Aunty

2

Thrapston huddled around river Nene like a pack of thirsty dogs. Fields of barley and rye waved with an old ache. The ground gave up its bounty reluctantly, and the birds took the rest. It was a hard thing to farm, and I had never liked it, preferring to dig holes in the ground. Horence! That boy mined like a damn badger, day in and day out. His back was what had kept beans in our bowls. Morris had warned me, "Don't push my brother, he can only take it for so long,". But my mother had raised me to whip with my tongue like a cracker. When I saw someone weak, I had to fix it. Make him stronger by showing him his cracks. I had cracked old Horence in the same spot over and over. It had not fixed him. His winces eventually stopped, but not because the wound was calloused, but because he was cornered and scared. His simple mind could not understand my lesson and he had finally had enough. Slinking away in the night early spring. Morris and I had waited for him to return, but it was for naught. Morris knew. He blamed me rightfully, and I then felt remorse. Such a rare thing for one as twisted as me.

I let it dig at me. I looked through Horence's eyes into my dead eye, letting the words stab me straight on. Mud-boy, lift the rocks! Lift them high! Then drop them on your head. That's the only way you'll ever understand the world. The world drops its lessons on dumb old Horence! And all he can do is wince and grunt. Eat and shit. What does the world need with a human badger? Better he sniffs out worms than to try to understand the intricacies of shovelling! Ha! Ha! Ha!

And now I stood here with a scrawny ox, ready to dig Horence out of Thrapston. Aunty said he worked for my mother. But mother's tongue had surely whipped him away even quicker than mine. Where was Horence now? Why did I care? He'd want no part of me. Maybe I could tell him what an idiot I was. That I knew no better. That I was as twisted as a hog's cock. He'd look at me with his doe's eyes and not get it. Then he'd turn slowly and walk off. This time not sneaking off in the night. Just turning his huge bulking back to hide his wounded pride.

It's your hole Rupert, enjoy the solace with the beetles and centipedes.

Oh well, mother'd be in Thrapston. And Zadie. One handed Zadie. Sour and grown, not likely to remember her sweaty dead eyed 'cousin'.

I waited until the sun got low. The ox would cause some questions I'd rather leave unquestioned. I tugged the rein and on came old bones. The bag of apples thrown over his shoulders was almost empty. They were the only thing I'd eaten since leaving dead aunty and dead old man in the muck. At first, I'd been bound up like an old, twisted rope, but the second day had got my shit flowing smooth as butter. My arse-hole could sing on command at this point.

The road became graveled, and I recalled the nearing to Washington's stead. Lime and oak trees lined their alley. The grounds clear of nettle. No hogs roaming. Even a lawn, shorn short by their ogre of a gardener. Behold the mighty stead of Washington! All hail his roman nose and his tiny cock! His son Jasper would be grown now. Ready for some good old revenge on Rupert. Best to lie low here.

As I came around the bend the visage of the Washington stead grew green and clean. A small field had been cleared of trees, and the lawn had expansed. The old ogre had been busy! Small bushes were trimmed up square. Dahlias and carnations swam in regular rows. The sun set behind the house. But the house was larger now. Not even with additions but built anew. I had slowed so much in my awe that I was surprised by the large man walking on the road. He appeared on the other side of my ox and turned to me.

"Halloo,".

That face and voice, could it be?

I forced an Irish accent, stupidly and quick.

"Good day guv'nor,".

Keeping my gaze to the ground I hung my mouth open, pressing my best Horence impression to mind.