I have lost 30 pounds since Marie has left. I just forget to eat most days. I sit alone in the dark at night and just wait to fall asleep from exhaust...on and despair. I though about calling Marie but didn’t see any point in it. It’s a week before Christmas. It is a crisp December day. After sunset I take a walk. I walk for miles without even knowing it. I look at all the pretty Christmas lights and think how happy some people will be during this time of year. I try not to think of my situation. Dad took mum’s death quite hard. I doubt he thinks that way – even though he and Winnie have an ancient history.”“Over thirty years ago. Remember Sebastian.”“In The Tempest?”“Right. ‘What’s past is prologue.’ More importantly, I think past is past.”“No. Faulkner wrote: ‘The past is never dead. It’s not even past’.”“That’s good. Where’s it from?”“Requiem for a Nun. We read it in school.”“Another difference between Perth and Scotch. We read no Faulkner.”“Is that good or bad?”“Who knows? I still. Damn but she had good legs, he thought, wondering how they would feel about his middle. By the time he finished the backyard, he was fighting an erection and went to get himself a drink of water.The girl waved him in, and he drank at the sink while she watched. "How are the kids doing?" he asked her as he wiped his hands on his chest, well aware of the bulge in his groin.She cocked an eyebrow. "Fine, no problem. Have you got one?" She nodded toward his belly. "A problem, I mean." No. You know,. This autopsy had been worse. It was clinical, she was dissected without compassion by the two men who's job it was to find out what the body could tell them medically and report their conclusions in their professional jargon. Maybe she had expected more humanity to be involved. But it had seemed to her that the body had been handled as if it were another piece of evidence such as a fingerprint or a hair sample. Catalogue, process, report the facts and then slam it in a cold metal drawer to be.
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