STY

"Where are you from?" Asked the Elderly Woman sitting next to him.
The train rattled.
"California." The Young Man answered.
"America." The Elderly Woman confirmed. Her large, faded blue eyes examined him. Her pale face bobbed with the rhythm of the locomotive.
In the opposite seat, a teenage girl sat staring at him. She held a fat, cherub baby in her arms. Outside, the green pasture land passed by. Periodically, the scenario was interrupted by a thatched house. The north Midlands, sheep, lots of sheep, he thought to himself. The baby cried. Wrapping her thin arms around the Child, the Girl pulled the swaddling infant close to her breast.
"Coo, coo." The Girl whispered in the form of a magic oh.
"I like Americans best when they are in their own country." Spoke the Elderly Woman. She looked forward. Together with the Girl, the two females both whispered to the Child. "Coo, coo."
Sitting back, the Elderly Woman spoke again. "Why are you here?"
"Visiting a relative, a cousin."
Rocking the Child back and forth, the Girl had a blank look on her face. Her eyes stared off into the distance. She hummed a low lullaby. A smile came across the Cherub's face.
"How old are you?" Asked the Elderly Woman.
"Nineteen."
Looking out the window, he saw the train station. Lurching forward, the train stopped at the platform. The passengers stood. Standing, the Elderly Woman held tight to her suitcase. The Girl held the Child. Neither smiled at him or said goodbye. Stiffly, he stood. As he pulled his suitcase down from the overhead storage bin, the passengers flowed around him filling the aisle leaving the train. He stood at the back moving slowly forward. A small, round face woman looked up at him smiling. He returned the smile. Once outside, he stopped at the top of train steps. The midday sun was bright. He focused his eyes. The whistle blew. He stared out at the crowd of people mostly elderly. A few children played among them. He saw her.
As instructed by her letter, she wore a red flower dress. The dress flowed around her tall, ample figure. Her high heel shoes were black like the purse that dangled on her forearm. She had a thin waist, round hips, long legs and large breasts that stretched the fabric. She wore white gloves. Her face was pretty. She was his cousin, third cousin and as far as he knew, his only living relative. Elizabeth. The whistle blew again. He stepped down to the platform. People gathered into small groups chatting, smiling. laughing. Pulling his suitcase on rollers, he walked up to her. He extended his hand. Being taller, she looked down into his eyes, then to his extended hand. Her eyes were large and blue, sad and siren-like.
"The English don't shake hands."
For a moment, he stood there. Her prudish lips were dry. Her round face tilted on her thin neck. Her skin was ivory. She wore a stray hat that matted down her red hair around her brow. Behind, her hair touched her shoulder. Turning abruptly, she walked away from him. Her strides were in cadence. His hand dropped to his side. His mouth closed. Pulling his suitcase, he followed her to the parking lot. She waited by her Lada. Inside, threee dogs celebrated with lolling tongues and wagging tails. He placed his suitcase in the open trunk. He opened the car door for her. He sat in the back with the two black Labradors. The third dog, an English bull dog, rode in front with her. Neither the Young Man or the woman spoke on the trip to her farm. They came into view of her red brick house. A well groomed bush line separated her property from the single lane road. She turned into the driveway stopping before the gate. Sitting silently, she stared forward, waiting.
"Oh." Suddenly, he realized. Opening the car door, he squeezed pass the front seat, ran up the path and opened the gate. She drove pass him with her eyes staring forward. The dogs' tails wagged incessantly. She parked underneath an overhang. Getting out of the Lada, she held the car door open while the three dogs exited the vehicle. She walked to the kitchen side door. She didn't look at him. The three dogs galloped after their master. She opened the kitchen door. The three dogs in single file entered the house with her following behind. He looked around at the spread of the farm. In a green pasture, sheep grazed. In a second pasture, cows grazed. Next to a red barn, a sty filled with pigs, rotundent pigs.
He entered the kitchen. At the bottom of the stairs in the livingroom, she stood staring at him patiently. Turning, she preceded up the stairs. Carrying his suitcase, he followed her watching the back of her long legs. At the end of the hallway, she stopped before the last door on the left. She opened the door. He looked at the room. Clean and sterile, like the house, like her. Overalls, a plaid shirt, long johns, a coat, a pair of work gloves and wool knee high, gray socks laid on the bed. A pair of new, rubberized knee hight boots sat at the foot of the bed.
"You need to get dress, so I can show you your chores." Turning to him, she spoke.
Meeting her in the kitchen, he followed her to the barn. The cows, the sheep, the pigs each had their own respective stalls. The pig's stall showed signs damage and repair. He saw that the second floor was filled with hay bales stacked to the roof. Manure caked the central walkway.
"All the animals need to be fed. Four bales of hay for the cows. Slop will be taken from the kitchen each morning for the pigs. When you feed them, watch your fingers. A bowl of corn for the chickens and three bowls for the cows. The corn is located in the storage bin." She spoke as she walked over to the stall. She opened the door exposing a room with an elevated floor. She continued. "Winter is here. The bales on the second floor need to be moved to the first floor and stacked over there. The stalls and the walkway need to be clean out. The sty can wait."
"But."
"Now would be nice." She spoke calmly. Turning on her right heel, she marched towards the double opened doors. Stopping, she spoke again. "When you are finished, there will be food on the stove."
He stood numble contemplating his task. A red and white calf balled at him. At the entrance, a motley group of chickens with different colorations and plumes gathered around a white long-legger roaster. It clawed the dirt as it watched him.
He climbed up to the hayloft. As his head popped over the edge of the second floor, he met the four cats. One was gray, another was black, the third was maltese and the last was white and biege. Lying calmly, they stared at the intruder. Hoisting himself up, he stood. The maltese cat rubbed up against his leg. Bending down, he stroked the creature's fur. He looked at the bottom floor. Picking up a bale, he tossed it down. It landed with a thud. The chickens fluttered. The cows mooed. And the pigs? They laid calmly in their own filth as each of the hundred bales hit the floor.
He finished. A cold sweat covered his body. From the hay, snoot ran down his nose. Wiping it away with his sleeve, he climbed down to the first floor. He stacked the bales into a proper pile. He ran the cows out of the barn. Shutting the gate, he cleaned their stalls out. A cold rain sprinkled. He bent over to shovel out the cow paddies from the walkway. Running up from behind, the white long-leg rooster kicked him in the ass. He fell forward into the pile of fresh cow paddies. Jumping up quickly, he threw the shovel at the fleeing rooster. He missed. Embarrassed, he looked down. His front was covered in dung.
He finished cleaning the stalls. He threw hay into the three stalls for the calves. He threw down corn in the middle hall for the chickens. The rooster kept it's distance from him, but it watched his every move. Finding no food for them, he left the cats to fend for themselves. Laying in there filth, the pigs lazy eyes watched him as he dumped the slop over the fence into the feeder. Tired, he smell of sweat, hay and filth. Outside, a cold English rain fell. It was pitch dark. It was five o'clock.
Shivering, he entered the kitchen by the back door. Drippinp, he wiped the rainwater from his face. He turned on the sink overhead light. A cover dish of beans, ham and crackling corn bread was left on the counter. He sat at the table with the plate and a large glass of milk. He ate the meal quickly, hungrily. He walked into the livingroom. She rocked in a rocking chair before a fire place sewing a shirt. Crackling, the fire's tongue licked between the red-brick embers of the disintegrating pieces of wood.
"Done?"
"Done."
He proceeded upstairs. Drawing hot water, he took a bath. Drawing hot water, he took a bath, then he went to bed.