Waiting for Stalin to Die by Irene Guilford

Author:Irene Guilford
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Guernica Editions
Published: 2017-08-10T16:00:00+00:00

Doris and her husband Jimmy lived on the main floor at the back. Occupying the kitchen and back bedroom, they rented out every other room in the house. One day we’re going to up and sell this dump, Doris would laugh. Move to a better locale. And Jimmy, a small man with greasy hair and darting eyes, would laugh along.

Jimmy was a mechanic at the TTC, working nights and sleeping during the day. Rising at 4 p.m., he would wander around the house in his bathrobe, the cord loosely tied at the waist. He would saunter out to the front porch. He would sit and smoke. And relaxing on his veranda, he would view the world of late afternoon.

“How’s it going Jimmy-boy?” his neighbours would call out in passing. “How’s tricks?”

“None too bad,” he would call back, his arm lifted in a lazy wave.

Doris was a haphazard housekeeper, cigarette dangling from her lip as she cleaned. Paying no attention to her husband’s sleeping habits, she banged the cupboard doors and wielded the carpet sweeper. She dislodged dirt with rags not themselves clean. Dust shifted to settle elsewhere. The air was grimy with the smell of cooking oil and cigarette smoke.

One day, Justine came up the front steps to find Jimmy sitting on the front porch. Nodding to her landlord, she passed quickly inside. He got up and sauntered in after her.

“Hello, honey,” he said placing a hand on her arm. “Feeling friendly?”

She stared down at his hand. Far away from soldiers and war and still not safe.

“C’mon, honey,” he said stroking her arm. “A man just can’t help hisself, you know? Besides, women like you, well, you kinda like it, don’t-cha.”

She glared at him. His grey-brown face had as many folds as a bulldog’s.

“I tell vife.”

“Okay, okay,” he said backing off, hands lifted. “Didn’t mean nothing by it. You’re probably frigid anyway. I bet your uncle has no fun with you.”

Justine raised her hand, ready to slap him smartly across the face. She held back. She did not wish to touch his flabby grey flesh. She did not wish to touch filth. Tucking her hands into her armpits, she walked away.

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