The Theory of Big and Small III
Sara had never known Bertie to attack anything, let alone a helpless, kitten-soft guinea pig. Her happy dog, (or at least he seemed that way now), lay down on the floor next to his prize and promptly went to sleep, little bits of white fur and flesh speared on his whiskers. She couldn’t look for one second longer at the bloody lumps, dog and pig, any more than she could meet Nate’s eye. What she could see of it - a glistening orb barely visible beyond the hump of his fleshy chin was keeping its own counsel. They were all still on the floor, Nate having slumped back, arms stretched in supplication. After an interminable silence, at last came the whimpering.
It seemed she had some explaining to do.
“Bertie’s never…..”
He suddenly shot up like a dead man come to life on a morgue slab. Sara gasped and scuttled backwards until she met the wall. He had strength after all, enough to start pushing himself up on his hands, and while she remained frozen, he groaned and grunted and rolled himself over. Then he managed to get to his knees, all the while making god-awful noises.
Before she could protest he managed to stagger to his feet.
“You liar!!” she cried and got up.
“If you hadn’t killed Mabel I would have been stuck on this floor,” he retorted, breathing heavily. He turned on her. “You think that because I’m heavy that I can’t get around?” He was flushed, fists balled, feet apart. Bags of fat and flesh hung from each kneecap, falling in waves around the top of the dirty cast that extended from ankle to upper calf. The skin was mottled, angry in red whelts where he’d been pressed to the floor,
He stepped toward her, the encased leg stiff and threatening like a club.
“Stop!” She put her hands up.
“Afraid of a fat cripple!” He snorted and something flew out of nose. He looked mortified.
“Sorry…..”
“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Sara moved toward the couch and found a squashed box of tissues. She edged closer.
“I really fell…..and it hurt.” Nate dropped his gaze to the floor and stood silent for a moment.
“Come on.”
He took the box offered to him and noisily blew his nose. Then he finally looked over toward where Mabel’s corpse lay.
“She was the only thing that kept me company.,…” The small voice quivered and fell into the vast abyss of his being. Everything seemed to fall into that black hole and disappear.
“What about your brother?”
“He’s at school all day and then he has to work…you know…to afford our luxe accomodations.” He gestured toward the barren walls and the lone piece of furniture in the room next to the metal bar and pulley apparatus. The walleyed couch sighed once again, tired of the critical looks.
The place wasn’t dirty, exactly. This room at least had been painted a pale cream color recently and the dark oak floors were swept. But it looked as if someone with good taste had moved on and the current occupants were living out of the contents of a Goodwill box left behind. Someone had washed the two high windows of stained glass on either side of an ornate fireplace (with cherubs of all things), and flanking the large front window were formal curtains of aging, heavy blue linen hung on wooden circlets from a matching valence. But all was dimmed by the meager light seeping around the edges of blinds and the pale eyes of privacy kept close. From their edges, only a sliver of the grey afternoon managed to penetrate the gloom.
She could see no means of entertainment in the stark surroundings. No television or computer. Something covered in a tarp showed itself at the far end, a shapeless lump hunched and quiet. Next to it a piano stool, or a doctor’s stool, because it was on wheels. Sara turned her gaze away.
“How old are you anyway?” They were still avoiding the subject of Bertie.
He gave her that sharp look again, veiled under heavy lids.
“Old enough to be home by myself, if that’s what you’re asking!”
Sara edged around, back to dog and corpse.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m old enough to vote and to drink!” He turned and clumped toward the kitchen.
“In fact, I’d like a beer…..how about you, then?”
Sara tackled him and they both nearly went to the floor.
“You’re 15 if you’re a day and you’re not going near the kitchen.” He threw her off with a bear swipe.
“Get out, now!” I don’t need you anymore and for your bloody information I’m a hell of a lot older than that!
It was the baby fat, the pearly luster, the skin of comfort and bottled milk, innocence. He pulled his mumumu closer, looking more like a sumo wrestler now than a fallen, lost innocent.
“Get out!” The roar was frightening.
Bertie took the command with a snap upwards and marched out the door, head held high.
Meekly, Sara followed.
It seemed she had some explaining to do.
“Bertie’s never…..”
He suddenly shot up like a dead man come to life on a morgue slab. Sara gasped and scuttled backwards until she met the wall. He had strength after all, enough to start pushing himself up on his hands, and while she remained frozen, he groaned and grunted and rolled himself over. Then he managed to get to his knees, all the while making god-awful noises.
Before she could protest he managed to stagger to his feet.
“You liar!!” she cried and got up.
“If you hadn’t killed Mabel I would have been stuck on this floor,” he retorted, breathing heavily. He turned on her. “You think that because I’m heavy that I can’t get around?” He was flushed, fists balled, feet apart. Bags of fat and flesh hung from each kneecap, falling in waves around the top of the dirty cast that extended from ankle to upper calf. The skin was mottled, angry in red whelts where he’d been pressed to the floor,
He stepped toward her, the encased leg stiff and threatening like a club.
“Stop!” She put her hands up.
“Afraid of a fat cripple!” He snorted and something flew out of nose. He looked mortified.
“Sorry…..”
“Oh for heaven’s sake!” Sara moved toward the couch and found a squashed box of tissues. She edged closer.
“I really fell…..and it hurt.” Nate dropped his gaze to the floor and stood silent for a moment.
“Come on.”
He took the box offered to him and noisily blew his nose. Then he finally looked over toward where Mabel’s corpse lay.
“She was the only thing that kept me company.,…” The small voice quivered and fell into the vast abyss of his being. Everything seemed to fall into that black hole and disappear.
“What about your brother?”
“He’s at school all day and then he has to work…you know…to afford our luxe accomodations.” He gestured toward the barren walls and the lone piece of furniture in the room next to the metal bar and pulley apparatus. The walleyed couch sighed once again, tired of the critical looks.
The place wasn’t dirty, exactly. This room at least had been painted a pale cream color recently and the dark oak floors were swept. But it looked as if someone with good taste had moved on and the current occupants were living out of the contents of a Goodwill box left behind. Someone had washed the two high windows of stained glass on either side of an ornate fireplace (with cherubs of all things), and flanking the large front window were formal curtains of aging, heavy blue linen hung on wooden circlets from a matching valence. But all was dimmed by the meager light seeping around the edges of blinds and the pale eyes of privacy kept close. From their edges, only a sliver of the grey afternoon managed to penetrate the gloom.
She could see no means of entertainment in the stark surroundings. No television or computer. Something covered in a tarp showed itself at the far end, a shapeless lump hunched and quiet. Next to it a piano stool, or a doctor’s stool, because it was on wheels. Sara turned her gaze away.
“How old are you anyway?” They were still avoiding the subject of Bertie.
He gave her that sharp look again, veiled under heavy lids.
“Old enough to be home by myself, if that’s what you’re asking!”
Sara edged around, back to dog and corpse.
“You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’m old enough to vote and to drink!” He turned and clumped toward the kitchen.
“In fact, I’d like a beer…..how about you, then?”
Sara tackled him and they both nearly went to the floor.
“You’re 15 if you’re a day and you’re not going near the kitchen.” He threw her off with a bear swipe.
“Get out, now!” I don’t need you anymore and for your bloody information I’m a hell of a lot older than that!
It was the baby fat, the pearly luster, the skin of comfort and bottled milk, innocence. He pulled his mumumu closer, looking more like a sumo wrestler now than a fallen, lost innocent.
“Get out!” The roar was frightening.
Bertie took the command with a snap upwards and marched out the door, head held high.
Meekly, Sara followed.
posted by vallie at 12:15 PM
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