Woodworm by Layla Martinez

Author:Layla Martinez
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Two Lines Press

6

All the women in this family are widowed quick. The men burn out on us like church candles and not long after we’re married all that’s left of them is a stain on the sheets that won’t come off for all the scrubbing in the world. My mother used to say this house dries them out from the inside. And she should know, because when we removed a brick to see my father he was crisp as esparto grass. I must have been about eight and I’d come home in a rage because Matilda’s youngest had told me my father wasn’t killed in the war, he’d run off with one of his sluts. What do you care what that goody-goody says? my mother replied. Does she think we don’t know how many people were taken on “little walks” because of her family of snitches?

I slammed the door as I left the kitchen, snarling and snapping like a dog. My mother followed me out and grabbed my arm, digging in her nails and pulling me toward the stairs. I’ll show you where your father is if that’s what you want, don’t you worry, she muttered as she dragged me up. When we reached the bedroom she let me go and heaved the wardrobe away from the wall. Then she hiked up her skirt, kneeled down by the wall and pulled out a loose brick four rows from the floor. There he is, she said.

The house had eaten his flesh but left his skin, which was sticking to his bones. He had a funny look on his face, I remember it as if he were right here in front of me now. He was sitting on the floor with his back against the far wall. His head had flopped to one side and his mouth was hanging open, as if he’d dislocated his jaw. It looked like he was screaming in agony. He’s got no eyes, I said, turning away from the hole. He doesn’t need them in there, my mother replied, and she pushed me out of the way.

My mother had loosened the brick two years before, once the victors stopped sniffing around for the men who’d left home to escape the war, because by then they’d killed them all. Even those hiding out in the hills, picked off one by one like roe deer. Since then, not a day had passed when she didn’t look in on my father, to reassure herself that he was still there. That agonized look on his face never failed to make her smile. Then she’d put back the brick, push the wardrobe into place and make the sign of the cross. May death bring him all the suffering he should have been dealt in life.

My husband also dried up from the inside out. He wasted away in bed the same year we got married. He grew weaker and weaker and before long he couldn’t even move. The flesh fell from his bones and his skin turned yellow.

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