The Wonder That Was Ours by Alice Hatcher

Author:Alice Hatcher
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Dzanc Books
Published: 2018-10-10T16:00:00+00:00

At any other time, Mary’s death would have attracted little notice beyond Rocky Point. It would have inspired, at most, momentary head-shaking and muted comments about the latest tragedy, or worse, offhand remarks about barbarity. That afternoon, though, with nerves frayed by talk of contagion, the people of St. Anne closed ranks as Tremor’s image made its way to New York, London, and Atlanta and reports of tropical savagery began to dominate international news. In the burning of the body, they saw the grim dictates of survival. They saw something they would have done to protect their own children. When they encountered police in the streets, they saw the traitors who’d killed Mary. Unknown to most and a cipher to all, Mary was the perfect martyr for uncertain times.

Within hours of her death, Crazy Mary regained her nearly forgotten name, Mary Clay, a rallying cry for the motley members of a discontented chorus. Stolid ministers of every stripe, ignorant of Mary’s divinations and nocturnal raptures, praised Rocky Point’s dearly departed soul and called upon their congregants to contribute to the cost of a simple coffin. Politicians railed against Little Butts’ delinquency and demanded accountability for Mary’s death. Shopkeepers and the leaders of splintered unions called for a public funeral procession to honor Mary and a one-day general strike to protest the ineptitude of Little Butts.

We might have taken some comfort in the remembrance of Mary, but so many people singing her praises had distorted her voice. Professor Cleave presented an odd specimen. He seemed genuinely disturbed by Mary’s death, and more consumed than most with John Bowden’s fate. That afternoon, he nearly swerved from the road several times while driving to the taxi stand. There, in the absence of their ostensible leader, members of the General Transport Workers Union had assembled to vote on a motion of support for the self-indicting strike.

Professor Cleave met James Brooks Brother on the curb. They stood in silence at first, leaning against Professor Cleave’s taxi and listening to the radio. As an English newscaster reported on the mutilation and possible murder of an American on an isolated beach, Professor Cleave recalled Tremor batting a flame with his fingers and talking about disease. He pulled out his phone and considered the image of Tremor standing over a charred body, struck by the disconnect between Tremor’s triumphant pose and fragile expression.

“Maiden Cruises needed a distraction. Thanks to the boy, they found one.” He slipped his phone into his pocket. “I suspect he had nothing to do with the burning. But his stupidity got a woman killed and a man thrown in jail.”

“If Bowden’s the man I think, he’s the roughest of the lot in Rocky Point,” James said. “The perfect man to charge with murder.”

Professor Cleave rubbed the hem of his shirt between his fingertips. “No one’s saying much about him. It’s easier to pray for the dead than redress injuries to the living.”

“He likely doesn’t have a lawyer.”

“He likely doesn’t have any teeth after this morning.

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