hands
It was a slow, stubborn summer. The garden didn’t grow much. Still I trudged around with my watering can in the evening, and I pulled up bitter shrivelled roots for my soups, and tore at the ravaging weeds.
One evening like this I saw a finger pushing out of the hard earth. It was the colour of an old potato, slim and hard. I touched it gently. It was warm and it curled at my touch.
The next day the whole fist had come through, filthy and blue-veined. It spread its fingers out to the sun, unfolding its palm with deep etched lines. I sprinkled water on it and it held it like a shallow bowl.
Another grew, then another, and by the next week there was a whole patch of hands growing in the corner of the garden. They waved to me, to the bleak sun. They made bowls of their palms for water. When I passed by them they pulled at me, touching my ankles and calves with their dirty fingers.
They were hungering for something. Some of the hands grew clammy and limp. I gave them more water, I gave them compost, but it didn’t do any good. I didn’t know what they would like. What do hands desire?
At night I lay awake thinking about the sick garden.
I wished I could avoid them, but guilt stalked me. It seemed important that I should feel their need, their hunger, almost as if it was my own. Anything less was a betrayal, or so it seemed.
But I became tired. The hands pinched me when I walked by, grabbing my legs and nipping and twisting. I kicked at them, shouting in fear. But they were desperate, and one night I was felled by a punch to the back of my knees.
I fell down into the patch of hands and they caught me. Hungry fingers stroked me. Palms pushed on me. They rolled me from hand to hand, twisting my hair, pulling at my clothes. At first I struggled, panicked and fearful, but the hands soothed me, and I gave over to the gentle slapping, rubbing, exploring fingers, until finally they finished feeding and rolled me back onto the path, dazzled.
I woke the next day with tender bruises the size and shape of fingertips, everywhere on my body.
mand said,
October 21, 2008 at 4:51 pm
Wooh, makes my skin crawl. I’ve been waiting for your next thing so this is a relief. You didn’t expect relief in your readership?
You realise you’re responsible for reawakening my weird side? Fiction, i mean. Obviously i’m a completely sane and normal person in the flesh. (Heh, heh.)
My stuff has to prove in the airing cupboard for quite a while before display, but i am getting the odd poem blogged from time to time.
Just thought: i would have ‘What do hands want?’, instead, cos it’s the way you’d ask yourself if you were thinking about vegetables or anything. (‘What does a fuschia really want?’ Sounds like a women’s-magazine article.) But if it was my own i’d be very torn – ‘desire’ having the good physical connotations.
thebeardedlady said,
October 21, 2008 at 5:49 pm
Hi mand
Thanks for your nice comments. It’s very pleasing to me that I have readers at all! You are few — but very discerning and obviously all quite good looking, talented and sexy.
I think *you* should write the story “What does a fuschia really want?”! It’s a great title.
Yeah I decided on ‘desire’ because of the tone, the ending, and the slight horror of the thing. I probably didn’t think about it all that much. When I read this story again in a few months I’ll see what leaps out at me as being wrong.
Adrian Graham said,
October 21, 2008 at 6:20 pm
Taught prose. Another good one, BL. (Can I call you that?)
thebeardedlady said,
October 21, 2008 at 7:09 pm
Hi Adrian,
Feel free to abbreviate to your heart’s content!
Glad you liked the story. Keep meaning to write something for your short story site, but it has been hard to find writing time lately. Will definitely be sending you some very short things though.
Adrian Graham said,
October 21, 2008 at 9:28 pm
I liked your 100 word thingy for Tuesday Shorts as well.
thebeardedlady said,
October 22, 2008 at 4:45 pm
I was going to say I’ll send you some very shorts for your small stories site but I’ve just been over there and seen you’ve done a major refurb! Very nice. Especially liked your Forbidden story.
mand said,
October 25, 2008 at 2:14 pm
Well, it has happened, the story based on ‘What does a fuschia really want?’ happened. It’s in the airing cupboard as we speak. Took you to spot it as a title, though it isn’t the title now, but it was the spark. I will probably blog it when i’ve treated it inhumanely it a little and given it some time starving in the dark. Thanx for the thinx!
thebeardedlady said,
October 25, 2008 at 10:49 pm
Hi mand,
I’m very pleased — we made a baby! I’ll look forward to reading it very much!
Suzan Abrams said,
October 26, 2008 at 2:03 am
Hi TBL,
Looks like I have been missing out.
I liked this line here:
At night I lay awake thinking about the sick garden. which reminded me of the classic rule in writing… to show and not tell. And you did just that.
I thought the whole effect proved picturesque with a seductive element at the end. Slightly bizarre quality too.
Once more I am reminded of how your narrative prose and poetry always adds on that sharp picturesque quality. btw, will write you soon.
thebeardedlady said,
October 26, 2008 at 10:34 am
Thanks Suzana
Too late for the baby making, but your comments are most welcome as always!
I wish I could find more writing time, and post on here much more frequently. I’ll try and catch up with myself soon, promise!
xxx
Suzan Abrams said,
October 26, 2008 at 3:11 pm
I have the same problems finding writing time, music time and especially reading time so I know exactly how you feel. I’m just so glad you have a blog these days.
with love
thebeardedlady said,
October 30, 2008 at 6:57 pm
Same to you Suzana x
mand said,
October 30, 2008 at 7:48 pm
When i said ‘I’ve been waiting’, i wasn’t nagging. I am the *least* prolific writer counting in works per year. And then things wait a long time between first and final draft, which is simply the way i
breathework.thebeardedlady said,
October 30, 2008 at 8:03 pm
I didn’t suppose you were, mand. Nagging, that is. But I’ve managed to put a new story up this week anyway! Am aiming for one a week, but it doesn’t always work like that…
emma said,
November 20, 2009 at 8:58 pm
OMG. What a great story!
Terrifying then titilating.
Fantastic work.
thebeardedlady said,
November 20, 2009 at 9:19 pm
Thank you! Come back anytime! Move in!