Tuesday Tale: After Life

The scarabs took their tempo from the way the tree tapped on the roof of the barn where Heloise was milking the Jersey. She was humming to herself as she tugged at the udders and watched the milk slosh into the bucket. Junior was writhing in her womb. She paused and placed a hand on her abdomen.

 

          “Easy, sunshine. I know it’s cramped in there, but there’s no need to kick my kidney.”

            The Jersey snorted and flicked her tail at the flies.

            “Okay, Jersey Girl, we’re nearly done.”

            Junior was shadowboxing and Heloise gasped as the pain wracked her body. She spoke to her stomach. “Stop it, you.”

            The bucket was filled three-quarters of the way.

            “Paul!” She hoped he’d be near enough to hear her. Lugging the pail back to the kitchen in her condition was fast becoming her least favourite part of the morning. She strained her ears, trying to hear over the beetles and the wind. “Paul, damn it!”

          “Keep your hair on, woman.” Paul was wiping his hands on a chamois as he entered.

            “Junior is getting a workout in here.”

            Paul walked to her and placed his hand on the mound. “Easy, baby. Be nice to Mommy.”

            “This is all your fault, you know?”

            “So you keep telling me. Do you want the milk in the kitchen?”

            “Please. Are you able to get the tractor running again?”

            Paul chuckled. “I’m having about as much luck as a Stalinist era mechanic.” When she pulled a face, he said: “Don’t worry. I’ll have it ready by this afternoon. Cliff is bringing me a new set of gears from town.” He hoisted up the bucket, pecked Heloise on the cheek and headed towards the farm house. He grinned as a he watched the rooster chasing his latest chick across the yard and the cats hunting moths in the vegetable patch. He opened the kitchen door with his elbow and took the bucket into the pantry.

          “Cliff was saying that we have to start training Jones on how to not grind the tractor gears. He’s costing us a small fortune... Lou?” He closed the fridge door and listened. “Lou?” She’d been right behind him. The woman was waddling worse than a whale these days. He returned to the kitchen door and looked across the yard.

            “Lou!”

There was so much blood on the screen of his phone that it almost didn’t register his attempts to dial Dr Clarkson’s number. An automated response told him the doctor was out and to punch in a code to be redirected to his cell phone.

            “Damn it. Damn. Bloody Clarkson. Why the hell aren’t you... Dr Clarkson?”

            “Hello. Is that Paul?”

            “You have to come. It’s Lou.”

            “On my way.”

The light was sharp on her retinas. She felt as though she was underwater and the voices around her were warped. The pain hit her and she tried to scream, but the sound from her mouth was muted. Her legs would not work, her arms would not flail, and the light flickered as the people cast shadows with their bodies. The world seemed to hold its breath as she heard a slap and then a wail. Junior.

“Daddy, what’s this?”

            “That’s a wrench.”

            “What for?”

            “It helps me tighten nuts.”

            “No, Daddy! You can’t tighten peanuts.”

            “Not peanuts, Flick. Nuts.” He held one up. “Like these.”

            “But I don’t eat those nuts.”

            “No. You’d probably break your teeth.”

            “I remember the wrench. My friend Sam used them to fix aeroplanes for the RAF. He used to fix my plane too.”

            Paul stopped working on the tractor and closed his eyes. He had hoped to distract Flick from his obsession with his imaginary friend. Dr Clarkson had said Flick was advanced for his 22 months and had a vocabulary of a six year old, which would explain his chattiness. But no one could clarify how Flick knew about Sam or the RAF. He decided to let it slide.

            “Where’s your mother?”

            “Inside.” He began to cry.

            “What is it, Flickster?” He crouched beside his son.

            “I miss Sam. He died when they bombed the base.” Flick nuzzled his face against Paul’s neck. “I never said goodbye.”

            Paul was at a loss. He stroked Flick’s head and waited for the tears to subside.

            “Don’t worry, Daddy. I know Sam is in heaven now.”

            They both turned to look in the direction of the diesel engine noise. A white Isuzu chugged up the road towards the house.

            “Uncle Cliff!” Flick ran off and was accompanied by the watch dogs, who sensed his excitement.

            Heloise stepped out of the kitchen. She noticed Paul’s expression and hoped that Flick hadn’t mentioned Sam again.

           “What brings you here?” She stepped into his embrace and Cliff clipped her cheek.

            “I found something. It’s about Sam. He’s real.”