Five Legs by Graeme Gibson

Author:Graeme Gibson
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: House of Anansi Press Inc.
Published: 2012-09-25T16:00:00+00:00

FELIX 1

YOU. STUDIOUSLY BOUNCING your ass against the rad. Bouncing forward to your toes and shifting, back to the scalding metal with another patch of flesh and trousers, bouncing again to the toes with this imperceptible arch of the back, shifting because more than once on the same spot’s painful. But hold on, forget the pain because other people, soldiers and saints have smiled in pain while you, you’re just playing here in the vestibule, watching the mourners. Waiting for his body. In how many classrooms have you closed your eyes to swallow the panic? Rattling papers, pages turning all around you, and how many times and in how many rooms have you borne down on darkness? Bouncing now and rocking, you’re cringing from their draught as they push in at the door and the iron ring crashes behind them. Loudly from the street, with voices falling in self-conscious echoes as they come to bunch and crane at the inner door. Pausing before you they reverently stamp and sniff in droplets glistening from the nose: they nod abstractly, one by one, and meet, you have to, their eyes! “You’re from London, are you? I mean.” Plump voice that interferes with his breathing. “You must be from the university.” Gasping and standing too close, wheezing his smoker’s breath in my nose and then he turns away, quickly over his shoulder. “I could tell, you know, just by looking at you, that you’re one of his friends from university.” Waving a silent wave and smile, and then again his breath while his eyes are moistly. “Well. Heh-hum!” Patience thrusting its hand. “I’m his uncle you know. Uncle Martin, his namesake.” Trying to withdraw, I try to get my hand back, give me my goddamn hand! I mustn’t be, really mustn’t make a scene but he clutches, clutches and kneads, he pats my arm! “It’s hard to believe, he’s really gone.” Sadly shaking his round head. If you don’t give me back my hand, I’ll! Struggling and pulling, grunting audibly. Give me back my hand, give me my hand, but he’d only laugh, the bastard, clutching even tighter. No, no it’s mine now, mine all mine. I’ve got you! Those people coming in stop to stare as I wrench, I twist and extravagantly jump. He won’t give me back my hand! Leaping like a fish I topple chairs in furious noise and shshsh, they whisper, shshsh, inside the congregation stirs and some crowd back: the word is spreading, feet are running in the aisles. What, whatwhat, what’s going on? He won’t, pleading as I wrestle him weeping to the floor. It’s mine, all mine now, mineminemine . . . Straining, but it’s no use, pulling with all my heart to rescue, pushing my boot into his armpit for the extra force. Please, please give it back, please give me GIVE ME BACK MY GODDAMN HAND! Shrieking down into that face, jerking and shrieking, close to tears myself from the mourners pressing in! Christ the mother’s coming, here she.

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