On the way home, we swing by the Hob, the black market
that operates in an abandoned warehouse that once held coal.
When they came up with a more efficient system that transported
the coal directly from the mines to the trains, the Hob
gradually took over the space. Most businesses are closed by
this time on reaping day, but the black market’s still fairly
busy. We easily trade six of the fish for good bread, the other
two for salt. Greasy Sae, the bony old woman who sells bowls
of hot soup from a large kettle, takes half the greens off our
hands in exchange for a couple of chunks of paraffin. We
might do a tad better elsewhere, but we make an effort to
keep on good terms with Greasy Sae. She’s the only one who
can consistently be counted on to buy wild dog. We don’t hunt
them on purpose, but if you’re attacked and you take out a dog
or two, well, meat is meat. “Once it’s in the soup, I’ll call it
beef,” Greasy Sae says with a wink. No one in the Seam would
turn up their nose at a good leg of wild dog, but the Peacekeepers
who come to the Hob can afford to be a little choosier.
When we finish our business at the market, we go to the
back door of the mayor’s house to sell half the strawberries,
knowing he has a particular fondness for them and can afford
our price. The mayor’s daughter, Madge, opens the door. She’s
in my year at school. Being the mayor’s daughter, you’d expect
her to be a snob, but she’s all right. She just keeps to herself.
Like me. Since neither of us really has a group of friends, we
seem to end up together a lot at school. Eating lunch, sitting 13
next to each other at assemblies, partnering for sports activities.
We rarely talk, which suits us both just fine.
Today her drab school outfit has been replaced by an expensive
white dress, and her blonde hair is done up with a
pink ribbon. Reaping clothes.
“Pretty dress,” says Gale.
Madge shoots him a look, trying to see if it’s a genuine
compliment or if he’s just being ironic. It is a pretty dress, but
she would never be wearing it ordinarily. She presses her lips
together and then smiles. “Well, if I end up going to the Capitol,
I want to look nice, don’t I?”
Now it’s Gale’s turn to be confused. Does she mean it? Or is
she messing with him? I’m guessing the second.
“You won’t be going to the Capitol,” says Gale coolly. His
eyes land on a small, circular pin that adorns her dress. Real
gold. Beautifully crafted. It could keep a family in bread for
months. “What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I
was just twelve years old.”
“That’s not her fault,” I say.
“No, it’s no one’s fault. Just the way it is,” says Gale. Madge’s
face has become closed off. She puts the money for the berries
in my hand. “Good luck, Katniss.” “You, too,” I say, and the
door closes.
We walk toward the Seam in silence. I don’t like that Gale
took a dig at Madge, but he’s right, of course. The reaping system
is unfair, with the poor getting the worst of it. You become
eligible for the reaping the day you turn twelve. That
year, your name is entered once. At thirteen, twice. And so on 14
and so on until you reach the age of eighteen, the final year of
eligibility, when your name goes into the pool seven times.
That’s true for every citizen in all twelve districts in the entire
country of Panem.
But here’s the catch. Say you are poor and starving as we
were. You can opt to add your name more times in exchange
for tesserae. Each tessera is worth a meager year’s supply of
grain and oil for one person. You may do this for each of your
family members as well. So, at the age of twelve, I had my
name entered four times. Once, because I had to, and three
times for tesserae for grain and oil for myself, Prim, and my
mother. In fact, every year I have needed to do this. And the
entries are cumulative. So now, at the age of sixteen, my name
will be in the reaping twenty times. Gale, who is eighteen and
has been either helping or single-handedly feeding a family of
five for seven years, will have his name in forty-two times.
You can see why someone like Madge, who has never been
at risk of needing a tessera, can set him off. The chance of her
name being drawn is very slim compared to those of us who
live in the Seam. Not impossible, but slim. And even though
the rules were set up by the Capitol, not the districts, certainly
not Madge’s family, it’s hard not to resent those who don’t
have to sign up for tesserae.
Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected. On other
days, deep in the woods, I’ve listened to him rant about how
the tesserae are just another tool to cause misery in our district.
A way to plant hatred between the starving workers of
the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and 15
thereby ensure we will never trust one another. “It’s to the
Capitol’s advantage to have us divided among ourselves,” he
might say if there were no ears to hear but mine. If it wasn’t
reaping day. If a girl with a gold pin and no tesserae had not
made what I’m sure she thought was a harmless comment.
As we walk, I glance over at Gale’s face, still smoldering underneath
his stony expression. His rages seem pointless to me,
although I never say so. It’s not that I don’t agree with him. I
do. But what good is yelling about the Capitol in the middle of
the woods? It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make things
fair. It doesn’t fill our stomachs. In fact, it scares off the nearby
game. I let him yell though. Better he does it in the woods than
in the district.
Gale and I divide our spoils, leaving two fish, a couple of
loaves of good bread, greens, a quart of strawberries, salt, paraffin,
and a bit of money for each.
“See you in the square,” I say.
“Wear something pretty,” he says flatly.
At home, I find my mother and sister are ready to go. My
mother wears a fine dress from her apothecary days. Prim is
in my first reaping outfit, a skirt and ruffled blouse. It’s a bit
big on her, but my mother has made it stay with pins. Even so,
she’s having trouble keeping the blouse tucked in at the back.
A tub of warm water waits for me. I scrub off the dirt and
sweat from the woods and even wash my hair. To my surprise,
my mother has laid out one of her own lovely dresses for me.
A soft blue thing with matching shoes
On the way home, we swing by the Hob, the black market
that operates in an abandoned warehouse that once held coal.
When they came up with a more efficient system that transported
the coal directly from the mines to the trains, the Hob
gradually took over the space. Most businesses are closed by
this time on reaping day, but the black market’s still fairly
busy. We easily trade six of the fish for good bread, the other
two for salt. Greasy Sae, the bony old woman who sells bowls
of hot soup from a large kettle, takes half the greens off our
hands in exchange for a couple of chunks of paraffin. We
might do a tad better elsewhere, but we make an effort to
keep on good terms with Greasy Sae. She’s the only one who
can consistently be counted on to buy wild dog. We don’t hunt
them on purpose, but if you’re attacked and you take out a dog
or two, well, meat is meat. “Once it’s in the soup, I’ll call it
beef,” Greasy Sae says with a wink. No one in the Seam would
turn up their nose at a good leg of wild dog, but the Peacekeepers
who come to the Hob can afford to be a little choosier.
When we finish our business at the market, we go to the
back door of the mayor’s house to sell half the strawberries,
knowing he has a particular fondness for them and can afford
our price. The mayor’s daughter, Madge, opens the door. She’s
in my year at school. Being the mayor’s daughter, you’d expect
her to be a snob, but she’s all right. She just keeps to herself.
Like me. Since neither of us really has a group of friends, we
seem to end up together a lot at school. Eating lunch, sitting 13
next to each other at assemblies, partnering for sports activities.
We rarely talk, which suits us both just fine.
Today her drab school outfit has been replaced by an expensive
white dress, and her blonde hair is done up with a
pink ribbon. Reaping clothes.
“Pretty dress,” says Gale.
Madge shoots him a look, trying to see if it’s a genuine
compliment or if he’s just being ironic. It is a pretty dress, but
she would never be wearing it ordinarily. She presses her lips
together and then smiles. “Well, if I end up going to the Capitol,
I want to look nice, don’t I?”
Now it’s Gale’s turn to be confused. Does she mean it? Or is
she messing with him? I’m guessing the second.
“You won’t be going to the Capitol,” says Gale coolly. His
eyes land on a small, circular pin that adorns her dress. Real
gold. Beautifully crafted. It could keep a family in bread for
months. “What can you have? Five entries? I had six when I
was just twelve years old.”
“That’s not her fault,” I say.
“No, it’s no one’s fault. Just the way it is,” says Gale. Madge’s
face has become closed off. She puts the money for the berries
in my hand. “Good luck, Katniss.” “You, too,” I say, and the
door closes.
We walk toward the Seam in silence. I don’t like that Gale
took a dig at Madge, but he’s right, of course. The reaping system
is unfair, with the poor getting the worst of it. You become
eligible for the reaping the day you turn twelve. That
year, your name is entered once. At thirteen, twice. And so on 14
and so on until you reach the age of eighteen, the final year of
eligibility, when your name goes into the pool seven times.
That’s true for every citizen in all twelve districts in the entire
country of Panem.
But here’s the catch. Say you are poor and starving as we
were. You can opt to add your name more times in exchange
for tesserae. Each tessera is worth a meager year’s supply of
grain and oil for one person. You may do this for each of your
family members as well. So, at the age of twelve, I had my
name entered four times. Once, because I had to, and three
times for tesserae for grain and oil for myself, Prim, and my
mother. In fact, every year I have needed to do this. And the
entries are cumulative. So now, at the age of sixteen, my name
will be in the reaping twenty times. Gale, who is eighteen and
has been either helping or single-handedly feeding a family of
five for seven years, will have his name in forty-two times.
You can see why someone like Madge, who has never been
at risk of needing a tessera, can set him off. The chance of her
name being drawn is very slim compared to those of us who
live in the Seam. Not impossible, but slim. And even though
the rules were set up by the Capitol, not the districts, certainly
not Madge’s family, it’s hard not to resent those who don’t
have to sign up for tesserae.
Gale knows his anger at Madge is misdirected. On other
days, deep in the woods, I’ve listened to him rant about how
the tesserae are just another tool to cause misery in our district.
A way to plant hatred between the starving workers of
the Seam and those who can generally count on supper and 15
thereby ensure we will never trust one another. “It’s to the
Capitol’s advantage to have us divided among ourselves,” he
might say if there were no ears to hear but mine. If it wasn’t
reaping day. If a girl with a gold pin and no tesserae had not
made what I’m sure she thought was a harmless comment.
As we walk, I glance over at Gale’s face, still smoldering underneath
his stony expression. His rages seem pointless to me,
although I never say so. It’s not that I don’t agree with him. I
do. But what good is yelling about the Capitol in the middle of
the woods? It doesn’t change anything. It doesn’t make things
fair. It doesn’t fill our stomachs. In fact, it scares off the nearby
game. I let him yell though. Better he does it in the woods than
in the district.
Gale and I divide our spoils, leaving two fish, a couple of
loaves of good bread, greens, a quart of strawberries, salt, paraffin,
and a bit of money for each.
“See you in the square,” I say.
“Wear something pretty,” he says flatly.
At home, I find my mother and sister are ready to go. My
mother wears a fine dress from her apothecary days. Prim is
in my first reaping outfit, a skirt and ruffled blouse. It’s a bit
big on her, but my mother has made it stay with pins. Even so,
she’s having trouble keeping the blouse tucked in at the back.
A tub of warm water waits for me. I scrub off the dirt and
sweat from the woods and even wash my hair. To my surprise,
my mother has laid out one of her own lovely dresses for me.
A soft blue thing with matching shoes
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