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Forty-Seven:
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House of Sighs Forty-Six
FORTY-SIXDiana opened her eyes. The smell awoke her. Next to her Michael pressed his face towards the sliding window, sucking air into his lungs.“Ooof. He’s getting bad,” Julia said.Michael closed the window again.“Why don’t you leave it open?” Diana asked, sitting upright. Her body ached, bones cracked. Her bladder felt at bursting point.Sarah held a handkerchief to her nose and inhaled the eucalyptus oil in its fibers. The scent reminded her of home. “There’s about a billion fucking flies wanting to get in here, best to keep them shut, methinks.”“You know, for an old woman you swear like a sailor,” Julia said. They smiled at each other.“Oh, my God!” Michael said.Everyone whipped their heads to the house.The father stood in the side yard, having come out the back door without them noticing. His stillness sent a universal chill through their bodies. They waited for him to move, or to maybe draw an axe from the shadows and run at them. But there was none of that, just
House of Sighs Forty-Five
FORTY-FIVEAs Michael neared the deformed bus door, he thanked a God he wasn’t sure he believed in for air that didn’t reek of septic tanks and abattoirs. He sucked in a hot breath and thought, Man, that feels better.He had an issue, and it was a big one considering their circumstances. Michael needed to pee. He’d contemplated using the corner next to the driver’s upturned chair. Only no, that wasn’t an option. The bus was on a slant and the stream would run across the floor and down the steps. It seemed undignified, like a dog. He almost laughed. This isn’t the time to be coy, he said to himself. You’re not a prisoner by choice, you know? A shake of the head, decided. The corner just wasn’t going to cut it; he would piss out the door instead.Before going to the front of the bus, he told the others what he was going to do. They tried to talk him out of it, explaining the risks of being seen. He convinced them that he could manage to do it without drawing any attention.“Can’t you
House of Sighs Forty-Four
FORTY-FOURJulia’s heartbeat quickened. “The things we’ve seen today,” she whispered. “The things we’ve seen.” Flicked hair behind an ear.Diana didn’t reply, deciding instead to let the observation fester in the air.They held each other for a long time. Their humming soothed those about them like icy water on a burn. It eased into melody.Sarah lifted her haggard face.The sound of the ocean withdrew from Michael’s ears, replaced now by that soft, sweet singing. A sigh fled his mouth with mocking ease. He listened to the women and rocked along in his seat. It wasn’t a song, rather undulations of pitch similar to trees blowing in the wind, sometimes in sync, sometimes creaking together, but beautiful all the while. Oh, to be outside, Michael couldn’t help thinking. To be free from this fucking place. Running happily through the bush he loved yet which refused to love him back. The Australian scrub was like that, he knew—as they all did. You could chart it, photograph it, romantic
House of Sighs Forty-Three
FORTY-THREEJed jumped up and down in his bedroom. Shook his head from side to side. He turned to the wall and drove his fists through the plasterboard. Over and over and over, not feeling a thing. Plaster fell onto his mattress in clumps.His bloodied hands.“Murderer.”
House of Sighs Forty-Two
FORTY-TWOHeavy silence followed the song’s slow death.Michael said the one thing they all were thinking but nobody wanted to give in to. “I wish we weren’t here.”Jack glanced up from the corpse for the first time in ten minutes. For a moment when he saw the limp-wristed kid, he saw nothing but meat and gristle superimposed over a scrawny body. A moving wet mouth spilling wishes Jack refused to acknowledge.“Oh, would you shut up, mate?”Michael tensed. Threat emanated from the man. “I’ll say what I want.” He knew he was being challenged, and knew that it was imperative he not back down.“Yeah, that’s right. You’re all talk, aren’t you?” Jack smiled. Putting someone in their place always felt good.“Stop it,” Sarah said.Jack turned to Michael, pointing. “You and me. Let’s move the body to the front of the bus. Get it as far away from us as we can.”“I don’t want to touch him.”“Come on, kid. I’m sure it’s not the first time you’ve grabbed a dude.”“Jack, please,” Sarah sa
House of Sighs Forty-One:
FORTY-ONE:The CryingJack was ten years old again, there in his backyard.He dropped the bloodied scissors and the blades pierced the lawn in a V. Glanced away from his father. Saw the white slash left behind in the sky by the airplane.Jack’s dad had him by the collar of his shirt. A cooking apron covered the old man’s chest; it was smeared with fingerprints of grease and barbecue sauce.“I can’t believe it, I can’t believe it,” his father said. “You look at me when I’m talking to you. Don’t you blubber on me, boy. March yourself in that house now!”Jack propelled through the air as a thick finger jabbed into the back of his neck. “Did you do it? DID YOU?”In the memory, Jack couldn’t recall if he answered yes or no.Kimba the cat ran underneath his feet and Jack almost fell again, caught by his father, who proceeded to slap him around the ears. “Did you do it? Did you do it? Jesus, boy.”They stepped inside the house and the stench of cooked onions wrapped around them. It m
House of Sighs Forty
FORTYThe shock of Sarah’s slap knocked the anger out of him, leaving Jack empty for a few seconds. Soon his anger swooped back in, filling him up, relieving him. The memories vanished.He smiled.Sarah slapped him once more.Finished now, she clenched her fist and realigned her knuckles.Click-crunch.His smile was gone.Sarah didn’t let her pain show. “I get it,” she said. “Things are bad and this is how you get through. Now, I’m not saying you’re a bad guy. I’m saying it’s okay to be shit scared. But picking fights is feeble, Jack. You know what that means, don’t you? Feeble?” She looked him up and down. “And calling the kid names. Ha. And as for me? Newsflash, Jack: sticks and stones and all that jazz. From the dropped-pie look of you, you’re in no position to be calling anybody anything. And there ain’t nothing wrong with my hair!” Sarah raised a crooked finger in his direction. “So suck my dick and call me madam, ’cause I’d sooner let you than watch you kick a kid when he’
House of Sighs Thirty-Nine
THIRTY-NINEWes left the house. All he wanted to do was go to his garden and dig for the sake of digging; there, at least, he was at home. The soil was safe and didn’t rebuke when shaken. Only Wes didn’t quite make it to the bed where the roses grew. Exhaustion deposited him on the last step at the back of the dwelling instead.Dog barked at him from the end of his leash near the clothesline.“Shut up.” But the Rottweiler persisted. “Shut the fuck up!” Wes ran to the animal and kicked its head with the heel of his boot. Dog howled louder, charging again. Wes backed off, the world spinning. He fell to his knees and tore at the grass as though scrambling for answers buried beneath.
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