Circus Solace Read Online Free PDF Page B

coffee or cooked food, the scent didn’t seem to lessen but instead combine make it better and stronger. It reminded Matt of photos he had seen of remote islands, where nothing seemed to damage the cliffs as much as make them more stunning. Matt thought of his ma in those times and how the illness did not make her weak but older and more beautiful, as if she had lived nine lives and had taken only the good from each one of them. Matt wiped his eyes on his sleeves when he thought about her but did not feel bad about the tears he shed.
    Even though it was hard, Matt began to feel stronger in those days of work. Sometimes he looked over and saw what he was feeling in Pa, too. The sweat brought more colour to his cheeks and the little sun there was stayed on his arms. Most of the time they would work in silence and the few words they shared were about the house. It was a good silence and a comfortable one that they both fitted inside. Each day they broke for lunch and sat on the porch, looking out to the fields, watching the long swaying grasses. When they were done for the day, they would take their dinner up to the roof and sit and watch the stars as they bloomed in the night sky. The moon would appear like a spotlight, watching over them; guiding crumbs into their mouths and the glasses to their lips. Sometimes the moonlight felt stronger and more powerful than the weak sun of the day.
    Matt still watched the fields.
    Each day, Matt saw something/someone moving in amongst the trees. At first he had it down as a deer but then on another day it stood and the silhouette was clearly a man. Matt noticed whatever it was did not move beyond the boundary of the fields; once or twice it reached the edge of the clearing but then stopped violently, as if some rule or penalty was being enforced. It would stutter and then shamble away, as if scolded, back to the folds of the forest and out of sight. Matt had waved, swished a handkerchief and even held up a hand painted sign to be read but nothing seemed to grab its attention. He sensed it was not a cruel thing or something sent to do them harm. Even in the shade, Matt sensed goodness to it, even as it slouched and jutted at odd angles. In a way, the strange thing reminded him of the house, the way it covered itself in darkness but only for protection and not in order to pounce. Over the days, the creature became as much a watchful guardian from the fields as the thick moon had become overhead in the sky.
    As the tw o of them made their way through each room, Matt looked for signs of his ma. At first he searched for photos on the walls but saw the deeply faded marks where they had once sat and then been removed. He found small damages to the beams and wondered if they had been made by her at his age, reckless and clumsy; nothing really mattering until that moment when an adults’ voice brought her back to reality with a sharp word. Even when they made their way to the attic, where Matt had high hopes, they found nothing but dust and the tell-tale signs of a life once lived and now long gone. Matt saw Pa put his hand to the lighter segments of wood where caskets and crates had clearly once rested, as if trying to find a signal, another map to guide them. All that was left were brittle pieces of straw where even the birds had flown the coop.
                                                                          *
    That night, as they sat on the roof, Matt searched the fields for the creature and saw nothing bu t the swaying branches. As he put his palm down on the slate tile, he felt a ridge that made his skin twitch. Without thinking, he looked down and saw the indent spread into more lines. He squinted and the moon illuminated the clear outline of an arrow under his fingertip. Somehow, he knew it had been carved by his ma; the line was uneven and too careless, lacking a grown-up’s tired precision. Matt glanced over to Pa,