Inheritance by Katherine O'Connor

Author:Katherine O'Connor
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Affirm Press
Published: 2022-12-23T00:00:00+00:00

Direct action, 1945

I have woken early, before the sun. I watch the strip of darkness under my curtain fade to blue and then to a pale yellow and white. It is that time of day when the day itself is still a mystery. When we don’t know who we are yet, or what happens next. Before the eggs are cracked and the tea brewed. Before the city men in their hats crowd the bus stop on the corner. Before the school children run past the gate, the slap of their shoes on the road like heavy rain. We all wake in pieces and have to build ourselves again.

Today the nurse is coming to look at me. I’m sure she will say I need to eat more. I am trying. And John is trying. He made a beef stew last night with potatoes from the garden. He brought it in to me in a tiny bowl with a teaspoon. A portion fit for a bird, and that is what I have become. I dived in with my beak, taking in the delicious smells, the robust beef pieces, the plump potatoes, the garlic, bay and parsley. I was tempted. But I couldn’t manage more than a mouthful. A beak full.

I remember how I used to kneel and put my hands in the soft dirt to harvest the potatoes. I liked to do it with my hands so as not to damage them, to keep all their odd shapes intact. I think John uses the pitch fork. The potatoes he brings in are ripped and broken.

It’s strange to think that my life has been shrunk to these base bodily functions. All anybody wants to know is whether I am eating, how many times a day I reach for the pot, whether I have needed the loo. The contents of my mind have become irrelevant as my body starts to tell the end of the story.

The boys are quieter than usual. I can hear the clink of their breakfast dishes, the closing of cupboard doors, but none of the usual uproar as they get ready for school. I have heard John shush them when they shriek or laugh, or bound headlong down the hallway. ‘Mum is resting.’ We have agreed that it is best if their lives can continue on as normal, as much as possible. But I must remember to tell John that there’s no need for quiet. I like to hear the sounds of life careening past my door. It saves me from my thoughts.

~

On the Sunday morning after the shed incident, I went over to the Tower house. The back door was open. Aileen, the cook, had the radio on and turned up loud. The smell of roasting lamb drifted past and with it, the canned laughter of a radio play. Aileen always wore her hair pulled back, turned in a tight bun at the nape of her neck. Her stern appearance belied the sweetness of her nature. I called to her several times before she heard me above the radio.

Download

Copyright Disclaimer:
This site does not store any files on its server. We only index and link to content provided by other sites. Please contact the content providers to delete copyright contents if any and email us, we'll remove relevant links or contents immediately.