Read Online The Rest is Weight (UQP Short Fiction) by Jennifer Mills - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Jennifer Mills
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let’s go to New York.’
He didn’t answer.
‘Just for a week or two. We need a holiday. It’s more than a year since we left Beijing. We’re losing our perspective.’
‘You think I’m crazy,’ he said.
‘No, I don’t. I think we both need a break.’ I held him closer, rubbed his lower back. The muscles were hard and there was a fog of sweat under his shirt. The conversation moved into our bodies. We had sex, made up, and fell asleep.
For a few days after that he was calmer, though he only slept four or five hours a night. Then he started to get worked up again, staying out late, talking and arguing about what he called the campaign. I stopped going with him. There was no more talk of home.
I woke up at about three. There was an electric orange glow in the sky and a cold place beside me. I called his name softly but there was no answer; Jeremy was still out.
I got out of bed, pulled on my tracksuit pants and a t-shirt, and stepped into the courtyard in my rubber slippers. In a gap between roofs I could see the slender curve of a waning moon, dimmed by the smog to a dusty light bulb. Beneath it was the new apartment building that was going up two blocks south, topped by the pointed finger of a crane. Those cranes turn and turn and never make a sound. The night was dim with smog. In the alley I could hear the whining of a small dog, someone’s pet locked out for the night.
Beijing is surprisingly quiet at night. Riding our bikes home from the club sometimes we’ll be the only people around, except for the dump trucks, or the road crews resurfacing the streets. It’s not just our neighbourhood. The whole city is constantly under construction. I’m almost used to it. A part of me enjoys the impermanence, the shift, like living in a breakbeat remix. Jeremy takes it personally. He was here before the Olympics, and maybe there was a time when it was different, more predictable. But I doubt it. This city’s too much like a force of nature.
No one was around in the street, though I could hear the sounds of trucks slipping past on the main road a block away. I stepped into the corner toilet, pushing aside the heavy winter doors, which held in the stink. After I pissed I felt awake, alive. I almost went right back to bed. A part of me was thinking Jeremy would be back soon; he’d probably just gone to dance away his mania at Destination.
That high dog howl came crawling through the hutong. The acoustics are strange from all the little houses crammed in together, but it seemed to be coming from the end of the lane. I turned to the shadowed place where the doomed house sat and something orange darted in front of my eyes. Pointed ears and a bushy tail. Fast and silent. Bigger than a cat. I found myself standing in the sharp air of its wake. I was right in front of the house.
The white circle on the wall seemed to glow, the character in thick rough brushstrokes, higher than my head. I lifted a finger and traced the lines. There was a muffled coughing sound, almost a growl. It came from inside.
‘Jeremy?’
There was no entrance from the lane but I knew there was one along the side of Mrs Hua’s place. I pushed at the red door to her courtyard. It wasn’t locked. There were piles of broken crockery and old bricks. Weeds sprawling out of burst plastic pots. I’d never been inside her place before and I stepped as quietly as I could, hoping not to wake her, because I didn’t want to have to explain what I was doing. I was in my pyjamas; I figured I could just pretend to be sleepwalking.
The door to the empty place was rotting wood, held closed by a couple of grey bricks at the base. I peered through the crack in the door. The other side of the house was bricked up against the back of a shop, and light came through from the street. I saw bright pinpricks, glimpses of the other side. A few weeks ago I’d wandered into a temple hidden in the back lanes near our place. One wall was entirely lined with shelves,
He didn’t answer.
‘Just for a week or two. We need a holiday. It’s more than a year since we left Beijing. We’re losing our perspective.’
‘You think I’m crazy,’ he said.
‘No, I don’t. I think we both need a break.’ I held him closer, rubbed his lower back. The muscles were hard and there was a fog of sweat under his shirt. The conversation moved into our bodies. We had sex, made up, and fell asleep.
For a few days after that he was calmer, though he only slept four or five hours a night. Then he started to get worked up again, staying out late, talking and arguing about what he called the campaign. I stopped going with him. There was no more talk of home.
I woke up at about three. There was an electric orange glow in the sky and a cold place beside me. I called his name softly but there was no answer; Jeremy was still out.
I got out of bed, pulled on my tracksuit pants and a t-shirt, and stepped into the courtyard in my rubber slippers. In a gap between roofs I could see the slender curve of a waning moon, dimmed by the smog to a dusty light bulb. Beneath it was the new apartment building that was going up two blocks south, topped by the pointed finger of a crane. Those cranes turn and turn and never make a sound. The night was dim with smog. In the alley I could hear the whining of a small dog, someone’s pet locked out for the night.
Beijing is surprisingly quiet at night. Riding our bikes home from the club sometimes we’ll be the only people around, except for the dump trucks, or the road crews resurfacing the streets. It’s not just our neighbourhood. The whole city is constantly under construction. I’m almost used to it. A part of me enjoys the impermanence, the shift, like living in a breakbeat remix. Jeremy takes it personally. He was here before the Olympics, and maybe there was a time when it was different, more predictable. But I doubt it. This city’s too much like a force of nature.
No one was around in the street, though I could hear the sounds of trucks slipping past on the main road a block away. I stepped into the corner toilet, pushing aside the heavy winter doors, which held in the stink. After I pissed I felt awake, alive. I almost went right back to bed. A part of me was thinking Jeremy would be back soon; he’d probably just gone to dance away his mania at Destination.
That high dog howl came crawling through the hutong. The acoustics are strange from all the little houses crammed in together, but it seemed to be coming from the end of the lane. I turned to the shadowed place where the doomed house sat and something orange darted in front of my eyes. Pointed ears and a bushy tail. Fast and silent. Bigger than a cat. I found myself standing in the sharp air of its wake. I was right in front of the house.
The white circle on the wall seemed to glow, the character in thick rough brushstrokes, higher than my head. I lifted a finger and traced the lines. There was a muffled coughing sound, almost a growl. It came from inside.
‘Jeremy?’
There was no entrance from the lane but I knew there was one along the side of Mrs Hua’s place. I pushed at the red door to her courtyard. It wasn’t locked. There were piles of broken crockery and old bricks. Weeds sprawling out of burst plastic pots. I’d never been inside her place before and I stepped as quietly as I could, hoping not to wake her, because I didn’t want to have to explain what I was doing. I was in my pyjamas; I figured I could just pretend to be sleepwalking.
The door to the empty place was rotting wood, held closed by a couple of grey bricks at the base. I peered through the crack in the door. The other side of the house was bricked up against the back of a shop, and light came through from the street. I saw bright pinpricks, glimpses of the other side. A few weeks ago I’d wandered into a temple hidden in the back lanes near our place. One wall was entirely lined with shelves,
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