You can talk, she thought, it’s all right for you. It was Sunday again and they were walking in Richmond Park.
“You’re not even listening,” he said. “You’re not even bothering to listen.”
“I am listening,” she said. In the distance she could see a large stag sitting on its own under a tree.
“You have that look on your face where you’re miles away.”
“I’m listening,” she said. “I just saw him, Big Chief Antler there.”
She pointed into the distance and he stopped walking, and a twig snapped under his foot. It sounded like an arm breaking.
“Brilliant,” he said. “I’m trying to talk to you, and all you can think about is a fucking deer.”
She looked up at him under her eyebrows. “It’s not a deer, dear,” she said. “It’s a stag.”
***
When she came to the park again, she was on her own. She had the papers tucked under her arm and a flask in her shoulder bag. She walked for half an hour before she found the stag, then sat on the grass a good distance away and poured herself a cup of tea.
She watched him for a long time, just sitting there proud and strong and bored.
Fine rain began to fall and she took the hat out of her bag and put it on. She wanted to speak to the stag; that was the crux of it. She wanted to march right over there and get it all off her chest, spilling it all to a huge pair of antlers.
The stag just sat there, immensely bored, waiting for his time.
***
“So,” she said, “that’s pretty much the gist of it.”
The stag sat there nodding his antlers.
“I understand,” he said, “you’re right. That’s exactly how it is.”
From the collection, Little Flame and Other Endings
Available on Amazon — Little Flame
Comentários