Prophet Song by Paul Lynch EPUB & PDF – eBook Details Online
- Status: Available for Free Download
- Author: Paul Lynch
- Language: English
- Genre: Dystopian Science Fiction
- Format: PDF / EPUB
- Size: 2 MB
- Price: Free
The night has come and she has not heard the knocking, standing at the
window looking out onto the garden. How the dark gathers without sound
the cherry trees. It gathers the last of the leaves and the leaves do not resist
the dark but accept the dark in whisper. Tired now, the day almost behind
her, all that still has to be done before bed and the children settled in the
living room, this feeling of rest for a moment by the glass. Watching the
darkening garden and the wish to be at one with this darkness, to step
outside and lie down with it, to lie with the fallen leaves and let the night
pass over, to wake then with the dawn and rise renewed with the morning
come. But the knocking. She hears it pass into thought, the sharp, insistent
rapping, each knock possessed so fully of the knocker she begins to frown.
Then Bailey too is knocking on the glass door to the kitchen, he calls out to
her, Mam, pointing to the hallway without lifting his eyes from the screen.
Eilish finds her body moving towards the hall with the baby in her arms,
she opens the front door and two men are standing before the porch glass
almost faceless in the dark. She turns on the porch light and the men are
known in an instant from how they are stood, the night-cold air suspiring it
seems as she slides open the patio door, the suburban quiet, the rain falling
almost unspoken onto St Laurence Street, upon the black car parked in front
of the house. How the men seem to carry the feeling of the night.
She
watches them from within her own protective feeling, the young man on the
left is asking if her husband is home and there is something in the way he
looks at her, the remote yet scrutinising eyes that make it seem as though he
is trying to seize hold of something within her. In a blink she has sought up
and down the street, seeing a lone walker with a dog under an umbrella, the
willows nodding to the rain, the strobings of a large TV screen in the
Zajacs’ house across the street. She checks herself then, almost laughing,
this universal reflex of guilt when the police call to your door.
Ben begins to
squirm in her arms and the older plainclothesman to her right is watching
the child, his face seems to soften and so she addresses herself to him. She
knows he too is a father, such things are always known, that other fellow is
much too young, too neat and hard-boned, she begins to speak aware of a
sudden falter in her voice. He will be home soon, in an hour or so, would
you like me to give him a ring? No, that will not be necessary, Mrs Stack,
when he comes home could you tell him to call us at his earliest
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