blush.
“You’ll come watch me, won’t you, pet?” he asks. “Hold my towel? Cheer me on?”
Tycho’s a shadow in the doorway.
“Can Tycho come, too?” I ask.
Daddy nods. Tycho disappears.
“You like him,” Daddy says. “You trust him. I think I’ll amend my will and give him to you, when you get married.”
I say, “Ah.”
“You remind me,” Daddy says. “I’ll do it after my swim. Let’s go check the charts for the tide.”
It turns out the optimal time is dawn. “Seriously?” I say, thinking of my warm bed. “Couldn’t we just wait twelve hours?”
“It’ll be dark by then,” Daddy says.
“Dawn’s pretty dark, too.”
“Lazy pet. You’ll survive one early morning. Have you ever seen the colour of the sky that early in the day? The sun comes up like fine wine.”
I pretend to shudder and he smiles that rare, sweet smile.
I’m woken by the tap of his fingers on my door jamb, while the sky is still black and the cock is still sleeping. I tie my hair back uncombed into a pony tail, and put on my warmest clothes. It’s really cold; hoarfrost on the grass.
Once we’re away from the houses and our voices won’t disturb anyone, I exhale hard, like Nico trying to offend me with his garlic breath, to make a white plume in the air. “There must be fire in us,” I say to Daddy. “Or something like embers. In the heart, maybe? To make smoke like this?”
Daddy says nothing.
At the narrowest part of the channel, we pick our way down the rocky slopes to the water. Daddy starts to undress.
“Ho!” calls a man passing on the near bank with a horse and cart.
“Good morning!” Daddy calls back, undressing.
“Is he sick?” the man calls to me.
I shake my head.
“Look, he’s got milk,” Daddy says. “Take some coins from my bag, there, and my cup, and get some for after my swim. It’s early enough; it’s probably still warm.”
“I’ll do it,” I tell Tycho. Stay with him .
I pick my way up the slope, holding my skirts up, while the man waits, staring at Daddy. When I hold out the coin, he asks me again if Daddy is sick. I shake my head.
“Then he’s an idiot.” The man fills Daddy’s cup with milk, which steams in the cold. I realize how stupid my idea was. Embers in the heart, seriously. That’s why Daddy didn’t reply. “The current’s about to change. You’re not from here, are you?”
“He knows about the current.”
“He doesn’t know anything.” There’s a splash and the man cries out. Daddy’s in. The man says an evil word. He reaches under his seat for a length of rope and jumps down awkwardly from his cart. He hands me the horse’s reins and tells me not to let go. He scrabbles down the bank, tripping once, but doesn’t stop to inspect the scrape to his knee which, even from here, I can see is bleeding. Daddy is mid-channel now, treading water in what seems to be a lull. The man coils the rope, then tosses the end to Daddy. Confused, Daddy reaches for the end, but it drifts out of his reach. Now Daddy is moving, but not swimming. He dives.
The man asks Tycho what the evil word Daddy thinks he’sdoing, and did Tycho and I come down here to help him kill himself, and if so we’re evil words ourselves. I feel his anger on me like spit. Beside me, the horse shifts and snuffles nervously. It pulls its head against the reins, testing me, smelling inexperience. Smelling girl.
People on both banks have stopped to watch now, adults and children with early-morning business. The sky has indeed gone tender, pink and frail and fine. A shout goes up from the onlookers: Daddy has surfaced, considerably north of where he went in. He’s trying to swim back to us, but the current is holding him prisoner, and he’s swimming hard just to stay still. People are shouting and waving their arms, That way, that way , wanting him to swim with the current rather than against it. He dives again.
The crowd makes a soft, hurt sound, fist to the gut.
I scan the
“You’ll come watch me, won’t you, pet?” he asks. “Hold my towel? Cheer me on?”
Tycho’s a shadow in the doorway.
“Can Tycho come, too?” I ask.
Daddy nods. Tycho disappears.
“You like him,” Daddy says. “You trust him. I think I’ll amend my will and give him to you, when you get married.”
I say, “Ah.”
“You remind me,” Daddy says. “I’ll do it after my swim. Let’s go check the charts for the tide.”
It turns out the optimal time is dawn. “Seriously?” I say, thinking of my warm bed. “Couldn’t we just wait twelve hours?”
“It’ll be dark by then,” Daddy says.
“Dawn’s pretty dark, too.”
“Lazy pet. You’ll survive one early morning. Have you ever seen the colour of the sky that early in the day? The sun comes up like fine wine.”
I pretend to shudder and he smiles that rare, sweet smile.
I’m woken by the tap of his fingers on my door jamb, while the sky is still black and the cock is still sleeping. I tie my hair back uncombed into a pony tail, and put on my warmest clothes. It’s really cold; hoarfrost on the grass.
Once we’re away from the houses and our voices won’t disturb anyone, I exhale hard, like Nico trying to offend me with his garlic breath, to make a white plume in the air. “There must be fire in us,” I say to Daddy. “Or something like embers. In the heart, maybe? To make smoke like this?”
Daddy says nothing.
At the narrowest part of the channel, we pick our way down the rocky slopes to the water. Daddy starts to undress.
“Ho!” calls a man passing on the near bank with a horse and cart.
“Good morning!” Daddy calls back, undressing.
“Is he sick?” the man calls to me.
I shake my head.
“Look, he’s got milk,” Daddy says. “Take some coins from my bag, there, and my cup, and get some for after my swim. It’s early enough; it’s probably still warm.”
“I’ll do it,” I tell Tycho. Stay with him .
I pick my way up the slope, holding my skirts up, while the man waits, staring at Daddy. When I hold out the coin, he asks me again if Daddy is sick. I shake my head.
“Then he’s an idiot.” The man fills Daddy’s cup with milk, which steams in the cold. I realize how stupid my idea was. Embers in the heart, seriously. That’s why Daddy didn’t reply. “The current’s about to change. You’re not from here, are you?”
“He knows about the current.”
“He doesn’t know anything.” There’s a splash and the man cries out. Daddy’s in. The man says an evil word. He reaches under his seat for a length of rope and jumps down awkwardly from his cart. He hands me the horse’s reins and tells me not to let go. He scrabbles down the bank, tripping once, but doesn’t stop to inspect the scrape to his knee which, even from here, I can see is bleeding. Daddy is mid-channel now, treading water in what seems to be a lull. The man coils the rope, then tosses the end to Daddy. Confused, Daddy reaches for the end, but it drifts out of his reach. Now Daddy is moving, but not swimming. He dives.
The man asks Tycho what the evil word Daddy thinks he’sdoing, and did Tycho and I come down here to help him kill himself, and if so we’re evil words ourselves. I feel his anger on me like spit. Beside me, the horse shifts and snuffles nervously. It pulls its head against the reins, testing me, smelling inexperience. Smelling girl.
People on both banks have stopped to watch now, adults and children with early-morning business. The sky has indeed gone tender, pink and frail and fine. A shout goes up from the onlookers: Daddy has surfaced, considerably north of where he went in. He’s trying to swim back to us, but the current is holding him prisoner, and he’s swimming hard just to stay still. People are shouting and waving their arms, That way, that way , wanting him to swim with the current rather than against it. He dives again.
The crowd makes a soft, hurt sound, fist to the gut.
I scan the
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