I’m hungry.’
Big feels responsible for Small’s injuries. He looks at him pityingly and ashamed, and then looks up at the spot against which he’d smashed him only seconds before. He gets up. Looking closer he sees the marks from the impact, the dent in the wall of earth. The cast has held the shape of the top half of his brother: the head, the torso, the arms. The missing teeth that they couldn’t locate are probably still biting into the hollow. A smile spreads across Big’s face. And though he knows he has had to use every ounce of his strength for that throw, a dark something awakens in him, a kind of mechanical resourcefulness that connects sequential layers of thought; a conspiracy of scattered images comes together and gives form to a pattern that is painful, but real. Afterwards, glowing with excitement, he goes back to Small. It’s been twenty-four hours since they fell.
‘I’ve had an idea,’ he says. And also: ‘But you have to make me a promise.’
2
I N THE BAG there is a loaf of bread.
When they go for food supplies, the brothers must take the dirt path that runs alongside their house up to the slope of bergamot trees, then rock-hop across the river and carry on beyond the wild cornfields. If they want to gain time, they must go through the forest. To do this means almost half a day’s walk; double that if you count the return journey.
‘I’m thirsty,’ says Small.
‘You can drink the water there on that side. I’ve already tried it. It’s fresh.’
‘But it’s dirty.’
In the bag there is a loaf of bread and some dried tomatoes. Big goes towards the corner where the water flows more heavily, kneels down and digs a small hole. After a while the water builds up in the hole until it spills over. Big then sinks his head in the little well and drinks loudly, imitating a thirsty dog.
‘It’s good. Try it.’
Small copies all of his brother’s gestures, including the nasty slurping sound.
‘It tastes like dirt.’
‘Everything here tastes like dirt. Get used to it.’
With his eyes on the bag, Small adds:
‘Now I’m hungrier.’
Big takes the bag, twists it, and throws it to the opposite side of the well floor.
‘I’ve told you already that we’re not going to touch Mother’s food. We’ll eat what we have here.’
‘But we don’t have anything here.’
‘Yes we do. You’ll see.’
In the bag there is a loaf of bread, some dried tomatoes and a few figs. Big inspects every millimetre of the well, every cranny, every root. He makes a fold in his shirt and in the hollow collects everything he can find. Small watches him blankly. Afterwards, with black nails, Big sits down in front of his brother and unveils his booty of squashed ants, green snails, little yellow maggots, mushy roots and larvae.
‘This is what we’re going to eat.’
Small can’t hide his disgust. He knows his brother is not joking, and that if he has made up his mind that they’re going to eat grubs and weeds, grubs and weeds he will eat. He bites his lip to hold in the rising nausea and says:
‘Fine.’
And he takes a handful of ants in his hand and tosses them into his mouth, swallowing them without chewing,almost without breathing. With his tongue he checks that there are none left between his teeth.
‘Maybe if we added a little piece of tomato they’d be tastier,’ he says with a weak smile.
In the bag there is a loaf of bread, some dried tomatoes, a few figs and a wedge of cheese. On hearing his brother’s suggestion Big upends his shirt, scattering the food everywhere, and smacks him across the cheek with the back of his hand. His hand being so big, however, and the cheek so small, the blow also reaches Small’s temple, his chin, and his ear. It connects, too, with his mouth and yanks the nerves in his teeth, pealing through the bone and making his gums flare. He falls flat on his back with half a lazy face, the flesh swelling with a pain so sharp it clouds his vision. And
Big feels responsible for Small’s injuries. He looks at him pityingly and ashamed, and then looks up at the spot against which he’d smashed him only seconds before. He gets up. Looking closer he sees the marks from the impact, the dent in the wall of earth. The cast has held the shape of the top half of his brother: the head, the torso, the arms. The missing teeth that they couldn’t locate are probably still biting into the hollow. A smile spreads across Big’s face. And though he knows he has had to use every ounce of his strength for that throw, a dark something awakens in him, a kind of mechanical resourcefulness that connects sequential layers of thought; a conspiracy of scattered images comes together and gives form to a pattern that is painful, but real. Afterwards, glowing with excitement, he goes back to Small. It’s been twenty-four hours since they fell.
‘I’ve had an idea,’ he says. And also: ‘But you have to make me a promise.’
2
I N THE BAG there is a loaf of bread.
When they go for food supplies, the brothers must take the dirt path that runs alongside their house up to the slope of bergamot trees, then rock-hop across the river and carry on beyond the wild cornfields. If they want to gain time, they must go through the forest. To do this means almost half a day’s walk; double that if you count the return journey.
‘I’m thirsty,’ says Small.
‘You can drink the water there on that side. I’ve already tried it. It’s fresh.’
‘But it’s dirty.’
In the bag there is a loaf of bread and some dried tomatoes. Big goes towards the corner where the water flows more heavily, kneels down and digs a small hole. After a while the water builds up in the hole until it spills over. Big then sinks his head in the little well and drinks loudly, imitating a thirsty dog.
‘It’s good. Try it.’
Small copies all of his brother’s gestures, including the nasty slurping sound.
‘It tastes like dirt.’
‘Everything here tastes like dirt. Get used to it.’
With his eyes on the bag, Small adds:
‘Now I’m hungrier.’
Big takes the bag, twists it, and throws it to the opposite side of the well floor.
‘I’ve told you already that we’re not going to touch Mother’s food. We’ll eat what we have here.’
‘But we don’t have anything here.’
‘Yes we do. You’ll see.’
In the bag there is a loaf of bread, some dried tomatoes and a few figs. Big inspects every millimetre of the well, every cranny, every root. He makes a fold in his shirt and in the hollow collects everything he can find. Small watches him blankly. Afterwards, with black nails, Big sits down in front of his brother and unveils his booty of squashed ants, green snails, little yellow maggots, mushy roots and larvae.
‘This is what we’re going to eat.’
Small can’t hide his disgust. He knows his brother is not joking, and that if he has made up his mind that they’re going to eat grubs and weeds, grubs and weeds he will eat. He bites his lip to hold in the rising nausea and says:
‘Fine.’
And he takes a handful of ants in his hand and tosses them into his mouth, swallowing them without chewing,almost without breathing. With his tongue he checks that there are none left between his teeth.
‘Maybe if we added a little piece of tomato they’d be tastier,’ he says with a weak smile.
In the bag there is a loaf of bread, some dried tomatoes, a few figs and a wedge of cheese. On hearing his brother’s suggestion Big upends his shirt, scattering the food everywhere, and smacks him across the cheek with the back of his hand. His hand being so big, however, and the cheek so small, the blow also reaches Small’s temple, his chin, and his ear. It connects, too, with his mouth and yanks the nerves in his teeth, pealing through the bone and making his gums flare. He falls flat on his back with half a lazy face, the flesh swelling with a pain so sharp it clouds his vision. And
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