M’ill and H’ill: Part 2

This story was published in the Heart of Flesh literary magazine on November 15, 2024.

Part 1 available here)

I began to wind through alleys and side streets, seeking cover from walls and signposts. At last, breaking free of the skyscrapers and smog, I came to an open field. I almost missed it at first, but there was a road, a footpath really, that pointed toward Hill. I followed it, glad for soil underneath my bare feet instead of pavement. When I reached the base of the hill, it seemed much taller than I’d expected. The path became rocky and steep. I was panting and the sharp stones cut. My hands and knees were already scraped up from sliding about. Why was I coming here anyway? Milly had said that no one could do what they wanted up here, though it seems Milly had been wrong about the rules being unimportant. I thought of her terror-stricken face in the back of the car and shuddered. It was nearly dawn when I reached the top, my feet and knees bleeding and my lungs full of dust. I collapsed in the cool grass. I don’t know how long I lay there, crying, when I realized a woman was standing near me. Startled, I tried to cover myself.

“I saw you coming from M’ill,” she set down a pitcher of water and a white shift dress of some kind. “It is a hard way to come.”

“Yes,” I replied. I availed myself of the water and then pulled the dress on. I looked back down into the valley, where Mill sat like a huge, grim machine. Funny, the neon city lights were hardly visible through the smog and clouds that cloaked the city. From the elevated view, I could make out a large sign emblazoned with lights at the main entrance, “City of M’ill.”

“Why, that’s funny. Why is there an apostrophe in Mill?”

“The name of the town isn’t Mill. It’s My Will. M’ill is for short. Welcome to H’ill,” she smiled broadly and motioned to a sign which read the same. Underneath this greeting, in prominent, legal letters, were the words “Love Him.”

“Are you from here?” I asked.

“Only one is from here.”

“Have you been here long?”

“Not long enough.”

“They said you can’t do what you want in H’ill.”

“Well, yes and no. You’ll have to follow the rules, that is, do what he wants. I think you’ll find that you begin to want what he wants anyway. And, of course, there are many things that don’t come into the rules at all and so are open for your enjoyment.”

“Did the same person write the rules in M’ill too?”

“Yes, but I fear not many there understand them, as simple as he has tried to make them for those folks. Come, let us go. You must be hungry.”

I was. I took one more look over my shoulder at the wide spreading city. Well, I could always go back if I didn’t like it here. I turned to follow my guide (shall I call her Hilda?). We soon came to a kind of country market. A sign read “Give Generously” and another “Deal Honestly.”

I once again was reminded of the fact that I had no money, but Milly’s tactics didn’t seem quite right here. Suddenly, there was a chunk of bread in my hand. I looked up to thank the woman who sat nearby, but she seemed to ignore me and went on arranging her loaves of bread. Plain bread never tasted so good after that hike. As I continued through the market, other small gifts made their way into my pockets as I followed Hilda. Along the way, I noticed more signs, “Be Content”, “Love Others”, “Make Peace.”

“The rules seem to be different from the ones in M’ill. They seem harder to follow,” I said.

“Maybe you are reading them differently. There is a broadness to them. You probably will find them harder at first.” We had come to a fountain in a courtyard where we sat to enjoy our meal. A child was playing nearby, watching us with shy, curious eyes. He seemed particularly alert to the handful of plump dates I was eating. An idea flickered through my mind that I should offer him some. I looked at them more closely. They were so ripe, almost honeyed, sticking together in a pleasant little clump. No, surely this boy didn’t need them. He looked well fed. It would probably spoil his dinner anyway. I slowly put another date in my mouth, savoring the sweetness and texture. I looked again at the boy. I guess these dates weren’t even paid for, so I really wasn’t losing anything. I slowly held out my hand, offering the dates to him. He grinned and with a rather dirty hand, reached up and took a few. Seeing how dirty his hand was, I motioned that he should take the rest, which he did with pleasure.

Hilda smiled and stood up, “Come, there will be a feast tonight. We should prepare.” She led me to a house where there were many women getting ready for the celebration. They also wore simple white dresses, but many had small details added to them in embroidery or trim. Some sat patiently braiding their own hair with precise attention. Others took turns arranging hair for others. Unlike the marketplace, no gifts were made to me this time nor much attention paid to me at all. I felt slighted. I noticed some flowers growing under the window. They weren’t mine, but it surely wouldn’t do any harm to take them. After all, these girls weren’t obeying the “Give Generously” command. When I thought no one was looking, I plucked a few flowers for my hair. I would at least have some ornament for tonight.

As night fell and people began to flood into the square with song and laughter, torches and candles were lit. I again remembered how brightly these lights had burned last night. This was all real and pure light.

Suddenly I felt a hand at my elbow and a stern voice said, “Excuse me, ma’am.” It was the same policeman who had taken Milly. I pulled away hastily. His grip was firm, though not harsh. “This way, please. It’s a question of your warrant.” I looked desperately for Hilda, but she was in the middle of the crowd now setting the table.

There was no car this time, just a short walk through quiet streets. Most of the townspeople seemed to be at the feast already. The policeman stopped at a door and knocked. There was an answer and he led me into a small room, lit by a few candles and a cheerfully burning fire. A man sat at a desk, pouring over a large book. He was very ordinary, average height, average weight, average everything. He had ink stains and other strange marks on his hands. It occurred to me that this must be the rule writer. Strange, if it weren’t for the ink and the books, I would not have guessed it.

Then he looked at me, eyes full of sternness and knowledge. My face turned red, not the pretty pink blush of a girl, the scarlet red of shame. I wanted to shrink and disappear. I shook my head and let the flowers fall. How foolish that I had thought I could decorate myself in any way. I was worthless. Less than nothing. No worse than that. Nothing would be neutral, but I was something, something selfish, something cowardly, something deceitful.

“There’s a warrant out for this one, sir. I thought you’d want to review the case personally.”

“Yes, thank you. I will see to it.” He rose to accept a document from the policeman and nodded his head in dismissal. He leaned back against the edge of the desk and to my horror, the warrant unfolded into a paper waterfall nearly as long as Milly’s.

Beginning to cry, I took a hesitant step toward him, “Please! I can’t,” I whimpered. “I can’t keep them.”

He looked up from the warrant, “What did you say?”

“I can’t keep them, all the rules. I’m so sorry.”

He reached out his hand. I hesitantly put mine in his. It was gentler than I’d expected.

“I know you can’t.” The sternness of his eyes broke and he actually laughed. “I’ve just read the warrant!” He held the offending document up and then tossed it into the fire.

I watched the white paper curl up and fall into grey ashes. Astonished, I spoke again, “I…I don’t have anything to give you.”

“I don’t require anything. All is mine anyway. Which reminds me, we should hurry to the feast. I am the host after all, and you are my guest.” Smiling, he offered his arm. I couldn’t stop looking up at him as he led me through the quiet streets under the starlight.

How had I thought him ordinary?

Part 3 now available!

Photo by Rachel C on Unsplash