The Fall of Man

Part I chapter 8

Chapter 8

I lie cocooned in a big white avalanche of a bed. The duvet is piled around me in undulating drifts of the same fat snowflakes that are landing with muffled phumpfs on the dark surface of a window overhead. The room is black velvet – soft and richly textured - but immaterial. An open fire roars in the wall opposing the bed head, and a full moon glows softly overhead, through the inclined glass of the rooflight.

A gossamer gauze hangs like cobwebs across the bed, splitting the whipped cream divan into two. On the other side of the filmy screen, Joanna reclines on her side with her back to me – the sound of rhythmic breathing matched by the rise and fall of her thin black nightdress.

“Jo? What happened?”

“I left.” Her voice is soft and warm like sunshine. I had forgotten its sound.

“I need you back.”

“I can’t come back, Arnold.”

“I’ll come to you, then.”

“You have to look after Noah. He has no-one else. Things are changing, Arnold, and not for the better. You know that. You always did. Get out while you can.”

“I miss you.”

I roll onto my side towards her, and slide a hand under the curtain. On the other side, the hairs on my forearm rise in air that is icy cold. My stiffened fingers find her side but she feels terribly gaunt; her ribcage rolls under my touch. The satin nightdress is soaked through with sweat and sticky. A sickly rotten stench fills the air and I recoil in horror back into the bedhead. Tumbling backwards, I fall into a dizzy void and awake with a start.

Disoriented, I rub the sleep out of my eyes and squint at the space around me. A soft glow from the television illuminates the living room with an even, blue light. My cheek is crusted and stuck with saliva to the arm of the leather sofa. Noah is asleep against me again, nestled quietly under my arm. The rise and fall of his breathing is shallow, like that of a tiny bird. I draw the sleeping bag over us and return to my fitful rest.