Читать книгу The Hum of the Sun - Kirsten Miller - Страница 14

On the fourth day, the last box of Cheerios sat empty. Zuko crouched at the table in a ribbon of morning light, his fingers moving through the hovering dust. Clouds moved across the grass outside. Ash entered the kitchen, his chest bare, his taut stomach concave from the worry and the loss and the lack of food. He picked the empty Cheerios box off the table and shook it, and lobbed it into the overflowing bin. “There’s eggs,” he said. “The chickens are laying at least.”

Zuko paid no attention. His fingers painted pathways in the air around his head.

Ash went outside to the coop and set the chickens out. He clapped his hands and shooed the last dappled hen off her nest. Three creamy orbs nestled in the straw, still warm. He took them into the kitchen and fired up the gas, and then broke the eggs into a pan of bubbling oil. When the yolks held together with a texture of soft cheese and the whites were laced with brown underneath he plated and salted the eggs and put one down in front of Zuko. Ash sat opposite his brother and swallowed the eggs on his own plate in a few easy mouthfuls. Zuko leaned forward and sniffed at the centre of the yolk.

“Egg,” Ash said. “It’s egg. Eat it.”

Zuko whimpered. He stood and fetched the empty cereal box from the waste, put it back on the table, and sat down again. The single egg in front of him grew cold. Ash fetched a spoon from the drawer and broke the egg into sections. He leaned across the table and tried to force the pieces into his brother’s mouth. Zuko’s eyes squeezed tight at the gagging in his throat. Soundless tears sat unexpectedly at the corners of his eyes. “Okay,” Ash said. He put the spoon down. “Okay, okay, okay.”

Zuko’s eyes opened. They sat on his face like upside-down boats, the whites clearer than those of any other eyes Ash had known. “Mama’s gone,” Ash said. “There won’t be any more of this horrible cereal.”

When the sun was past its peak, a knock sounded. Ash opened the door. A girl stood on the mat in a white shirt and socks, and the grey skirt and black shoes of the school uniform, her hair braided back from her face in thick ropes that snaked prettily in crisscross paths across her head.

“Hey,” Ash said. He stood across the doorway, preventing her from entering. “I thought you might be someone else.”

“Who?”

“Don’t know. Police, maybe.”

“You haven’t been at school,” the girl said.

He shrugged. “I’ve got . . . you know . . . my brother.”

She lifted the books under her arm as though she’d suddenly remem­bered them. “I brought you some work,” she said. “I thought you could do it at home.”

“What for?”

“You have to learn.” She peered around him, into the house. He stood firm, stretching his body across the doorway as far as he could. “What’s that smell?” she said.

He aimed his gaze beyond her, into the sky. “I cooked eggs this morning. I haven’t washed the pan yet.”

Her nose twitched. He winced at the disgust he imagined she felt. He held out his hands and took the books from her. “Thanks,” he told her.

She stood as though she still expected something.

“My mother died,” he said at last.

“I’m sorry. Will there be a funeral?”

“I don’t know what to do.”

“You should have one. People will be expecting it.”

“There’s no money.”

“Ask your father.”

“He doesn’t live here.”

“Why not?”

“He’s not like us.”

“What is he like?”

Ash shrugged. “I don’t really know.”

“There’ll be trouble if you don’t do things right. There was no funeral for your sister. People were very unhappy. Some say that’s why your mother got sick.” The girl stepped backwards. “They say your father is rich. You must ask him for the money. I can bring you more books next week,” she said.

“It’s okay.” He couldn’t remember the last time he’d cleaned his teeth. Or Zuko’s. “I have to sort things out here,” he said.

She paused, watching his face. Then she said: “Is your brother here?”

“Yes.”

“Can I see him?”

“Why? You think he’s dead too?”

She shrugged and glanced away. “Forget it. I’ve got to go, anyway.”

“Hey,” he said as she turned.

“What?” She looked back at him.

“Have you got Cheerios at your house?”

“What? No way. We eat porridge. Twice a day, sometimes. My ma can’t afford box cereal.”

“Oh.” He looked out to the road behind her. “That’s okay then. Don’t worry about it.”

“I’ll see you sometime,” she said as she turned.

Ash said nothing. He watched her back as she walked the dusty road until she rounded the corner and was gone.