extra, Miss Fatt hadn’t had one unkind word said to her. She might not have impressed anyone as a marvel, yet , but she was, it was generally agreed, a really nice girl. And, when the shooting was over, Miss Fatt would swing into her little car and drive home.
First Month
It was on the 25th of April that Miss Fatt and Miss Thinne first began to suffer from their unusual problem.
Miss Thinne turned off the alarm at seven and slid out of bed into her slippers. It was her turn to make the breakfast, and with dutiful contentment she gathered together the makings, such as bread, margarine, eggs, tea and so on. But when she’d finished gathering them together, the hoard suddenly struck her as a monstrously large one. In fact, it seemed so excessive that she was a bit revolted: did she really have such a gluttonous appetite as this pile of food would suggest?
As if to answer her own question, she looked deep into herself and tried to examine her appetite, but glimpsed onlythe last trickles of it disappearing into a black hole It seemed to have been lost as helplessly, as inevitably, as water out of a colander. Within a few moments she was entirely taken over by the realisation that eating was not for her . she’d been doing it for too long. What on earth was the point, after all, of putting things in your mouth, pulping them up with your teeth, and swallowing them?
‘What’s wrong?’
It was Miss Fatt, come into the kitchen in her slippers and nightgown. She looked at Miss Thinne as if to say, What are you doing just standing there? And Miss Thinne looked back at Miss Fatt as if to say, What are you in such a hurry for?
‘I couldn’t wait ,’ said Miss Fatt. ‘I’m so hungry .’ She ogled the eggs in the egg-basket, but they were hard-shelled and raw, intolerable minutes away from being ready to eat, so she went for the bread instead, snatching up slices of it straight from the packet.
‘Oh my God, what a hunger,’ she mumbled, stuffing herself.
‘Go ahead,’ conceded Miss Thinne. ‘Eat it all. I’m not a bit hungry this morning. Couldn’t eat a bite.’ And she stood there, shivering in her nightgown, marvelling at the ability of a human to do what Miss Fatt was doing.
Miss Fatt frowned in mid-chew and pointed out with some concern,
‘You should eat something.’
Miss Thinne opened the refrigerator and scooped a handful of grated carrot out of a plastic bowl. With uncommon delicacy she took her seat at the kitchen table and, while Miss Fatt continued eating slices of undecorated bread, she stared at the handful of carrot and reflected,
‘You know, this is really quite a lot, when you think about it. It must be … four or five cubic centimetres, at least.The whole human stomach wouldn’t even be five cubic centimetres, would it?’
‘Oh, much more than that,’ demurred Miss Fatt, gasping in between swallows. ‘Anyway, it stretches.’
‘Ugh,’ said Miss Thinne. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’ Carefully she transferred some of the carrot to her other hand and nibbled, like a suspicious animal, at the reduced amount.
Miss Fatt swallowed hard on her sixth slice of bread and was comforted by the realisation that if she put some eggs on to boil now, she could continue eating bread until they were cooked.
In due course, Miss Thinne and Miss Fatt went to work.
‘And what do you do of a weekend, Eleanor?’ a co-worker asked Miss Thinne over morning tea.
‘I play the oboe in the Catholic Women’s Sinfonia,’ she replied.
‘You’re joking!’
‘No, I learned it at convent school, and sort of never gave it up. It’s a lot of fun.’
‘Ha! Ha! Good for you!’
Miss Thinne blushed, sipped her tea, but did not touch her biscuit.
Miss Fatt went off to the countryside to be driven around. She was playing the wife of a man who had just bought the right brand of car. A camera mounted variously on the bonnet, the side windows and the back seat filmed the two of them smiling at each
First Month
It was on the 25th of April that Miss Fatt and Miss Thinne first began to suffer from their unusual problem.
Miss Thinne turned off the alarm at seven and slid out of bed into her slippers. It was her turn to make the breakfast, and with dutiful contentment she gathered together the makings, such as bread, margarine, eggs, tea and so on. But when she’d finished gathering them together, the hoard suddenly struck her as a monstrously large one. In fact, it seemed so excessive that she was a bit revolted: did she really have such a gluttonous appetite as this pile of food would suggest?
As if to answer her own question, she looked deep into herself and tried to examine her appetite, but glimpsed onlythe last trickles of it disappearing into a black hole It seemed to have been lost as helplessly, as inevitably, as water out of a colander. Within a few moments she was entirely taken over by the realisation that eating was not for her . she’d been doing it for too long. What on earth was the point, after all, of putting things in your mouth, pulping them up with your teeth, and swallowing them?
‘What’s wrong?’
It was Miss Fatt, come into the kitchen in her slippers and nightgown. She looked at Miss Thinne as if to say, What are you doing just standing there? And Miss Thinne looked back at Miss Fatt as if to say, What are you in such a hurry for?
‘I couldn’t wait ,’ said Miss Fatt. ‘I’m so hungry .’ She ogled the eggs in the egg-basket, but they were hard-shelled and raw, intolerable minutes away from being ready to eat, so she went for the bread instead, snatching up slices of it straight from the packet.
‘Oh my God, what a hunger,’ she mumbled, stuffing herself.
‘Go ahead,’ conceded Miss Thinne. ‘Eat it all. I’m not a bit hungry this morning. Couldn’t eat a bite.’ And she stood there, shivering in her nightgown, marvelling at the ability of a human to do what Miss Fatt was doing.
Miss Fatt frowned in mid-chew and pointed out with some concern,
‘You should eat something.’
Miss Thinne opened the refrigerator and scooped a handful of grated carrot out of a plastic bowl. With uncommon delicacy she took her seat at the kitchen table and, while Miss Fatt continued eating slices of undecorated bread, she stared at the handful of carrot and reflected,
‘You know, this is really quite a lot, when you think about it. It must be … four or five cubic centimetres, at least.The whole human stomach wouldn’t even be five cubic centimetres, would it?’
‘Oh, much more than that,’ demurred Miss Fatt, gasping in between swallows. ‘Anyway, it stretches.’
‘Ugh,’ said Miss Thinne. ‘I don’t like the sound of that.’ Carefully she transferred some of the carrot to her other hand and nibbled, like a suspicious animal, at the reduced amount.
Miss Fatt swallowed hard on her sixth slice of bread and was comforted by the realisation that if she put some eggs on to boil now, she could continue eating bread until they were cooked.
In due course, Miss Thinne and Miss Fatt went to work.
‘And what do you do of a weekend, Eleanor?’ a co-worker asked Miss Thinne over morning tea.
‘I play the oboe in the Catholic Women’s Sinfonia,’ she replied.
‘You’re joking!’
‘No, I learned it at convent school, and sort of never gave it up. It’s a lot of fun.’
‘Ha! Ha! Good for you!’
Miss Thinne blushed, sipped her tea, but did not touch her biscuit.
Miss Fatt went off to the countryside to be driven around. She was playing the wife of a man who had just bought the right brand of car. A camera mounted variously on the bonnet, the side windows and the back seat filmed the two of them smiling at each
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