excerpt
Moments later Freddy’s older brother Gus came charging out the
back door. He was shirtless. Nelson Monroe, also naked above the
waist, was in pursuit. A three-masted schooner, as Freddy had
claimed, was tattooed across his hairless chest.
Nelson caught up to Gus at the back of the yard and shoved him
face-first to the ground. Mrs. Monroe pushed open the kitchen window.
– Please, Nellie! she whimpered. No!
Mr. Monroe buried a knee between Gus’s shoulder blades and
forced his arms behind his back. Then Mr. Monroe unhooked his
belt and began whipping Gus like a dog. Leather bit into skin —
thwack! thwack! thwack! The muscles in Gus’s shoulders rolled in protest.
– Four! Five! Six! Nelson Monroe chanted. He exhaled in short,
evenly paced bursts like someone performing calisthenics.
– Seven! Eight! Nine!
Freddy tried to intervene. Nelson tossed him aside like a wet
towel.
– Ten! Eleven! Twelve!
Freddy ran to the fence separating the yards and pleaded with
Mrs. Sanderson, who was working in her garden.
– Help us! Freddy pleaded. He’s not our real dad!
Mr. Whitley silenced his mower. Ed Tyson across the alley
watched from a stepladder. When Freddy appealed to them, Mr.
Whitley disappeared inside his basement. Mr. Tyson looked away.
Gus wriggled free and crawled away like wounded game. A
wrong righted, Nelson Monroe threaded the belt back through the
loops of his trousers. His forehead glistened with perspiration.
Heavy breathing made the schooner heave: rough seas.
My next recollection was of Gus marching along Mons Drive, that
pirate patch of a birthmark bright as a blueberry. Freddy and I followed
on bicycles. The pavement baked under a noon glare.
Neighbours abandoned their chores as Gus filed by, tears welling
in his eyes.
– Hang in there, Gus, someone said.
Manolis Aligizakis 