Authors: Tim Winton
Tags: #Literature & Fiction, #Contemporary, #Contemporary Fiction, #Literary
Sometimes in clear patches of sleeplessness she stood at the flap and looked up at the old house and wondered why it still fought them so. Nineteen years, wasn’t it long enough to belong? But it had got worse lately, this illfeeling coming from the place, unless she was imagining it and any fool could tell you she wasn’t much for imagination.
All down the street and down every street men and women were sliding new bolts on their doors, locking windows, drawing curtains, dragging out dusty .
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s and twelve gauges, opening bottles and whispering Hail Marys under the sheets while that candle burnt on the Bible in the tent behind Cloudstreet and that boxy little woman sat arms akimbo, waiting for something to show itself.
Only Streets Away
Only streets away a man with sinus trouble slips from yard to yard. Across a back verandah he creeps and a restless sleeping body catches his eye through a cool screen window. A sultry, sultry night. He slips a hand through the wire of the screen door, slides the bolt. The smell of lamb chops lingers still in the close air of the house. He’s inside. He’s decided something. This isn’t madness. He’s thought about it. He knows what rape and murder mean. He’s just come to like them.
Fish Wakes
Fish wakes. Rose hears him sobbing. And then muttering, the crazy foreign talk from the wedding, on and on, until she hears Lester stirring.
He Knows What Rape and Murder Mean
Yes, it’s a woman. Young. A short nightie rucked up in the heat. He steadies, drawing on all his skill. After all, he’s the Nedlands Monster, no less. Finds the cord from the bedlight. It’s so easy. And her breasts part as he slips it under her neck. She hardly makes a sound going off, throttling, writhing and choking and her legs spread in surrender so he goes to it on a spurt of triumph. He knows what rape and murder mean. He knows what he’s doing. They’re frightened of him. The whole city is quaking at the thought of him. This girl, even her dead body is afraid of what he’s doing, repulsed at the look of triumph on his face, recoiling at the face itself.
Oriel Hears
Oriel hears the boy blabbering and wailing up there. All the houselights are on. She’d go in there herself and claim order, but Fish doesn’t know her, doesn’t see her, can’t hear her and she isn’t that much of a glutton for punishment.
Businesslike
With his seed in her the dead girl’s gone all heavy. They’re gonna come looking for him. The police, the screaming, hurting family, the whole defeated city. You have to be a winner. Even the short and ugly and deformed, they have to win sometimes. He’s winning, beating them all. A little truckdriving bloke with no schooling, he’s killing them in their beds and they’re losing at last.
He drags the girl’s strangled and defiled body out into the lane. Finds a hole in a neighbour’s fence and stuffs her through, throws the nightie after her. Then back to the car, across the deadnight river to the missus and kids. Businesslike, that’s what he admires about himself.
Quiet