Read Online The Rest is Weight (UQP Short Fiction) by Jennifer Mills - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Jennifer Mills
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which were built to hold scriptures, ancient Buddhist scriptures. But half had been destroyed and the other half taken away by European museums. Through the cracks between the shelves you could see the sunlight shining through. Like after hundreds of years of raids and purges, sunlight was the only scripture available.
I shifted the bricks with a tiny scraping sound and pushed open the door. My eyes had adjusted, but the light was poor. The room seemed cold. Actually, more than that. It seemed to be shivering.
‘Jeremy,’ I whispered. I don’t think I imagined the worst, but I knew on some level I’d been preparing for it, because I felt relief when I heard the breathing. It flooded through me like a small, furtive orgasm. He was here. But then I listened hard and heard the breaths were laboured, uneven. There was someone here, right up the back in the dark. But it wasn’t Jeremy.
The room smelled of milk and dust. Here and there long rags hung from the beams, makeshift curtains instead of walls. I pushed further inside and stepped on something crunchy. Leaning down, I saw a tiny pile of bones. I picked one up and snapped it in my hands. Chicken bones, I hoped. Then I looked up. The breathing in the room grew louder.
Two cold eyes. Animal eyes. I jumped back a step, stumbled on a plank, knocked over something that cracked, and then felt something hit me over the head: not hard but heavy. There was a struggle and a blur of limbs. I scratched out and my hands hit fur, then soft, fat, hairless flesh. Human skin. A woman yelled at my back. An answering shriek from the creature in the corner. Something leaped into the rafters, fell as dust.
The night outside was bright. My eyes smarted from the particles.
‘Fuck,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’ Then remembered and apologised in Chinese. Mrs Hua stared at me, pulled me out through the door and moved the brick back, muttering. She escorted me out of the courtyard and down the lane. She hardly reached my shoulder but her hand on my elbow was strong. It crossed my mind that to get to her age she must have survived a hell of a lot. She knew how to march someone down a road.
‘What was that?’ I said, in my softest voice.
She looked me steely in the eye. ‘Daughter,’ she said.
I went back to bed and lay there. After a couple of hours, Jeremy came home, stinking of cigarettes and other boys’ aftershave. He made feeble attempts to be quiet.
‘I’m awake,’ I said.
‘I had to work off some steam,’ he said. ‘You weren’t worried?’
‘I only just woke up. How was the club?’
‘Same as ever.’ He threw his t-shirt into the corner and got into bed, his back bent to me.
I stuck my forehead into the hard corner of muscle under his shoulder blade, my hand cupping his chest. I knew I should say something.You can’t keep a person locked up like that. But I let the moment pass.
‘I’m glad you came home,’ I said.
He was already asleep.
Through the glass, I can hear Beijing. Bicycle bells, traffic and shouting. The grind and hiss of machinery. The crunch of a bobcat at the end of my street, chewing through old stone. The downstairs bird makes its pencil-sharpening sound, and all around the city appears and disappears, a force of nature, of chaos and confusion.
I pull my suitcase out from under the bed, stir up two years of dust that rises into the narrow light. And as I fill it, the orange cat returns to my window to watch me, cleaning carefully behind its ears.
Reason
One-two one-two : an owl cried out from the hidden branches of a ghost gum. One of the women jumped up, strode towards the tree and started to shout. The other women sitting in the dust in a cluster rose more cautiously, but they raised both the volume and pitch of their chatter. I didn’t know their language, but I understood by the woman’s tone that the owl was being warned.
I checked my phone for the time. We should have left hours ago. I looked over my shoulder, peered into the grubby
I shifted the bricks with a tiny scraping sound and pushed open the door. My eyes had adjusted, but the light was poor. The room seemed cold. Actually, more than that. It seemed to be shivering.
‘Jeremy,’ I whispered. I don’t think I imagined the worst, but I knew on some level I’d been preparing for it, because I felt relief when I heard the breathing. It flooded through me like a small, furtive orgasm. He was here. But then I listened hard and heard the breaths were laboured, uneven. There was someone here, right up the back in the dark. But it wasn’t Jeremy.
The room smelled of milk and dust. Here and there long rags hung from the beams, makeshift curtains instead of walls. I pushed further inside and stepped on something crunchy. Leaning down, I saw a tiny pile of bones. I picked one up and snapped it in my hands. Chicken bones, I hoped. Then I looked up. The breathing in the room grew louder.
Two cold eyes. Animal eyes. I jumped back a step, stumbled on a plank, knocked over something that cracked, and then felt something hit me over the head: not hard but heavy. There was a struggle and a blur of limbs. I scratched out and my hands hit fur, then soft, fat, hairless flesh. Human skin. A woman yelled at my back. An answering shriek from the creature in the corner. Something leaped into the rafters, fell as dust.
The night outside was bright. My eyes smarted from the particles.
‘Fuck,’ I said. ‘Sorry.’ Then remembered and apologised in Chinese. Mrs Hua stared at me, pulled me out through the door and moved the brick back, muttering. She escorted me out of the courtyard and down the lane. She hardly reached my shoulder but her hand on my elbow was strong. It crossed my mind that to get to her age she must have survived a hell of a lot. She knew how to march someone down a road.
‘What was that?’ I said, in my softest voice.
She looked me steely in the eye. ‘Daughter,’ she said.
I went back to bed and lay there. After a couple of hours, Jeremy came home, stinking of cigarettes and other boys’ aftershave. He made feeble attempts to be quiet.
‘I’m awake,’ I said.
‘I had to work off some steam,’ he said. ‘You weren’t worried?’
‘I only just woke up. How was the club?’
‘Same as ever.’ He threw his t-shirt into the corner and got into bed, his back bent to me.
I stuck my forehead into the hard corner of muscle under his shoulder blade, my hand cupping his chest. I knew I should say something.You can’t keep a person locked up like that. But I let the moment pass.
‘I’m glad you came home,’ I said.
He was already asleep.
Through the glass, I can hear Beijing. Bicycle bells, traffic and shouting. The grind and hiss of machinery. The crunch of a bobcat at the end of my street, chewing through old stone. The downstairs bird makes its pencil-sharpening sound, and all around the city appears and disappears, a force of nature, of chaos and confusion.
I pull my suitcase out from under the bed, stir up two years of dust that rises into the narrow light. And as I fill it, the orange cat returns to my window to watch me, cleaning carefully behind its ears.
Reason
One-two one-two : an owl cried out from the hidden branches of a ghost gum. One of the women jumped up, strode towards the tree and started to shout. The other women sitting in the dust in a cluster rose more cautiously, but they raised both the volume and pitch of their chatter. I didn’t know their language, but I understood by the woman’s tone that the owl was being warned.
I checked my phone for the time. We should have left hours ago. I looked over my shoulder, peered into the grubby
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