Extinction: Episode 4

by Cathryn Grant
A short story serialized in five episodes. Read previous episodes: Episode 1. Episode 2, Episode 3.

Suddenly Gordon’s thick fingers slipped under the hem of Zyra’s skirt. She stepped back. “What are you doing? Stop it.”

“You’re so sweet. Good enough to eat.”

“If you touch me again, I’ll tell Marissa.”

He smirked. “Then you’ll lose your job.”

“So will you.”

“Not possible. Come on, tell me why you wanted to work here? Aren’t you going against your high falutin’ principles every time you walk in that door? Taking money from people who’re devouring your friends, the little fishies?” He ran his finger down her arm. “Nice skin.”

Zyra grabbed a filet knife off the counter. “I told you to stop.”

“Oooh. Brave little pacifist. If you don’t want to kill fish, why would you be waving a knife at me?” He laughed. “You’re betraying your religion.”

She pointed the knife at him. “Just leave me alone.”

“Come on, Zyra. Why are you working here?”

He’d pronounced her name correctly. She put the knife on the counter.

“You look down your nose at all the customers. You refuse to eat the food.”

“Maybe I think I can do some good.”

“So you’re an animal activist spy?”

“Maybe I can convert some of these gluttons into seeing how they’re hurting the planet. Make them see that we’re all one, and when we kill other beings, we kill a piece of ourselves.”

“People don’t want to be converted when they’re eating dinner.”

“They never want to be converted. But maybe one or two will realize what they’re doing. I think that man at Table One knows. I think he’ll leave here a different person.”

“You’re nuts.”

She shrugged.

He shoved his hands in his pockets, turned and walked out of the kitchen. “People are waiting. If you start preaching again, you’re fired.”

“I’ll tell Marissa what you just did in there.”

He walked out the door, making sure that the hunch of his shoulders and the nonchalant twist of his head gave him the last word. She slipped the knife into the long pocket on the side of her apron. It was easy to shift the knife behind her order pad where the handle wasn’t visible. The blade was so thin and light, it didn’t tug at the fabric to reveal the extra weight hidden inside.

He was so wrong. She wasn’t going against her religion at all. Human beings had a greater responsibility than the other creatures on the earth. Yes, they were all one, and what one did caused pain throughout the entire organism called life. But that life would be better served if some of the worst offenders were removed. He made her feel like a piece of fruit, pinched and sampled, if he had his way. If he touched her again, he would find those thick fingers a little less adept.

She returned to the table. “Have you decided what you’d like to order for your main course?”

“I’ll have the seared tuna with radish puree.” The woman pushed her menu toward Zyra and picked up her wine glass. She pursed her lips and sipped. “This needs a re-fill.” She set the glass back on the table. “I don’t like having to ask.”

Zyra pulled the bottle out of the chiller and dribbled wine into the glass. A drop splashed on the woman’s wrist. Zyra knew she could kiss her tip good-bye. On the other hand, she was now free to go all out, convince the man that chewing on a piece of endangered ocean life turned him into an animal gnawing at his own foot to escape a trap. She filled his wine glass and leaned over the table so her face was inches from his. Her thick black braid fell forward and wrapped around her arm like a serpent. She settled the bottle into the chiller and whispered, “If your companion has the tuna, you must have the sturgeon. You might be one of the last humans to consume it. You know you want it. You know you don’t care if one breed dies off. What does it matter? They’re soul-less. You can hardly tell them apart. They don’t cry when they suffer.”

The man whimpered. He pushed away the wine glass. His fingers were slender, advertising his delicate constitution, telling everyone he wasn’t the slick shark-like master of industry he wanted to be. He folded the edge of the tablecloth around his fingers. He fondled the fabric as if he was weaving his hands through his wife’s blonde hair. He wrapped the cloth more tightly, seeking comfort, an infantile attachment to a blanket that had the power to ease his terror.

Suddenly her braid was yanked away from her arm. Her head stretched back, exposing her neck to the table. She felt like a beast about to have its throat slit. She gagged. The woman looked smug, but the man stared in horror. Gordon whirled her around, still holding her braid. “I’ll finish serving this charming couple. Please wait for me in the kitchen, Zyra.” Again, he was back to the deliberate mispronunciation. She stepped back and her heel skidded on the tile. Even though it was terracotta, it was still prone to a slickness that came from heavy foot traffic smoothing it to a polish. She caught herself before she fell.

Episode 5: Sunday, August 29

© Copyright 2010 Cathryn Grant

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