Everything in This Country Must Read Online Free PDF Page B

joy.
    Wee, he screamed, running down from the pier and all the way along the empty beach. Wee.
    *   *   *
    THAT FIRST NIGHT the caravan listed and moaned in the fugue of wind that ferried itself up from the water. The caravan sat on cinder blocks, one hundred yards from the cliff face, tethered with a chain at either end. When they switched the lights on, the boy thought the whole thing must have looked like some sad and useless lighthouse.
    It’s stupid here, he said.
    His mother turned around from the stove and said: Oh, it’s not so bad. You’ll see. You’ll end up loving it.
    Have you heard any news?
    Nothing yet.
    The wind lisped through the gaps in the door and carried the smell of fresh salt water. The boy took his black Swiss Army knife from his pocket and placed it on the Formica table, flipped open the blade, and tested its sharpness on a few arm hairs. He cut down close to the skin and he wondered about a freckle on his arm, what might happen if he tried to scoop it out with the knife. He began scraping at the freckle with the tip of the blade until there was a sharp jab of pain and he thought he might have drawn blood. He sucked at his forearm and tasted nothing and, without blood, was disappointed at the whim of his pain.
    When he looked up, his mother had already placed a plate of beans and toast in front of him.
    The boy pushed his penknife into his plate and it slid among the beans and he thought it looked like an absurd kayak in a sea of red. He lifted it up and licked the handle and began spearing individual beans. They broke at the weight of his knife until he learned to pierce them lightly, and he held them in the air, on the tip of his knife, staring at them. He didn’t eat at all.
    His mother sat down. She poured two mugs of tea from the pot and began eating her own meal, feigning indifference.
    Through the steam that rose from the cups, he saw her face shimmy like a fun-house mirror. He began to blow air on his plate.
    Is it too hot, love? she asked.
    No.
    It’s your favorite.
    I’m not hungry.
    You haven’t eaten all day. I bet you could eat that whole thing in, oh, two minutes flat. Less even.
    You know what? he said, his voice shrill. It’s stupid here.
    She closed her eyes briefly and then stared out the window. The boy sliced the beans with his knife and speared the piece of toast, which was soggy now. He lifted the bread in the air and the middle section fell out and it struck him that the bread had lost its heart. It splashed in the plate and a few small dots of tomato juice spotted the table. His mother wiped them up with her finger, let out a long sigh.
    We’ll play chess, she said.
    I don’t know how.
    I taught you once when you were sick. When you had the chicken pox and you were home from school. You loved it.
    I don’t remember that.
    There’s a set in the box beneath your bed.
    It’s not my bed.
    We’ll play anyway, she said. I’ll teach you again.
    I don’t want to.
    Your father was a great player, one of the best.
    The boy pushed his plate away and said nothing. He watched as his mother stared down into her teacup and he could see a tear forming at the edge of her left eye. She blinked and caught it on the corner of her dress and then she rose from the table and took the four steps across the caravan toward his bed, which doubled as a sofa. Beneath it there was a cupboard. As she yanked the door open it seemed to the boy that she was pulling at the side panel of a coffin.
    Dust rose up around her and she covered her eyes and coughed, then came back over to the table carrying the chess set, which was sealed with brittle tape. She pierced the tape with the prongs of her fork. One by one she took the pieces out from the box and named them as she placed them on the table: the king, the queen, the castle, the knight, the bishop, the pawns.
    I don’t like those wee pieces, he said.
    She stared at him and then removed his plate from the table to make room for the board