WE CANNOT LEAVE HIM ALONE! the children wail, clutching onto the sides of the pony cart. They take turns staring miserably after the half-wit and directing poisonous glances at their sister. Horrible girl! It was not his fault, they are certain of it: all the blame they reserve for heartless, bungling Beatrice.
Mother will thank me, she says as she applies, with cruel precision, the switch. The cart lurches forward: He's no good as a husband.
But he had nice manners! they protest.
Who needs manners? snaps Beatrice. His cock stopped working at the hospital!
That seems an unfair way of putting it.
You just didn't know how to work it properly, declares Mimi, the youngest and also the most foolhardy. In her eyes there is a defiant look, always, even when she is about to fall asleep.I despise sleep! her shining eyes declare as the lips droop ever more heavily downwards.
Drunk with her own courage she continues, unwisely: I don't think you pulled it hard enough.
For there he is, standing in the ditch, in the moonlight, with his smooth face and his noble body, not looking broken or imperfect at all.
I don't think you knew what you were doing, Mimi persists.
Beatrice swivels in her seat and gazes down at her siblings, huddled in the back of the pony cart, wincing in expectation.
The load is so much lighter now, she says, without fury. And then: We can go even faster if we let off one more.
This observation having been offered, the brothers and sisters keep their complaints to themselves. Instead, they stare behind them at the idiot, who, with every flick of the switch, grows smaller and more indistinct, though they are certain they can still make out, even from here, the slow hypnotic churning of his jaws.