Keening Country
Page 9
The neighbours to the right – the Whyte family – were slightly odd, but outgoing and friendly. The father was a retired teacher of some sort and, judging by the number of empty bottles in the garden, his wife was heavy on the wine. Her family wouldn’t normally mix with the Whytes; not until Christmas time rolled round – a time of year which the Kapoor family had to grin and bear for the sake of neighbourly civility.
Despite daydreaming and cooking up fantasies about her neighbours, Garima couldn’t help but turn her attention to the bungalow directly across the road. Her parents – Sanjay and Danika Kapoor – often mocked her by calling her a curtain twitcher! And her father even bought her a set of binoculars as a joke present.
Her view went directly into the kitchen and in there she’d watch Henry Maguire pottering about. Sometimes with binoculars, sometimes without – it all depended on what mood she was in. Despite him being much older, he was her secret crush. One she would dream about when she did eventually drift in and out sleep.
Henry was different to the rest of the families on the road. He lived in solitude and didn’t converse with his neighbours. No one knew his circumstances, nor his profession, so it didn’t take long for some rumours to circulate about him. Some said he used to be in the army and never had the chance to marry. Others reckoned he was an artist – you know, one of those creative types that needed to be alone in order to work. Whatever the backstory, it didn’t stop Garima thinking about him. Perhaps it was the mystery that attracted her to him. In her mind, he could be anything she wanted him to be. And this was her secret. One that lay deep inside of her.
Her desires would upset her parents, both of whom embraced their Indian heritage. This was something that Garima didn’t care too much for. She had never been to India as she’d been born and raised in Ireland. But she had done her best to respect her parents. So, the thoughts she harboured for Henry had to stay behind closed doors.
He’s too old for me anyway. It’d never work…
Still, she couldn’t help but daydream. And that was the least of her parents’ worries. While they focused on getting her through her studies and sleep deprivation, little by little, she experimented with razor blades against her wrists. In her mind, this was not a suicide attempt, but more of an unquenchable thirst – a need to feel.
Henry was a handsome man – in a rugged sort of way; his hair was grey and neat. His physical condition assisted with hiding his age as he walked around like a man in his twenties. Confident, strong, showing every characteristic an alpha male should possess. She hoped he was a doctor. Why this mattered, she couldn’t understand. Perhaps it was years of her parents’ conditioning and goal setting.
Rain fell hard against the path outside. Puddles swelled. Droplets teemed down the outside of her window, leaving a residue. Condensation slowly built up on the inside. Using her index finger, she wrote the words I hate myself in the mist.
As the drops dribbled down the window, her gaze reached beyond the moist haze into Henry’s kitchen. There he stood, wearing his tartan pyjama bottoms and tight grey t-shirt. As he made his way across the room, she wondered if his bare feet were cold from the tiled floor. Unable to focus on her studies, she was able to study him. Watching his every move, she thought to herself, maybe everything isn’t so bad after all.
Henry stood over the sink, preparing food for dinner. He washed vegetables beneath the tap and placed them on the draining board. Beside the sink, he set up a chopping board and pulled out a large knife and sharpening steel. With quick action, the edge returned to the knife.
As mundane viewing as it was, it didn’t stop Garima staring as Henry chopped away at what looked like onions and that was when she gasped in shock…
She watched in horror as the knife slipped from his grip and in an instant, Henry was on the floor clutching his foot – his screams bellowing all over the estate. He backed away from the sink, across the room and into full view. Beside him a pool of blood rapidly grew. She watched him struggling to reach for a tea towel, eventually grabbing it, wrapping the cloth around his foot as tight as he could.
Garima looked on in shock at the poor man. All of her impulses urged her to seek help, but at the same time she was unable to look away. She reached for the gift her father gave her, which she kept stored on a shelf above her desk. Moving quickly, she fumbled the binoculars from the case, and with a quick toggle on the focus wheel, she was able to see Henry up close. The tea towel was soaked in dark red liquid. He sat motionless on the floor, pale-faced, with his back against the wall.
The urges to help in some way hadn’t diminished, but she didn’t want anyone to know that she was watching him – through binoculars, no less. Her father would be disgusted with her. But all of these thoughts left her mind as soon as she laid eyes on the little peach-coloured lump that edged the pool of blood.
Henry’s big toe; severed, lifeless.
The mere sight of it caused her to wretch, violently. She scrambled around, grabbing hold of the waste paper basket beside her desk, as the contents of her stomach emptied in a violent wave of convulsions.
Henry, you fool. How did you manage to let it slip?
She wondered how long it’d take for the ambulance to get here. Or if he’d be too proud to call it, and would drive himself to the emergency room? Surely not. Not with that foot. She couldn’t help but keep an eye on her watch as time crept by. All the while, Henry sat on the floor, holding the towel firm with one hand and inspecting his severed toe in the other. He seemed so calm about the situation – it was almost disturbing to watch.
She took a few moments to rub her eyes, and went back to check on Henry. He had moved and the floor had been cleaned. But how? It didn’t matter because the man hobbled back into view with a frying pan in hand. He successfully struck a match and lit the burner on his oven. After the frying pan was set down, a splash of olive oil soaked the inside of the pan. How could he continue cooking after what had happened?
Garima was dumbfounded.
He really is strange... However, the strangeness quickly changed to horror when she noticed what Henry was preparing for his meal. At first, she refused to believe it, but there it was, sitting in the middle of the pan, simmering away – Henry’s eyes were wide with excitement, almost euphoric.
She couldn’t fully grasp what was happening and after a few minutes, Henry proceeded to plunge a fork into the toe and raise it up for a close inspection. With a quick lick of his lips and a dash of salt, he began to gnaw away at it – forcing Garima to reach for her bin, again.
“You sick, sick man,” she repeated over and over again, as she wiped vomit from her mouth, reluctantly reaching for the binoculars again. This time, her hands shaking, she fearfully gazed through them, terrified of what she might see.
When her focus cleared, Henry stood in the window gazing up at her. With a scream, the binoculars hit the floor and she ducked for cover. Shit, did he see me?
A thump on the door forced her to recoil with fright. He couldn’t have made it over here that quickly. Could he? She waited to hear who was at the door, chewing on her nails.
“Garima, darling? Are you okay?” Her mother called to her from the other side of the bedroom door. Oh, thank fuck for that.
“F-F-Fine, Mother. Just studying,” Garima answered with a stutter.
“Well, okay. Dinner is almost ready. Come down when you’re ready.”
Dinner? Was she serious? The thought of food right now made her shiver. But, she was hungry. With a great effort, she managed to pull herself up from the floor and pulled on a jumper, making sure to cover her scabbed wrists before joining her family for dinner.
Sanjay and Danika exchanged awkward looks across the table. They didn’t have to say it out loud, but they knew something wasn’t right with their daughter. She’d been this way for months and the lack of progress surrounding her insomnia had reached a frustrating point. Beneath the table, Sanjay lightly kicked his wife, prompting
her to try and open the lines of communication.
“How is the studying coming along, Garima?” Danika asked, clearing her throat.
“Fine, I guess,” she replied, not looking up from her dinner plate.
“You haven’t touched your food. Is there something wrong?”
Garima didn’t answer.
“Your mother is talking to you, Garima,” Sanjay said, firmly.
Garima didn’t want to engage in conversation. Thoughts of the severed toe kept swirling around in her mind: How could he eat it?
“Garima… We’re worried about you. You’re not eating. You’re not sleeping. Is there something else going on?” Her mother wasn’t giving up; placing her hand on the table beside Garima in an attempt to show support.
“I said I’m fine. Look, I’m not in the mood to eat. May I just be excused?”
“No,” Sanjay said, “your mother is talking to you. What is going on with you lately? All you do is sit up in your room looking out of the window.”
“So, what’s wrong with that?” Garima protested.
“Look at the bags under your eyes. They are pitch black. You need to stop stressing over your exams and go out and see your friends. You never see them anymore.”
“That’s rich, coming from you, Dad. You’re the one who wants me to get perfect results, go to college and marry a doctor. An Indian one at that. You’re the one forcing me to do things I don’t want to do,” Garima snapped.
“Oh, here we go again. I never said anything like that, Garima. I just want the best for you,” Sanjay argued.
“Okay, stop! Can everyone just stop, please?” Danika exclaimed, forcing a silence at the kitchen table.
Garima looked around.
Both parents stared at her with their mouths open – clearly shocked by her outburst.
She knew they were both right, and they had every reason to be worried. Their only daughter looked unhealthy and lived like a recluse. It didn’t help that outside of this, she obsessed over her neighbour – one who was roughly thirty years older than her – and this compounded her dark feelings. She hid the results beneath the baggy sleeve of her jumper. Concealing them was the easy part. As, too, was managing the rate at which she cut – but after witnessing Henry's actions tonight, she felt overcome with despair and sorrow.
She worried deeply for him.
Morning crashed into her room with the sun carrying a surprising amount of heat for the time of year, and by some miracle, Garima had managed to get a few hours’ sleep.
In school, Tuesdays were the busiest with heavy lectures running all day. She normally left the house just after both parents went to work. The bus would arrive at half-eight, sharp. Feeling exhausted, she rose up from her bed, made her way over to the dresser and was shocked by the girl looking back at her in the mirror.
Her eyes, zombie-like, scared her. What had she become? Love wasn’t supposed to do this to a person, was it? She slowly put some clothes on and fixed her long dark hair into a ponytail. The bus would be here in a few minutes and she didn’t have the energy to rush. She moved to open the window to let some fresh air in.
The ground outside was dry, but the air seemed cold. She watched schoolchildren walking by with their bags on their backs, ready for class. She needed to get going, but was unable to find the motivation.
Henry’s bungalow appeared idle – but his car was parked in the driveway.
Last night's events came rushing back into her mind. He’s still at home? Is he okay? Her mind was made up. There would be no school today. How could she concentrate, knowing that he was at home and surely in need of urgent medical assistance for his foot. No, school would have to wait – Henry was important to her, even if he didn’t know it, yet.
A cool breeze hung in the air as the morning crept on into the afternoon. And the road lay silent all day. She’d seen a cat scramble by earlier, but that was about the height of the excitement.
The curtains in Henry’s kitchen had been drawn all morning, and she sat staring, gnawing at her nails, wondering if he was okay on the other side of them. He’s probably fine. Or he could be on the floor passed out from blood loss.
Garima couldn’t wait anymore. She battled with her inner thoughts, but in the end decided, it was time to go over and find out.
Garima walked across the road, moving with stealth-like precision. She felt silly, as she had walked up and down this road a million times. She paused to examine the gate as she approached it. It was a little rusty and she couldn’t risk a sound that would signal to him that she was coming. Instead, she opted to climb over the front wall. If everything was okay inside the house, she’d need a reason to call over. And just dropping by in the middle of the day when she was supposed to be in school to check on a man who ate his own toe for dinner wasn’t exactly the ice-breaker she wanted to use.
She crept up the garden to the house, making her way round to the side, positioning herself beneath the kitchen window – listening for sounds coming from inside.
Silence.
Her heart began to pound in her chest. She was so far outside of her comfort zone, it was almost exhilarating. The rush, oddly, was comparable to the sensation of running a razorblade down her arm.
Rising slowly to her feet, looking over the window ledge through the glass, the rush quickly diminished into disappointment when she saw that the curtains were still drawn.
A cold gust blew straight through her, putting her back on edge. She felt as if she was being watched. But she had to know if Henry was okay or not.
The kitchen was a corner room and the window faced towards the main road, but there was a wooden gate leading through to the back garden at the side of the house.
The side gate took a little bit of work to open, but was easy enough, which allowed her to creep into the back garden – her back tight against the bungalow’s exterior wall. At the rear of the house was a large sliding door made of glass – she cautiously looked in.
Beyond the glass, she was relieved to find the curtains were pulled back. She searched for the pool of blood, but only saw minor stains from the night before.
Nothing seemed out of place.
Everything was tidy and clean; the kitchen table untouched, the worktop counters clear. The oven, however, still had the frying pan out on top of its hob. Standing upright now, she manoeuvred to get a better look. The pool of oil was still inside, but that was about it. Why would he clean the kitchen and leave the unclean pan out?
With a shake of the head Garima dashed nervously across to the other side of the patio door. From this angle, she could see the entire kitchen and beyond the oven, she laid eyes on him.
Henry, naked, knife in hand, stood with an almost hypnotic stare that led to nowhere.
At first, she jerked behind the wall to avoid being seen, but then she gasped at what was revealed in front of her.
The top half of his body was okay. Nothing out of the ordinary. She even made a note about how fit he was; however, it was the lower half of his body that caused her to recoil. Both legs were bleeding from large, gaping wounds in his thighs.
Cutting oneself took precision – if the act was supposed to be the hunt for sensation – but whatever she got out of the small cuts on her arms, it was nothing compared to the butchery unfolding before her eyes. Muscle and flesh akin to the size of a large T-bone steak was being carved slowly from his leg. How could he do this without screaming? She watched him continue to work away, eventually removing the lump from his body.
Clamping her hands over her mouth, fighting hard not to be sick, she could feel herself starting to lose control.
Henry – looking weary and weak – stood poking the sizzling lump of flesh in the pan with a masochistic smile etched across his face.
Garima had seen enough and ran for the gate at the side entrance, vomit escaping between her fingers. She carelessly bumped against a recycle bin – knocking it over with a loud crash.
Fuck, he’s coming to investigate!
Despite the panic, she made it down the garden path, throwing herself over the wall, ducking behind it so not to be seen.
The gate opened with a violent thud, causing her to freeze with fear. She could hear him turning the recycling bin back upright. Holding her breath, she stayed as quiet as she could. The road was empty and quiet. His footsteps could be heard crunching down on the cold grass. Oh no, he’s coming this way. She looked to her left and right, but there was nowhere to go. If she moved now, he’d see her and know that she saw him. Above her head, his hands slammed down on the top garden wall, his breathing heavy. If he looked down, the game was over.
Garima closed her eyes.
“Fucking cat,” Henry snarled.
She opened her eyes, and saw the neighbour’s tabby cat sauntering down the road.
“Get out of here!” Henry shouted at the animal – throwing an apple at it, missing the target, but it was enough for the feline to scamper off out of sight.
She could hear Henry making his way back across his garden, allowing her to take a quick glance over the wall. Wrapped in a dressing gown, she watched him limp through the side entrance, out of sight. Finally, she could exhale a sigh of relief. She waited for the sound of the patio door closing, then made a run for the safety of her house.
In her bedroom, she slammed the door shut and sank down to the floor, her back against the wood as she struggled to gather her thoughts. It was incomprehensible. This was beyond insane. Why was he doing that to himself? So many questions. And too many to process right now. She dashed across her room to close the blinds and noticed that the view into his kitchen was once again clear. She froze on the spot. Had he seen her run back into her house? Surely he wasn’t quick enough to get back inside and draw back the curtains in time? No time to think. She yanked on the string, slamming the blinds shut, and fell to her knees hyperventilating.