was like a whale yanking at my shoulder, and I was so surprised that I didn’t even notice the gun had bounced up and the barrel had smacked me above the eye until Daddy handed me a cloth to press against the open flap of skin in my eyebrow.
He didn’t answer me, didn’t look at me. He simply unwrapped the gun from the oilcloth he kept it wrapped up in to protect it from the salt air, flipped open the fluted cylinder, glanced at it, and then flipped the chamber shut again. Second gave out a sharp bark, and I looked into the water again. The snow was still falling, disappearing as it hit the surface of the ocean, and it seemed like a magic trick in the lights of the boat: it was hard to understand how something that looked so substantial could float from the heavens and then disappear as soon as it met the ocean.
Daddy walked over to the side of the boat, but I stood in front of him. “What are you doing?” I asked again. “The funeral is in just a couple of hours.” I was twelve and my brother was dead and I wasn’t letting him by until he told me what he was doing. I wanted to hear him say it.
“Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” he said.
“Fuck you.”
The words came out of my mouth as a surprise, but they didn’t seem to surprise Daddy. He didn’t react at all other than to say, “Step aside, Cordelia.” His voice was low and soft. He had a deep voice and he talked with deliberateness, but he sounded tired. He was missing the sea foam in his voice.
“Did you hear me? I said, fuck you. I’m not stepping aside, not until you tell me what you’re doing. Why did you push Second in the water? You’re not going to shoot him,” I said, but I wasn’t sure if that last sentence came out as a question or a statement.
He tried to step around me, but I blocked his path. Looking back, I can’t believe he didn’t just push me aside. It wouldn’t have taken much for him to move past me, but he let me stop him. “At the docks,” he said, “I told you to go back to bed.” He leaned his head back, looking up into the darkness and the snow, as if he were going to open his mouth and stick his tongue out like a little boy trying to catch a snowflake. His arms hung down at his sides and he would have looked innocent and hopeless if he hadn’t still been holding the gun. The blued steel of the revolver wanted to sink into the shadows. “Yes, Cordelia,” he said, letting his head sink back down and staring at me. “I’m going to shoot him.”
I don’t know what it says about him—or about me—that I wasn’t surprised, that I had already known the answer. I think I knew the answer before I even left my bedroom. “Why?”
“I have to do it,” he said. He looked at me, no break in his gaze, and I could see that he’d had no question about it, and if I hadn’t been there he would have already shot Second and been motoring back to the harbour.
“He didn’t mean to knock into Scotty,” I said. I could hear my voice breaking, and I was cold again, despite the bib-pants and the extra jacket.
“But he did knock into Scotty, Cordelia.” He said it patiently, as if it were something he was explaining to a small child.
“He’s just a dog.” I looked down at my feet and tried to swallow. I wanted to hit Daddy, but I couldn’t. “I hate you,” I said, and the words surprised me. I hadn’t expected to say that, hadn’t known those words were going to come out of my mouth, but Daddy didn’t seem surprised at all. I looked up to see him nodding. “I hate you,” I said again, like I was trying the words on. “It wasn’t Second’s fault.”
“No, Cordelia, it wasn’t Second’s fault,” he said. He soundedtired. Not like he was giving in or giving up, not like he thought for even a second of wrapping the gun back in its oilcloth and putting it away in the plastic case, but like he hadn’t slept in a thousand nights, like maybe all those years since he’d been tugged under the
He didn’t answer me, didn’t look at me. He simply unwrapped the gun from the oilcloth he kept it wrapped up in to protect it from the salt air, flipped open the fluted cylinder, glanced at it, and then flipped the chamber shut again. Second gave out a sharp bark, and I looked into the water again. The snow was still falling, disappearing as it hit the surface of the ocean, and it seemed like a magic trick in the lights of the boat: it was hard to understand how something that looked so substantial could float from the heavens and then disappear as soon as it met the ocean.
Daddy walked over to the side of the boat, but I stood in front of him. “What are you doing?” I asked again. “The funeral is in just a couple of hours.” I was twelve and my brother was dead and I wasn’t letting him by until he told me what he was doing. I wanted to hear him say it.
“Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown,” he said.
“Fuck you.”
The words came out of my mouth as a surprise, but they didn’t seem to surprise Daddy. He didn’t react at all other than to say, “Step aside, Cordelia.” His voice was low and soft. He had a deep voice and he talked with deliberateness, but he sounded tired. He was missing the sea foam in his voice.
“Did you hear me? I said, fuck you. I’m not stepping aside, not until you tell me what you’re doing. Why did you push Second in the water? You’re not going to shoot him,” I said, but I wasn’t sure if that last sentence came out as a question or a statement.
He tried to step around me, but I blocked his path. Looking back, I can’t believe he didn’t just push me aside. It wouldn’t have taken much for him to move past me, but he let me stop him. “At the docks,” he said, “I told you to go back to bed.” He leaned his head back, looking up into the darkness and the snow, as if he were going to open his mouth and stick his tongue out like a little boy trying to catch a snowflake. His arms hung down at his sides and he would have looked innocent and hopeless if he hadn’t still been holding the gun. The blued steel of the revolver wanted to sink into the shadows. “Yes, Cordelia,” he said, letting his head sink back down and staring at me. “I’m going to shoot him.”
I don’t know what it says about him—or about me—that I wasn’t surprised, that I had already known the answer. I think I knew the answer before I even left my bedroom. “Why?”
“I have to do it,” he said. He looked at me, no break in his gaze, and I could see that he’d had no question about it, and if I hadn’t been there he would have already shot Second and been motoring back to the harbour.
“He didn’t mean to knock into Scotty,” I said. I could hear my voice breaking, and I was cold again, despite the bib-pants and the extra jacket.
“But he did knock into Scotty, Cordelia.” He said it patiently, as if it were something he was explaining to a small child.
“He’s just a dog.” I looked down at my feet and tried to swallow. I wanted to hit Daddy, but I couldn’t. “I hate you,” I said, and the words surprised me. I hadn’t expected to say that, hadn’t known those words were going to come out of my mouth, but Daddy didn’t seem surprised at all. I looked up to see him nodding. “I hate you,” I said again, like I was trying the words on. “It wasn’t Second’s fault.”
“No, Cordelia, it wasn’t Second’s fault,” he said. He soundedtired. Not like he was giving in or giving up, not like he thought for even a second of wrapping the gun back in its oilcloth and putting it away in the plastic case, but like he hadn’t slept in a thousand nights, like maybe all those years since he’d been tugged under the
Similar Books
