Sharing A Meal

I have a great book club I attend, where instead of all reading the same book, we share what we've read and make recommendations to each other.  We end up passing things around, and I know I read a wider variety of genres because of things other people bring to book club.

Recently, someone brought HOW TO READ LITERATURE LIKE A PROFESSOR by Thomas C. Foster.  Something she talked about was the discussion of symbolism involved with characters share a meal together.  Characters sharing a meal together is based on a certain amount of trust, so when two characters share a meal, and the one betrays the other, it makes the betrayal more poignant.

The part of this that stands out to me right now is how a relationship of trust can be established through the sharing of food.  The prompt for this week:  use the setting of mealtime to demonstrate the relationship between two characters.

Enjoy!

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My response:

Gregor brought a burlap bag full of rolls over to the row of prisoners.  I hated to think how old and hard they would be, if they were going to feed them to us, but the idea of having anything to chew set my mouth to watering.  I hoped they wouldn't be too small.

We sat in our usual line, wrists and feet shackled, linked by one long chain that ran through loops on each of our right ankle irons.  The irons were heavy, but resting your wrists on the ground bent your back something awful. We learned to prop our hands up on our knees, to keep our backs straight.

Gregor started at one end of the line, to my right.  I'd managed to tie on in the middle of the chain that morning.  That way, when we laid down to rest, I'd have more warm bodies around to help keep warm.  I swallowed and glanced at the girl next to me.  Was that all she was worth to me anymore?  Just another warm body to help protect myself from the cold?  The first few days we'd exchanged names, asked questions, and shared stories.  Two weeks in, we'd grown silent.

Gregor was almost to me.  I lifted my hands, watching the rolls drop into waiting palms.  Then, just as I was about to get my dinner, Gregor flew forward.  He dropped the bag, rolls spilling out.  The girl next to me scrambled, my ankle moving with the chain as she moved.  She scooped up the rolls and the bag, presenting them with a downturned face to Gregor. 

Gregor looked her up and down suspiciously.  He snatched the bag back and stuffed the extra rolls inside.  "Sit down, girl!" he snapped, and she dropped back down, next to me.  Gregor frowned at her, then dropped my roll into my waiting fingers.

I clutched my roll to my chest, waiting until Gregor was gone before biting into it.  Then I felt a tug at my elbow.  The girl next to me leaned in close.  She held something in her hands.  Jerky.  Beef, from the smell of it, thick with spices.  I saw the pouch between her knees.  She must have lifted it off Gregor's belt when he tripped. 

"Quick, take some and hand it down!" 

I glanced up at the men around the fire.  She was right.  There was no time to consider.  If she got caught holding it out to me, she'd be whipped.  If I took too long passing it, I'd be the one in trouble.  Even worse, if I didn't do something now, she might reach past me, and I wouldn't get any at all. 

I tucked my roll into my lap and snatched the jerky out of her hands.  I took a big bite and tore it from the rest of the stick, then held the handful out to the girl on the other side as I worked my lips around the dried meat.  "Take one, quick!  Pass it down!"

As soon as the jerky was in the next girl's hands, I turned.  Another batch of jerky worked its way down the other half of the line.  The girl who'd taken it offered a smile, one with bits of dark jerky stuck in her teeth.  I smiled. 

Something was different in camp that night.  We'd gone through the initial stages of denial and defiance, and spent some time drowning in hopelessness.  Now, by virtue of a satchel of jerky, about one bite a piece, we'd found our spirit again.  We would wait.  We would watch.  And we would be ready.