Read Online Digging Out by Katherine Leiner - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Katherine Leiner
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won’t listen to reason, Da?” He is pacing round the kitchen and seems frantic, like Hallie’s kitty gets when we manage to trap him in some corner, the way the kitty turns his head round and round and then back again, looking for some way out, but not finding one.
I miss the old Parry, walking me and Hallie to school every day, having time to do that. He doesn’t tickle me or play hide-and-seek. He doesn’t even smile much anymore, either. Yesterday when I asked him to twirl me, he was stiff.
Right now he’s on about another slag heap that was supposed to have slipped up the Rhondda in the forties.
“You read it killed a child. And more recently, what about that other slide up there? When it slid, the force of it took down the skating rink. What makes anyone think you can pile slag so high near where folks gather, and it’ll be a safe hill of coal trash? Coal slag piled that high is dangerous no matter where it’s piled. Jesus, Da, you can still see the gap ‘tween the buildings on the main road,” Parry says, shaking his head like that might clear everything up. “This isn’t like you. Mam promises you’re a man of reason. So come on now, Da. Show us some reason!”
It’s the same stuff over and over, day in and out, ‘bout the National Coal Board being bandits and Da trusting them over Parry or Auntie Beryl.
Mam stands like always ‘tween Da and Parry. She stretches her hands out on Parry’s shoulders, but he jerks away.
Sometimes the yelling is about whose responsibility ‘tis, Da’s or the coal board’s. Or how Da isn’t listening to Parry, or Parry’s actinglike a bully. Today they are yelling about the man from the coal board who was sent round to check if there was a creekbed beneath the coal tip where the men are piling the slag that’s behind the school. Auntie Beryl says the inspector was a lazy sod for not really doing his job right, or he would have found the dirty spring. She is telling Parry to get the men to strike.
“A strike will put pressure on them, Parry. Talk to them. Most of them are fathers. Tell them they’ve more at stake then just their jobs.” Her eyes glow like two bright flames against her red hair. Auntie Beryl looks as if she is on fire.
But Parry needs no pushing. He’s wanted to strike since first the rumors started that the tip was in danger of collapsing. But Da doesn’t want to go up against the coal board.
“What’s happened to you, man?” Parry says. “What’s happened to the da that used to stick up for what’s what? I want to know where that man has gone. I want to know where my da is.”
“Parry, stop it. Get ahold of yourself,” Mam says. “I might ask you where my sweet boy is. The boy that thought your da could do no wrong. He is only doing his job, protecting his men —who you are now one of, in case you forgot —as well as protecting his family.” Mam looks over at Da. “Right, Da.” Her voice is shaky. “Co back to your painting, Parry. You’d be better off taking that offer from the university. You are happier when you are painting, regular. Leave this fight to your da.”
I think Parry is starting to cry. His eyes are red-rimmed and full of tears. But then I can see that it is rage. Cram comes over and stands next to him, her hand holding back Parry’s arm.
Just then Beti comes in through the kitchen door, not knowing what’s what and unbuttoning her cardigan like it was a normal afternoon with everyone gathered in the kitchen having a cup of tea. She smiles at Auntie Beryl across the room.
“Ta, very much for the Welsh cakes, Cram,” she says, handing Gram the empty plate from out of her tan satchel. “I ate every single one at work.”
My sister is all the way through her schooling. She is the eldest, ten years older than I. Two years older than Parry. She’s never around, hardly, and has no time for me or Hallie when we try to get her attention. She loves Colin. In fact, Beti would live at Colin’s if Mam let
I miss the old Parry, walking me and Hallie to school every day, having time to do that. He doesn’t tickle me or play hide-and-seek. He doesn’t even smile much anymore, either. Yesterday when I asked him to twirl me, he was stiff.
Right now he’s on about another slag heap that was supposed to have slipped up the Rhondda in the forties.
“You read it killed a child. And more recently, what about that other slide up there? When it slid, the force of it took down the skating rink. What makes anyone think you can pile slag so high near where folks gather, and it’ll be a safe hill of coal trash? Coal slag piled that high is dangerous no matter where it’s piled. Jesus, Da, you can still see the gap ‘tween the buildings on the main road,” Parry says, shaking his head like that might clear everything up. “This isn’t like you. Mam promises you’re a man of reason. So come on now, Da. Show us some reason!”
It’s the same stuff over and over, day in and out, ‘bout the National Coal Board being bandits and Da trusting them over Parry or Auntie Beryl.
Mam stands like always ‘tween Da and Parry. She stretches her hands out on Parry’s shoulders, but he jerks away.
Sometimes the yelling is about whose responsibility ‘tis, Da’s or the coal board’s. Or how Da isn’t listening to Parry, or Parry’s actinglike a bully. Today they are yelling about the man from the coal board who was sent round to check if there was a creekbed beneath the coal tip where the men are piling the slag that’s behind the school. Auntie Beryl says the inspector was a lazy sod for not really doing his job right, or he would have found the dirty spring. She is telling Parry to get the men to strike.
“A strike will put pressure on them, Parry. Talk to them. Most of them are fathers. Tell them they’ve more at stake then just their jobs.” Her eyes glow like two bright flames against her red hair. Auntie Beryl looks as if she is on fire.
But Parry needs no pushing. He’s wanted to strike since first the rumors started that the tip was in danger of collapsing. But Da doesn’t want to go up against the coal board.
“What’s happened to you, man?” Parry says. “What’s happened to the da that used to stick up for what’s what? I want to know where that man has gone. I want to know where my da is.”
“Parry, stop it. Get ahold of yourself,” Mam says. “I might ask you where my sweet boy is. The boy that thought your da could do no wrong. He is only doing his job, protecting his men —who you are now one of, in case you forgot —as well as protecting his family.” Mam looks over at Da. “Right, Da.” Her voice is shaky. “Co back to your painting, Parry. You’d be better off taking that offer from the university. You are happier when you are painting, regular. Leave this fight to your da.”
I think Parry is starting to cry. His eyes are red-rimmed and full of tears. But then I can see that it is rage. Cram comes over and stands next to him, her hand holding back Parry’s arm.
Just then Beti comes in through the kitchen door, not knowing what’s what and unbuttoning her cardigan like it was a normal afternoon with everyone gathered in the kitchen having a cup of tea. She smiles at Auntie Beryl across the room.
“Ta, very much for the Welsh cakes, Cram,” she says, handing Gram the empty plate from out of her tan satchel. “I ate every single one at work.”
My sister is all the way through her schooling. She is the eldest, ten years older than I. Two years older than Parry. She’s never around, hardly, and has no time for me or Hallie when we try to get her attention. She loves Colin. In fact, Beti would live at Colin’s if Mam let
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