Innocence

I was in the garden, hanging up wet clothes, when my Mother's cries pierced the calm spring air. I looked up from the basket of wet clothes to see Father storming out of the house, his face hard and unreadable.

I tiptoed into the house as mother continued to wail. I stood at the bottom of the narrow stairs looking up to the second floor.

I didn't need to go up there to know why she was crying.

I tried to push my legs to make their way up the stairs and to my mother, to comfort her, to make sure she was the one who was being looked after this time, but my feet remained planted to the creaky floorboards.

**

Mother had sat at the kitchen table with a blank stare all through the day and into the night. She didn't move, not even when others from the village came in and offered her food and water.

I looked back at the stairs. What was a small set of steps that I would bruise my shins on daily looked more stretched, darker, and more menacing.

I should have gone up there. I should have seen if what was happening was true. Maybe if I had gone up there, something would have happened, a miracle.

When night fell, I had made soup for the both of us. I watched her each time I sipped from my spoon, hoping to catch a glimpse of her moving. I stayed at the kitchen table with a hand reaching over to hold hers, even if she did not squeeze back, and her hand remained limp and lifeless. I stayed that way as the candles burned themselves to nothing.

The door swung open as Father finally returned. He stepped aside, his head stooped low. Behind him followed a tall, solemn-looking man who ducked through the entrance, letting the morning light pour into the small space.

Without a word, Mother stood from her seat, her head bowed low in recognition to the man before slowly making her way up the stairs.

Father patted me on the arm and whispered for me to stand in the corner. I obeyed and stood in the far corner, away from the tall pale man in black robes who did nothing but stare at me as he walked over to the table.

They brought him down slowly and lowered him onto the table. He was swaddled in white linen, matching his pale complexion. His face bore no peace as our mother and father laid bread on his body and set a cup of ale before the tall, skeletal man.

Everyone stepped back, watching the man as he breathed deep, closed his eyes and joined his hands in prayer over my brother's body.

His voice was low and hushed as he prayed. 'I give easement and rest now to thee, dear man. Come not down the lanes or in our meadows. And for thy peace, I pawn my own soul. Amen.'

He sat down and began to eat. He ate voraciously, gobboling and snorting the bread down as if he had not eaten in months, as if the small bread upon my brothers body was the most delicious thing he had ever tasted. the whole bread and gulped down the ale. Father held mother close to his chest as she hid her face from the scene. I could not take my eyes off him as he ate.

He tore into my brother, his bare hands ripping his chest open and plunging deep beneath his ribs, lifting the fat and juicy organs, he lifted them into the sky, opened his mouth wide and shoved both handfuls into his mouth, his cheeks fat from the greed.

I spun to face the wall, covering my mouth before last night's soup escaped. My tired eyes stung as tears fell to the wooden floor.

How could they let this man into our home?

Why were they letting him tear him apart?

And when all was quiet, I turned around and watched as he stood, tipped his head to mother and father, and left without a word and not a drop of blood in sight.

Men from the village came in, lifted my brother's perfect body in their arms and carried him out into the world. My parents slowly followed. I took my father's hand and walked alongside them.

The sky was clear, and the birds flitted about in the sky singing to their families. The grassy fields swayed as the whole village walked slowly behind my brother's body. The spring flowers decided it was time to bloom and decorate the fields in bright colours.

Someone amongst the crowd sang a lonely melody, one by one, others joined in; Father sang while Mother looked on in silence. It was a language I had never heard anyone speak. They sang all the way up the hill and towards the church where the priest was standing outside waiting for us.

The man who ate my brother stood far away from the group, watching as we lowered my brother into the earth.

He was watching and waiting for us to leave so he could finish his meal.