Read Online The Incident Report by Martha Baillie - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Martha Baillie
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know.â
And the stepmother chops up the boy and cooks him in a stew. She sets the table, and calls in herunsuspecting husband. When he asks why his son has not come to dinner, she explains that sheâs sent the boy on an errand to a neighbouring village.
The father declares that the stew is delicious and requests a second helping. The little girl, weeping for her brother, crawls under the table where she gathers her brotherâs bones in her handkerchief.
Outside the house, the little girl buries the bones, and out of the ground springs a tree, and in the treeâs branches a bird alights and sings. This bird, eventually, will bring about the death of the stepmother, who will sink into the ground from which the boy will rise and come back to life.
I wondered if the story was suitable to read to the adolescents I was preparing to visit at Covenant House, a shelter for teenagers living on the streets, runaways from their parents and perhaps themselves. I suspected they might relate to the violence and treachery in âThe Juniper Tree.â It was a story that stared without wincing at human connivance. The stepmotherâs horrible jealousy, her starkly exposed, calculating cruelty released an undeniable and fearsome energy. And the little girlâs love and innocence felt instinctive, not sentimental.
I looked up from my reading. The unconjugated afternoon unfolded.
INCIDENT REPORT 69
This afternoon, at precisely 2:25, a male patron in his early twenties began weeping uncontrollably. I approached him where he sat, at computer #507, and asked if he was all right.
âNo,â he shouted at me. âIâm in love and Iâm dying. I need my mom. Can someone take me home?â
Tears ran down his cheeks and he attempted to dry his eyes with the back of his hand. The police were called. They were summoned by Nila Narayan. They arrived swiftly and took the man awayâto a hospital, they promised.
INCIDENT REPORT 70
The time was 6:00 AM when Janko woke me to tell me about my ears.
âDid you know, Darkest Miriam, that one of your ears is larger than the other?â
âYou woke me for this? Itâs not. I would have noticed.â
âOh, yes. This left ear, it grew during the night.â
My hand went wandering. First it found Jankoâs knee, then his navel. âDid you know that you have only one navel, and cannot grow another?â I asked.
While I waited for his answer, my hand moved very slowly, and through my palm I could feel the heat of everything growing inside him.
INCIDENT REPORT 71
While I was shelf-reading from M to Z, in adult fiction, to see if all the books were in their proper places, a man passed behind me three or four times. With each passing his coat brushed against me. I dismissed these fleeting moments of contact, and concentrated upon my task.
Again the man walked by me, and this time his hand shot out and grabbed my breast. The time was 11:15 AM . I yelled. What I yelled does not matter, nor do I recall what I yelled. The man walked quickly on. He left the library, taking his hands with him. I filled out an incident report.
INCIDENT REPORT 72
At 2:48 PM , on a table in the childrenâs area, I found a letter written in navy-blue pencil on a piece of scrap paper, in a familiar insistent hand.
         To you who dared to touch her breast,
               Do you think I see nothing? Not one of your actions escapes me. Ah, vile scoundrel! Even weaponless this hand will soon be bathed in your blood, you silly fucker; a man has nothing more to fear on earth, if he defends his childrenâs honour. Ah, youâre all against me! All against me! Well then, Iâll weep. Youâre silent! Woe is me! Give me back my daughter; sheâs everything in the world to me! Have pity, have pity, sir, have pity. Ah, vile shit. But you shall be avenged, Gilda. Oh, my Gilda of
And the stepmother chops up the boy and cooks him in a stew. She sets the table, and calls in herunsuspecting husband. When he asks why his son has not come to dinner, she explains that sheâs sent the boy on an errand to a neighbouring village.
The father declares that the stew is delicious and requests a second helping. The little girl, weeping for her brother, crawls under the table where she gathers her brotherâs bones in her handkerchief.
Outside the house, the little girl buries the bones, and out of the ground springs a tree, and in the treeâs branches a bird alights and sings. This bird, eventually, will bring about the death of the stepmother, who will sink into the ground from which the boy will rise and come back to life.
I wondered if the story was suitable to read to the adolescents I was preparing to visit at Covenant House, a shelter for teenagers living on the streets, runaways from their parents and perhaps themselves. I suspected they might relate to the violence and treachery in âThe Juniper Tree.â It was a story that stared without wincing at human connivance. The stepmotherâs horrible jealousy, her starkly exposed, calculating cruelty released an undeniable and fearsome energy. And the little girlâs love and innocence felt instinctive, not sentimental.
I looked up from my reading. The unconjugated afternoon unfolded.
INCIDENT REPORT 69
This afternoon, at precisely 2:25, a male patron in his early twenties began weeping uncontrollably. I approached him where he sat, at computer #507, and asked if he was all right.
âNo,â he shouted at me. âIâm in love and Iâm dying. I need my mom. Can someone take me home?â
Tears ran down his cheeks and he attempted to dry his eyes with the back of his hand. The police were called. They were summoned by Nila Narayan. They arrived swiftly and took the man awayâto a hospital, they promised.
INCIDENT REPORT 70
The time was 6:00 AM when Janko woke me to tell me about my ears.
âDid you know, Darkest Miriam, that one of your ears is larger than the other?â
âYou woke me for this? Itâs not. I would have noticed.â
âOh, yes. This left ear, it grew during the night.â
My hand went wandering. First it found Jankoâs knee, then his navel. âDid you know that you have only one navel, and cannot grow another?â I asked.
While I waited for his answer, my hand moved very slowly, and through my palm I could feel the heat of everything growing inside him.
INCIDENT REPORT 71
While I was shelf-reading from M to Z, in adult fiction, to see if all the books were in their proper places, a man passed behind me three or four times. With each passing his coat brushed against me. I dismissed these fleeting moments of contact, and concentrated upon my task.
Again the man walked by me, and this time his hand shot out and grabbed my breast. The time was 11:15 AM . I yelled. What I yelled does not matter, nor do I recall what I yelled. The man walked quickly on. He left the library, taking his hands with him. I filled out an incident report.
INCIDENT REPORT 72
At 2:48 PM , on a table in the childrenâs area, I found a letter written in navy-blue pencil on a piece of scrap paper, in a familiar insistent hand.
         To you who dared to touch her breast,
               Do you think I see nothing? Not one of your actions escapes me. Ah, vile scoundrel! Even weaponless this hand will soon be bathed in your blood, you silly fucker; a man has nothing more to fear on earth, if he defends his childrenâs honour. Ah, youâre all against me! All against me! Well then, Iâll weep. Youâre silent! Woe is me! Give me back my daughter; sheâs everything in the world to me! Have pity, have pity, sir, have pity. Ah, vile shit. But you shall be avenged, Gilda. Oh, my Gilda of
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