Ending (Starting)

By Eline

At the end of the day, the whistle sounds and the men stop work.

Jien would have liked to go to the pub with the other guys after a long day under the sun. The new job seemed to be working out. The foreman at the quarry wasn't a jerk and the other workers were relatively civil. He could actually think about fixing up a house a bit now that they had some money coming in.

But he whenever he thinks about home, he gets uneasy because he has to leave Gojyo and his mother under the same roof for most of the day.

Jien tells the guys that he's got to check back at home and make sure that nothing's blown up. You know how it is with kids these days, ha ha. And the others nod and say yeah, kids these days. You know what my shit-assed brother did the other day? Didja know how my sister got herself knocked-up? And the litany of gripes against a younger generation of siblings occupies their time as they walk away.

Of course it's a lie and Jien hates telling it but it's a good a reason as any. With Gojyo, there was the matter of how many scrapes and bruises he collected each day. How he avoided showing their mother those marks because it set her off. Practically anything seemed to set her off these days and Jien always had to intervene. Pull her off Gojyo, stroke her hair and tell her that everything's all right because he's the biggest liar in the world and nothing could be right in the world when Gojyo's has that look on his face.

Jien had no idea that he could lie with his own body until he was sixteen and his mother had called him by his father's name in that dark room. So he lied to her to keep her from Gojyo and he lied to the world to keep them safe--not that it helped much. He tried not to lie to Gojyo because Gojyo would know that everything was not all right and he felt a sharp aching pain in his chest every time Gojyo smiled at him, always willing to believe his older brother even though he knows what goes on in their mother's room. It was hard not to know--and it was even harder to deny--after the first few times it happened within those thin walls.

Repeat ad nauseam. Until their mother's mind snaps beyond hope. Until Gojyo's heart breaks. Until Jien's nerve fails.

He ought to be getting dinner for them. No one in the house cooks and Gojyo doesn't mind take-out. Their mother doesn't care either way and all they could do was hope that she was sane enough to eat a meal. Sometimes. Other times, there were the tears and the screams and Gojyo cowering in the corner. For some reason or other, he could never run away when their mother had one of her fits . . .

Jien doesn't know why, but his heart seems to be beating faster. Maybe he's just worrying for nothing . . .

Jien breaks into a run, all thoughts of dinner forgotten.

He doesn't stop running even when he hits the dirt road leading up to their ramshackle house. The front door had not been used for the past week because the wooden frame had given up its fight against the elements and warped at last. They use the backdoor now.

Breathing hard, Jien hurries around to the scrubby backyard where the screen-door swings open creakily with every gust of wind. There are footprints in the dusty ground. Too large to be Gojyo's. His eyes track the prints to where he hides their scant collection of household tools in an old trunk shoved under a junk pile of rusting metal roofing sheets and spare parts.

It's funny how the he manages to see the whole picture at once--the battered old trunk lying open, its contents in a disarray and the empty spot on the oilcloth where the axe that he had sharpened barely three days ago had once lain.

Later, when he's had time to think it all through, when he had recovered enough to reflect on it again, Jien knew that a part of him had processed all this before dashing into the house. That part of him that had taken the old sword from the trunk.

The axe was one of the sturdiest tools they had. With a sharp edge, it could be *anything*. It was possible . . . entirely possible that someone had seen him hide the axe in the trunk two nights ago.

As he charges through the backdoor without thought for stealth, a part of him knows that no intruder had taken the axe. This part of his mind knows what to expect when he bursts into what might have been the sitting room in better times and finds his mother standing over Gojyo, axe held high.

Gojyo is still alive. He is bruised and scared stiff, but still alive.

If she had been saner, if she had not paused with the axe at the highest point of the swing . . .

If, if, if . . .

Jien runs in without pausing, sword in hand. Had it been their father's sword? He didn't know--it had been so long ago since they had to start hiding all the sharp objects in the house . . .

A part of him knows that he's too late. A second more and the axe would come down. He doesn't remember calling to her, just the sight of her back as his arm swung around.

The blade is too thin and rusted for anything other than a plunging stab. It goes through her back and her ribs, deeper and deeper with the force of his arm behind it. But she barely staggers as the point emerges from her breast. Slowly, silently, like a toy figure formed of jointed parts, she folds at the knees and the waist and stops in a hunched-over position because the sword is trapped within her ribs. Her body slips free a moment later because the old blade is now slick with her lifeblood.

She is still clutching at the axe as she crumples to the ground. Which reduces the chance of it dropping on Gojyo, the cool part of his mind informs him.

Gojyo is frozen against the wall, his eyes wide and disbelieving. The body lies on the floor. The blood drips off the sword Jien is still holding.

There is a moist sensation on his cheeks and Jien realises that he is crying. He had been crying all along.

He buries the cold, logical part of his mind deep under the flood of grief that sweeps over him, feeling the pain that had pierced his heart from the moment he had seen the open trunk at last. The pain is a refreshing change from the nothingness he had felt before.