Minimalist Gossip Magazine Cover (49).pdf (13) - Flipbook - Page 62
At the hall’s end hung a mirror in which the boy watched himself
approach, small and grey. Above the mirror hung a framed
photograph of Jesus upon the cross. The family had the same photo
in their home. It had been taken with a special lens, from a tiny
crucifix of the sort that people wore about their necks. The face
of the son of God had been captured with stark shadows in black
and white, his face drawn and hollow. His eyes glared blank,
uncarved. To the right was the door to the bathroom and the young
son stepped inside.
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In the bathroom the boy found a shower cubicle with a curtain
pulled aside. Within the cubicle, a white plastic chair had been
placed, of the kind that you’d pull out of the shed for barbeques.
On the tiled wall the shower had been installed slightly lower
than was usual.
The boy inspected the chair, the cubicle, unsure what the fuss
was about. He found it difficult to look at the legs and the seat
of the chair without also thinking of Nanny’s body, frail and
naked, her own thin legs and seat. Not wishing especially to
rejoin the family he decided to use the toilet, and he passed the
cubicle by.
The toilet lay behind the shower cubicle and on the wall beside
it there hung a calendar depicting a woman, completely naked. Like
the shower, the calendar was positioned slightly lower than eye
level, so that it could be easily viewed when seated. The boy sat.
His heart beat hard. He was a good boy; he’d never wanted to be
like those men that look at pictures of naked women. All the same,
he could not fail to be excited, stumbling so suddenly onto this
richness of forbidden knowledge.
With finger and thumb, he pulled back the pages to view the other
women in the calendar. He quickly concluded that they were only
variants on a theme and – with what was perhaps some form of
nascent romantic loyalty – that none were more beautiful than the
first. He returned to her, investigating the woman at close
quarters. Her hair had been styled into a huge perm which even the
young son could tell was several years out of fashion. She wore
breasts which, years later, he’d be able to identify as large and
false. A full pubic beard curled beneath her crotch, beyond which
nothing could really be seen.
So, he had seen it. The excitement ebbed and he was left feeling
tawdry, and he wished that he hadn’t looked at all or let his
fingers leaf the pages. How could his uncle be so brazen as to
hang these women’s bodies here, mere inches from his mother’s face
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