Read Online My Mother She Killed Me, My Father He Ate Me by KATE BERNHEIMER - Free Book Online
Authors: KATE BERNHEIMER
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blood after she pulled herself free.
For what seemed like hours, Marlene dutifully struggled with the hard earth and the shovel. She feared that when the sun came up the hole would still be no bigger than a shoe box and she’d have no place to hide Brother’s thawed parts. When the fluttering sound began, she dismissed it at first; it was buzzing and internal, like an insect too close to her ears. Then all the berries fell from the juniper tree at once.
Marlene’s breath left her lungs as she eyed the now-covered ground around her—a blanket of berries inches thick. “I’ll be caught for sure.” She panicked, and her panic only grew as the berries began to shake and toss on the ground like roasting coffee beans, then cleared to reveal a soft gray circle in their center. Curious, Marlene reached over the berries and placed her hand onto its surface. “Ash,” she gasped, but wouldn’t say aloud what she was thinking: cremated human remains .
The fluttering sound loudened and the berries began to organize themselves like ants. They surrounded the pile of garbage bags, lifting them onto their backs and rolling them into the ash like an assembly line, the bags sinking down into its powder with the ease of rocks into a lake. When all the bags were gone, the berries formed a single line. They drained down into the ash like marbles. Finally a bird dived down from the tree and soundlessly followed the last berry into the ash.
Marlene was very tempted to jump inside and escape as well. But as she approached the gray surface she cried out in disappointment; the ground had set like a thick pudding, hardened into soil before her very eyes.
The next morning Marlene awoke to the horrible sensation of being watched. A thin stream of urine began to warm under her bottom.
“No one would ever have found him in the basement, frozen and quiet in little pieces,” Mother whispered. She was seated on the edge of Marlene’s bed, inching closer to her daughter’s face. “But where is he now?” The grayish-black pockets beneath her eyes seemed full of tiny dark stones.
Her hands gripped Marlene’s cheeks, their fingernails digging into Marlene’s skin even through the rubber of the gloves. For a moment Mother stared into her eyes, searching, then she gave a full smile and left. Marlene watched the indention Mother had left on the bed raise up and fill, but she did not move until she heard the faraway wail of the vacuum begin to heave in heavy sucks.
In tears, Marlene ran into Brother’s room. When she looked at his shirts hanging up in the closet, she felt the same affection for their cloth as for his skin. She buried her face in them, ran to his bed and ruffled his sheets, begged him to appear, appear. She did notice his guitar was missing. Had Mother cut it up as well?
Winter came and Father seemed to retreat into his woolly skin. He never pressed for further answers about where Brother was staying, but he often wished aloud for his son’s return.
After dinner, as Mother and Marlene sat by the fire, it became common for Father to excuse himself and take his pipe outdoors. All the while he would stare at the juniper tree, whose branches were growing new berries despite the cold.
Mother peeked out the curtains and watched his every move. “How I think I’ll take the ax to that tree,” she’d remark, “so that Father might stay with us by the fire.” Whenever she passed a window that looked out upon the tree, Mother made an upside-down cross with her gloved fingers and extended it toward the glass.
One night, right before she fell asleep, Marlene rolled over to find a feather on her pillow. The moment she touched it a deep dream began.
At first she saw nothing, and when she was able to see she realized the eyes were not her own but the eyes of a bird. She looked through them like two holes of a mask, the bird’s long beak jutting up into her line of vision.
Underground, in a hollow space made of earth, she
For what seemed like hours, Marlene dutifully struggled with the hard earth and the shovel. She feared that when the sun came up the hole would still be no bigger than a shoe box and she’d have no place to hide Brother’s thawed parts. When the fluttering sound began, she dismissed it at first; it was buzzing and internal, like an insect too close to her ears. Then all the berries fell from the juniper tree at once.
Marlene’s breath left her lungs as she eyed the now-covered ground around her—a blanket of berries inches thick. “I’ll be caught for sure.” She panicked, and her panic only grew as the berries began to shake and toss on the ground like roasting coffee beans, then cleared to reveal a soft gray circle in their center. Curious, Marlene reached over the berries and placed her hand onto its surface. “Ash,” she gasped, but wouldn’t say aloud what she was thinking: cremated human remains .
The fluttering sound loudened and the berries began to organize themselves like ants. They surrounded the pile of garbage bags, lifting them onto their backs and rolling them into the ash like an assembly line, the bags sinking down into its powder with the ease of rocks into a lake. When all the bags were gone, the berries formed a single line. They drained down into the ash like marbles. Finally a bird dived down from the tree and soundlessly followed the last berry into the ash.
Marlene was very tempted to jump inside and escape as well. But as she approached the gray surface she cried out in disappointment; the ground had set like a thick pudding, hardened into soil before her very eyes.
The next morning Marlene awoke to the horrible sensation of being watched. A thin stream of urine began to warm under her bottom.
“No one would ever have found him in the basement, frozen and quiet in little pieces,” Mother whispered. She was seated on the edge of Marlene’s bed, inching closer to her daughter’s face. “But where is he now?” The grayish-black pockets beneath her eyes seemed full of tiny dark stones.
Her hands gripped Marlene’s cheeks, their fingernails digging into Marlene’s skin even through the rubber of the gloves. For a moment Mother stared into her eyes, searching, then she gave a full smile and left. Marlene watched the indention Mother had left on the bed raise up and fill, but she did not move until she heard the faraway wail of the vacuum begin to heave in heavy sucks.
In tears, Marlene ran into Brother’s room. When she looked at his shirts hanging up in the closet, she felt the same affection for their cloth as for his skin. She buried her face in them, ran to his bed and ruffled his sheets, begged him to appear, appear. She did notice his guitar was missing. Had Mother cut it up as well?
Winter came and Father seemed to retreat into his woolly skin. He never pressed for further answers about where Brother was staying, but he often wished aloud for his son’s return.
After dinner, as Mother and Marlene sat by the fire, it became common for Father to excuse himself and take his pipe outdoors. All the while he would stare at the juniper tree, whose branches were growing new berries despite the cold.
Mother peeked out the curtains and watched his every move. “How I think I’ll take the ax to that tree,” she’d remark, “so that Father might stay with us by the fire.” Whenever she passed a window that looked out upon the tree, Mother made an upside-down cross with her gloved fingers and extended it toward the glass.
One night, right before she fell asleep, Marlene rolled over to find a feather on her pillow. The moment she touched it a deep dream began.
At first she saw nothing, and when she was able to see she realized the eyes were not her own but the eyes of a bird. She looked through them like two holes of a mask, the bird’s long beak jutting up into her line of vision.
Underground, in a hollow space made of earth, she
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