The Beast that was the City

Ingrid had been a different girl when she first met Zephyr. She had been innocent then. Not in the way of being shocked by the abject poverty of the people who lived on streets in the lower city. She had seen worse where she came from. Or by the violence of the place. Once, a woman standing by Ingrid had responded to a man calling her slut by throwing her shoes at him and he had circled back and shot her in the stomach. Right in the middle of people passing back and forth. Right beside Ingrid.

Yes, all that had disturbed her, but it hadn't shocked her.

But she had been innocent in thinking that despite all that, the world still held a place for her.

She had been in the city for about two months then. The dance academy had rejected her, and after running out of the money she had spent months earning back in Bemchov, her hometown, she finally had to find work.

She ignored all the loud signs outside the city brothels insisting that she was what they wanted and visited shop after shop. She was desperate, yes, but she told herself that she wasn't desperate enough to lie on her back. Besides, the only boy she had ever been with had been a friend.

In one of the shops, she swallowed as the butcher brought down his knife on the neck of the pig and a pool of blood filled the gap between the head and the body lying on the wooden table.

"I do not hire girls," he said in a heavy accent. "Women have weak stomachs."

"Not me," she promised. "I can take anything."

But he shook his head and his eyes pointed her back to the door.

Later that day, she stood on the steps of one the prayer houses sandwiched between two shops and let the rain beat over her. The obscene graffiti on its walls and the rough colors of the small building were very different from the revered wooden houses in Bemchov, but something about it made her think of home. She wondered if she should go back. Maybe her mother had not meant everything she had said after all. Maybe she wanted her back and would hug her and cry on her neck if Ingrid returned home.

Sure, Nana Ujka would be very disappointed in her, but maybe it was Nana's fault for deceiving her into thinking she had what it took to become a ballerina. Besides, everyone knew that Nana could never be pleased. She was an old woman with ailing bones and bitterness choking her heart. Even Ingrid had gotten into the academy and graduated and announced Nana as her first teacher, she would find something to grunt and complain about.

The front door of the prayer house opened and a man came out, interrupting her thoughts. He held a bucket full of water in his hand and emptied it down the steps. The water slipped the stairs and soaked her shoes.

"The roof is leaking," he said, explaining, then wiped his forehead. "Are you here to pray?"

She shook her head.

"But you need shelter from the rain?"

She nodded and followed him inside. The place was dark and there was a damp smell. The squeak of their wet shoes echoed on the floor. There were candles lit around the room.

It was empty, except for a woman in a far corner who appeared to be sleeping, yet the floor seemed to vibrate with noise.

The man she assumed was the prayer leader of the house dropped the bucket and started to wipe the house floors.

"Are you new to the city?" he asked.

She never knew how much to share with the strangers she met. " No," she said finally.

He paused his work to look at her. "You're new." He bent down to continue wiping. "You have that fresh-defeat look of a newcomer."

"As opposed to the joyful optimism of everyone else here?" she asked.

The man shook with his laughter but he didn't look up.

Ingrid sighed and settled into a chair. "Everything is so stupid. There's no place for me here. It's like everywhere I turn, this city is trying to tell me to go back to where I came from." She didn't even know why she was talking to him. But she was tired. And she felt alone.

"And where did you come from?"

"Far away from here."

There was silence between them for a while only interrupted by the sound of the mop on the floor.

"You're actually the first person to be kind to me," Ingrid said, breaking it.

"There is always a place for everyone here." The man said. He looked up at her again. "They just typically do not like it. But the city is a beast; it will always need more souls to feed on. It never turns anyone back."

He dropped the mop back into the bucket and dragged it across the wood to another wet spot.

Ingrid wondered whether she should offer to help, but when she did, he waved her away.

"But, you should have told me you are looking for work." He abandoned the mop and bucket and gestured at her. "Come. Follow me."