Angelique

Kenny brushed the flies from Angelique's gentle face. Cradling her head in his lap he returned to softly rocking her. They sat on the earthen floor of the barn, warmed by a thick slab of afternoon sunlight pouring in from between the broad doors.

Their farm languished on a rocky patch of the old riverbed, immersed in a sea of tall billowing poplars. In front of the sagging red barn stood an ancient maple tree and to its right sat the saltbox farmhouse clad in weathered-white clapboard siding and fronted by a long, low veranda. The warm summer breeze pushed open the screen door, only to have the spring return it to the frame with a soft thump. Faded gingham curtains fluttered in the windows upstairs, keeping time with the slowly pulsing door. Kenny swayed to these rhythms, eyes closed, remembering the morning.

The family was gathered around the kitchen table for breakfast. Across from Kenny sat his little brother Raymond, wolfing down the last of his heavily-buttered toast. Beside Raymond sat Angelique, her ringlets of curly blond hair sweeping away the remains of a rice cake from the tray of her high chair. Mother sat tightlipped at the foot of the table, her meal untouched. She looked across at father as he eyed the bosom of his female guest.

It didn't seem right for father to bring ladies to stay overnight at the farm. Mother said so too, but it didn't seem to matter. They never stayed more than overnight and never the same one twice. In fact Kenny could not remember setting eyes on any of them again after they had stayed on the farm.

This one was pretty. With light hair and deep blue eyes she looked an awful lot like the picture of his mother, on her wedding day. She had come downstairs for breakfast dressed only in mother's terrycloth bathrobe and had seated herself beside Kenny, to his father's right.

He glanced down and saw his father's huge calloused hand on the bare thigh of the woman. The thick fingers squeezed and the young ladies legs parted in response. The hand inched upward and she took a deep breath. He watched intently as her face flushed and her lips became fuller. His father's hand jerked suddenly and she let out a sharp sigh. Her leg brushed against Kenny's knee as she tried to spread her legs wider. The cloth belt of the bathrobe began to loosen and the boy stared at the firm flesh of her upturned breast.

"Kenneth!" His father's voice suddenly pierced the room, "Did you feed those chickens this morning like I told you to?"

The son twisted on his chair uncomfortably, like a red ant held captive on a flat rock, his father's magnifying eyes burning into him. The young woman stared down at him sympathetically. The room went silent.

"Can't you do anything right?" his father's thundering voice echoed off the walls. "This family works damn hard to put food on the table and you don't lift a hand to... look at me when I'm talking to you, boy!"

Kenny dragged his eyes from the woman and looked at his father, trying hard not to let him see his fear. Father's voice became more distant.

Kenny was jolted back to the barn by the distant, familiar sound of a pickup truck approaching, its tires crunching through gravel, pulling it off the highway, down the long narrow drive.

Kenny turned back into the shadows of the barn, his eyes darting into each empty stall. Along the far wall he saw the crude, wooden ladder, his eyes following its slanted rungs from the hard packed floor to the silent, barren loft. For a moment he considered hiding. He thought of slipping into one of the lightless niches and cloaking himself in the darkness. Again he was brought back by the sound of the approaching truck, warning him the time for hiding was over.

Looking down, Kenny could see that Angelique's face had lost all colour. Tenderly he began stroking her hair as she looked up at him with terrified pale blue eyes. He held her hand gently, feeling Mother's pinking shears still defiantly clutched in her delicate fingers. Setting Angelique down softly on the ground, pressing his finger to her lips so she would know to be quiet, Kenny crept to the doorway.

The distant whine of the truck's drive gears was becoming a distinct cry of protest as the truck pushed steadily nearer. Kenny's heart began to strike hard against the inside of his chest until it hurt to breathe. Gripping the barn door, he began gently closing it, the aged red paint flaking off in his fingers. The truck was topping the little hill behind the farmyard and while Kenny was still pulling his fingers in, it was speeding alongside the barn. The vehicle passed within inches of the barn door, the ground trembling from its weight. Blood began pounding in his temples as he stood, gasping, with his lungs reluctant to take in air. Wild-eyed he watched the Fargo pickup rattle up to the front porch and stop with a shudder. Turning back into the barn Kenny listened to the truck door slam. He paused; footsteps creaked across the front porch. The screen door opened with a gentle sigh, and then closed with soft familiar thump. Finally there was silence.

Angelique's hand securely in his, the frightened boy reached out for the door. Pulling it open cautiously, his foot advanced from the shadows of the barn. The breeze had died down.

The boy emerged from the barn as an angry, desperate scream came slicing from the house. His father's voice screeched inside his head. Now you're going to get it!

Kenny's eyes flickered then closed. The vision flared up and the horror from inside the house confronted him. Four seated, twisted bodies propping each other up on the sofa. On the overmantle above the fireplace the family photo smiled benignly, at the sight of their bloodied corpses.

The screaming stopped abruptly and Kenny stepped back, facing the house. A form emerged from behind the screen door, it moved with determination out to the driveway, clenching a handgun high above its head. Now standing in the open, Kenny's heart stopped as he recognized the gun. It was fathers, the one kept hidden in their bedroom dresser, why hadn't he grabbed it? Standing in the bright sunlight, Kenny knew it was too late to hide and knew of just one place to run, forward, to mother. He ran with all the strength he possessed but the ground seemed to be pulling him in, each footstep sinking further than the last. Time was slowing as the figure methodically turned towards him. The eyes consumed with rage came down on his and softened for just an instant. But the gun that mother held was still moving down, toward him as he lurched from the ground at her. The hand he was clutching moved from behind him, swept past his ear, sending the scissors deep into her eye. She went down suddenly, a look of confusion more than fear staring up at him, the tip of the blade scraping bone as he drove it in deeper. Mother's body convulsed. How many times had the scissors plunged into her before he knew she would not move? Later, standing over her he watched the warm summer breeze playing with her hair. Then the flies moved in.

Time passed slowly on the farm.

Alone now, his body finally relaxed. With his fingers entwined in mother's hair, her head scraping over the jagged gravel, he numbly walked the short distance to the maple tree. Sitting with his back against the solid trunk he wondered at the thick, rich trail that traced its way back to where her body lay. Smiling to himself he continued cradling mother's head in his lap. He looked toward the barn. He would put hers with the others. Mother would like that. Reaching out with his left hand, he began to pry Angelique's stiff lifeless fingers from the sticky scissor handle. Once released the shears fell gently onto the mossy turf. He studied her tiny hand for a moment, wishing father could see him as he raised it above his head, turned it end over end and then let it fall onto the soft ground.