Fiction:THE LOCUST TREES BY S. A. Harris

Mother is the name for God in the lips and hearts of little children”



William Makepeace Thackeray., Vanity Fair.


1.


The trees on the other side of the creek had always been an object of fascination to me, although I seldom ventured into them since Mother had returned. Even my Father used to say they reminded him of Lichtenberg figures. When I was younger my Father would walk with me through them and it was then that I claimed them as my holy place, a place of peace. They were ugly trees that swayed mildly if a strong breeze passed through their branches and for some reason their twisted appearance gave me an odd feeling of security, as though I knew how easy it would be to scale them should danger come my way. Those days had left me now that Mother was back, and with her came Matthew, my little brother.





On their arrival the trees were quickly placed out of bounds for my protection as well as Matthews, although I couldn't see how a baby of five months could possibly get out there unless he was carried. Mother didn't need an excuse to restrict our lives, we let it happen willingly. She had returned from a mental institution after what was considered effective treatment and of course Matthew's birth hastened her release. Our family was reunited, whole again, like a family should be.





Most of our relatives were happy that we were all back together except for a few who expressed concern over Mothers stability. Those few being deeply religious and who considered our family to be Godless. Perhaps they were right. I was never presented with any type of faith as I grew up so it never really became part of my life. So the only kind of belief I had was in me, that I was the most important thing in my life. With this kind of thought firmly in my mind I became a very private and selfish child, relatively unpopular at school and uncomfortable when sharing thoughts or possessions.





Sometimes when I was alone I would talk to quietly talk to myself to listen to the tones of my voice almost wallowing in the fact that other people were missing out on its dulcet quality. I wondered if it would change as I became older. It had changed a lot already to get to this point. I'd gone through the embarrassment of having it break and crackle, seen people smirking behind their hands. Soon I'd be an adult and all the changing would be over. Well perhaps that's not entirely true. Maybe there was still a bit of changing to do, like a dream that's slowly coming to fruition or possibly just clothes waiting to be soiled. For the moment I was happy, yes, I was happy. I had to keep it that way.





2.





Friday afternoon at school never changed. Kids would talk about weekend plans and I would listen without interjecting and when that final bell rang we were free. Free for a whole forty-eight hours of nothing but it was better than being at school. I hated getting caught in the mass exodus of students but I was never quick enough to avoid it but then again, in the bulk we were herded like cattle towards the afternoon sun and there was a strange comfort in that choiceless push. The corridor was long and grey with sections of framed cork on the walls for pinning notices and sports results. The walls were clean and rarely vandalized with the exception of stolen pins and tacks that would later resurface in the form of some practical joke. I traced them with my eyes until I was thrust into the outside world. There was a jumble of cars waiting to pick up their little, warring angels. It made me bitter to see them open doors and jump into the air-conditioned automobiles. No one was coming for me. Dad always worked back late at the school and Mother was, well, too nutty to drive a car. I shouldn't brood over it but it was a fair hike and one which I didn't like to dwell on.





I turned left and began the ascent of one of several hills that led to my home. The problem with walking home was that by the time you actually got there, you were too tired to do anything else. It was not a productive method, but it did control behavior and as far as my parents were concerned, it was the only exercise I ever got. I stopped for a rest at the top of the hill, I was sweating already. I slung my bag over my shoulder and continued down the hill where I stopped again and shifted the bag to my other shoulder to keep the weight distribution as even as possible. Behind me I heard a bell ring and I spun around to see Martin Turner on his bicycle bearing down on me before slamming on the brakes. He was laughing wildly. Martin was a weak, hyperactive kid but we were friends of a sort.





“The fuckers tried to teach me Alan!” He shouted. “They tried to force me to learn!”





“Didn't work though.” I replied.





“Nup. Need a ride?”





“Yeah.”





“Not up that hill though.” Martin was looking at the next rise.





So I walked next to him as we began to ascend the inclination. I knew Martin would only accompany me as far as Meany Road before turning off to his home. At the top of the next hill I sat sideways on the bike frame and Martin sent us flying down the decline screaming like a madman. We made a good distance out of the downward momentum and I was disappointed when I had to dismount at the next incline and start walking again.





“So what's it like at your place now?” He asked.





“It's O.K.”





“Does she ever do anything weird?”





“Not really.” I thought his curiosity would fade if I gave short answers.





“Bullshit.”





I let out a short laugh but I didn't continue the conversation and Martin didn't press any further. Conversations about my family usually ended like this, uncomfortably. We passed Bluebird Park just short of Meany Road and went our separate ways, parting with a faint,





“Catch you later.”





He had ridden away before I had the chance to thank him. I continued on my walk by cutting across the fields where Mr. Hedges and his German Shepherd Banshee lived. The fields hadn't been tended for a few weeks and I could see weeds growing between the rows of tomatoes. Prickles attached themselves to the legs of my pants as I walked. The prickles themselves didn't bother me but I paused to remove them anyway and as I did so a growling sound startled me. It was Banshee. She was normally a pretty good dog, but normally she was tied up and by the sounds of her she wasn't in the best of spirits. Tightly gripping my school bag I backed away, ready to hit her with it if she charged. I hoped it wouldn't come to that. Banshee didn't move, she just stood her ground and I made a dash for the other side of the field. I sprinted across the field turning only once to see Banshee in pursuit. Her tongue was hanging loosely from her jaw as she pounded onward, free from the restrictions of her rope, the torture of her limitations, free to savage unsuspecting teenagers. Without realizing it I had scaled a hill close to my home and from atop it I could see the Locust Trees and I hoped I had time to reach them and escape the wrath of Banshee. So I put my legs to work and pushed my running skills to the limit. In the least to say my prediction went awry as I failed to navigate a stump and fell to the ground in a crippled pile. Banshee was on me in an instant and I raised my arms to protect my face. Why is that? Why do we always protect the face? Is it fear of disfigurement? I was feeling panic set in as I struggled with Banshee, my hands gripping at her fur. I managed to get a good punch into Banshee's throat and I heard her yelp. It gave me a chance to wriggle free but she was back at me before I could get to my feet. In the struggle my foot had dislodged a fair sized rock and I made a mad grab at it and with an frenzied anger I'd never felt before I smashed her head time and time again.





“You fuckin' bitch!”





Exhausted, I dropped the rock next to the body of Banshee. She was dead. I myself had sustained many scratches and bites. What was I going to tell Mr. Hedges? Nothing. I looked around and I was alone. I was extraordinarily ill at ease. If Hedges found her there he would be no clue that I was involved. This was a terrible way to begin a weekend. I was already traumatized and then, soon, my conscience would kick in and flood me with guilt. I stood up and looked down at Banshee, yeah she was dead alright. Nothing I can do now so I headed for home. I was unsure, but I thought I heard someone laugh and I hoped it wasn't me.





I began walking again towards the trees, relieved that my journey was almost over. When I reached the trees I shouted out loud as though it were some kind of victory. I was satisfied with the effort. Mother wouldn't be pleased if she knew I had taken this route but what she didn't know wasn't going to hurt her. She always wanted me to take the road but that just made the walk longer. Disobeying her gave me great satisfaction. I pressed my hand against the bark of a tree, looking up into the twisted branches, the last of the afternoon sun shone through them and I enjoyed being alone. The soft grass was flattened beneath the weight of my shoes and I could see ahead the small bridge that would allow me to cross the creek. There's something about looking at the flow of a creek that makes you feel free. The trickling waters passed under the bridge, running over rocks now smoothed by centuries of flowing liquid. Once over the bridge it was only a short distance to my home.





3.





The back door creaked as I opened it and entered the laundry. I could hear Mother in the kitchen,





“Is that you Alan?”





“Yes.”





“How was your day?” Her voice trailed off like she wasn't really interested.





“O.K.”





Passing her in the kitchen I went upstairs and into my bedroom. With the flick of a switch the room was illuminated. Everything was in order. Mother hadn't cleaned up as much as I had expected she would. One thing I hated was people sifting through my crap. I threw my schoolbag on the bed and sat down next to it. I let out a deep breath and went to the bathroom to clean up my wounds. Mother hadn't even noticed, she hadn't even turned to look at me. When I put disinfectant on the first bite I let out a gasp. I wasn't as badly hurt as I first thought and looking out the bathroom I could see the shadows of the trees stretch out across the land. Once I'd cleaned myself up and bandaged what need to be I went back to my room and lay down on the bed staring up at the ceiling.





“Alan!” It was Mother again.





“Yes!” I shouted at her, elongating the word.





“I've got afternoon tea ready for you if you want it.”





“Alright.” I removed myself sluggishly from the bed and went downstairs to the kitchen. I swung open the kitchen door and saw Mother, bent over a saucepan, hair wild, looking amazingly like an old witch. She turned and smiled.





“There are some biscuits on the table for you.”





“Did you buy them or make them? I asked.





“I baked them today; you'll have to tell me what they're like.”





I sat down at the table and looked at the plate. I picked one up.





“Down the hatch.” I said quietly to myself and took a bite. Choc chip, not too bad, the texture as a bit odd though. I looked at the remaining biscuit and saw that there was a cockroach embedded in it. I spat it out onto the plate. Mother looked at me shocked.





“There was a bug in it.” I said as an explanation. She looked as though I had slapped her. I could see her confidence completely slipping away from her.





“The rest will be O.K.” She said in a worried voice. I picked up another biscuit and took a bite.





“How's that one? Better?”





“Yeah it's good.” I picked a bit of crumb from one of my molars and grimaced as I did so. Mother put a glass of milk in front of me and patted my back. I took a sip. It was cool and refreshing. I grabbed another biscuit and took a bite. It didn't take long for me to realize there was another cockroach in it. Again I spat it out. Mother had lit up a cigarette and stared at my plate.





“Found another one?” She said. I was thunderstruck. She was acting as though she knew they were in there! Then she smiled slightly, while I leaned back in my chair.





“I feel sick.” I said.





“It was a joke.” She giggled. I smiled back at her and in a condescending tone said,





“You're a mad bitch.” I felt guilt almost immediately. Mother looked at me wildly. There were a lot of things going on inside Mother's head and yet she shrugged her shoulders indifferently.





“When's dad coming home?”





“I find your father dull.” Her face was hard. She walked over and picked up the plate of biscuits and tossed the plate into the sink where it broke. I left the kitchen quickly.





3.





It was almost six o'clock when my father came home. The front door opened and closed and I heard my Father faintly greet my Mother. Mother had been cooking dinner while I stayed in my room brooding over the biscuits. I reckoned that Mother was going to pull something as I heard their voices rise. In the next room Matthew had started to cry so I went in to calm him. He was a weird looking baby; I always thought he looked like he had a skin disease. He was lying in his crib with his arms and legs moving slightly. I picked him up and jigged him up and down in an attempt to silence him. He was easily entertained although I always felt stupid making baby noises at him. His laughter filled the room and it effectively lightened my mood. I kept him company until he went back to sleep and I thought I had better get some study done in my room.





At my desk I opened my history textbook.





“Alan!” Mother shouted. “Dinner's ready!”





“Coming!”





“Could you bring Matthew down?”





“Yep.” I shouted back.





I changed my clothes and grabbed Matthew, taking him downstairs. He was still asleep when I brought him to the table. It was only when I put him in his high chair that he woke up and looked around, bewildered, until he saw Mother and squealed with glee. All his attention was focused on her and she knew it. I started eating my dinner while Mother sat next to Matthew and began shoveling baby food into his mouth, half of which came straight back out. As he ate he kicked out his legs in excitement. Dad sat opposite him grading papers and sighing heavily. He had a five o'clock shadow, the type you'd see on a hardcore poker player in a western. Food leaked out of Matthews's mouth and onto his tray. Dad frowned at him. I looked like my Father, an immature version. We can't help ourselves, over time we simply turn into our parents. Dad looked up at me and said,





“How was school?” He looked at me as though I was an inhuman being.





“It was O.K.” I replied. His expression had not changed a bit. What else did he want to know? He took a sip of his beer.





“No rain again today.” He said.





“Nope.” I replied. My family was a failed attempt at a conformity factory. I wanted out.





“I'm too lenient.” He said but left the conversation there. I suppose he meant his students. It was a strange evening. Neither of my parents had even commented on my cuts and scratches. At least Mother had decided to leave her jokes out of dinner. Dad would flip out for sure and send her back to the institution. Any action in his eyes should have sense and meaning. I heard the clock in the lounge room strike seven. Time was slipping away with the chiming of the clocks mechanism. The chiming had excited Matthew who wriggled in his chair.





“For the love of God!” Mother said and stopped feeding him as he struggled to be free. She waited for silence. Dad and I waited for her to pull her head out of the sand. Matthew began to choke a little.





“Cough it up, little dog.” She said lightly patting him on the back and he coughed up some food and sputum then she stuck her fingers in his mouth and cleaned out the rest. The sight of it put me off my food.





“That's gross.” I said.





“Would you prefer he choke to death?” She retaliated and looked anxiously at Matthew. I didn't answer; instead I took my plate to the kitchen sink and rinsed it off. I went into the lounge room to watch T.V. In the kitchen I saw the biscuit tin and wondered if Mother had actually kept any of them.





4.





I could hear Mother in the kitchen and I thought I could hear the biscuit tin being taken off the shelf. I hoped she was throwing them out but I waited in suspense to hear if anything eventuated. Matthew could be heard in the dining room squealing like a crazed nut. The squealing soon turned to crying when there was a loud outburst from dad. He had found a cockroach.





“What the fuck!” Dad screamed. Mother remained silent. “What were you thinking?”





“I don't know how they got in there.” She said meekly. I moved closer to the door so I could eavesdrop.





“Bullshit!”





“I didn't know I was doing it. I thought it was a dream.”





“You expect me to believe that? A fucking dream?”





“I thought it would be funny.” She said.





“How could that possibly be funny?”





“I have to put Matthew to bed.” She was looking for an exit. I quickly moved away from the door and leapt on the sofa. Matthew was still crying when Mother took him upstairs. Dad would get drunk now. This was how he handled Mother's oddness. His anger never lasted long and he entered the lounge room and sat in his chair.





“She's fucking mad.” He said, taking a large mouthful of beer. “Don't eat the biscuits.”





“O.K. Dad.”





“Don't forget you have to do the washing up.” Dad said. For a moment I thought I had gotten out of doing my chores and would have been able to watch T.V. until I went to sleep. Dad changed the channel to the news. Power and privilege, that's what he had, the rest of us were pigs. I got up and went to the kitchen. From the look of the kitchen bin neither of my parents ate dinner, there was a lot of food in there all mashed together. I looked up and saw the pile of dishes and cutlery, saucepans and strainers and I groaned quietly. At least it looked like all the utensils had been rinsed. I filled the sink with hot water and squirted some dishwashing liquid in it. We'd been using the same brand for years, the same product churned out of factory machines. The water was becoming soapy, the soapier the better. The more dishwashing liquid the cleaner the dishes, only problem was the residue. Dishes and cutlery first, that's what Mother told me. Once I'd finished I left the items to dry on the rack. I was tired; it was like a disease, it made you selfish and dumb, wallowing in overdose and toxicity. My mind began reaching for the stars behind my eyelids, where, if I was lucky, I'd dream of something worthwhile. A memorable story, perhaps a web of unconscious thought. I left the kitchen, turning off the fluorescent light as I did so, and then went to my bedroom.





5.





Underneath my pillow were my pajamas which I changed into. It was a kind of undignified tragedy. Pajamas on, I waddled down the hall to brush my teeth and take a piss. The hallway was poorly lighted. In the bathroom I pissed, flushed the urine to some unknown cesspool and washed my hands. The time had come to pass when I would brush my teeth, that playground of bacteria and decay. Hopefully, some way or other I wouldn't need any more fillings. I just had to stay away from the sweets, far away. I dreaded to think of what they would be like when I reached maturity. The dentist told me that teeth had a nature of their own; some were good, some were bad and no amount of dental care was going to change it. I think he was just trying to make me feel better. I spat the toothpaste and sputum into the sink and noticed there was a small amount of blood in it. What was I supposed to expect with how hard I had brushed the gums? I nodded at myself in the mirror.





“Good work Doctor, bleeding gums.” It was a quiet joke to me. I wiped the last of the toothpaste from my mouth, dried my hands and went back to my room. This whole day had been awful and needed the improvements of sleep. My eyesight blurred for a moment then steadied. I looked like a disheveled wreck and the skin on my face was becoming flaky. Teenage life was just one personal humiliation after another. Do parents know that? If they do why do they have children? Is the rest of life worth it? I suspected my parents didn't really know why they had children. They just did. It was the thing to do. It was the natural progression of life. That means in their minds I was an extension of them reaching out into the future and continuing their straight line to immortality. It was unjust of them to expect me to follow in their footprints. It made me feel trapped, that my life was already partially shaped and to know I would have to live through the consequences of my parents choices. These thoughts were not pleasant. I walked the length of the hall back to my room. My eyelids were heavy and my head was beginning to ache. All I wanted was to be free. I guess it wouldn't be long now, I'd come a long way in this family as well I should, school would be over for me soon. I lay down on my bed. Neither parent had wished me goodnight, their thoughts were probably elsewhere. Lying on my side I could see the light coming in under the door but I could hear no noises from the rest of my family. There was a lump in my throat and I felt like crying. I felt like praying but I didn't know any prayers. It made me notice how little spirituality I had come to learn. Were prayers supposed to protect you from evil? Was God going to give me advice? Lying perfectly still I saw a shadow walk past my room and stop for a moment at my door, then the light went out and everything was dark and in madness. Soon my eyes adjusted to the moonlit room. I wondered if dad had inflicted any punishment on Mother as a deterrent; threaten her with the institution again. I lay in bed for what seemed the longest time before sleep finally took me.





The remaining fragments of a dream, easy enough to remember, disturbed my slumber. It was a dream of guilt and fear. A dream of Banshee, a dream we had only ourselves to blame for.





6.





I needed to hide Banshee. The image of her jolted me awake. If Hedges found her he'd know it was me. He'd chased me off his property too many times not to suspect. He was an angry man at the best of times. I quietly got out of bed and dressed in clothes of the worst condition, knowing that I would have to throw them away afterwards. Nobody would look in the rubbish. I was going back to bury Banshee and I knew it wouldn't be easy and I would be pressed for time. Quietly ashamed of what I was preparing to do I snuck downstairs not knowing the amount of strength I would need for the event, not knowing if the act was evil and something to be feared, not knowing if great pain was to be involved. In the kitchen I found the key to the back door. The terror of being caught was growing as I took the key from its hook and moved into the laundry where I found a torch. I was rapidly coming to the conclusion I was not a brave man. It wasn't something that surprised me and I opened the back door. The sky was scattered with thick clouds but at the moment the moonlight was not obscured. While I pocketed the key I closed the door not bothering to lock it. I went to the tool shed and found a shovel, not well used; dad wasn't much of a handyman, the tool shed was indeed sparse but for dad it made sense to have one as it gave an impression. Slinging the shovel over my shoulder I headed off towards the creek with the shovel and torch. The moonlight was so bright I didn't need the torch, not yet anyway. Near the creek I turned back and looked at the house, there was a light on. It was my parent's room but it didn't stay on for long. The light didn't come on again, it was safe to continue. The boards of the creek bridge clacked as I crossed it and I wondered how far the noise would travel even though now I was past the point of no return. If I got caught now there would be no explaining it. Clouds covered the moon and it became suddenly dark and I felt failure was impossible with this kind of cover. I turned on the torch and made a dash for the trees with all the speed I possessed. In the trees I hid behind a tree and stared back at the house, there was nothing. I was in the darkest area between my home and Mr. Hedges fields. The rays of the moon appeared on the grass as the clouds released their grip. Banshee was waiting, so I retraced my path towards her, my torch cutting through the dark.







I found Banshee in the field; she looked no different to when I left her except for some ants wandering through her bloodied fur. Beside her body was the rock that I had used to kill her. I moved towards the lifeless body but stopped dead when I heard a faint voice calling,





“Banshee! Where are you girl?” I switched off the torch. “Banshee!” It wailed. It was Mr. Hedges and he sounded drunk. I could see his shadow slowly coming over the field and I hit the dirt fast. He had a torch and I could see its beam scanning the field. There was no escape but to hide. I began crawling away from Banshee, if Hedges found me near her he'd lose his mind. Bits of dirt were getting in my mouth I was so close to the ground. He was closer now and I had stopped moving for fear of being spotted. The dirt in my mouth was irritating me, I wanted to spit it out but I was hesitant to make any noise at all. My heart was pounding fast and hard, consuming my chest. The torch beam was skimming around Banshee and for a moment there was only silence, then an ear piercing scream. The old man shook in a frenzy of misery. Panic ran through me as I realized I would be found for sure and I pulled the shovel closer. Hedges was going crazy, screaming at first then making baby noises at the carcass. He was now kneeling besides Banshee, crying and running his hands through the fur.





“No, no, no.” He buried his face in Banshee's torso. I decided this was the best time to leave him to his sadness and began crawling again but as soon as I moved Hedges was up, the light from the torch blinding me.





“You little fucker!” He screamed. In his hand he held the bloodied rock and made a quick movement towards me. I jabbed the shovel at him and struck him squarely in the face. Hedges staggered back blood streaming from a large cut below his nose. He was in shock and before he had a chance to recover I had struck him again, this time swinging the shovel at his head. He fell on the ground near his dog and they lay there side by side. Hedges mouth was moving like he was trying to say something and his hand moved over to Banshee. I was horrified that I could feel myself laughing as I watched Hedges slipping away and reaching for his beloved Banshee. His breathing slowed and then stopped completely. All the complicated problems of his life were over, for him at least. Mine were just beginning. In an instant I had become a murderer. I'd get sent to a juvenile home for sure at best, at worst an adult correctional facility. I looked around to ensure there was nobody else near. Everything was dark and quiet, Hedges was alone. The ground was soft in the field and I started digging as quickly as I could, the hole wasn't going to be large just big enough to cover the bodies. The theory was that if no one could see him, no one would care, out of sight out of mind, and the dead never have too much to say. Hedges had no close friends that I knew of. I reckoned it would be some time before they started looking for him and with any luck I'd be out of this town for good, finish school and just get out. I didn't think the digging would take too much longer; it was coming along well, although by the time I had finished I was very tired. Hedges was heavy, he didn't look it. I dragged the body into the hole and arranged the limbs to fit. It was taking a lot of effort. Banshee was the next down the hole. It was a cozy fit; I placed her at her master's feet. It was the most pathetic sight you ever saw and the first clump of dirt to cover them finished it off. A pathetic portrait; a black one, one that would make a Mother cry. I was assured there was no sign of life and completed filling in the hole, no sign of Banshee or Mr. Hedges could be seen. No one would know he was here unless they were looking pretty hard. Within a week it would look like any other patch of ground around here. I could feel one of my eyelids twitching involuntarily. This often happened when I was tired. It was time to head back. I took the shovel and torch and left Banshee and Mr. Hedges behind me. I took a swipe at the air with my palm, there were mosquitoes around. My clothes were covered in filth.





7.





I hurried my pace towards the trees. Under the circumstances speed was necessary. Burying Hedges as well had taken up time. Blood was all over my shirt and my feet were starting to ache. I let out a hissing sound like a serpent as the pain was increasing. I'd stop and rest in the trees. The moon was high in the sky but I still left the torch on as I approached that dark place. I threw myself down at the foot of a tree and wondered what it actually meant to be alive. There were leaves that had fallen to the ground around where I sat. I was afraid. This place felt like my cemetery and I pressed my knuckles into the dirt like roots. There seemed in my mind a door in this place between two worlds. Something in the air and earth was noticeable. I could feel my teeth grinding together. Saliva dribbled out onto my chin. How many sons? Two. I rose from the ground noticing that there was fur on my shirt. Instead of brushing it away I left it there. The clothes were going in the bin anyway. There were no sounds in the trees as I began walking my way home. I stopped suddenly. Something ahead of me moved and I quickly hid. It was a person, I was sure. Time would tell and I stuck my head out to have a look. It was indeed a person. I dared not approach them. The figure didn't seem to notice me. It was just the silhouette of a body with nothing discerning about it. What it was doing was unknown to me. By the way it was moving it was dragging something. It moved out of my sight and I took the chance to make my way out of the area. At first I moved away slowly, carefully, looking around intermittently to see that I was alone, that no one else was near. The cover of the trees was coming to an end. Ahead of me was the creek and then I'd be safe at home. A thought occurred to me. Could it have been dad looking for me? Too late for that now. As soon as I was in the open I ran. My breathing was rapid when I crossed the bridge not daring to look behind me. I'd never felt this scared before, the pounding of my feet, the movement of my body all added to the thrill. Nearer to the house I stopped and dared to look behind me. Nothing. All was quiet expect for my breathing. I turned back to the house and went to the back door. I took the key out of my pocket and was about to unlock the door when I remembered I hadn't locked it in the first place. I turned the handle and entered the house.





8.





I took a garbage bag from the kitchen and went to my room where I undressed and put the soiled clothes in the bag and under the bed. Without bothering to shower I put my pajamas back on and climbed into bed.





In the morning I just lay in bed for a time, you know how it is. All I needed now was to drag myself to the kitchen for some breakfast but first I checked my face in the bathroom. There was grime on both my hands and face so I washed them. There seemed a month's worth of dirt on my hands. Soap had become my little friend over the last twenty four hours and soon the dirt was gone, washed away like answers to a puzzle not yet completed and deposited in a sea of ideas. I thought of the figure in the trees.





“Speed it up in there.” It was dad. His voice startled me. He probably thought I was masturbating.





“Yeah.” I said in an offended tone.





“Now.” He said. I got the feeling I was in trouble. I went out to see dad. He was standing outside the door. His eyes looked wild. There was dirt on the floor.





“Did you do this?” He said pointing to the mess.





“No.” I lied. The truth was that I didn't remember.





“That's not entirely true is it?” And he walked away.





9.





I went and changed into a T-shirt that had a cartoon apple on it that read, “Let's play William Tell.” I was only half rested from my nocturnal activities as I made up the bed. Blood had oozed into the gauze around one of Banshees bites, her jaws had been strong. I had to give her points for that, and then some. Still I bet I split her skull in two. A smile crossed my face. I had been an adventurous night but I wouldn't want to get used to it, not for anything. I left the garbage bag of clothes under the bed; I'd dispose of it later that night, putting the pieces of clothing in the trash under cover of dark. The house was filled with silence and feelings of guilt that I suspected were rooted in some deep paranoia. The feeling was broken by the sound of my father whistling. I listened almost expecting a chorus to join in. Whatever the tune he was making a hash of it. It was almost as though the tune were being made in some unnatural way and worst of all, it sounded insane. Then suddenly,





“Alan!” He yelled with a mixture of anger and confusion. A yell I had never heard from him before.





“Alan!” This time it was a scream. Not knowing what was happening, I ran for the back door and kept running.





10.





Where had the little fucker gone? He done gone and run oft. That fuckin' bitch. That mad fuckin' bitch. I had to draw conclusions. My wife. My son. This place. Displaced. It was falling apart, you know. Time to move, time to put the plan in motion. Take a chance at a new start. I should try it; just walk out that front door. Jumble of electricity in that bitches' mind. She never made any sense. “My marriage was a chameleon and the tie was unstraightening my family.” That's what she said once. Seriously. Well it was all ablaze now, like staring at a window of a house with flames licking the panes and knowing there was an engine inside pumping oxygen to fuel the demise. Alan was too young to understand. I had to clean up this mess. Tell the little bastard a tall tale if nothing else. I knew it wasn't too late. Anxiously I went upstairs and into the bathroom to look again almost with curiosity into the toilet, where, hidden under the wooden seat was the produce of my wife's stomach, little Matthew. I'd got a get a plastic bag from the kitchen to put him in. Once he was in that toilet I could no longer class him as human. He'd become something else now, meat that had to be thrown out. There was no comfort in that, only dark regret and perhaps a bitter tear. My hand acted separately from me. I would never have hurt her or anyone. I couldn't believe I had done it. My mind flew to places unknown, directions covered in fog. And then the sinking feeling, a feeling I'd not felt before and my eye's began to stream. My vision had become nebulous and the plastic bag swirled around me. I tried to control my thoughts and body but I urinated right there, liquid flowing down my legs. What world had I entered? I puzzled at it. A world of nervous reaction. That would explain the urination but the strange sight, like staring at nowhere. Was I doing something that would make a difference? Perhaps it was just a dream, a chance to explain something, to uncover the person hidden under the umbrella, to make people understand. That would be a grand prize. I'd have to leave then. Couldn't stay. A force was driving me. A force stronger than any resistance I could give and it craved my attention. It creates and controls all my emotions; it is the root of my decay and treachery. Surely it is the facet of every being and here, now, the doors were open. Each day my fear of it had grown. I was alert to its presence but there was nothing I could do to dispel it. My actions were in flux but as I came to this realization everything began to slow down and a sense of de ja vu washed over me. I looked at the picture of the old man fishing on the wall and smiled, for some reason it reminded me of my childhood. I followed the line of sight from the old man's eyes and down to the toilet where I knew destruction hid. I looked at myself in the mirror and saw the look on my face where it seemed barbed hooks held my smile in place. I clenched my eyes tightly together and when I opened them the smile was gone.





10.





My feet were aching again so I slowed down my running. Dad wasn't following. I did not have any idea of what was going on but dad was acting freaky like he'd lost a cog in his brain so I was keeping away for the time being. I'd keep my senses sharp. Mother would have to look after herself, up there in her little prison. Today I'd run off and I planned to break the rules more than once, this day was my day. It would be a cheap day as I didn't have any money but it was still mine. When I returned home hopefully dad would have calmed down. I didn't really have anywhere else to go. I went down on my knees and looked at that prison of a house. A prison with broken locks. That is to say I was dependant on it for my existence. Independence meant I'd have to survive on my own. I buried my head in my hands. This would be my penance. Stuck at home with two parents that had lost their minds, nothing was going to counter that kind of life. I'd have to face it sooner or later and it would be back to the arguments, the loose talk, and the sorrow. This was how it would all turn out to be, how it would reveal itself, a slight of hand. I continued on towards the trees trying not to let the questions of my future bother me too much. As I came to the trees I felt an ominous wave come over me. It felt like something was in there, basking in its ingenuity, waiting for me. I shivered at its presence and either I was going mad or it looked as though the trees had formed a strict linear pattern formation, like they were in rows. At one point I was fairly sure I could see right through to the other side using the squinty eye technique. The light of the sun was swept away and so was the sound of the nature around me leaving only a faint sniveling noise. I listened rather sadly to it the way you listen to a hard luck story, all sympathy but no empathy, but still, curiosity got the better of me and I went to find the source.





The flesh of her feet contrasted with the texture of the bark of the tree she hung from, her weight comfortably bearable to the branches. There were tears in the eyes of the woman amongst the branches, exhausted and severely beaten but not so much as I couldn't see it was my Mother and her gaze pierced me, sent like a knife at my heart. It didn't take long to figure out how she got up there, dad had hoisted her up with ropes and left her hanging. Her breathing was shallow, she was trying to say something but there wasn't enough breath in her lungs to get the words out. I'd go to the town for help. No. I had to get her down. I found where the rope end was bound to a tree and tried to untie it. The damn thing wouldn't budge it was so tight. I'd have to cut it with something, a sharp rock; I wasn't going back to the house for a knife. It took some time but I found one and began hacking at the rope. The ropes began to fray and unwind and I gripped it for the moment of breakage but I wasn't strong enough and it slipped through my palms leaving a red burn. The pain forced me to open my hands and Mother fell to the ground with a thud. On the ground I tried to lift her head.





“There's a dog that sounds like a man here.” She rasped.





“What?” I said too impatiently but she had closed her eyes and seemed to have passed out from exhaustion. Every now and then her eyes would flicker or her mouth would open slightly. I wasn't sure she would recover as I lay her head down on the ground and simply watched her. I had to go to town. Beside her head was a flower and she turned to it right before she died.





11.





Would dad be coming back this way? I suspected he would. He wasn't a prisoner of that house. He was a murderer, an invention of his own and it made me anxious. Mother's eyes had reopened and were staring at the flower. It gave me an unnerved feeling like being trapped in a car with a wasp and I plucked the thing from the ground and crushed it in my hand. Now there was nothing for the dead eyes to look at but me and I nearly screamed in anguish until I turned the head away. I could feel tears on my face, my eyes stung. What was to become of me now? A foster home probably. Maybe it wouldn't be that bad. Maybe it would be terrible. I couldn't figure anything out but I knew that I had to start. The woman I used to know as my Mother was gone, long gone but I was still here and so was Matthew. I had to see if he was alright. As I rose from the ground the first splashes of a light rain fell on my face.





12.





There was the sound of rain hitting the roof, washing the leaves into the guttering I bet. If it flooded the house again there'd be hell to pay. Oh dear, would there ever. There was a flash of lightning and I smiled at the thought of Alan and the bitch out in it. Maybe it would strike the tree and teach her some sanity, stop her talking to herself. God help us. Was the lightning God entering this world, dishing out punishment? Loosing bolts like Zeus. She was insane; something must have possessed her very soul. Time would show the logic of my actions.





“Oh God what have I done? I am but your humble servant.” I had violated the sacrament of marriage. Falling to my knees I began bowing, a total of ninety times, thirty times three and I'm through the looking glass, into that other world, the world where I dealt with her. I got up and went to the study. It comprised of shelves of books and a single writing desk. There was a single book on it, a medical book. It was opened upon a picture of a small boy with what looked like tapeworms protruding from his rectum. There seemed to be hundreds of them. I closed the book on the boy's horrendous existence. Was she looking at this? Was Alan? I ran downstairs and wretched in the kitchen sink. I couldn't go back to the bathroom with Matthew in there. The kitchen seemed frozen in time too soon. Consumed in silence, waiting for the happening of the near future, I wanted to run as far from here as I could, as far from this joke of a life as possible. My job would be gone and after all this I'd be virtually unemployable. My hands trembled at the thought; it was like a drug that had freed me from the labors of society. The only thing to do in this world is suicide, like the myth of Sisyphus, why not just let the rock crush you, it aint going to do no good pushing it. The idea made me purr. The question of my existence forced me to momentarily lean against the wall. Was it that I was free in my mind? The only place they couldn't see?





“I'm guarding the fort.” There was pleasure in the words, the way the burnt my throat.





“Don't let it back in!” It just shot out like a slap. “Can't let it excel. Matthew's gone now.” This was a problem; I was scared of the ramifications. My actions were terrible but I couldn't help them, they had to be accomplished. I'd best put Matthew back in his crib. That was where he was supposed to be, where he needed to be, there was no denying it. The crib was where he would fulfill his sacred purpose. The crib would escort him to the sea of death like a boat where God could finally see him. Heaven is the sea. Too late after the anonymity of all the salt it contains. No one can find you there; it's like particles of smog in a city. The heat of the city, the flames of the city, the flames. Was I admitting it? Something to consider, this affiliation. I went back upstairs into the bathroom, the decisions I'd made weighing on my mind, strangling my thoughts. I managed a smile. I sensed imaginary vultures descending to take Matthew away and I shook and waved my arms in an attempt to dispel them. When I reached the toilet I uncovered the seat. He had been defecated upon. I found a towel and wrapped him in it. Everything innocent about him had been turned to repulsion. All I wanted to do was burn the disgusting thing; I couldn't stand seeing it anymore. His spirit had been sacrificed to the great transport carrier. I couldn't bring myself to leave him in his crib. I would bury him in the backyard. On my way outside Matthew's smell had become so intolerable I nearly feinted. Swearing, I opened the back door to find Alan standing before me with an expression of terror. Finally he speaks,





“You fucking bastard.”





I slowly uncovered Matthew so Alan could see.





“If nothing else gets you first.” I said. My expression was grave. Alan had a thick branch in his hands; I barely noticed it before he began beating me and I felt my grip on Matthew loosen before he slipped from my arms and onto the ground. Alan's eyes had become crazed and he paused briefly to get his breath back before a second beating. This time I managed to get a hold of the branch, I could smell its nature as I yanked it from the brat's hands. I could see his mind was racing, he'd lost the shop and now it was my turn. I gave him a good clunk on the side of his head that sent him reeling. He stumbled about for a bit before regaining his balance, I waited; there was no need to fear him. Blood was trickling down his head from a small cut.





“Your face.” I said. He turned away. “It's living.”





“And Matthew isn't.” He chided. My grip on the branch tightened and I raised it to him again.





13.





My thoughts were muddled when I came around. I was in my room, blood caked on my pillow from my head wound. There was a tin opener and a can of beans next to my bed. Concentrating I touched the cut on my head, it had stopped bleeding. I went to the window. Outside, dad was digging a hole in the back yard, beans before burial. The veins were sticking out in my forearms; I ran to the door and tried to open it. It was locked but I persevered, rattling it around. I went back to the window, hand pressed against my eye, which was twitching like crazy; it was as though a needle had entered it. I was falling apart like some universal joke. My other eye looked at dad as the sun beat down on him. He stopped digging and sat beside the hole and lit a cigarette. He looked up and waved at me, pleased with himself. He blew smoke casually as he rubbed his face. I quietly opened the window. There was a childish inclination to throw the tin of beans at him. My stomach was turning knots as I watched dad finish the hole, the rain had stopped but dark clouds still covered the sky and an electric current was switched on in my brain. This was the end of it all. Perhaps it's a kindness. He rose from the ground and walked into the house. It was now or never. Yes. I cleared my throat and climbed out the window. It was a clear fall, if I landed well it would be O.K. Just had to try not to land on my head, I had to keep my balance. Attempting not to lose orientation I positioned myself for the jump; I took a deep breath and let go of the ledge. I hit the ground with a thud and rolled onto my back ending up next to the freshly dug hole. Sitting to compose myself I looked up at the window I had leapt from. It was closed and dad stared down at me in his deformity. I smiled at him and waved before frantically running away. At the creek I stopped briefly to drink from it. The humidity was killing me. The cool water flowed over my hand and I left it there in the water for a moment before bringing it up to my mouth.





14.





He's gone, terrified. My breathing was constant as I watched him go. What was he thinking? He couldn't go far, this was his home, and this was where he belonged. He must have felt spite towards me. It wasn't his fault. Alan, how could I have let her give him that stupid name? He was going to make a run for town, I knew it. I could head him off in the car if I had the inclination but I wanted the condemnation of the town upon me for some reason. That little selfish bastard, did he think I didn't know? He'd be stunned when he realized he was in the wrong place. Sometimes I wondered if I was. My teaching career was over, family was long gone. A cockroach crawled up my leg I bent and flicked it away.





15.





What had happened to dad? What made him flip like that? I guess we all have very precise limits at which we crack. Numbness was coming into my legs and I thought it was long overdue. I wasn't worried, I just needed to rest. I sat down and relaxed my legs; the road was where I needed to be, not here in the trees, there was no doubt about that. No good can come of this, it was dark here, this place seemed to keep me sheltered, isolated. My stomach rumbled I really should have eaten those beans; I had important things to do and needed energy. Dad would be after me soon but I switched that thought off. I needed a miracle to save me. The body of Mother could be seen partially exposed behind a tree, I went to it. She seemed to be smiling and it made me feel stable and I fell into a deep sleep next to her. I dreamt of dad dumping her tortured body in a refuse bin and pours gasoline on it. He sets fire to the contents of the bin and stands back. The flames burst into effect and her figure slowly rises to a standing position and stares at him. She is fully aflame.





“I am not your Mother.”





It was like a tumor exploding when I started back into consciousness leaving my hollow heart full of darkness, a darkness I constantly came back to. Something wet was around my mouth; I smoothed my hand over the area and looked at it. Blood covered my hand and I stared at Mother bewildered. Flesh had been torn from her upper arm. Mother was still looking after me even as I was being separated from my imperfect self.





16.





Shadows moved about me, shadows of insects grown fantastically large. I saw the shadow of Mother dancing amongst them, rhythmically moving to nonexistent music. The crack of thunder, a storm was coming and still the shadows danced like tongues of flame between the trees in defiance of nature itself.





“Someone's coming.” Mother whispered. I screamed at the shadows. What she had become I could not decipher. Leaning against bark it swirled around me, it was eternity and I ran from it. I collapsed at the road some moments later, delirious and when I scanned the area I saw in the distance what looked like Martin, riding his bicycle towards my house. Nothing came out of my mouth when I tried to shout. He'd get to meet my father, the creator of sin and shame, the centre.





17.





There was a knock at the door. I was silent, waiting for them to go away, perfect silence. They'll take me apart. I glimpsed out of the window, there was a bike. It was just some kid, some kid looking for a grave, one of the shits from school. I would let him in. He knocked a second time before I yanked the door open to face him.





“What?” I shouted at him. A beat and he took a step back. Happy and free, that was how he looked at first before the expression fell to doom.





“I was looking for Alan.”





I grabbed the scruff of his shirt quickly and dragged him inside.





“He's with his Mother.” I slammed the door. He knew something was wrong, he gasped for air, he looked for an exit but the only one he saw is the kitchen door.





“Fuck you weirdo!” He ran for the door. I followed. He got in the kitchen fast but was disoriented.





“You're a very rude visitor.” I could see his panic increasing. He thought I was mentally ill. I waited for him to say something but he stayed silent looking around until he worked out the direction of the back door.





“Where's Alan?” He sounded desperate.





“Gone.” I replied.





“What's the matter with you?” He said angrily. I began to feel faint, had to hold it together with an enemy in the house.





“Look away from me!” I shouted. The phone rang and we both jumped. Two rings. Three rings. Neither of us moved. Four rings. Upstairs a snooze alarm went off. Five rings. Six rings. Seven rings. I dashed for the knife block and grabbed a big one. He bolted for freedom but I caught him before he could get anywhere. I slipped during the scuffle and we both fell to the floor. He kept clawing at my face and the knife kept cutting his hands. Blood was flicked across both of us. He let out a high pitched wail and used the last of his strength to throw me off and he scampered back to the front door. He was out the door before I could stop him. Outside he was trying to ride his bicycle away. The sky was dark and the kid struggled on the bike with his cut up hands. He fell off and onto the driveway, he was in shock. I snickered to myself, just another kid with shit for brains. The knife was still clenched between my fingers as I moved towards him. He saw me and attempted to dash away on foot but he wasn't watching where he was going and stumbled. The rage bursts out and I plunge the knife into his shoulder ripping it out again and plunging it back. Throwing the knife away I gripped his throat and squeezed with all my strength, shaking him as violently as I could, shook him till spit came out his mouth. Shook him till he left this place and I was alone, alone and screaming. It was a sound that seemed to pass through nature and into the infinite.





18.





I saw the body, the discarded meat. I couldn't see dad anywhere, he'd just left it to rot in its silent surroundings. Should I call the police? I'd have to enter the house for that. Far too risky. Gotta go to town and tell the cops. I couldn't think of anything else, this had gotten way out of hand. They'd blame dad for everything. I was totally in the clear and a rush of vigour flowed through me. I thought of Matthew and Mother, absorbing them into my subconscious. I remembered the bruises, the filth; Matthew bunched up in that towel, that one innocent sacrifice for an unknown reason, to an unseen god.





The front door of the house opened and dad peered out at me and suddenly my future seemed very bleak.





“Welcome home.” He said. Extinction was pending. There was no remorse or shame in his voice, no heart. I knew I had to run, there was no trick I could play that would distract him, no help was coming. This game would soon be over and with that thought the storm's precipitation fell like a heavy blanket. Dad moved out into the rain getting as drenched as I was.





“Which one of us will ripen on the tree this time?” He said.





Everything became very dark and I saw the knife in dad's hand, ready to cut and carve. He raised his arms, still clutching the knife, as if to embrace me. That was it, that was all I needed, that one last oddity that got my feet moving as fast as possible towards the town. This time I didn't stop to look back, you should never look back.





18.





I felt no malice. He had seen all he needed to see. What would he tell them?



“Old man's gone crazy.” I murmured and I put the knife down, wringing my hands. Repentance. No, it was my right! Farewell to the dead.





19.





I have brought thy gift. God is great and I obey with my dying soul. My withered call attracts only flies.





“No more!”





Bliss, poison bliss, slicing the air around me. Why was there no answer? Had I killed death? In the mirror my face is obscured, blank, the house is obscured, blank. I struggle alone with my fury in its virgin fire. The mirror fractures in my reflection. The reflection of what nature has produced.





20.





The kitchen was a mess. Food was strewn everywhere. Cutlery everywhere. Crockery everywhere. They seemed to climb the walls, attempting to regain their normal states, their original positions. I picked up a tin of corn and poured the contents into my mouth and chewed. It had been a day of suffering, no choice of mine. The harbinger would be half-way to town by the time I got to him. It was a sizeable head start but I knew he would never get there. He was on foot and I had a car. I'm sure he believed he was going to make it. Scurrying like a rodent for cover. I spat blood into my hand. I had been biting the inside of my cheek.





21.





I hoped dad had killed himself. They did that sometimes. In the news, when the guilt or fear gets too much for them, they take their lives. Something in his eyes had changed, become hateful; time no longer seemed to move in them. Time had been replaced by indescribable colours. I stopped to catch my breath, to rest, imagining dad at home in a rage smashing all the furniture up but I sensed in time he would follow. Something was haunting his mind. Inside his head the world had changed, were the trees affecting him? Had he entered that place where Mother danced with shadows? That strange place in the dark recesses of the trees. I ran a hand through my hair and it caught in a tangle of which I had to pull free. In front of me by the side of the road was a single tree glazed with awe. An ill feeling was in my stomach, like something was pulled from it, thieved from it.





22.





The little fucker. I had dwelt on it for too long. He'd gone out on the road. I went to the garage and wearily opened the car door. It wouldn't take long to catch up with him, to complete the occasion, to complete my damned fate, to formalize it. A fine film hazed my mind, there was birdsong, enthusiastic and filling my ears, reaching a crescendo and then a sudden silence and my mind was lucid. The engine started and my fingers were drumming the dashboard. I leant back in the seat and wound down the window. Well for better or worse this was it. I drove out and turned onto the wet dirt road, rain splashing the windshield. Each raindrop might have contained whole microscopic worlds, each one more corrupt than the last. The road was, as always, devoid of traffic and the tyres slid about in the mud.





“Whoa!” I shouted aloud. “Jesus Christ!” I regained control and thought that I saw Alan in the distance, in the growing darkness. Using the car I would strike him down with all the ferocity of a tiger attacking a lamb.





23.





There was a vehicle approaching. I knew it would be dad. I couldn't outrun him; I'd have to sprint into the rough where he couldn't follow in the car. The distance was closing and I dashed suddenly from the road. If he tried to follow in the car he'd get bogged in seconds. I turned back and saw that he wasn't following me off road. The car continued on towards town. I began to cry and the landscape before me ached and oscillated like a machine breaking down, I fell to my knees as a booming sound filled the air. There seemed whale noises amongst the low bass throb and light floated about me like wisps of long hair underwater. I covered my eyes, willing it to stop, not knowing what danger it was. The rain had stopped and my eyes opened. I was in the lounge room of my house, I knew the shape and position but all else was blank. I was patient and waited for the details to come back but they didn't. It all stayed blank and I laughed wildly, walking upstairs in the blank house. The mirror on the staircase at least kept its reflective qualities. My laughing stopped when I saw my reflection. It too was blank, like an unfinished mannequin. Was it my imagination? I clawed at the formless features, blank eyes, no colour, blank skin, shapeless mouth and teeth. I could hear myself growling at the image and as I did so the booming sound returned, increasing in power until it was a mighty thunderous sound and the house shook. A scream left me, a scream not my own but like a recorded voice on playback.





24.





Fuck it! I watched Alan run off into the shit. Into his imago, I watched him vanish, and then pulled the car over to the roadside where I stopped to think, engine running. Slowly my eyes closed. I thought of contradictions. I thought of what was right and proper and my conscious self fought against it longing for the brutal alternative and my foot pushed down on the accelerator. I drove down the dirt road until it became the street that led into town and eventually stopped at the local tavern. I opened the car door, walked to the red wood entrance and went in. The patrons stood around like a fossilized forest, mirror in mirror, the record of time lost, and each one hiding a secret in their twisted limbs. I walked up to the bar and waited to be served.





“You new in town?” The barman asked.





“No.” I replied.





“Just new in here then.” He gibed as I ordered a beer. I sipped it. It was cold and made me feel normal, like I was somewhere stable, where the world was with us, where beer and whiskey would flow through us nourishing and rooting our forms to the ground. There was no sunshine for these woody plants. I lowered my head in thought, I felt alive here. It was so unselfish and good. I'd finished my beer and pointed at my glass indicating my interest to the barman in another. A few of the patrons had begun to look in my direction, it might have been the flecks of blood on my shirt and I felt my body go numb when I saw one of them walking over. His stride was strong and his boots clomped along the floorboards, laces partially untied. There was a determination in him that neither heaven nor earth could stop and when he stood before me I looked around as though he'd made some kind of mistake. I could feel my arteries throbbing. There was no malice in his eyes and a cigarette hung loosely from his mouth and smoke came from the depths of his lungs when he spoke.





“Are you new in town?” I began to feel panicked and unsafe. He blew smoke as I answered.





“No.” It was an abrupt answer. Keep the conversation short and they go away. Unfortunately he was inquisitive.





“So you're local then?” He took a large gulp of his beer. Time slowed, I knew this man was trying to trip me up for some reason.





“Yes.” I replied instinctively. His brow furrowed.





“I don't see it.”





“What?” A silence followed, then his words came slowly.





“I run the gas station.” There was laughter in the background. “The only gas station in town.” A harmless war with words. “You got a car?”





“Of course.”





“Ain't never seen you getting gas.” I felt as though someone was wringing my neck. A loud drone was in my ears.





“My wife gets the gas.” He eyed me suspiciously.





“How long have you lived here?” Before I could think of a lie I had blurted it out,





“Eighteen years.” His eyes narrowed. He looked at me disbelievingly.





“Eighteen years? And this is the first time we've met?” He was getting agitated and I had no idea of how to answer him. A man at the bar swallowed the last of his beer and turned to us.





“Why don't you leave him be if he's new to this.” My mind was on fire. The gas station owner stayed quiet for a time.





“Eighteen fuckin' years. And this is the first time I've ever seen you.” He taunted. My face was turning red like that of a man caught in a lie. His eyes gleamed in triumph. Silence again and I found myself involuntarily moving for the exit. In a moment I was away and out the door. As I made my way back to the car the gas station owner emerged from the tavern like a beast emerging from its dark lair.





“You're fake!” He yelled in a powerful spit of venom. Quickly starting the car I drove away from the tavern, furious at all the questions. That man had unsettled my mental state. I wasn't fake; I wasn't some cheap reproduction of a painting. There was more than forgery that made me. My blood, hatred and sorrow had swirled together like the moments of a day passed in solitude. The road back to the house rose up before me, animated carrion on a dry terrain. It was strange how quickly all signs of the storm had vanished.





25.





There is a fire in the cave as the puppets dance. I cannot see them but I know they are there.





26.





The house had changed when I pulled up to the front lawn. The whole place looked abandoned. The ground was barren and unkempt. Was this where my family resided? Clouds still swirled in my head like those Joseph Turner paintings, everything slowly gravitating towards a vortex. Dust covered everything inside the house. Where was my son? I struck the couch and dust billowed off it. Where was this place? Where had it been? I heard echoes of the crying of the auctioneer, so faint it was almost a whisper.





27.





I was a father to a son, husband to a wife. A thought occurred to me. The house was like the wreck of a ship, deep beneath the waves on the ocean floor. It's rusted hull devoid of happiness but full of the memories of its life and its enormous bulk of death. It seemed full of the visions of lives not yet lived. Lives that would become as decrepit as this house, covered in dust. There were footprints in the dust and marks indicating a scuffle. In areas the prints were so dense that it would have seemed that three people had been in the one place. Sections even contained clumps of bloodied hair that I could not recognize. I followed the path of prints that led upstairs, to see exactly what had taken place. Thick dust covered the stairs and my shoe crunched something underneath it. A shard of mirror covered in grime. I saw that the prints led into the bathroom. There were echoes of a woman in distress, her pitch reaching disturbing levels. It forced me into the bathroom, the noise was unbearable and I slammed my fist into the mirror. Blood trickled down my wrist and onto the floor where it joined great volumes of another's but the noises were gone. I stood and looked at the picture of a boat at sea and an old man fishing. I followed his line of sight outside the picture to an old cracked porcelain toilet. I moved over to the toilet and expectantly looked in. At first I thought I could see a pair of crushed baby skulls in there, that two sons had died in that faeces encrusted receptacle but it was just the visual effect of the brain having been cleaved into halves. There were the screams of infants inside my head and they were slowly joined by that of the woman. A woman who had internally bled in this room and was hanging in the trees, had I done this? I didn't believe I was capable of stomping a baby into a toilet. I had no reason to do it. I tried the taps to splash water on my face but water had not flowed through them for a long time and the pipes rattled but did not produce. She was in the trees, that's where the answers were. Leaving the house I wandered out towards them as a demoralized person. Would I see reality this time or another lie? It was as though they knew I had returned. Two sons had died here. Is that what they wanted? I could hear them singing. In time I found her, she looked asleep but I knew her arms were dislocated from hanging. Was it possible I knew this woman? It was my wife but none of her features seemed recognizable. I'd taken a lot of trouble to winch her up there. She'd been beaten badly. Suddenly the face moved towards me and I felt horribly threatened. The eyes opened and the face shone. She wasn't breathing but she seemed alive, connected to the tree and I saw the three planes of the Axis Mundi surround her and the image of a decomposing corpse was being replaced by spectrums of light beyond my comprehension. I felt its pity, its unending life. Cowering before it there was some massive power transference, unseen things whirred about me in a swirl of light. I squeezed my fists and mashed them into the dirt as a high pitched whistle threatened to burst my eardrums. There had been two women hanging in this tree, isolated by time but now I realized time had no dominion here. There was an earth shattering thump and the ground around me was pulled up violently. A golden hand is pressed upon my forehead.





28.





My hands gripped the steering wheel and the sound of the engine was loud in my ears. The spin of the tryes managed to produce a cloud of dust behind the car. I raised my head to the rear view mirror and saw myself for what seemed the first time in many years. The road was old and unused to traffic and for a moment the car fish tailed and was beyond my control. It left the road and came to a jolting stop in the rough. The dust behind the car caught up, enveloping the automobile. I was heading back to town, back to the tavern for a beer, I breathed deeply as I composed myself. The radio was playing; a man's melodious voice was heard,





Easy and free



To be whatever you want to be



Sometimes the father is the son.





Acknowledgements.



Lyrics from “Sometimes the Father is the Sun.” (Richard James.)



Gorky's Zygotic Mynci



© 1997 Mercury Records Ltd. London.





















..

Fiction: The Call Part 1 of a Serial by MJ Wesolowski

“Hope in reality is the worst of all evils because it prolongs the torments of man.”

Friedrich Nietzsche


One


The fire made a low grumbling noise and spat a mouthful of sparks against the blackened stone that enclosed its crackling heart. Erik allowed himself to be mesmerised by the fire's baleful dancing, but only for a few seconds, before he turned his back and began to trudge back up the rough track; the crunch of his boots echoing against the low ceiling. After a few minutes of walking, Erik's eyes were streaming from the cloying smoke that rushed to the tunnel's entrance, dissipating into the frozen night air. He reached the tunnel mouth and clambered carefully up an overhang of frost-spined rock onto the sodden undergrowth of the forest floor.



Erik crouched low, staring through the vast lines of trees at the sky that was winter clear with stars. His breath steamed in the cold and he crept forward, slowly, his eyes fixed on the horizon, his gaze never wavering as he moved sporadically, spider-like, for the first hundred yards. He was used to the forest noises, the rustlings and occasional, shock-inducing bursts of birds from the bushes, but he strained his hearing for anything else; all the time ready to lie flat and still.



After Erik had gone about a hundred yards from the edge of the chasm that disappeared suddenly into the ground (the warning signs were the first thing they burned), he stopped and switched his gaze to a looming pine that would appear to anyone, no different from the thousands of others that stood like darts, sparkling with frost. Erik crouched again, cupped his hands to his mouth, the stench of his ragged, woollen mittens making him wince slightly, and made a low, hooting sound that reverberated slightly in the night air. A few seconds later, his call was answered by another, similar noise. Erik counted down five seconds and when he heard it again, turned around slowly, to make his way back underground, his toes already numbing.



“All clear.” Erik rubbed his hands and scooted over to the left wall of the cavern, the sleeping area, where Jess curled under the heap of khaki bedding, her blonde hair just visible in the gloom.



“I'll never get used to the night-time.” Jess whispered, tightening her foetal position against the wall, pulling the blankets underneath her chin.



“You should sleep.” Erik stroked the bedding where Jess' arm was.



“I know.” She breathed, a small vapour-trail leaving her mouth. “The dripping was so loud, I thought I heard....”



“Stop.” Erik gripped the bedding now, pressing his fingers down hard, “Jess, stop it. We're safe, OK? Down here, we're safe.”



Jess' answer was s quick sigh. Erik tightened his grip further.



“Listen to me, ok.” His voice got louder, consciously providing affront to the fear that Jess had managed to cultivate in the cavern. “The first few nights down here man, I heard my fucking name in those fucking drips. There's nothing there. Nothing. It's in your head. There'll be all sorts of water and shit down here, but that's all.”



“Sorry.” Jess murmured.



“S'ok”, Erik relaxed his grip and went back to stroking Jess' arms through the layers of blanket. “just try your best to keep it together, yeah?”



He lifted the blankets and huddled up next to Jess to combine their body heat against the still cold of the underground air.



“Just be firm with your mind.” Erik could feel the onset of sleep beginning to tickle the edges of his vision. “That's what gets me through; think only of tomorrow, never further, never back.”



The two of them, swaddled in the pile of fabric against the cold stone wall, shut their eyes and tried to close their minds against the faint dripping that echoed from somewhere far away behind them.



* * *



Louis shifted position slightly, wincing as the rope that held him steady, creaked gently. He pulled his scarf up higher, covering the bottom half of his face and breathed hard, trying to stay warm. Luckily there was no wind, just this empty cold, making his position high up in the tall fir, slightly more bearable. Louis, like Jess, hated the night time, especially when it was this quiet; every single noise in the forest made him jump, he had to work hard not to start hearing things in the dark, he had to tell himself to think about today, this moment.



Louis lifted the heavy pair of binoculars from around his neck, catching a brief glimpse of the distance beneath him from the tattered climbing harness that held him fifty feet from the ground against the trunk of the tree. He stared out into the night sky, scanning the pitch blackness that was punctuated with gleaming stars.



It had been five days since they had seen the last Cigar. Despite their size, cigars were easy to miss, moving quickly with absolutely no sound - elongated craft with rows of gleaming lights down each side that changed colour like some sort of graceful sea creature from a pinkish hue into electric blue. Cal had told them that the where there were Cigars, there were settlements or people; they had promised each other that seeing more than one Cigar in a day was time to move.



Louis sighed, knowing he was here for another few hours since Erik had owl-called to check in. Having no way of telling the time for so long, the four of them had come up with the idea of using the fire. Certain amounts of logs burned at vaguely regular times and they calculated a way of burning logs at the mouth of the mine shaft to work out shifts for keeping watch at night. Their body clocks had synchronised as well; they woke and slept at around the same time; became hungry at morning and evening together; it was their way of surviving.



Placing the binoculars back against his chest, Louis tried to remember how long they had been using the mine shaft. The last time he had looked at the notches that Erik carved into a strip of timber that lay, immovable at the entrance of the sleeping area, it had been three months. Louis sighed as it would not be long until they had to leave; the Cigars would begin appearing; hanging like great metal whales in the night sky, casting their nightmarish lights across the ground; then they'd have to run.



* * *



Jess was not quite asleep; the snoring form of Erik beside her had stifled her imagination from turning the dripping from somewhere in the dark of the mine into footsteps, metal feet on stone. Instead, she simply remembered; she knew this was not a good idea, it was like Erik had said, “think only of tomorrow, never further, never backward.”



They were Cal's words though, they both knew that; Cal had been the one who had told them how to do this, how they would survive; mental discipline.



“Humans are pack animals, we're scared of the dark. Cal had told them, “Back in the cities I saw people lose it. When the Cigars started coming, they wouldn't leave.”



The four of them; Jess, Erik, Louis and Cal had been sitting in the cellar of what had been either a pub or some sort of farm house, but was now a blackened skeleton of scorched wood and stone. They didn't know each other then; their faces were unfamiliar; just wide, scared eyes that reflected the flickering light of the candle that drew long shadows from the dark, cobwebbed corners. They had been there, down in the dark for several hours, trembling with every explosion from above, that shook dust from every corner of the cellar. They had only begun to speak, when there was quiet.



Cal's eyes had shone as he talked, trails of tears running into his beard.



“I saw people running into the streets, screaming into the sky, waving fucking kitchen knives!” He had smiled through the grief, shaking his head as if it had been a dream.



“That's when they send down the drones....” Cal had trailed off. He didn't need to go on.



Jess tried not to think of the ball of white light that had plummeted from the sky and hurtled through the village, wreathed in a freezing orange flame. Her eardrums still felt tender from the unbearable thrumming drone it emitted as it swooped at the ground like some silent bird of prey.



“I've seen them before.” Erik had spoken up from the corner of the cellar; his voice grim, “Two drones came down at Hazelthorpe.”



He came forward, into the light. Erik, like Cal was bearded and his eyes held a haunted quality that was unnerving for someone so young. There was a gasp around the cellar at the mention of Hazelthorpe. It was like someone saying they were working at the world trade centre in the US, all those years ago.



“People were trying to leave in their cars.” Erik continued, “There's only one road and it was backed up.” He fumbled in his pocket and lit a cigarette, with shaking hands. “The Cigars had been sighted nearly every day, but no one knew what to do.”



The four of them were suddenly quiet as a muffled explosion from somewhere far away reverberated slightly in the air.



“I had packed, I was leaving, I wasn't taking any chances.” Erik took a long drag on his cigarette. “Those things came out of nowhere; suddenly, there they were, just above the cathedral, two of the bastards.”



Jess was staring at Erik, both hands over her mouth. Cal was nodding, his eyes closed. Louis hadn't spoken at all, he was hunched in the other corner of the cellar, hugging his knees.



“I felt like my eardrums were about to burst inside my head...there was this crackling, like a loudhailer, you know, and a voice, but it was far too loud and all the words were...wrong...all mixed up.”



Now tears began to silently pour down Erik's cheeks; his tone did not change, nor did his expression.



“All the cars just....stopped, all the engines they just...were silent...”



Shocked quiet again in the cellar, they all knew what had happened at Hazelthorpe; the whole village, incinerated, nothing left but dust.



Jess opened her eyes, Erik was a coiled lump beside her, the silence and still of the mineshaft was now something of a comfort as she forced her brain to stop trawling through recent memory. Neither Erik, Louis nor herself had mentioned how long it had been since Cal had disappeared. They all had to stay strong, keeping watch and hoping he returned before the lights in the sky began to gather.

Fiction: Teeth by Carrie Stemrich

Valina plucked her teeth from her gums like they were forget-me-not petals held with an acute magnetic force. Once she got a rhythm going, she was surprised at the ease of removal. It had begun with a few loose baby teeth still intact, but evolved into a bigger project. She had struggled more with the first molar she came to, but she was not sure if it was because her fingers and the pliers were slick with blood. She had clenched the handle of the pliers until she heard the sudden sucking snap of her tooth. This soothing sound came with a relief, like after a good stretch.



She wiggled the last tooth free and placed it on the rectangular silver dish on the bathroom sink counter next to her other teeth. She thought the way they had arranged would look nice strung around her neck. She looked at the mirror on the wall in front of her to imagine what it would look like. She shook her head to move her long black bangs from her line of vision. Then she noticed the blood that had appeared on her ivory shirt in droplets and streaks that began as angry tears before slowing to a quiet trickle. She had been so focused on her task that she had not been careful to protect the shirt. Her foster mother had bought it for her to wear on her first day in her new school. Still, Valina thought the shirt looked a little more interesting this way.



It wasn’t that she was unable to hear her foster mother as she pounded on the bathroom door, or her older brother as he shouted her name. It was that she had no real desire to respond. She had stuffed gum in the keyhole for a reason. She picked up her foster mother’s make-up mirror and examined her magnified gums. She ran her tongue over the gaps, which released fresh trickles of blood. She let the blood fill in her mouth. She appreciated how the blood on her chin was smeared as if she had been messy while eating chocolate. She spit blood in the sink, the splatter resembling of a flock of mangled birds as they expanded their bloodied wings.



A loud clatter behind her shocked her to inhale a wheezy breath. She lifted her head and saw the copper doorknob on the ground as it skidded a bit on the linoleum.



Through her thick bangs, she watched her brother at the door as he waved his arms in frenzy, a screwdriver in one hand. He looked blurry, as though a pane of frosted glass separated them. He shouted something about how this time was the very last time, and if she didn’t bleed to death how they were going to be sent to different homes for sure. Her foster mother, Mrs. Cobal, however, looked terrified, dark smudges under her eyes from her smeared makeup.



Valina thought she heard a tooth fall, and she spun back around to see her final tooth slide just under the drain stopper. She fumbled her fingers to retrieve it, but just when she thought she had a grip, she felt her head jerk back.



Valina saw her foster mother’s reflection as she gripped Valina’s elastic hair band. Ignoring Valina’s protests, she thought Mrs. Cobal looked very much like her real mother had the night she smacked Valina’s back with a kitchen dining set chair.



Her foster mother sputtered words not bridged with intelligible thoughts, and pulled Valina by the hair to her chest. Valina said nothing as her foster mother loosened her grip and instead cradled Valina’s head. She rocked Valina as she controlled her tears.



With one ear pressed to her foster mother’s chest and one ear dulled by the excitement of her jounced jaw, Valina thought the room sounded like things did when she swam underwater. Her pronounced heartbeat seemed slower, longer and louder than usual, and she closed her eyes. She felt warm everywhere. Safe.



As if she just noticed the blood that streamed from Valina’s mouth, Mrs. Cobal stuffed cotton balls where Valina’s teeth should be until her mouth was full. Her brother had a phone to his ear and explained into the receiver about how his sister suffered from a disease where she can’t feel pain. Right, congenital insensitivity to pain. Yes, it is very rare. Of course she really was born with it, and could they send someone right away to stop the bleeding?



Her foster mother said through her racked sobs, “so much blood for such a small mouth” as she pulled out a wad of crimson cotton that dripped glistening strands of saliva down her chin. Fresh cotton balls were pushed with force through her pursed lips. Valina coughed, the scratchy material irritating her throat. She grinned through the sticky, wet wads of cotton, her head light and fuzzy. When she closed her eyes, she could see the fizz like in a glass of cola popping as it rushed up to the top.



Valina felt like she could lift from the floor, part ways from these people, and mingle with the clouds and, before long, the stars. She had never felt quite so light, in fact, though she came close when she would hold her breath until someone would make her breathe again. It was as if before her teeth had just weighed her down, and maybe now that they were in a pretty pile on the bathroom counter, she could be free.



Valina felt pinpricks on her face as if she had been slapped there. She realized it had gotten dark only after she opened her eyes. “Stay awake, Valina. Oh, please stay with us until the ambulance comes,” Mrs. Cobal’s voice was clear.



Valina did not want the ambulance. The ambulance meant she would be hooked up to machines and covered with bandages that she never wanted. It meant that everyone would cry because Valina had gone and hurt herself again and why would she want to do that? Why did she let the neighbor boy run over her fingers with his bike? Why did she take off all her clothes and lay in the snow? Why would she jump off a tree branch up so high onto a fallen beehive? Why did she do such nasty, damaging things to herself when, she very well knew, she had enough problems just forgetting to tell people she bumped into a sharp corner so they could make sure she had not bruised her kidney?



The more she tried to figure pain out, the less she understood what made everyone else hurt. They always stopped her before she could.



She heard her brother speaking to their foster mother now. He said, “Please don’t be mad at her. She doesn’t know any better. I don’t know where she gets these ideas but she’s not a psycho.”



And their foster mother responded, “Oh, honey, I know. I know. I’m not mad. Really, I’m not.” And Valina sunk into the women’s arms a little. Not now. Not right now, she thought. But you will be. After the blood stops and you get the bill from the hospital, you will be. They always are.



Valina knew it would come, but for now, it felt nice. Mrs. Cobal coddled her, said how sorry she was, how sorry she was that she had reacted that way and how she had only been scared. She stroked Valina’s cheek and smoothed her hair. She didn’t even seem to care about getting blood all over her work blouse.



Valina listened a little longer as her brother made apologies for her, and then, they spoke about her as if she was not there, as if she could not understand them. She waited until they were busy with conversation, then she wriggled fast out of her foster mother’s grasp and she scooped up the tray that contained her teeth. She made a few fake-outs at her brother, who blocked her at the door. The teeth rattled as she ducked under her brother’s legs and one tooth fell to the tiled floor with a satisfying clink as she tugged her foot free from the clasp of his thighs.



She thudded around the corner in the hallway, heavy with fatigue, her brother close behind. She held one hand over the tray, which she huddled close to her as if it was an infant’s head. She hardly felt like herself as she was tackled to the ground, like she was not in her body. She watched as her teeth flew through the air like shards of a shattered red teacup, and last heard a sharp crack as her chin made contact with the thin beige carpet.



***



Valina was in her bed with no memory of how she got there. She could only keep her eyes open for moments at a time before she stole into sleep, it seemed. She recalled flashes of her foster parents, paying her no mind as they argued. She remembered “concussion” and “hemorrhaging,” words as familiar to her as “Sweet Sixteen Dolls” were to other girls her age.



She woke this time feeling like a bear out of its cave for spring, aware of her brother in the corner of their room, playing a soundless video game aside from the clicks of the plastic buttons on the controller. She pushed her tongue up, finding teeth. She furrowed her eyebrows. Her tongue fell into a few welcome gaps, the rough surface of new teeth poking through her gums. A trace of metallic clung to her taste buds as she frowned. Baby teeth. The rest had been re-secured. All that effort for squat.



She shifted, and the coil of the bottom bunk bed mattress creaked. Kevin turned around and got up, not bothering to pause the game, and sat on the edge of the bed beside Valina. The look of worry that she saw more often than not creased his face. He took his hat off, brushed at it, and placed it back on his head. “Feel okay?”



Valina closed her eyes, and Kevin continued. “Sure you do. Hey, I know you’re mad at me. I get that. But I hate seeing you like this, and if you would just listen to me in the first place - I mean, you’re old enough to cut this out and be careful. I mean really. Can you just behave so you can survive and we can both stay here? I’m starting to make friends here, and I like the Cobals.”



She opened her eyes to her brother’s I-know-better-than-you expression. She coughed, and swallowed hard to soothe her throat dry. She nodded for his appeasement, and he hugged her around the neck. “And if you stop being so weird, you’ll be able to make friends, too.”



Valina thought about Gladys, the oldest girl at their last foster home. Gladys was the closest thing to a friend, other than her brother, that Valina had. But Kevin wouldn’t let them talk. “She beats you up!” Kevin yelled at her one day. “If she was your friend, she wouldn’t do that.” Valina thought Kevin was being dumb. He said the same things about their mother. It’s not like she could feel the pain.



Kevin ended the hug and sat up. “I worry about you. So much.”



Valina wished she still had that ivory shirt with the bloodstains on it. Her foster mother might have taken it to wash. She looked at her brother while she used her thumb and index finger to try to move a bottom tooth. It was in there to stay. Her tongue ran over the teeth again. They felt like they didn’t belong in there more now than ever. Her tongue passed over a gap she was sure had housed an adult tooth.



Valina waited until Kevin’s breathing changed slow and deep before edging out of bed later that evening. It was just like it had been last year, when her parents were still alive, when she would pretend to be a secret spy on an even more secret mission. She imagined she had been recruited by an agency who knew that if she was ever caught and tortured, she would never give up any valuable information.



Her book light clutched in her newly-grafted teeth, she flattened herself against the wall as she slid down the hall. She scanned the hall for her renegade tooth with fastidiousness. She found spots of blood where she had fallen earlier, but there was no sign of her tooth.



As she flipped the bathroom light switch and saw the faucet, she had a vague recollection of one tooth slipping into the sink. It seemed so long ago now. She looked to see if it was there, but saw nothing near the drain. There was a chance it had fallen in. She removed everything from under the sink, careful not to raise the noise above the drip of the faucet. Her eyes fell on the rusty wrench atop the tattered blue towel she had pulled from under the sink. She picked it up and clamped the pipe, and remembered to jiggle it first the way her father had showed her to make sure it would not slip. That had been the same day she had branded her own stomach with the imprint of an iron. It had tingled in that nice way where if she closed her eyes, she imagined it was like fairy dust settling on her skin.



She liked to run her fingers over the raised skin the imprint made, even better than an ink stamp. She thought it was an even cooler tattoo than her uncle Leroy’s battleship. Her scars were interesting that way. The grooves in her hands where she chewed them, the various stitched and healed cuts on her legs, the bump where her nose crooked from breaking it twice.



She didn’t tell her father what she had done that day, but her mother would find out later when she did a body check. Her mother only used to shake her then, shake her and shout about how bad it made her look as a mother. Kevin said she only said that because she was a bad mother. But Valina didn’t know why Kevin thought so. She had always been nice to Kevin.



In fact, as Valina put all of her might into loosening the nut on the drainpipe, her earliest memory came to mind. Her brother’s red scrunched-up face, plastered with tears, a bruise already surfacing on his forehead. Her mother had scooped him up and kissed him over and over. She sputtered “it’s okay, you’re fine, you’re going to be okay,” and they disappeared together into the kitchen. Valina then made her own way to the top of the stairs. With the bravery of a three-and-a-half year old, she fell forward. Twelve wooden stairs later, she lay on the floor, her tiny limbs twisted to the point where she could not move. She had waited for the tears, for the noise to erupt from her throat, and stared at the kitchen door for her mother to appear. She remembered that door so well; the pale grainy wood etched with pale yellow, a gouge in the corner shaped like an upside-down heart.



After some time, the nut moved and the wrench slipped. It made a sound much louder than a secret spy should ever make when it clattered to the cabinet floor. She pretended her father was behind her, telling her to hush, that he heard footsteps. She held statue-still, pulse pounding.



She decided to continue after a few minutes of only hearing her own breathing. She freed the nut, and a bit of water gurgled from the seal. More trickled out as she separated the curved drain pipe and tipped it to its side. Water cascaded out, and her missing tooth came along for the ride. She snatched it up and held it to the light. It had no trace of blood. She almost dropped it when a gentle knock on the door surprised her.



“Valina? You okay in there?” she heard the voice of Mrs. Cobal.



Valina fumbled the tooth, then tucked it in her sock cuff. She grabbed the pipe and stashed it under the sink and closed the doors on the cabinet as quiet as she could. She swept her foot over the water in an attempt to wipe it up with her sock. She scuttled to the toilet and flushed it. She opened the door and tried to move past Mrs. Cobal. Mrs. Cobal stood in Valina’s way. Valina did not look at Mrs. Cobal as she placed the back of her hand on Valina’s forehead. “You feel okay.” Valina looked at the woman, whose eyes looked much softer when they weren’t painted with black goopy makeup. Valina nodded, and looked away.



“I know I scared you before, and I’m sorry. Do you forgive me?”



Valina nodded again. Mrs. Cobal continued. “Good. I want to show you something.”



Mrs. Cobal took Valina’s hand and led her down the stairs. She took her into the living room, and Valina thought it smelled different there at night. Less like the strong cinnamon candle that burned during the day, and more like freshly washed linen. Mrs. Cobal let go of Valina’s hand as she opened a cupboard above the television set and brought down a shoebox. She sat with Valina on the couch and lifted the lid. She took out some photographs and sifted through them. She found one she seemed to be looking for and held it up to Valina.



In the picture was a young girl wearing a full body brace. The grinning girl looked like a metal robot puppet. She stood next to a tall man in a tuxedo with a large head and full beard, his arm around as much of her body as he could reach.



Mrs. Cobol said, “That’s me. I was a little older than you, maybe eleven or twelve. The man next to me is a famous concert cellist. He was my hero when I was growing up. I listed to every record he ever made. Anyway, he was coming to play a concert near me, but it was in a big city and my mother would not let me go because it would be too expensive. I was devastated. Then I heard about a contest on the radio. They were giving away tickets to the concert, as well as transportation to the show and food and everything. But the catch was, you had to be disabled in some way to win the tickets.



“I was determined to win those tickets. I decided that I would become crippled to win those tickets. I tried a lot of things. I tried to burn my hands because it seemed easy, but I got too scared. I decided to go down stairs on my sister’s skateboard, and that did the trick.”



Valina’s eyes grew with interest.



“Now, I know you don’t know what it feels like to be in a lot of pain. But it was so – I don’t know, so freeing, in a way. Everything hurt all at once, it hurt so much that it almost didn’t hurt at all.”



Mrs. Cobal looked away from Valina then. “I couldn’t breathe, but because I couldn’t, I fell into this space, this wonderful space where I wasn’t in my own body. I could see myself, stretched in a tangle on the floor, and I knew I would not only be okay, but I would be better. My body would make all new cells, repair all the broken bits, and with each repair I would be that much stronger, that much smarter.”



There were a few beats of silence before Mrs. Cobal turned to Valina. “Oh my, I’m sorry dear, I’m sure that made no sense to you. Boy, I forgot about that. I forgot about how important that was to me. I won that contest,” she shook the picture, “but I was even more glad that I had been able to see what it was like to be so broken. And I couldn’t tell anyone about that. I knew I would sound crazy, and people wouldn’t understand. So I guess I wanted to share this with you so you believe me when I tell you I’m not upset with you.”



I think you and I are a little bit alike, maybe more than you think. Maybe you want to feel pain because you are searching for something. But I want to let you know, you are special. You don’t need pain show you what really matters. Everyone is always telling you how to behave, aren’t they?”



Valina nodded. “Yes, and they tell me I’ll die if I don’t stop. They say a lot of other kids with this disease die a lot sooner than me, so I’m lucky and shouldn’t take it for granted.”



Mrs. Cobal looked almost surprised at Valina’s response. Valina was used to surprised looks when she spoke because she didn’t say much. Mrs. Cobal said, “Yes, that’s what they told me, too. So why do you take it for granted?”



Valina shifted a bit in her seat. “Because the other kids aren’t me.”



“Do you think you won’t die?”



“No. I know I could. But it won’t hurt to die.”



Mrs. Cobal’s eyes bleared. “But once you die, you’re gone. And you leave behind people who will be sad.”



“Yeah, I know. I’m sad my parents are gone. I miss them. Even my mom, and I know I’m not supposed to miss her because everyone says she was rotten to me.”



“Oh, I think you’re always allowed to miss your mother, even if she wasn’t the greatest.”



Valina shrugged. “I guess.” She paused before continuing. “Some kids like watching tv. I like watching what happens to my body when I do things to it. My dad understood. He didn’t like it, because he said it was a dangerous hobby, but he said I had a healthy curiosity. He’s the only one who didn’t make me feel like I was always sick.”



Mrs. Cobal reached over then and hugged Valina around her shoulders, the photograph still in her hand. “I’m sorry your parents are gone. I’m sorry everyone makes you feel sick. I’ll try my best not to.”



“It’s okay, I’m used to it. People are concerned. I’m different, so why should I be treated like I’m not?”



“Because your dad was right. You do have a healthy curiosity. That’s not so different from other people. I’m a lawyer now because I was curious why the law was set up the way it is in the first place. Millions of people become scientists because they want to know how things work. I think it’s very natural.”



Valina smiled. “My dad used to say I’d make an excellent doctor.”



“You could be. But only if you survive long enough to make it there.”



Valina bent over and fished in her sock. She retrieved her found tooth and held it up to Mrs. Cobal. Puzzled, she held her palm open as Valina offered the tooth to her. Valina placed the tooth into Mrs. Cobal’s palm and closed her foster mother’s fingers around it.



***



Valina woke the next morning, flashes of her dreams invading her mind. She had used a knife to cut into her arm until she reached the bone, and had used a nail gun to staple her clothes to herself. She checked her body to make sure they had only been dreams, and sighed when she found no lacerations. Her father once told her that in dreams, no one felt pain. She liked that.



She sat up on the edge of her bed to find Kevin standing at the dresser, examining something. Valina joined him and watched as he rotated her tooth between his fingers. He said, “We were looking for this. Did you have it the whole time?”



Valina shook her head. “I gave it to Mrs. Cobal. I guess she gave it back.” She took the tooth from him and pressed the root into the underside of her arm. She resisted the urge to push it harder. She rolled the tooth to her hand, cupped it, and looked at her brother.



“Help me find some string,” she said, “so I can make it into a necklace.”