The Fat Man in History and Other Stories by Peter Carey Read Free Book Online

a large house.
    I have not heard of this sort of thing before. I examine her hands. They are small and pale with closely bitten nails and one or two faintly pink patches around the knuckles. I ask her if she wears rubber gloves. She says yes.
    I am quite happy to discuss the mechanics of the job, for the moment.
    She says, I have always thought that they must have souls. When she … the woman I work for … when she does it there is a noise like cutting a pear … but a lot louder. I have helped kill more people than live in this street … I counted the houses in the street one night … I worked it out.
    I say, it is not such a large street … a court, not very large.
    She says, twice as many as in this street.
    I say, but still it is not so many, and we have a problem with population. It is like contraception, if you’ll excuse the term, applied a little later.
    My voice, I hope, is very calm. It has a certain “professional” touch to it. But my voice gives no indication of what is happening to me. Every single organ in my body is quivering. It is bad. I had wished to take things slowly. There is a slow pleasure to be had from superficial things, then there are more personal things like jobs, the people she likes, where she was born. Only later, much later, should be discussed her fears about the souls of aborted babies. But it is all coming too fast, all becoming too much. I long to touch her clothing. To remove now, so early, an item of clothing, perhaps the shawl, perhaps it would do me no harm to simply remove the shawl.
    I stretch my hand, move it along the bed until it is behind her. Just by moving it … a fraction … just a fraction … I can grasp the shawl and pull it slowly away. It falls to the bed, covering my hand.
    That was a mistake. A terrible mistake. My hand, already, issearching for the small catch at the back of her pendant. It is difficult. My other hand joins in. The two hands work on the pendant, independent of my will. I am doing what I had planned not to do: rush.
    I say, I am old. Soon I will die. It would be nice to make things last.
    She says, you are morbid.
    She says this as if it were a compliment.
    My hands have removed the pendant. I place it on the bed. Now she raises her hands, her two hands, to my face. She says, smell …
    I sniff. I smell nothing in particular, but then my sense of smell has never been good. While I sniff like some cagey old dog, my hands are busy with the campaign ribbons and plastic flowers which I remove one by one, dropping them to the floor.
    She says, what do you smell?
    I say, washing up.
    She says, it is an antiseptic. I feel I have become soaked in antiseptic, to the marrow of my bones. It has come to upset me.
    I say, it would be better if we ceased this discussion for a while, and had some food. We could talk about the food, I have fish fingers again.
    She says, I have never told you this but the fish fingers always taste of antiseptic. Everything …
    I say, you could have told me later, as we progressed. It is not important. It is good that you didn’t say, you should not have said, even now, you should have kept it for later.
    She says, I’m not hungry, I would rather tell you the truth.
    I say, I would rather you didn’t.
    She says, you know George?
    I say, you have mentioned him.
    My hands are all of an itch. They have moved to her outermost garment, a peculiar coat, like the coat of a man’s suit. I help her out of it and fold it gently.
    She says, George and my son … you remember.
    I say, yes, I remember vaguely, only vaguely … if you could refresh my memory.
    She says, you are teasing me.
    I deny it.
    I have started with the next upper garment, a sweater of some description which has a large number 7 on the back. She holds her arms up to make it easier to remove. She says (her voice muffled bythe sweater which is now over her head), I made up George, and the son.
    I pretend not to hear.
    She says, did you hear what I said?
    I say, I am