An other life

There was a noise.

It was not the rattling gurgle of the hot water bottle as the woman rolled in the bed, pulling it with her. That was a known noise, a safe noise.

The house held its breath.

The radiator plinked the last of the day’s warmth, and the wardrobe creaked companionably, sharing a memory.

The books had been reading. Now they paused in their discussion of Kafka’s Metamorphosis. The rustle of debate was hushed.

The bathroom light, which had been flirting with the mirror and the taps, quietly switched itself off. The pull-cord swung for a moment and was still.

In the kitchen, the eggs had been dreaming primal dreams of sunshine and worms. Disturbed, they shifted slightly in their basket. The basket was shaped like a chicken, but the irony was lost on the eggs.

The milk, forgotten on the counter top after the evening’s last cup of tea, yearned towards the refrigerator and cool slumber. The fridge smiled fatly back, containing yoghourt, cheese, mayonnaise, non-dairy spread, a cucumber, bread, orange juice, tomato puree, a bottle of Sauvignon Blanc and three slices of ham on a plate, covered with cling film.

In the conservatory, the plants were anxious. From their vantage point, they could sense something amiss in the garden. ‘Danger?’ they signalled to one another.

Oblivious, the woman slept, her human senses unawakened.

The dog knew. It jumped from the bed where it had been keeping guard on its back, eyes closed, paws in the air. Standing in the middle of the room it growled softly, the hackles rising. Accustomed, she called without waking ‘It’s all right, Purdey, good girl, it’s all right. Hup, hup.’

Reassured, though not convinced, the dog jumped back onto the bed. From habit the woman’s body curved to accommodate the heavy warm shape curled tight against her. The woman murmured but did not wake. The dog began licking its paws.

Outside, the pond frowned at the intruder and gathered itself protectively around the frogspawn stirring in its depths. ‘Begone!’ it shouted without sound. ‘You don’t belong here. Leave us to our rest’

The cat paused, raised a brindled head, then went on filling the hole which it had dug, illicitly, among the tulips. It stayed a while longer, meticulously grooming its flanks and belly, before jumping the fence to disappear into the night.

An owl and the moon sailed noiseless overhead, blessing house and garden once more with peace.

Patricia Feinberg Stoner

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