The Lava Farmer

by Sara Lufrano

Her hands were never pretty and she never cared for them to be. Even with such tough skin her fingers were still slender. In gloves they would be the regular hands of a young woman with an average face.

When she smiled she was pretty. When she smiled it didn't matter that she was so plain looking. When she smiled even couldn't look at herself and think that she was nothing short of fetching.

The smile that made her pretty hadn't been around for a while.

She rubbed her arm, slowly moving her scarred hand up to massage her shoulder. The muscles were firm and dense. She walked from the backdoor through the kitchen rustling the dirt on the floor. Her right hand went up her shirt to help her left arm out of her dirty, sweaty tank top. The days used to cause her to sigh in relief once she got home. But lately she hadn't had any feelings. She didn't like, love, or hate it. She just did it because it was who she was and who she grew up to be.

She slid her feet into her house slippers and went down the hall to the bathroom knocking one knuckle on the closed door she passed. One switch to the right turned on the small, dim light above the dirty mirror. She picked up her toothbrush, squeezed out less paste than she should have, and brushed her teeth for the full two minutes, even her tongue. She worked water on her face and when she lifted her head to dry her face she noticed the water left clean streak down her dirty neck. She rubbed the water on her neck and picked up the towel on the floor. She smelled it. It had a damp metallic smell but she used it anyway. She dropped the towel on the floor, stepped out of her house slippers, undid her belt, unbuttoned her pants, and took them off leaving them on the floor next to the towel.

With her slippers back on she went back to the living room. As the end of the purple sky disappeared from the window she turned on the light. The floor was dirty there too. The living room had a three-cushion couch, coffee table, a pile of yellowing newspapers, and a black AM/FM radio. She turned on the radio, already on talk, and brushed off the couch where her head laid.

She sat down and closed her eyes. The heavy feeling was making her neck weak. She felt her breath go heavy and snapped open her eyes. A yawn pulled her eyes shut again and she was thirsty. She knew that she should get up and get a glass of water to leave on the coffee table while she slept. She thought about it, saw herself getting the glass and blowing out the dirt, filling it with water from the sink in the half light from the living room, and taking it back with her half drank already. She decided to turn the light off instead. The voices of the radio filled the dark room.

With no curtains on the windows the volcano was always in clear sight. She never noticed it unless she made herself.

One more deep breath and she made her place on the couch to go to sleep.

She woke without an alarm. She didn't even have a clock. Time never mattered much in her life. When she was a kid her father made it clear that if the sun was up she should be working and if the sun was going down it was time to head home. If the moon was out it was time to go to bed. It was her way of life as set by her dad.

The sun had yet to break over the mountains and she was up making coffee with the left over coffee from the day before mixed in with more tap water. Her tin of coffee was on its last pot and she sighed at the thought of having to go into town. She would need more than coffee to go into town though. The line was drawn somewhere at toilet paper and the last few packs of top ramen noodles.

The journey to town took a whole day away from the volcano, which always made her nervous. Her bike was good enough for the three miles to the closest, rarely used bus station where the timing was hit or miss. Then the practically empty white, rusted bus would drive over the rubble paths for ten more miles. And finally the one transfer to the more used bus into the small town of about 5,000 people.

Food and tools were the only supplies she ever bought. Lots of cans, lots of dry goods. Meats, fruits, and vegetables were always planned on the bus ride so that anything she bought was never wasted. She always made checks of the house and her tools in case she needed anything to repair them. New handles, new bolts, new pick and hammer heads. Window screens for the summers, thread and needles for holes. She would drop off a large amount of money with the post office to cover water and electricity. Everything she did away from home and work was planned and she did it as quick as she could.

“Do you remember what this is?” Her dad had held up a small clear pebble. “This is it what we need. This.” She took it in her small, soft hand and studied it. “This is why we're here.” He told her.

The towns people knew who she was, knew who her father was. They understood very little about her job but knew that when she came to town she wasn't going to talk to them, have lunch at the diner, ask if everyone was doing alright, or see if they needed anything from her. She was there to get food and tools.

But for now she leaned against the counter of the small kitchen and drank her black coffee, no sugar. She'd run out of that a month ago. She stared in the direction of the volcano. Even though she couldn't see it she knew its shape. Knew the left side was steeper than the right. Knew that there was chip out of the cone. Knew where the handful of weeds grew. She could walk in the middle of a moonless night to where she left off her work and start again with out tripping. Her life had been spent on that volcano. The violent explosion of earth was not hers to have and she understood that very well.

“It's ours isn't it, Dad?” she once asked her father.

He smiled down at her as they walked up the volcano, a pickaxe dragging behind her, both hands around the handle. “No sweetie. It doesn't belong to anyone. It's the Earth. No one can own it.”

The only thing that she claimed as hers were the minerals that came from the lava. Her father rationalized the selling of the minerals because they could help people. And they couldn't continue to help people if they didn't have food. And money bought food. She didn't know of material goods. The only things they celebrated were their birthdays and they celebrated with a trip to the coastline.

She loved the coastline, the salty smell and the seaweed that would wash up on the white fine sand. It was so opposite her everyday life. She dug out the sand crabs and showed every one of them to her father. When she was older she would stand in the water and try her hardest to hold herself still as the waves crashed onto her shoulders. Her dad would sit on the sand and often nap when she wasn't next to him talking.

Her father loved her immensely. His love never made her ask what other little girls did in their day. She never wondered why she didn't have friends. She didn't wonder if she wasn't the only kid that didn't go to school and work all day and read the paper at night. She didn't think that she was the only one that knew everything about rocks and minerals. She never truly wondered why she didn't have a mother either. He loved her enough for a whole family. He said I love you everyday. When her hands hurt and had open wounds to where she couldn't lift her axe anymore he would let her know it was fine to go home, but she never did until they could both walk home together. As he continued to work she would lie out on the black rock and sing what she could remember from the latest song on the radio.

The world was the two of them. When it was time to walk back on those days that she was too tired or hurt to finish work, he would carry her back. She would be asleep in his arms by the time they reached the house. He'd lay her down in her bed, kiss her forehead, and sleep on the couch since the small house only had one room.

She poured the last of her coffee down the drain and walked to the bathroom, past the only room in the house. The bedroom door was closed and all she did was hit one knuckle against the hollow wood. Once in the bathroom she brushed her teeth as well as she did before. She rinsed her face and ran her wet hands through her hair to help tie it up in a neater ponytail.

She knew her whole day of work would be consumed with the thoughts of going to town. What supplies she needed. Her hands held on to the rim of the sink and she stared at the uncovered drain. Nothing went through her head for half a second and she closed her eyes hoping the sun had come up, that it was time to go outside, breathe the air, and take her first steps of the day on the volcano.

She left the bathroom not looking in the mirror again. Once in the living room she knew the sun hadn't broken yet. A three-week-old paper was on the top of a stack and she picked it up as she went to sit on the dusty couch. None of the articles mattered anymore. They never mattered to her in the first place. But it was something to do and a habit. On the short side of ten minutes the sun came over the mountains and she walked out of the back door, grabbed her pickaxe from the porch, and headed out to work.

She didn't make any progress on her path so she moved to the mineral pits. She worked on clearing them of their tiny rocks and trying to plan out her next spot to carve. The sun was on its back end and she made her way down, stopping to check at cracks as she went. Half way down she noticed a person walking toward her.

No one ever went up here. No one. Ever. She wasn't counting on a confrontation but knew the strength she had in her arms. As they got closer to each other she saw that it was a man. He waved his arm to catch her attention. She kept walking down, checking her lines and walking. He cupped his hands around his mouth and yelled something she couldn't understand. There was no sort of communication she wished to engage in so she did nothing. They got closer and she could understand his yells.

“Hello.”

She was annoyed that that's all he was yelling. Again she did nothing. The man jogged up so that she could finally see his features and hear his panting from the jog.

“Hi.” He let out a loud breath and smiled.

She looked at him and nodded her head. He nodded his head back and had an expectant look on his face for something more. She looked his face over while fighting her curiosity to look at the rest of him. Questions flooded her brain as she focused on his eyes. Brown, big, bright. Happy and smiling. What was he doing there? Why did he bother to come all the way out there? Why was he talking to her? Why was he there so late? She didn't ask any of these questions but her heart fluttered and her neck heated up. She turned her head and continued toward home her distance from him.

He made a sound but she did not turn back to him.

When she got home she locked the door behind her and proceeded with her nightly routine. The thought of what he was doing took the place of her trip to town. She hoped he wasn't dead up there. She didn't want to drag down his body. Why did he care to talk to her? His expecting but soft smile burned in her eyes as she closed them to wash her face. His brown eyes. She had to remember where she lived. Volcanoes are rare. He was there to see the volcano of course. She just so happened to be the volcano farmer that he came across.

Early in the morning she was at her same spot from the day before. Yesterday the looming thought of town stopped her but today it was the man. She thought of walking where he might have walked to make sure he wasn't caught in a crack with a broken leg bleeding out. But she didn't. He would at least be screaming if something like that happened and he was still alive. She heard no screams.

“Hello again!”

She jumped and dropped her axe.

“I'm sorry for scaring you!” He was thirty feet away but spoke clearly.

She caught her breath and bent to pick up her axe.

He waved his hand apologetically and a half smile took his mouth. “I'm very sorry.” He continued to approach her.

“You don't have to talk to me. I don't own the volcano.”

He stopped three yards from her. His mouth hung open in question until he realized what she meant. “That wasn't my intention. Not like I was just going to come here and not say anything to you, you know? I mean I saw you and just didn't want to walk by like you didn't exist.”

She looked at his teeth when he smiled. They were nice. “Okay.” She said.

He shaded his eyes from the sun and nodded his head. “Okay.”

They stood facing each other silently.

“You do this?” He asked.

“Do what?”

“Work up here. Is that your house?” He motioned behind himself.

“Yes.”

“By yourself?”

She eyed him and turned her left shoulder in a bit to guard herself.

“Just wondering! I mean just asking. It's weird. Well, not too weird.” He looked to the black rock ground. “There's no one else out here, so I meant do you do this by yourself?”

She didn't answer him.

“It looks like a tough job.”

She heard the sympathy in his voice. “It's all I know and I'm good at it.” At that open gate she ventured to look closer at his features, his body.

His muscles were lean and skin very tan. He was very clean.

“I have a tough job too.” He said.

She watched his lips. They were thick but fit his square jaw. “Okay. I have to get back to work.”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You do what you have to.” He pointed up to the volcano. “I'm just going to keep going up then.”

She nodded. He gave a small wave and smile as he passed her. “You don't want to go with me do you?”

“I need to work.” She said.

“Of course.” He smiled at her again and then turned to walk up the volcano.

Once he was clear of her she stooped down and looked from the rock she was breaking to watch him walk away. She watched his back and legs. She grabbed a handful of the pebbles and dust then let it drop. She thought she should have smiled at him.

Hours later she noticed him coming down before he could scare her with a greeting.

“I'm in town,” he started right in, “for who knows how long. Do you go often?”

“No.”

“Well when you do, maybe we can eat together?”

“I don't go to town to eat.”

“Fair enough. Either way maybe I'll see you around.” He smiled and made his way back.

This time she didn't hide watching him on his walk down before getting back to work.

She sat down on her couch with the light on and ruffled through the stack of newspapers. The date at the top was a year and half ago. She opened it up, glanced at the top, and her eyes fell to the middle on an article that she read before.

Her and her father would go to town more often. He had more to care about and for him it was a good way to break up the every day so his daughter had more memories.

She was around ten when she met another boy in the grocery store. She was roaming the store for things she wanted to eat while her dad got supplies. They were both shy like kids are shy but still curious. David was his name.

Her father smiled and let them play in the grocery store until he was done.

“Dad, I love David.” She looked up to him with a happy smile as they got on the bus back to home.

“No, you don't love him,” he said kindly pulling her closer to him. “I'm the only boy that you'll love.”

“Okay, Dad. I love you.” She buried her head into his side and closed her eyes.

She closed her eyes and sighed deep and she folded the paper back up and put it aside. She clicked on the radio and clicked off the light.

A few days later she had to admit to herself that it was time to go to town. No coffee, she needed an axe handle, no flour or eggs for bread, she ate corn out of the can with no salt, pepper or butter. She made her complete list and went to bed with the worry of the trip. From two-thirty on she woke up every half hour thinking about the ride to the bus, the waiting, the things she would have to say to the people. Hellos and thank yous. The I'm sorry for your loss, your father would be proud, we all miss him. She thought about seeing the brown eyed man on the street. What would he be doing? She wondered how long he'd been in town and what he did. She felt bad for not letting him tell her what he did. She pictured how he would wave his hands and to get her attention and if she would avoid him or go to him.

She got up at 5:30 and pulled her bike and the cart off the porch. She was waiting at the bus stop for the first bus by 6:45 and it didn't start running until 7:30.

She wasn't the only one at the stop by the time the rusted, noisy, white bus showed up. There was an old woman with a rolling handcart and an old man with gloves in his back pocket.

The ride was bumpy and loud along the poorly paved road. She looked out of the window the whole ride. As she took the last step off the bus from the long ride she watched the few people that passed in front of her. She set out to the store with her rolling cart behind her. The town's people looked at her and if she looked at them they would smile. She did not. The store didn't have everything she wanted but she was able to make substitutions like twine instead of rope and a smaller hammer instead of the correct size.

There was no small talk between her and the storeowner. She gave him her dusty, gritty money and packed her supplies and food in her cart. She pulled the cart behind her on the way to the post office.

“Oh my goodness, sweetie.” She heard it but kept on walking. “Sweetheart!” She stopped and turned her head to an old woman, pain shadowed the woman's face as she stepped closer. She did no recognize the woman.

“You don't remember me then. That's fine. But I remember you.” The woman came right to her side and put her boney yet soft hand on her strong arm. “You haven't been into town for some time.”

“I didn't need to.”

“There always comes a time. How are you doing up there?”

“Fine.”

“Sweetie, I was your dad's school friend. Remember when I came out to visit there toward the end?”

“No.”

The woman pursed her lips and looked down to the ground. Her hand was still on her arm. “Well I was there. It's good to see you. You look healthy.”

“Thank you.”

As much as the woman could squeeze, she squeezed to say goodbye and began her painful walk again.

She paid her utilities at the post office and began her walk back to the bus stop. She passed the diner and there was knock on the glass from the inside as she passed. It was him. He waved his hand to coax her inside. She shook her head. He stood up and walked outside leaving his half eaten plate.

“Hey, you're here.” He smiled. She didn't say anything. “Do you want to join me? Are you hungry? I'm already eating but I can hang out while you eat.”

“No. I want to go back.”

He looked at her cart full of supplies then at his watch. “The bus doesn't come by for another 40 minutes. Just a cup of coffee or something while you wait?”

She looked at his arms and chest through his tee shirt. “Come on,” he said cheerfully and opened up the door for her.

She slid into the booth opposite him. The waiter came by and she asked for coffee and toast. He smiled at her. She looked at his teeth.

“My dad and I used to eat here when we came into town.” She said.

“Did you come into town more often then?”

“Yes.”

“Where's your dad?”

“He died.”

“I'm sorry to hear that.”

She drank her coffee. It tasted sweet even though it didn't have any sugar. She ate the toast plain as well.

“You don't like butter or sugar?”

“I like them.”

“You just don't use them?” He moved the sugar bowl to the middle of the table and pushed the small bowl with butter pads a little closer to her. She didn't go for either. He went back to eating his breakfast as she ate her toast.

The time ticked away slowly for her. She didn't look around the diner too much and mostly focused her eyes to the outside. He took a sip from his coffee then loudly scraped his plate and she looked at him. “Sorry,” he said. She thought of her dad as she sat with this man and missed the love he had for her.

“Why do you talk to me?” She asked.

He tilted his head at the question. “Honestly it looked like you needed someone to talk to. Selfishly, I'm interested in you.”

The waiter came and refilled her coffee and left.

“You're interested in the volcano.”

He smiled. “No, I'm interested in you.”

She cracked a smile and his smile got bigger. She hid it quickly.

“You're just heading back home?” He asked.

“Yes.” She looked out the window.

“Can I come see you later?”

“You can do whatever you want.”

He smiled at her and she didn't see it. “I'm more asking if I go up there can we see each other?”

She turned her head to his smile. His brown eyes, white teeth, tan skin. “What do you do?”

“I'm a nautilus fisher.”

He waited for her to ask another question but she did not.

“I'm on shore for a few months before going back out. This is a new area for me. Me as in, it's just me. I don't have a crew. My boat is little.”

She had not gone to the coast since her dad died. She missed the waves crashing on her shoulders.

“Luckily there are a lot of nautiluses off of this coast. I made the right choice in coming out this way.”

“How long have you been doing it?”

“Since I was a child. The town I'm from fishes them but they've been declining. I had to try somewhere else.”

“So you'll go back?”

“Yes. Maybe. It's nice out here though.”

She shifted and pulled out a few dollars for the coffee and toast.

“No, no I'd like to pay for it.” He reached for his wallet and waved his hand in protest.

She chose not to hear him and left the money on the table and scooted out of the booth.

“There's still time before the bus comes. Please stay just a little longer.” He reached out and touched her hand.

Her heart raced at the touch and she looked at his hands. They were rough, dry hands with calluses running along his fingers. They were almost as scarred as hers. He smiled at her as he watched her look at his hand.

“It's not my volcano. You can come and go.” She said.

She unhooked her cart from her bike and pulled it up the steps into the house. As she stacked her food in the bare cabinets but it didn't get much fuller. She took her new stack of newspapers and put them on the old. She knocked one knuckle on the hollow door as she went to the tool closet. After putting away everything she went out to continue her work. She thought of the diner as she headed up. Her heart raced again thinking about his hand on her. A fisherman.

Her dad's words, “I'm the only boy that you'll love.” She couldn't remember the sound of his voice but the things he said came often. She swung her axe down hard digging the pick in deep. She struggled to loosen it. She gritted her teeth and yanked on it, wiggled it, and pulled. It came loose. She swung hard again and a large crack sprang open.

“His name was David.” She said to the crack. She swung again. “I was little. What did it matter?” She swung again and the head of the axe got wedged in the crack. She pulled the handle and it didn't budge. She wrenched on it and pulled back and forth and then the handle snapped from the head. She sighed and stood still for a moment.

After breaking the axe handle she moved onto gathering small rocks from another crack she had dug out. The sun was on it's way west and she began her walk down with jars full of rocks. She placed them on the kitchen counter and went about her nightly routine. This time she had new papers to read so she stayed up later than usual. She still woke at her usual time and this time was able to make coffee.

She grabbed a new handle from the tool closet and set out for the day. After the full day her hands ached and she had to pull out a few slivers she got from the new handle. She gently rubbed her palms as she walked back home. She saw him sitting on the steps of her house.

“Hi.” He stood and smiled. She said nothing. “I know you didn't say that I could come over. I just wanted to give it another try.” She stopped at the bottom stair.

“Can we sit? Together I mean.” He sat back down so that she looked down at him. The sunset made him look even darker.

“How long have you been here?”

“Not long. I didn't want to scare you again by meeting you out there. I actually wanted to come yesterday but that could have been weird since we just saw each other. So today it is. At night.”

“Dusk.”

“Yeah. So, will you sit with me?”

She looked at his arms and his face. She liked both. She leaned her axe against the stairs and sat next to him on the same step. His smile grew as she settled. A content sigh came from him. She looked at the volcano, the chip from the cone, the left side that was steeper than the right. The top of it bathed in pink and orange light while the rest was dark blue. She turned and looked at him. He turned and looked at her.

“I'm Anna.”

“My name is Miguel.”

She smiled.