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She sees the old estate buildings ahead. No doubt of it, the road remains the same, even if it was a dusty path in a previous life. The iron gate that stands before the first establishment remains locked, more decoration than deterrent, the chain rusted so deep that it is a golden brown that seems too valuable to disturb. She bangs at the door, first with a sense of politeness, and then with escalating intensity: Open up! I know you're in there! Let me in! She is certain that everyone is inside, Old Hawk and her mother and even Uncle and the magistrate, reclining under the willow tree, happily sweating away the afternoon in their exaggerated gowns and cloth boots, satiated with their own thoughts and not needing conversation, reassurance, even a hint of acknowledgment. All that is required is to sit and accept the sun that beats them all closer to death, minute by minute.  |
The iron gate gives way as the chain snaps, broken links falling to the ground, precious baubles in the sun, and she scoops as many as she can carry with her hand. She peers inside to see them all, sitting underneath the tree, no leaves now, just a stalk, but it is still there, they are still there, and she walks towards them, her body growing heavy, as she walks she rips off layer upon layer of her gown until the fabric falls like ribbons, trailing behind her, marking her progress. Her sandals list to the left due to the wear on the soles, and before long she is tramping barefoot, over the corpses, like struggling through molasses, toes tripping on pliant flesh, or banging hard against exposed bone, and still she sees her parents sitting under the tree, their eyes half-closed, still not noticing her, and she is intent on surprising them before they can detect her presence. She will lay hands  |
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