Zebus and Miriam.

Activity 2.2 OU - Zebus and Miriam

Like an endless carousel the photographs numbly revolved in Zebus’ hands, those faces, grinning awkwardly with fixed camera smiles that always seemed to take the genuine out of peoples expressions, Zebus thought it afflicted  the British more than others. I was one of them once; he shuddered, once forty odd years ago.

He recognised the church, it was the one at the top of his grandmothers’ street, a dowdy old thing, a brick work of crumbling sand constantly soaked with rain, it was a wonder that soft-shoe crabs hadn’t taken residents. The bell had fell through the roof, it’s replacements apparently an awful tape sounding cast through a tinny speaker. He remembered being dragged by his grandmother and those other old biddies, his arm red and sore Zebus surprised himself with a giggle at the reminder the photographs gave him.

‘What’s you laughing at? ’ Miriam asked, after swallowing some morning tea. 
Zebus leaned over to her, she was twenty years younger but at forty-three she still had her figure in shape. A man searches for years to find such a woman to have an understanding. She kept him from going insane, which he knew he surely would, sleeping night after night in such a large double bed alone.  

‘Well, stop staring at me like a hungry dog, will you. What you have in that post?’ Miriam tsked putting down her tea cup and folding her hands into her lap.

‘Family Miriam. Long forgotten wounds and faces. I’m jotting down a reply.’

‘Now I know you, straight forward and –‘

‘Nowt wrong in straight forward Miriam.’

She shook her head and rolled her eyes, for the umpteenth time ‘you’ she stabbed her finger ‘have no diplomatic nature. People don’t like such a thing. Let me see that reply.’

Zebus handed it over, ‘it’s just a first draft.’

She took the sheaf of paper and eyed him suspiciously ‘Mmm hm.’ she sounded through her closed lips.

‘What in the name. What a way to start a letter, and to family… God’s sake man. It’s your nephew’s wedding. They look beautiful, even if it’s raining.’

Zebus slurped his coffee and chewed some toast ‘well it’s true, that mother of his looks like death in a back-draft. Never seen her decent smile on her face ever.’

‘It’s raining that’ll be why, rain spoiling such a great day.’ Miriam eased up on the rocking of her chair and wiped crumbs off he piny.

‘Nah, zebus huffed ‘that woman, look at that face, like she’s got shit for a moustache. The girl Lizzy, ain’t good enough for her kin, that’s what’s going through the bints mind.’

‘Well…’ Miriam re-examined the wedding photographs, they all stood in line at the church doors, rain pouring with smile’s brave but telling. Inwardly she conceded old Zebus was right, what an upturned face his old sister has.    

    ‘See told ye, you know it to. Thank god I never had the money to go back home, imagine turning out like that lot. Beside wouldn’t have you to snuggle with when the desire takes, eh.’

‘They’re still your family you odd old dog. No matter how the years and the distance of water separates. Be nice, for once… and what you mean snuggles with me, you ain’t got that far mister.’

‘Whatdaya mean for once! I’m always nice.’ Zebus clunked his feet on the ground bringing the rockin’ chair to halt the porch shuddering.@and its about time we did get that far!'

‘They glad probably.’ Miriam laughed and struggled out of her seat, ‘you didn’t go back,' she headed for the kitchen in search of fresh iced water, 'you pain in the ass you.’    

The life history of Guillermo Brown

The church clock strikes eight, so those villagers who are awake know without checking that it is six. A cock crows. A body lies across the doorstep of the church, a line of crumb-carrying ants’ march across the fedora, there is a serene, momentary quiet after the chimes cease.

‘Agh, i don’t deserve this,’ Guillermo slobbered over himself, ‘a gutful of bad whiskey, these are not my sins i drown.’

He looked up as sweat dripped from his face and saw his daughter, Esmeralda, watching from behind wall. Her bike resting against her thigh. He felt her hopeful brown eyes wishing each breath was his last. My own daughter he said to himself, born only to kill me, stab my heart humiliate my pride.

‘I feel your eyes,’ words soundless fell from his dry cracked lips, ‘bore into me, demanding my instant death. Pah.’

Guillermo’s heart sheared within his chest, she’s no daughter to me, spite’s me at every turn, given herself to the boy of the man who ruined me. He spat in her direction, his hate long outweighed his love.

Two wheezes more and his body slid awkwardly down the white stones, he landed and his ass gave-out a last involuntary gasp of fumes and follow through, sitting in his own shit Guillermo died.

Esmeralda sniffed indignantly… So, she smiled, he died as he lived.

She got on her bike and glided over the cobbles, away from the crows and howling babies into the small ridge of mountains that shadowed the village.

‘He’s gone, and gone for good.’ She got of her bike and ran to Pedro, kissing his smooth cheek, squeezed her arms around him before placing her head side aways on his shoulder. ‘There’s no coming back for him now.’

            ‘Thank god that’s over with.’ He kissed Esmeralda’s brown hair as it warmed against his shoulder and held her tight. Around them the warming gecko’s began stretching and tail flicking as their blood heated, crickets began chirping, and the green from the scattered brush started glistening.

In Pedro’s lair, nuzzled in his sleeping bag; she circled with finger then tongue before tracing her own nipples around Pedro’s. They licked, kissed and bite each other before she climbed on top and finished the morning with a slow long fuck.  

The gas stove spurted on its dying fumes as Pedro made breakfast and Esmeralda boiled the black coffee, they eat and drank. The church bells echoed through the canyon, Pedro gulped as did Esmeralda, there was no more putting off the next step.

  Together they marched back into the village, which had gathered around Guillermo Brown. Esmeralda and Pedro heard the flies buzzing around the dead man’s underside, the whirling faces of villagers turned to them, a vortex of contorted gums and slanted eyes against the burning sun smiled at the couple.

            ‘He should be buried next to your father Pedro’ said the sheriff ‘so it can be a lesson to future generations that love only conquers all, when its enemies are dead.’