Read Online The Last Summer of the Camperdowns by Elizabeth Kelly - Free Book Online
Authors: Elizabeth Kelly
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tall stacks of hay. “I found her running up and down the aisle in here.” He spoke calmly, though I could detect a note of stern inquiry in his voice. ”How long have you been here?”
My mouth was so dry I would have had more success building a sandcastle than formulating a response.
“Not long?”
I shook my head.
“I see.” He reached out and touched my hair. It was warm in the barn, but I began to shiver.
“You have straw in your hair,” Gula said, removing a long yellow stalk and rolling it between his forefinger and his middle finger before casually putting it between his lips, teeth holding it in place as he began to chew. I looked down at the ground.
Vera came around the corner carrying something in her mouth. A shoe.
“Where did you get that? You bad puppy.” Gula reached down and grabbed Vera by the scruff of her neck, causing her to cringe. He took the shoe from her, started to stand back up and then in one fast swooping motion reached back down and slapped her across the muzzle, sending her rolling across the aisle of the stable. “That’s what happens to bad pups,” he said.
She yelped, and for a moment the blinds went down and I could not see.
“It looks like something Gin would wear, don’t you think?” Gula held up the shoe, a topsider, brown leather, expensive but frayed, and he laughed without laughing as he turned it over in his hands and then set it down on a window ledge.
His reptilian languor, the torpid absence of any overt aggressiveness, was more disturbing than if he had dragged me off by the hair. Gula and I had entered into a kind of listless war, and his lack of specific animation was disconcerting. I had an idea of how villains should behave, and he wasn’t playing along with my expectations. It’s terrifying to find yourself dealing with someone who hasn’t read the handbook.
He took up a spot in front of the tack room. Leaning his head back against the closed door—which, in my mind, had assumed the malignant proportions of the Berlin Wall—he closed his eyes as I struggled to remain upright, the force of his secret thoughts threatening to knock me down.
“So,” he said, using his foot to open the door a crack wider. “Do you want to come in? See my secret project? I’m working on something special. Are you interested?” Speaking in that quiet unperturbed way of his, he might have been folding laundry. The low haunting register of his voice had a kind of depraved elegance.
“I have to go home,” I said, finally finding my voice, each word scraping against the cloistered air.
“Where is your spirit of adventure? Home is highly overrated.”
“I guess.” Shuffling backward, I made a stumbling movement toward the door when I felt his hands on my shoulders, his fingernails digging into my flesh with an intensity that went right to bone. I caught my breath—I knew what it meant to be a rabbit snatched from the long grass by a raptor. Jerked skyward, my feet left the ground and as he lifted me higher I felt certain that he was going to throw me into the tack room where I would shatter into a million tiny pieces.
“Are you sure?” he teased, lowering me back down to the ground. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what’s behind the door?”
I had never been less curious about anything in my life. I turned my back to him and started walking.
“Wait!”
I willed myself to turn around.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Gula had Vera tucked into the crook of his elbow. His gaze locked on mine, he shoved the puppy rudely into my arms, her long ears flattening against the velvet dome of her skull in sweet submission. She licked his fingers in misguided appeal, the tip of her tail fluttering.
Holding Vera tight against my chest, I turned around and walked slowly toward the stable door. I was remembering something I once read and kept repeating it as if it were a prayer: I want to live for another thousand years. I don’t know if it’s
My mouth was so dry I would have had more success building a sandcastle than formulating a response.
“Not long?”
I shook my head.
“I see.” He reached out and touched my hair. It was warm in the barn, but I began to shiver.
“You have straw in your hair,” Gula said, removing a long yellow stalk and rolling it between his forefinger and his middle finger before casually putting it between his lips, teeth holding it in place as he began to chew. I looked down at the ground.
Vera came around the corner carrying something in her mouth. A shoe.
“Where did you get that? You bad puppy.” Gula reached down and grabbed Vera by the scruff of her neck, causing her to cringe. He took the shoe from her, started to stand back up and then in one fast swooping motion reached back down and slapped her across the muzzle, sending her rolling across the aisle of the stable. “That’s what happens to bad pups,” he said.
She yelped, and for a moment the blinds went down and I could not see.
“It looks like something Gin would wear, don’t you think?” Gula held up the shoe, a topsider, brown leather, expensive but frayed, and he laughed without laughing as he turned it over in his hands and then set it down on a window ledge.
His reptilian languor, the torpid absence of any overt aggressiveness, was more disturbing than if he had dragged me off by the hair. Gula and I had entered into a kind of listless war, and his lack of specific animation was disconcerting. I had an idea of how villains should behave, and he wasn’t playing along with my expectations. It’s terrifying to find yourself dealing with someone who hasn’t read the handbook.
He took up a spot in front of the tack room. Leaning his head back against the closed door—which, in my mind, had assumed the malignant proportions of the Berlin Wall—he closed his eyes as I struggled to remain upright, the force of his secret thoughts threatening to knock me down.
“So,” he said, using his foot to open the door a crack wider. “Do you want to come in? See my secret project? I’m working on something special. Are you interested?” Speaking in that quiet unperturbed way of his, he might have been folding laundry. The low haunting register of his voice had a kind of depraved elegance.
“I have to go home,” I said, finally finding my voice, each word scraping against the cloistered air.
“Where is your spirit of adventure? Home is highly overrated.”
“I guess.” Shuffling backward, I made a stumbling movement toward the door when I felt his hands on my shoulders, his fingernails digging into my flesh with an intensity that went right to bone. I caught my breath—I knew what it meant to be a rabbit snatched from the long grass by a raptor. Jerked skyward, my feet left the ground and as he lifted me higher I felt certain that he was going to throw me into the tack room where I would shatter into a million tiny pieces.
“Are you sure?” he teased, lowering me back down to the ground. “Aren’t you the least bit curious about what’s behind the door?”
I had never been less curious about anything in my life. I turned my back to him and started walking.
“Wait!”
I willed myself to turn around.
“Aren’t you forgetting something?” Gula had Vera tucked into the crook of his elbow. His gaze locked on mine, he shoved the puppy rudely into my arms, her long ears flattening against the velvet dome of her skull in sweet submission. She licked his fingers in misguided appeal, the tip of her tail fluttering.
Holding Vera tight against my chest, I turned around and walked slowly toward the stable door. I was remembering something I once read and kept repeating it as if it were a prayer: I want to live for another thousand years. I don’t know if it’s
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