an excerpt from a novel project by Luc Salinger

Chapter 1

Anona looked at the sea of wheat stalks that stretched beyond the horizon. It looked like a never-ending ocean of honeyed up grass. With each gust of wind, a ripple went through the field, turning the stalks into warm flowing waves, each of the strands moving in harmony. They were sending a message with their soft rustles. The promise, whispered through a waft of flour: Anona and her family will never grow hungry.

‘In the field, where the wheat is tall,’ the breeze murmured, echoing a nursery rhyme from her childhood. She had heard it often as a kid; it was stitched into her mind. Her mother had sung it by her bed. ‘There’s a creature who hides from all …’

Within the never-ending field, a small village lay nestled where Anona, her parents and her parents’ parents had lived. A small pond served as their water source alongside an ancient well. Everyone that resided in the small meadow was aware of their tasks and every day was a cycle that nobody broke out of. Someone had to cut some wheat and turn it into bread. The others could do whatever they wanted. Life was simple and easy.

Anona’s eyes lay fixed on the field, her feet dangling from the front porch. The little rustles it made with the soft breeze of wind almost sounded like a beckoning call. Almost as if the wheat stalks called her name. Anona, Anona, Anona …

‘You coming in?’ her father yelled from the inside of their little cottage.

She hesitated. The fields wanted her to stay, wanting to pull her in. The melody lingered in her mind. Don’t look back, the stalks sang. Stay on track.

With one last look at the grain, Anona turned to her father who held the wooden door open for her.

‘What’s on the menu?’ she asked and hoisted herself up. She walked through the door and into the house, where her mother, grandfather and little brother sat around the table.

‘Bread.’ Her father said and shut the door.

On the table sat a big steaming loaf of bread that the whole family except Anona and her father admired.

‘What a sight,’ her brother Samuel said, his mouth almost watering in anticipation like a dog tempted with a treat. Short, meek and blond, he could barely control himself from getting his little hands on the loaf.

‘A true delight!’ Anona’s mother said, folding her hands that were covered in rings. She ripped a piece of the bread and gave it to Samuel, who proceeded to suckle on it as if it were a pacifier. ‘This one turned out exceptionally well, I felt it with my hands.’ She rubbed the excess flour off her fingertips.

‘You’re absolutely right!’ Anona’s father pulled a chair back and gestured to Anona to take a seat. He sat down at the head of the table and readied his voice. ‘The stalks were an easy harvest today. What a nice change of pace.’ He let out a hearty laugh and tore into the loaf, ripping out a chunk.

It made a crackling sound as he pierced his finger through the golden-brown crust. The crumb looked impeccable. The way in which it separated from the rest of the bread was a testament to its airy, soft, and tender nature. The colour was creamy, and Anona could see an array of air pockets in the soft texture. It looked perfect; hot and ready to be eaten.

As the family eagerly enjoyed the loaf, Anona sat there, averting her eyes, not eating. Her mother tore off one piece and held it to Anona’s nose. The smell of the lightly roasted crust and the crumb’s rich earthy scent made her roll her eyes.

‘I don’t want it.’ She murmured, gently moving her mother’s hand away.

‘Darling, it’s your favourite.’ Her mother looked at her with dejected eyes. ‘What’s wrong?’ Slowly, she rolled the piece of bread she held out to her daughter between her fingers, making it into a doughy little ball.

‘I’m just…’ She felt herself growing hotter. ‘Tired of eating bread all day.’

Samuel, astonished, tried to console his sister through his hearty chews. ‘The bread tastes amazing, Anona. Really, like always. You’ll love it.’

‘Yeah, like always…’ She rubbed the side of her arm. ‘I wish that there was something else besides stupid bread that we could eat once in a while. Don’t you feel the same, Sam?’

Before Samuel could answer, their mother laid both of her own hands on the table and stood up. ‘Easy now, young lady. Your father works hard every day so that we can relish its taste. Bread is what keeps us going. It’s what we have and what the land here gives us. I don’t want anyone in this house to be ungrateful about all of this.’

Anona could feel herself get hotter and hotter. Her leg started to bounce, and her palms felt shaky. No matter how often she let her hands run over her own arm, she couldn’t rid herself of the feeling of trepidation she began to experience.

‘You want me to be grateful for chewing on bread every day? Want me to think that bread is life, and I should be happy grinding my own life between my teeth? Sorry, but I’m really sick of it. This can’t be the only thing that life has to offer. There must be something beyond the village that we just can’t see.’

At that moment, grandfather’s head jerked up a little. ‘Watch your tongue!’ he said in a raspy, hoarse tone, his voice riddled with anger. ‘The fields don’t take kindly to those who don’t appreciate what they offer and neither does your family. Honour the bread, honour the fields, and most definitely, honour your family, your roots!’

‘My roots?’ Anona clenched her jaw. ‘Roots are only holding you in the dirt! Wheat can only be turned into something worthwhile if you cut it free.’ She stood up, slamming her palms on the wooden table. ‘And I think I’m the same. If I keep holding onto my roots, if I stay here with you, my life is worthless.’

‘Darling …’ her mother hesitantly tried to put her hand on Anona’s but ultimately couldn’t do it. ‘We still are a family, we have to stick together. We don’t have anything but ourselves. It’s not that I don’t trust you,’ she tried her best to force a light tone, ‘I do trust you, but once you leave, nobody knows what could happen. We have stayed here because we know it to be safe.’ She takes Anona’s hand now. ‘I don’t want to lose you darling. I know it may seem that way, but please don’t see yourself as a prisoner here.
You-’

Anona’s father cut his wife off. ‘No, that is exactly what she thinks, isn’t that right? Anona, the poor little prisoner. If you really think that little of our village, our family, and you want to get rid of us like we are chaff, then…’ He slammed his fist on the table and the plate where the half-eaten loaf sat shook, making a faint clanging noise. ‘Then…’ Her father breathed in deeply, trying to hide the pain in his voice, huffing, not able to continue.

‘Don’t say something you will regret,’ his wife softly whispered. She looked over to Anona, who seemed on the verge of tears. ‘Darling, you don’t know what’s out there. Please think of what you’d be giving up if you leave. Is it really worth it? For what? There is nothing wrong with staying here.’

‘I heard the field call out to me,’ Anona said, slowly looking up. ‘I have to leave.’

Samuel gulped down his bread. ‘Anona….’ He looked at her, his face puzzled and sad. ‘Please don’t go.’

The grandfather coughed and balled his hand into a fist, holding it to his mouth. ‘I used to think the field called my name too. It’s the wind, Anona. The wind playing little tricks on your mind.’ He chuckled slightly and his hand went limp, flopping to the side of his body. ‘Did you see it today? Is that why you want to leave?’

Anona stood suddenly and he adjusted his position in his chair to look at her. ‘You are safe here. It won’t hurt you if you stay here.’ He waited for a response, but he didn’t get any.

‘Anona?’ he said, but she was now just standing there like a mud effigy, head drooping. ‘Anona?’

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry everyone.’ She couldn’t look at her family anymore. ‘I’ll go.’

With that, she stormed quickly through the wooden door, hearing the chairs move back once she reached the handle.

‘No, wait!’ her father cried out, but she had already swung the door open.

She cast a final look through the crack of the door and saw her whole family standing up and running towards her. She slammed it shut.

The looming shadow of the cottage darkened the grass before her, but as she looked up, she saw the endless field of wheat again, bathed in the sun’s bright light. As if she had a magnetic heart, something in her chest pulled her closer to the wheat and she couldn’t resist. There it was again. Her legs gave into the light tug and the faint whisper of her name, sent by the wind. Anona …

She took one step into the wheat and her foot made crunching noises as it flattened a couple of stalks. Taking her other foot into it as well, she was now submerged up to her hips in the plants that had sustained her and her family for all those years. They gently brushed against her thighs, tickling her as if to welcome the newly arrived guest. Anona didn’t look back anymore, even as she heard the faint calls of her family. She went further into the field almost beyond her own desire. It was as if the field itself drew her in. There was only tailwind now and she went deeper and deeper.

As she progressed, she noticed the heads of the wheat didn’t sway with the wind anymore. They moved even in the absence of it, slowly, like worms in unison, rhythmic. They seemed to lean away just as Anona was about to graze them with her leg. Out of the corner of her eye, she saw something move, a blur in the golden pool. She quickly turned her head in the direction. Upon seeing what had moved and was now staring right at her, she immediately felt her stomach churn and a shiver ran down her spine. There was no air that moved the wheat anymore. Everything was deafeningly
silent.

In the field stood a twitching, misshapen figure. It looked like a faint imitation of a human. Its limbs were long and thin, disjointed as if it had been broken at every inch. The skin of the creature was a mix of textures, seemingly sewn together in hasty fashion, like there wasn’t enough skin to make a human so someone had to sew it to pieces of cloth and leather.

The face looked like a nightmare. For eyes, two hollow sockets with an orange glow, reminiscent of the fading light of a sunset, and a small open ridge for a nose. What made Anona almost faint was the mouth. Wide, smiling from ear to ear with cracked, bleeding lips and sharp yellow, almost golden teeth that were embalmed in a thin layer of dirt. It looked like it was wearing a wig, poorly constructed out of straw, poking in all directions.

Its chest slowly heaved as if it was breathing, but out of its wide-open mouth, the only sound that came out was a bloodcurdling rendition of the rustling of wheat stalks, the ones that Anona had heard all of her life. She stared at the creature that grinned at her, still twitching. Anona herself was too scared to twitch even the tiniest muscle.

In the Field, where the wheat is tall
There is a creature who hides from all
With hollow eyes, the kindest grin
Waits for those who wander in.

On and on, through the rows
Careful where the tall grass grows
Don’t look back, stay on track
Walk until the sky turns black.

Careful now, hang on tight
Think he has you in his sight
Run away, through the grain
Run until your legs feel pain.

The wheat and chaff, intertwined
Seek a soul they’re yet to find
Walk with him, through the land
He’ll take you by his brittle hand.