PREFACE, CHAPTER ONE
a novel taster
preface
A god is a fair figure, whispers of worship offered against their toes, a sole there and flickered dignity. Blind to the reality, temples are sought and offered, people embraced but never suspected.
Her body is his temple, and it is breaking.
There is a pressure in his chest, a joy and frustration, dedication to the fingers lacing through his hair.
He moves to touch her, but she is a dream, falling into the arms of a distant other.
Death follows them, and he carries the darkness.
chapter one
There is a murky breath hanging in the air. The streets have a lowliness about them, the scattering of trees in off centre places, the way the oxygen curdles with the sky. Thickened cloud cover mingles with the smoke of chimneys, a factory anachronistic in the distance. It is day, and yet the only light comes from the terrace; a slanted brick building with a curtain for a door. Bright blue and fluttering, the fabric matches the dress of a little girl. She jumps over her skipping rope in a steady rhythm, her filled in knuckles turning white for the tightness of her hold. Curls flit into her face, and she sneezes, losing her balance on the cobbles. Her toe catches between the discoloured stones. The violet of the rope, fraying at the ends, is stark against the ground as she drops it, catching herself but not her hairpin. Tinged with the taste of rain, it dances soundlessly across the street.
She goes to fetch it, but the parting of the mist stops her.
At the end of the rows of houses, rounding the corner like a memory, a man walks her way. He is tall, she can tell that much, but his face is too distant and darkened for recognition. He seems to refuse the sun, his gaze planted to the way he moves. A cap covers his eyes, and the girl hovers in fascination.
Her awareness growing, the girl feels the violent pressing of fear in her chest. He continues to approach her unknowingly, and their footfall echoes for empathy in the silence. Rushing to the empty doorway, she turns at the curtain, blending if not for her mousy hair.
Her eyes land on her skipping rope.
Urgent, she hurries towards it, reluctant to leave it behind. An odd quiet keeps her ears numb.
When she looks up, he is watching her.
Adjusting the place of his hat, he begins to approach her slowly, his shoes clipping the ground. She starts to shake, the twine of the rope digging into her little palms.
“Hello,” he says, crouching to her level. “You should be careful – there are scary people about.”
His eyes sliding between her and the doorway, the man chuckles deeply. There is a flare about him, and she smells smoke. The girl starts to quiver as he gives a light tug at the hem of her skirt.
“Very enterprising.”
A glimpse of his expression, and she sees its harshness, the angles that shape him and the emptiness that drives him on. He coaxes the skipping rope from between her fingers and smiles.
“Can you do something for me?”
She looks at her laces.
“Hey,” he whispers, lifting her head by her chin, “can you?”
She nods alongside her shiver, the clouds above pulling apart.
“Tell them,” he says, “I’m back.”
Standing slowly, he leaves her dashing, scurrying to her home like the last of the flock, a tear staining her dress. He steps over the cobbles thoughtfully, the skipping rope taut between his hands. Throwing it over his shoulder, he takes a quick look back, and she is watching, tracing the long scar on his scalp.
The smog of the day surrounds him, and he disappears into the life he used to live.