Free Life in the Land by Rebecca Cohen

Part One: Linked to the Land
    B OBBY helped himself to another piece of his mum’s steak pie and watched his dad for any sign the cough he’d suffered from of late was worsening. His dad looked healthier than he had for months as he patted his stomach and pushed away from the kitchen table.
    “I’ll be glad when this week’s over,” said his dad. “The cabbages are giving me jip this year—bloody brassicas, never behave themselves when they should.”
    “At least the cauliflowers are out of the way. You get ever so grumpy when you’re doing cauliflowers,” said his mum, carefully adding a washed plate to the stack of crockery balanced on the draining board.
    “Take a lot of coaxing, cauliflowers—can’t be rushed.”
    Bobby rubbed at a patch of acne on his chin and chased a pea around a pool of gravy on his plate. The second piece of pie was no longer as appetizing as he’d originally thought it would be.
    “Bobby?”
    Bobby looked up. A deep crease of worry stretched across his dad’s forehead.
    “Fancy a walk, son?”
    “Yeah, all right.” His mum smiled at him, an attempt at encouragement, and he noticed how she squeezed his dad’s hand while he waited for Bobby to put on his jacket.
    Bobby lifted the latch to the back door of the farmhouse and zipped up his coat as he stepped into the yard. Large puddles of dirty water reflected the dreary evening; the closeness of the humid weather was heavy with rain that threatened to fall in fat drops.
    His dad followed him out. “Let’s head up to the top field. Always a nice view no matter how moody the weather’s being.”
    “I….”
    “It’s all right, Bobby, there’ll be no pressure from me—everything in nature needs time to grow and develop, and you’re no different.”
    “You make me sound like one of your carrots.”
    “More like a runner bean.” His dad chuckled, the sound a throaty gargle that turned into a phlegm-filled cough.
    They walked, side by side, up the narrow lane that meandered around the circumference of the top fence. Bobby hunched over slightly, but he was still taller than his dad thanks to the growth spurt that had hit last year, just after his sixteenth birthday. His build was almost willowy, and nothing like his dad’s, which was still rotund around the middle despite the weight he’d lost during his illness.
    Bobby’s shoulders sagged further the closer they got to the stile. He clambered over with ease; a childhood of exploration had left him well practiced in the negotiation of fences and hedges. His dad puffed with the effort as he swung his leg over the gate, but he batted away Bobby’s hands as he stepped down.
    “I ain’t that old.”
    “Never said you were.”
    His dad stopped a moment to catch his breath; he wheezed slightly and dug a handkerchief out of his waterproof jacket. His mottled cheeks flushed beyond a rosy glow, and his jowls quivered with the intensity with which he blew his nose.
    “See that hillock? Over the left fence, on the Flint’s border?”
    Bobby nodded. “You used to call it Amaethon’s Altar. I had nightmares for weeks.”
    “I seem to remember your mum not being too pleased with me over that.”
    “Probably not the best story to tell a six-year-old.”
    “I was trying to involve you in family history. Though looking back, blood rites in honor of an agricultural god were probably not the best starting point.”
    Bobby laughed, despite the memory of sleepless nights and wet beds which had plagued him after he’d first heard the stories. “I suppose I should be grateful that’s not something we’ll need to do.”
    “Very true. Thankfully, we only need to pay homage to the Battle of Cad Goddeu once a millennium.”
    They trekked up the field, careful not to trip over the ploughed ridges of soil. Bobby remembered a summer when he was seven, maybe eight, and the soil had been baked hard, the rain absent, and the sun relentless. The neighbors’ fields were filled with withered