I felt nothing when my father died. No sadness. Not because I hated him; I had rarely seen him in the last 10 years to to love or despise him. It’s true that I left home in a bitter mood on that January day. I was 18 and a month.
Now I’m 25; and my father lies stiff, in the best suit he’s ever worn. If only my mother was alive to gloat. But I’m not here to do that. The man didn’t do any wrong by me. Whatever wrong he did to my mother he made up for by being a good father. It was only in my stubborn years, when he saw fault in everything I did, that I grew tired of the man; and I left home.
Outside the church people give their sorries. I’m not sorry. I mingle for a moment with a group I don’t know. There’s a lot of people here I don’t know.
Caroline stood by a hansom; a tree shaded her from the slight heat. She held my father’s son in her arms. Caroline and my father had been engaged for 15 years. Never married.
She called out to me, “Richard.”
She walked over to where I stood alone.
“Richard. Is that you, Richard? I’m so sorry, darling.”
I half smiled.
She asked me if I’d come up from Melbourne.
I said I had.
“Where are you staying?” she asked.
“I booked a room in town.”
“That won’t do. Come home with me. There’s a spare room. You can stay for the weekend.”
“I don’t want to trouble you.”
“Nonsense.”
The day got wearily hotter. The sky seemed to melt in the sun’s heat. I looked at Caroline. Dust on her face had been dampened by sweat, creating a tanned complexion. She wiped her forehead with a handkerchief.
Later that day, Caroline put the baby down. Then we two adults had lunch. The air was cooling. A wind was blowing. Outside, clothes fluttered on a makeshift line. We ate in unpleasant silence.
Caroline was only 15 years older than me. Not that she looked even 5 years older. Her skin hadn’t cracked with the
heat. Her hair was not a shade lighter than the auburn it was when I first met her. Her brown eyes looked straight through my skin. They followed me. I saw them even as I slept.
Morning came. The heat had returned. It drained me. I had slept late. It was past eleven.
I got up, walked outside. Out through the kitchen, looking for Caroline. Through the window I saw her hanging clothes on the line.
All night my body had troubled me. I wondered if her body had troubled her. Had her cunt dripped for me. Had the sweat between her legs dampened the sheets. Had she washed it away. I needed to know.
I pushed outside. I was lethargic. The heat bit me hard. I fell on my knees, behind her ass. I lifted up her dress, and shoved my mouth in. My whole face was covered. I nosed her ass, and lapped at her cunt.
“What on earth are you doing?”
I kept eating. She bit her lip gently, and moaned. “Hmmm.”
Her legs shivered as she came in my mouth. She fell on my face, sitting on my mouth. My tongue pushed up into her cunt. It quivered.
At the dinner table nothing was spoken. This time the silence wasn’t so unpleasant.