure much worse.
Mel dug a spare pair of ad-blocker glasses from her purse and offered them to Baby. The girl almost snatched them from her hand, slipping them on with a sigh of relief. “I’ll never get used to that,” she murmured.
Mel gave her a look. The world had been covered by ads since before this girl was born. Most kids barely noticed. It was only those of Mel’s age and older who couldn’t get used to it. Mel had grown up in a world where you could look around outside and your ads were limited to billboards. Well, mostly anyway.
They reached the car, put Baby’s rather pathetic bag into the trunk, then eased into traffic. The restaurant they were headed to was in the opposite direction of the group home, but once Mel had realized how truly hungry she was, it was the only place that would do. They served real food, meat that looked like meat, vegetables that had never met the inside of a freezer or can, and dinner rolls that made normally restrained people roll their eyes in pure ecstasy.
Yes, that was the food she needed.
They were in luck that traffic was snarled due to a bit of construction. It would give her some time with Baby. Mel switched the car into manual drive and zipped out of the parking lot into traffic.
Baby eyed her hands on the wheel. “You drive yourself? You don’t let the car drive? I thought everyone let the cars drive now.”
Mel glanced over and gave the girl a wink, then nosed her little car over the line separating the lanes. A car on auto-drive slowed, sensing a potential collision, and Mel whipped their car into that lane. When she was safely over, she said, “There are benefits to manual drive.”
Baby gave a sharp shake of her head at the impoliteness, but she was also smiling a little.
They arrived at the restaurant just as it opened. Mel was hungry, but she wasn’t so bad off that she forgot the needs of her young charge. Scanning the restaurant, she asked for a booth in the corner, one that would allow Baby to see the entire floor and not put her back to anyone. She seemed entirely calm, but that could be a facade. Putting on a brave face was another common attribute of those whose survival depended on it.
Perusing the menu, Mel briefly, and not entirely seriously, considering ordering everything. Baby looked for only a few seconds, then laid down her menu.
“What are you having?” Mel asked.
“Flounder.”
“They have good steak here. I thought you said you could eat a horse.”
With an even look, Baby said, “Cows that wind up on restaurant plates live their lives in terrible conditions, at least the last part of it. Penned, fattened, fearful. Did you know that?”
The parallels were there for even the dimmest person to see. Baby had felt caged…penned, fattened, fearful. That was it in a nutshell. Mel decided to go for the flounder too, though she truly yearned for a steak.
They made their orders—Baby asking for no butter or dairy on her sides—then sat in awkward silence for a few moments. With very precise movements, Baby squared her napkin on the table and lined up the silverware, moving the spoon to one side of the knife, the fork on the other.
When it met her requirements, she looked up and said, “Horse used to be a delicacy, you know. And strangely enough, it was often people who loved horses who ate it. Don’t you think that’s a bit perverse? I’ve always thought it was.”
This rather obscure bit of information took Mel aback. That couldn’t be true, could it? And if it was, how did Baby know that?
“Are you making that up?”
Baby gave her one of those small, restrained smiles she was so good at. The knowledge in that smile was at odds with her very young face, the cheeks still the rounded ones of a girl not yet reaching the pains of puberty.
“No, I’m not making it up. It was more common in Germany than here, though. They called it Fleisch once, though I believe they simply use the word for meat in general. It wasn’t always though. The word itself simply means flesh, so perhaps it’s only the people I knew that meant horse when they said it.”
“How do you know that?”
Again, the enigmatic smile. “Oh, you know, one hears things.”
One? Such a formal word for such a young person. Baby was shaping up to be something of a mystery.
The waiter brought their beverages and the pause gave Mel a little space to think about what to say next. Under normal circumstances, she would use a fairly standard format. Questions and answers that built trust, avoided the issue, and expressed concern. Then, as the child was ready, they would move on, usually in the presence of a third party specifically trained for such encounters.
Mel and her partner were both well trained, and both had a knack for working with young victims. Not the small children, because that required someone with very specialized degrees and experience, but with children of Baby’s age they were acknowledged as the best around.
Baby wasn’t like other children though. She didn’t invite the process. Most people did, even kids, because down at their cores, humans wanted to be understood. Victims wanted to be understood, to have their burden lifted by sharing.