child.
Iâm not a child.
I know.
The old womanâs chin began to tremble and tears filled her eyes. She started to sob.
Please stop
, said Jessie. She could hardly breathe in the old womanâs presence.
The old woman wiped her face with her skirt.
Can you leave me alone?
The old woman left the bathhouse without protest. Jessie could hear her sobbing as she walked around the water tank. And then she was gone.
My mother leaned back against the end of the bath and watched her body rising and falling with her breathing. She held her breath for a long time and wondered how long it would take to drown if she rolled over.
She did not roll over. She splashed herself with water and the water pooled in the creases of her body and for a moment she imagined that I was still inside her and that my father was not Fitz but Jack Brown and it was Jack Brown, not the old man, on the other side of the bathhouse cleaning her saddle.
B y day, the forest was flush with the smell of wattle and the smell of honey. Jack Brown veered off the track and pushed into the dense mesh of trees and bright yellow flowers that exploded into dust when he passed them. Soon he was covered in their pollen, and their scent masked the stench that he carried in the sack behind him. As he rode, he could see new life poking up from the earth, the forest seeding itself in anticipation.
He nudged his horse forward until the bush was too thick to ride any farther and then he dismounted and tied his horse to a branch. He walked in, carrying the sack, counting tree by tree until he found the tree he was looking for. The hollow tree was his hiding place. Whenever he was paid by Fitz, which was not often, he rolled up his money like cigars and rode into the forest and deposited it in a tin he had lodged within the tree. When he first discovered the tree he thought to himself that the hollow was big enough for a body. But it was only a term of measure; he did not imagine he would ever hide a body within it.
He knelt down in front of the tree and took out his knife and used it to pry back the shield of bark that covered the hollow, just far enough so he could get his fingers beneath it and dislodge it. The bark came away and he felt inside the tree for his money tin, which was wedged above a knot. The tin had grown rusty and would not easily open, so he forced it with the edge of his knife. He took out a wad of notes and stuffed it into his top pocket, then he set the tinback in its place and heaved the sack into the hollow. But the sack was unevenly weighted and fell out of the opening of the tree. Jack Brown pushed it with his boot and then he pressed the bark into place, tapping it with the handle of his knife until it was all perfectly sealed.
Jack Brown did not know the intricacies of the law, but he did know that if there was no body, there could be no murder.
He collected his horse and found his way back onto the track. He rode recklessly, craving the sharp and certain guilt of murdering Fitz himself rather than the blunt feeling that he had failed himself and, worse, that he had failed Jessie.
When the river was in sight he cleared the fence that bordered the forest and the riverbank. His horse slid down to level ground and he clung to it while it regained its feet and then he rode it into the swell of the river, pushing it farther and farther against the current until he felt himself pummeled by the force and the coldness of it, and he wished that one day he might be cleansed of every old and acrid thought that clung to him.
I HEARD HIM charging around the river. His horse was brimming with sound and he was talking anxiously to it, as if he was trying to calm his horse and himself at once. My own heart leapt. There I was, waiting for my mother, and though he was not my mother, he surely could have been my father. And I thought anything she loved or longed for would do. Together, we could find her.
I called,
Jack Brown, I am not dead!
I did
Iâm not a child.
I know.
The old womanâs chin began to tremble and tears filled her eyes. She started to sob.
Please stop
, said Jessie. She could hardly breathe in the old womanâs presence.
The old woman wiped her face with her skirt.
Can you leave me alone?
The old woman left the bathhouse without protest. Jessie could hear her sobbing as she walked around the water tank. And then she was gone.
My mother leaned back against the end of the bath and watched her body rising and falling with her breathing. She held her breath for a long time and wondered how long it would take to drown if she rolled over.
She did not roll over. She splashed herself with water and the water pooled in the creases of her body and for a moment she imagined that I was still inside her and that my father was not Fitz but Jack Brown and it was Jack Brown, not the old man, on the other side of the bathhouse cleaning her saddle.
B y day, the forest was flush with the smell of wattle and the smell of honey. Jack Brown veered off the track and pushed into the dense mesh of trees and bright yellow flowers that exploded into dust when he passed them. Soon he was covered in their pollen, and their scent masked the stench that he carried in the sack behind him. As he rode, he could see new life poking up from the earth, the forest seeding itself in anticipation.
He nudged his horse forward until the bush was too thick to ride any farther and then he dismounted and tied his horse to a branch. He walked in, carrying the sack, counting tree by tree until he found the tree he was looking for. The hollow tree was his hiding place. Whenever he was paid by Fitz, which was not often, he rolled up his money like cigars and rode into the forest and deposited it in a tin he had lodged within the tree. When he first discovered the tree he thought to himself that the hollow was big enough for a body. But it was only a term of measure; he did not imagine he would ever hide a body within it.
He knelt down in front of the tree and took out his knife and used it to pry back the shield of bark that covered the hollow, just far enough so he could get his fingers beneath it and dislodge it. The bark came away and he felt inside the tree for his money tin, which was wedged above a knot. The tin had grown rusty and would not easily open, so he forced it with the edge of his knife. He took out a wad of notes and stuffed it into his top pocket, then he set the tinback in its place and heaved the sack into the hollow. But the sack was unevenly weighted and fell out of the opening of the tree. Jack Brown pushed it with his boot and then he pressed the bark into place, tapping it with the handle of his knife until it was all perfectly sealed.
Jack Brown did not know the intricacies of the law, but he did know that if there was no body, there could be no murder.
He collected his horse and found his way back onto the track. He rode recklessly, craving the sharp and certain guilt of murdering Fitz himself rather than the blunt feeling that he had failed himself and, worse, that he had failed Jessie.
When the river was in sight he cleared the fence that bordered the forest and the riverbank. His horse slid down to level ground and he clung to it while it regained its feet and then he rode it into the swell of the river, pushing it farther and farther against the current until he felt himself pummeled by the force and the coldness of it, and he wished that one day he might be cleansed of every old and acrid thought that clung to him.
I HEARD HIM charging around the river. His horse was brimming with sound and he was talking anxiously to it, as if he was trying to calm his horse and himself at once. My own heart leapt. There I was, waiting for my mother, and though he was not my mother, he surely could have been my father. And I thought anything she loved or longed for would do. Together, we could find her.
I called,
Jack Brown, I am not dead!
I did
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