Snowball
By Jack Cade
- 918 reads
Hen's last week at Waveney before Christmas hiatus stung like a
blizzard. He had his hair cut to give him more of a fringe and less of
a mane, and this seemed to impress the harpies more than anything else
he'd tried - which vexed him, because his hair was the work of a
stylist at Bang, not Hen. Si?n spent an evening sifting through it
delightedly.
A little snow fell - enough for Manley to show off his juggling tricks
with firmly pressed snowballs.
"Cascade!" he said, beginning with the most boring pattern. It was
five o' clock, and dark - the snowballs shone like flying saucers in
the lamplight.
"Reverse cascade!" he said.
Helen clapped her mittens together and called out encouragement.
"The mantis!"
Manley snapped the balls out of the air with clawed hands. Hen and the
other harpies whooped, puffing out plumes of frosty breath - Lianne
chirped, "That's so cool!"
"Now?the magnet!" Manley said, making it seem as if one of the balls
were chasing another up and down, "and one of my own invention: milking
the cow!"
This last sequence he performed on one knee, and partnered with an
expression of studied concentration. His arms moved like those of a
televised tai chi instructor.
"Gard, Seb!" said Besse, folding her arms. "You sure are a box of
tricks."
"You're juggling projectiles, Manley," roared Hen. "Unleash
them!"
Manley finished up by catching the snowballs in his cupped hands and
dipping his head, still on one knee. The harpies, unsure of whether he
was bowing gracefully or complying obediently with Hen's suggestion,
scrambled for cover. Si?n hid behind Hen, clasping him with her
arms.
"I got you prisoner!" she said, pressing a cold side of her face to
his scarf.
And Hen wrestled her to the ground.
~
Powdered and patched with snow that melted and trickled down their
temples, they retired inside to exchange presents and eat a Christmas
Chinese together. Manley received a terracotta coffee pot from Hen, a
handle-operated brass and redwood coffee grinder from the harpies. Hen
was given a warrior monk figurine, in a stance that resembled Manley's
'milking the cow', and a book of poetry. Both boys contributed towards
a Norwich monopoly board for the harpies, and Hen had made each girl a
miniature doll of themselves from modeling materials - with coloured
thread for hair, and a paper bag to be carried in. They were pleased -
but not nearly as pleased as they'd been with that haircut!
"I'd forgotten how swish your hair looked, Hen," said Mary, as Hen
bulldozered chow mein from the plate to his mouth.
"Oo, yes, it is fantastic," agreed Helen. "Where did you have it done
again?"
"Mamph," said Hen.
Hoisin sauce dripped from his lip, and his fringe dropped slightly.
Si?n nudged him with a shoulder, and he carried on chewing.
"So," said Besse, looking down at the fork she carefully twizzled,
"you'll be staying with your family in Germany, Lianne?"
"Yup," Lianne replied. "How about you? Your folks coming over?"
Hen reached for the sweet and sour sauce - it looked radioactive, but
he let it gloop over his battered chicken anyway.
"Nope. I'm staying here."
"Staying here?" Helen gasped. "Oh, you'll be terribly lonely."
"Doubt I could stand it?" said Hen.
"I'll be fine," Besse attended methodically to her rice. "Don't worry
about me, Helen."
"A change of scene is nothing to be afraid of," Lianne added. "You
make friends very quickly."
From them on, Hen seemed to lose track of the conversation and found
the tentacled swamp on his plate slowly engulfed his world. He wore it
down with modest forkfuls, and once caught Manley's eye. His friend
seemed to be watching him with a mixture of concern and interest, but
was called aside by Besse, who busily complimented his juggling once
more. Hen felt the grease settle on his forehead, and turned his
thoughts to other things.
~
So now Hen sits on the platform, the wind playing about like a ferret
beneath his loose clothes, sniffing at his Derby Country scarf. He
tries to rub memos off his knuckles.
And where are you going, young Hen?
To where my weakness is not so much of a beacon that a goddamn haircut
is raised to the level of a great achievement!
- Log in to post comments