Brown - With Clouds at Our Feet

Simon Brown is the author of the novels Privateer (1996) and Winter (1997). His short stories have appeared in Aurealis, Eidolon, OmegaScience Digest, Alien Shores, and Glass Reptile Breakout. Some of his stories can be found in the collection Cannibals of the Fine Light (1998). He lives in Camden (not New Jersey!) with his wife and two children.

We have not seen the likes of this evocative and sensitive story about the private lives and relationships of the undead since Lucius Shepards brilliant novel The Golden. Here is a glimpse into people who might be our neighbours ... and who must feed their urgent need.

* * * *

The sun was still a half hour from rising when Leon brought the cows in for their first milking. The beasts were shuffling, snuffling shapes against a paling sky, smelling of grass and damp soil. Leon came up behind them, stroking their flanks, shooing them softly.

As they ambled into the milking shed I led them one by one to the bail and locked them in, then waited for Leon to tell me to get on with it, as always. He paused at the gate and looked at the sky, turning pink now. He sniffed the air cautiously, like a nervous fox.

Theres a change, Andrew. Summers come early.

Summer always starts about now, I told him, smiling. Ive got a memory.

Leon glanced at me almost slyly. I still smell a change. He nodded at the bucket and stool at my feet. You waiting for a starting gun?

I went to the first cow and tied back her milking leg. As I made myself comfortable on the stool I warmed my hands against my jeans. Leon sidled up to the cow and patted her nose. The cow licked his hand, tasting for salt.

There you go, Nancy, he murmured. He had names for all the beasts, but I never bothered. I couldnt tell Nancy from Maria from Betty from Jenny.

The milk came easy, warm and thick, frothing in the bucket. Bet thats sweet, I said to Leon.

He stood by Nancys flank, grinning lazily at me, and scratched a scab from a small patch of skin over the cows spine. Not as sweet as this, he said, and bent his head so he could lick at the seeping blood, shiny and almost orange under the sheds wan electric light.

Nancy didnt flinch. She was content to be milked, to have her head in the bail trough, to quench Leons thirst.

I was patient, as the second brother, content like Nancy. When Leon was done we moved to the next beast and swapped places.

We took our time that morning, feeding casually, enjoying the routine more than usual. It made me wonder if perhaps Leon was right after all and a change was in the air, but less to do with the season than something closer to home, something as yet undefined. I felt a sense of anticipation, that something was on its way, but I did not dwell on it.

After the milking we followed the cows to the east paddock and stayed there as the sun rose, watching its light measure itself against gently rolling hills, picking out solitary snow gums and the startling yellow clumps of flowers hanging from green wattles. A mist drifted up from the earth and curled around our feet for a few minutes before being burned away by the sun.

Around us shimmered the purple rim of the world, our little valley surrounded by the low mountains of the Southern Highlands. Eucalyptus oil, suspended in the air after yesterdays heavy rain, made the morning smell clean and new.

Warm day coming, Leon said.

Whatever you say, Leon. That made him laugh.

* * * *

We knew we had a visitor before we reached the house. There was a Ford parked in the driveway, a new model, which neither of us recognised as belonging to anyone we knew. Then we saw a pair of expensive black shoes left outside the front door, and we had an inkling. He was waiting for us in the kitchen, pouring water from a kettle into a teapot.

Christ, you boys get up early, he said by way of greeting. He studied us both for a moment, then added: You are both looking fine.

Hello, Father, I said.

Leon said nothing, but Father pretended not to notice.

I thought you might like some breakfast. Ive put a few rashers of bacon under the grill.

Weve already fed, Leon told him.

Im still hungry, I said quickly, throwing a warning look at my brother. I did not want any unpleasantness.

What you get from those cows of yours you cant call food, Father said authoritatively. I watched Leon bite his lip, and Father saw it too. But, of course, youre only half-blood. You dont really understand the ... need. Perhaps cows fill you, after all.

He was trying to be conciliatory, for Leons sake rather than mine; he and I had never been sour with each other. Somehow, though, his words sounded patronising and made Leon flush.

Father checked the bacon, turned the rashers over. I started making conversation, retrieving cups and saucers from the dish rack, but Leon refused to join in and I could tell Father was starting to wish hed never left the city.

But I kept on, anyway, more to fill the silence than anything else, and gradually wore them both down. By the time the bacon had gone crispy and the rind crinkled black, all three of us were sharing small talk. Father had seen enough farming to ask us some sensible questions about the property, and we knew barely enough about his own life in the city to seem interested in return.

By the time we had eaten and drunk our fill, the sun had warmed up the kitchen and Father was beginning to sweat; he was so much a part of the city he hardly ever had proper white sunlight touching his skin. In a few minutes he would have to retreat to a darker room or start to pass out. A couple of times I opened my mouth to suggest we move into the lounge room, but Leon always got in first, asking Father about this or that. It occurred to me after the fourth occasion that Leon was deliberately trying to keep Father in the kitchen, and by then it was getting too warm for us as well.

Fathers face was starting to blotch, around the jaws first and then slowly up and around his cheeks and forehead. His pupils contracted to the smallest dark points. I could tell he was not far from fainting and I stood up to go to him. Sudden nausea almost made me double over. Father shook his head, trying to smile, and waved me away, but the action was so feeble it was almost comical.

I grabbed him by one arm and dragged him to his feet. When Leon saw I was determined, he came to my assistance, taking Fathers other arm. Between us we managed to get him into the lounge room. As soon as we entered the cool and the dark our strength returned, though more slowly for Father. He and Leon regarded each other for a moment, the look passing between them a strange mixture of resentment and respect, which confused me a little.

Father and Leon sat in chairs while I took the lounge, stretching my feet over the edge. Conversation was scattered and stilted again, as though we were just starting out. Eventually, Father slapped his knees with his palms, which was usually his first preparation for standing up before leaving, a kind of visual sigh. This time, though, he stayed seated and leaned forward, his elbows sticking out at angles so his arms looked like a dogs hind legs.

I want you both to come back with me to the city, he said, forcing the words into a rush. Then, more slowly: Just for a visit; I know you dont want to leave your farm, but I want you to see for yourselves how I live.

Mother told us how you lived, Leon said coldly. And I remember some.

Father shook his head, his expression genuinely sad. Your mother wasnt one of us, Leon. She didnt understand. You and Andrew might. I want you to see my home.

* * * *

Father left us late in the afternoon, and without an answer. I was willing to take him up on his offer, partly out of curiosity and partly out of a sense of family duty, but Leon was not at all interested in the idea. I saw Father out to his car and told him Id work on Leon, and he smiled resignedly, not really believing Leon could be swayed.