Ripped (2 page)

Fat
Chae
struggled
to
his
feet.
She
heard
his
breath
wheezing
in
his
chest.
'I've
got
a
sweetie
in
my
pocket
do
you
want
a
sweetie?'
His
lips
mumbled
them
as
if
each
word
were
a
plump
gobbet
of
sweetness.

She
shook
her
head.
The
thought
of
eating
anything
he
gave
her
made
her
sick.

'Money,'
he
said.
'I've
got
money
in
there
you
can
have
it
in
there.'
He
pointed
at
his
trouser
pocket
and
pulled
it
open
with
one
finger.
With
money
she
could
buy
sweets
of
her
own,
they
would
be
nothing
to
do
with
him;
but
when
she
pushed
her
hand
into
his
pocket,
having
to
squeeze
hard
against
the
fat
thrust
and
straining
of
his
thigh,
there
was
no
bottom
to
the
pocket
and
she
touched
the
soft
bulging
place
between
his
legs.
She
tried
to
pull
her
hand
out
and
for
a
moment
it
was
held
by
the
tightness
of
the
cloth
as
if
she
was
in
a
trap.

'I
hate
you,'
she
said.
She
bent
and
wiped
the
soft
dead
stuff
from
her
shoe,
but
even
when
she
shook
her
fingers
some
of
it
clung
to
them.
She
reached
out
and
rubbed
them
clean
on
the
ragged
sleeve
of
Fat
Chae's
jersey
.

He
stared
at
the
mark
puzzled.
'It
was
a
joke,
boys
do
it
told
me
to do it.'

'I
hate
you
.
Fat
pig.'

He
looked
up
at
her.
'Your
mother
was
a
whore,'
he
said
dearly,
spacing
out
the
words
as
if
he
had
borrowed
a
voice
for
an
effect
of
mimicry.

Don't
you
talk
about
my
mother!
The
words
in
her
mind
were
like
the
screams
which
had
come
from
her
mouth
when
Jamie's
cousin
kicked
her,
but
she
had
learned
not
to
say
them
aloud
when
anyone
spoke
of
Mother.

'Your
mother,'
he
said,
and
hesitated,
trying
to
get
it
right, ‘your
mother
was
–
your
mother
was
murdered.'

Straight
above
the
harbour
the
sky
was
grey
but
beyond
the
church
it
was
black.
That
was
like
the
sea
which
was
grey
near
the
land
and
black
as
black
far
out.
Only
where
it
met
the
sky
there
was
a
thin
strip
of
whitey
cloud
like
an
eyelid.

Somebody's
hit
the
world,
and
it's
got
a
sore
face.

When
she
came
into
the
kitchen,
the
Woman
looked
round
from
the
oven
and
asked,
'Why
are
you
limping?
What's
up
with
your
leg?'

'I
don't
remember,'
she
said.

She
could
not
think
of
a
reason
then
why
her
leg
should
be
sore.

'Was
it
the
boys?'
the
Woman
asked
anxiously.
She
lifted
a
tray from
the
oven
with
a
big
shape
wrapped
and
hidden on it.
The
kitchen
was
heavy
with
warmth.
'Have
they
been
tormenting
you
again?'

'I
pay
them
no
attention.'
She
watched
as
the
Woman
set
the
tray on
the
big
wooden
table.
'They're
just
common
fishermen's
sons.'

'Don't
let
your
daddy
hear
you
saying
that!
He
wouldn't
think
it
was
funny,'
the
Woman
said,
staring
at
her
in
fright.
That
was
stupid,
the
Woman's
husband
was
not
her
father
,
stupid,
but
she
said
nothing,
watching
as
the
Woman
unwrapped the
shape
on
the
tray.

'A
lovely
bird.'
The
Woman
patted
it
with
the
backs
of
her
fingers. A
bird?
It
was
nothing
like
the
puffed
staring
brokenness
under
the
hedge;
and
yet,
there
were
the
legs,
but
it
had
no
wings
to
fly.
It
was
uglier
than
the
bird
under
the
hedge.

As
she
watched,
the
Woman
peeled
strips
that
hung
curling
from
her
fingers.
'Bits
of
bacon,
that
keep
it
moist
and
sweet' she said.
Then
took
a
long
clean
knife
and
starting
at
the
top
cut
down,
until
a
wall
of
white
meat
toppled
over
and
did
that
twice
more
.
Then
took
smaller
pieces,
and
at
last
with
the
tip
of
the
knife
pushed
out
curls
from
the
bony
corners.
She
turned
the
tray
and
did
it
all
again,
the
white
walls
dropped
in
the
same
way
and
again
with
the
tip
of
the
knife
she
pushed
out
the
last
twists
and
curls
of
the
meat.