Read Online Blackstrap Hawco by Kenneth J. Harvey - Free Book Online Page B

she has seen in rented movies. Nothing of the person. Where she gets it. Where it gets it. All those men. Lying down. She opens her legs. Her breasts too big. Cut them smaller. Tubes tied. Hospitalized self-mutilation. The way she used to do herself. Cut herself. The hospital now. It will do it for her. She has an appointment with the surgeon. Saw him once already. He took pictures from different angles. Drew lines. Showed her how it would happen. Stitches. Nipples moved. The doctor showed her more pictures. Bruised sliced breasts sewn back together. Less of them left. Less of her. Took more pictures of her breasts. Standing there with her shirt off. Her bra off. Open up and show him. The doctor. Soon. Only ten days more before they’re off. Gone. Smaller. Not afraid of them. Men watching them. Always. Smaller. Hide to make her smaller. But not that small. Never that small again. So tiny. Hands rub the thick material. She imagines herself. Surgery. Jeans down along her thighs. Thinking. Following her thoughts. Her gut. Too flabby. Tummy tuck. Cut. Sucked out. Suck. They take her. Slice her. Suck it out. Stitch her up. The men. They make her. Bend her. Pull her. The men.Operate. Suck. She bends her right knee. Raises her bottom. Forces her hand deeper. Internal. A hand inside searching. Lets her left leg drop off the couch. Open wider. You might feel a little pressure. Her face scrunching. Hurting nice. You’re so young. Whose was it? The corner of tears. On her cheeks. Hurt me for being so…My body. Hurt. My body. Hurt it .
    A sound startles her. Quickly she sits up straight. Pulls up her pants. Listens. Caught. Uncertain of a sound. An intruder. The mean excitement in her mind. Colour rising in her cheeks. She waits. Burning in her mouth. Then stands at once. Checks her pants. The closure. The button. A mistake. Caught imagining. No more sound. Not a knock at all. Who’s out there?
    She goes to the porch. Opens the door a crack. The thick woods around her. Lost in them. Trees. Inside. Blackstrap. Where is he? Hoping he will be home soon. The old man next door. She wipes her eyes. Smears make-up. Freshly painted. Looks at her watch. Relieved to see it’s time for another pill. In the bathroom she locks the door. Takes her pill bottle from the drawer. From her cosmetic bag. Uncaps the bottle. She swallows one. Takes a little sip of water. A tiny sip. Tiny. Then takes another. Her face. She waits and stares. In the mirror. She has been crying in the mirror. She has been. That’s her. That’s me. She takes a breath. She has been.
    Fixes her make-up. Fixes it.
    II
    And there he was…gone
    Jacob Hawco stands in his front window. Watches the Christly RCMP car pull into his son’s paved driveway. The vehicle rolls close to the tin garage door. He hears the car door shut. Sees the officer fitting on his foolish hat. Straightening it as he walks toward the long and then shorter flight of concrete stairs. Up to the door. Knuckles rapping. Canadian Mountie with no right here.
    The old man watches. Grinds his teeth. Moves his jaw from side to side. He turns. Has to step around the clutter of old furniture. The tall cast iron floor lamps with lily-shaped glass shades and ornamental bases. Heavy wooden chairs. Tapestry worn threadbare. And old glass-doored oak and mahogany cabinets. He opens the door to the kitchen. Mere embers remain in the woodstove. He decides to leave it that way. Finding the heat to be almost unbearable. His back is troubling him. He lies down on the narrow day bed. Groaning in pain. And then relief. He stares at the window in the wall opposite him. A view of orange and yellow trees. Spotting the clot of evergreens that runs off for miles in all directions. Until the sharp-blue autumn sky stops them. Only the ragged line of their black-green peaks. He thinks of his son. Wonders where he could be. Missing for three days now. Gone where? With who? Or worse? Dead. Mother of mercy! Is