Читать книгу The Hum of the Sun - Kirsten Miller - Страница 13

They didn’t mean to go as far as they did in the end, but Ash couldn’t stay in that place with the dry earth and the white-hot sky any longer. The giant trees sucked the life from the soil and blew endlessly in the in-between season. He couldn’t stand the way time stood still, or the way Zuko played with their mother’s body as they watched it decompose. The way he pulled at her hair until it came out in chunks in his eight-year-old fists, the way he put his nose to her skin and sniffed it, or the way the sunlight streamed through the broken window and landed on dust alone. In the days following her death, they waited for something to happen, although nothing ever did. Still, he couldn’t bring himself to bury her.

“Zuko?”

“. . .”

“What you want for supper?”

“Maa . . .”

“Aw, Zuko. It’s a simple question.”

Zuko clicked his tongue and flicked his fingers. The movement calmed him, soothed his anxiety in response to the question. He looked out from the deep corners of his brown boat eyes. Click click. Flick.

Zuko howled into the night when the moon rose, many nights after Yanela was gone. He paced the small house on restless feet like some kind of supernatural being that had no need of sleep. Sometimes he laughed and sometimes he cried. Ash couldn’t tell if it was for their mother, for himself, or for its own sake. He couldn’t wait forever for something else to happen. He knew they had to go, or they might die of hunger.

Click click. Flick. Click click. Flick.

“I’ve got no rice.”

Click click.

“There’s tuna and potatoes but there’s no rice and there’s no egg, okay? I can’t make the chickens lay right here and now. What we’ve got is what we’ve got.”

Flick. Flick.

“I know you don’t eat fish. Today, you’re going to eat fish. You’re going to eat fish and you’re going to eat potato and you’re going to sleep and you’re not going to keep me awake. I’m sick of it. You hear me?”

“. . .”

“Okay. Relax. I’m sorry. I’m tired, okay? I didn’t mean it; it’s not your fault.”

“FFfffffff.”

“Yes, it’s his fault, Zuko. His fault.”

The fingers answered, beside the child’s eyes.

“Eat your tuna. Here, I’ll mash the potato for you. Is that better? Mush, just as you like it. I’ve taken the skin off. Please, eat the damn mash.”

Click.

“Please.”

Flick.

“Stop holding me to food ransom. If I had rice, I’d give it to you. I’ve got none. Now eat.”

Click flick flick.

“Sit down, Zuko. Damn it, Zuko! What is wrong with you?”

But Zuko was already gone and out of the room. It’s me there’s some­thing wrong with, Ash thought. How many times does he have to tell me he doesn’t eat tuna fish and mashed potatoes?