Читать книгу The Elephant in the Room - Maya Fowler - Страница 6

1986

Chapter 1

Masses of leaves stand upright in a grey-green sea, which parts for us as we wade through. Beth and I are looking for the manna Mom told us we’d find up here if we just searched hard enough. Manna is a very special kind of doughnut, I think, made with extra love, and love is what we’re looking for, now that Mom’s pouring it all into our new baby sister.

The rain has left the earth slick. So we need to tread carefully, else we could slide right down to the kitchen door, and then we’ll be done for because Mom can’t be washing muddy corduroys every friggin’ day of the week. The leaves we’re exploring belong to the nasturtiums that grow in a clump up on the hill behind our house. I could easily believe that something special might be hidden under these leaves which Beth and I use as wands in our games where ants are transformed into steeds, and stones into princes.

Nasturtiums are themselves kings and queens. They stand up tall in any weather, and after the rain you will find them crowned with crystals. These glisten, and can grow into massive gems if you gently tilt a leaf so that the drops all melt into one. But you have to be ever so careful, because nothing is as slippery as a raindrop gem on a leaf.

None of our searching delivers anything other than five million insects. Songololos unroll and scuttle from under rocks, an earwig launches himself forward, looking like a hovercraft (which makes me scream), and tiny bugs that we call armadillos curl up into defensive little balls.

Beth sighs and sits down on a tree stump next to the fence. She blows out her cheeks as she rests her elbows on her knees and her jaw on her hands. I’ve had enough too. The air tastes especially salty tonight, and the clouds are hanging thickly overhead. In the background the sea keeps whispering.

The sound of the sea is as much a part of living here as the frequent thundering of trains. It’s like a heartbeat, and at night, when the windows are closed or rain washes away the sound of the waves, I put my hands over my ears and listen to what Grampa has told me is the rush of blood. Blood or not, it comforts me because it’s my sea. My sea inside.

The yellow light pouring from the house gets brighter as the sky turns to charcoal.

“Come on, Beth,” I call, even though she’s on her way already. She inches down the terrace with a nasturtium posy in one hand, and a leaf, crowned in gems, in the other. It’s getting too dark now for me to notice where I tread; I crush leaves as I go. Stalks snap, and the peppery, sour fragrance that is clean and dirty at the same time tickles my nostrils.

Just as she reaches the threshold, Beth’s rain gems plop to the ground.