The Murderer by Roy Heath
Author:Roy Heath
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: McNally Editions
Published: 2022-05-03T00:00:00+00:00
FIFTEEN
The neighbour watched for the first opportunity to see Galton on his own, and when, that afternoon, Gemma went to the doctor he knocked on the door.
âIs the sugar; I come to bring it back.â
Galton had no intention of letting him in.
âI want tâask you advice âbout something, Mr Flood. Is âbout me mother,â he declared.
Galton opened the door and said, âGo on, Iâm listening.â
âYou donât happen to have a lil cotton seed oil, eh? She been groaning all morning and.â¦â
As Galton was walking over to the table where the tins and bottles were kept the neighbour slipped in and closed the door behind him.
âShe donât usually stay with me, but me sister gone to tek part in one of them self-help schemes. Sheâs a big government supporter, she and me mother. You dare not open you mouth and say nothing âbout the government or she down you throat in labba time.â
Galton gave him a bottle with some oil in the bottom of it and said, âHereâs the oil. Now go and donât come back here, please.â
âThatâs one thing you mustnât do, Mr Flood, throw a man out. Iâm you guest and I did come.â¦â
Galton grabbed hold of his arm and tried to lead him to the door.
âI understand you wife treating me like a dog, but not you, Mr Flood. If it wasnât for she you would let me in. You only spurn me in you own placeâbut is because of she. You ask she what a man does come hey for every Wednesday, then. Ah!â exclaimed the neighbour, when he felt the pressure on his arm decrease. âAh! that wake you up, eh? Jealousyâs a terrible thing, eh? Terrible, Mr Flood. Every emotion got a value, excepâ jealousy. And when it creep in you house it donât go âway. My name is Harris; me mother name is Warren and me father was Mr Errol. You know, Mr Flood, the jealousy get knock out of me since I was a boy. I see in our bed me father, the landlord and the man me mother work for. Me mother is a real socialist, thatâs why she likes this government.â
âMy wifeâs been going to work every day,â said Galton hopefully.
âIf you say so, Mr Flood. But I home in the daytime and I hear all the noises in the house, the whispering, the groaning, the women crying âcause their husbands donât give them enough money. Yâknow, if it was for me I would let women run the country. They do things in a big wayâthey got vision! Is a funny thing, whenever I get in a conversation I does steer it to women. I donât know why. Is like a obsession. Women, they got what men inâ got: patience, a deep, voiceless patience; but when they strike! Oh, me God! Is like the floods every ten years that does cover the coast from Rossignol to Parika and lefâ a trail of dead cattle in it wake. You see, I not ignorant.
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