Sugarcane

not frightened\nnot at all\nwhen the bag in my left hand splits open at the bottom\nit all falls down\nsplatting upon the slick wet concrete\nbooks and pads and\nthey laugh\nthey laugh so very hard\nthey pick up my son’s copy of bun go barr\nhis maths book\nhis english book\nhis history book\neach one in turn\nthrowing back and forth to one another\ngiggling\n[[when I try to grab them off them|Bookshop-15]]

they push me back\nthey tear pages out of them\nthey spit at me\nthey throw the books over the walls on either side of the lane\nand then\n[[I slap one of the little brats hard across the face.|Dream-1]]

The sky is darkened to faded leather and warped used cellophane\nany minute now\nlisten closely\nthe two little gurriers are gone, at last\nthe nice silvery-haired woman in the bookshop is too nice and too busy to notice what I did to my hands\nI lift the brown paper bags filled with textbooks and pads and pens and pencils and covering paper off the counter and commence my glacial journey\nI can feel it\n[[I can feel the rain coming in my tired old bones|Bookshop-11]]\n

the moisture in the air is rendering upon the brown paper bags a cruel slickness\nmy arms already tired\nmy hands will go to pieces\nwhen I’m halfway through the lane I’m certain my shoulders are going to separate\nthey will do so promptly upon the opening of the clouds\nand then\nthe two little gurriers are back\ngrinning\ngiggling\n[[I’d put down the two bags for a moment to rest.|Bookshop-12]]\n

Now the two boys are one on either side of me\nasking me what’s in the bags\nwhat’s in the bags\ncan I have a look\ncan I have a look\nhere give us a look\ngwan sure\n[[I tell them to go away|Bookshop-13]]\n

I know your mothers, both of you, I’ll be telling them about this\nclear off right this minute and we’ll say no more about it\nthey start to dance around me,\ngiggling all the while,\none of them plucks a crude handful of pens out of the bag\nand laughs\nNo one is here\nNo one will come\n[[I pick up the brown paper bags and start to march off|Bookshop-14]]\n

Halfway up the lane are two little gurriers\neleven or twelve maybe\nnot much older than my boy\nin blue tracksuits and white runners\ntheir black hair shaved so close it looks like cross-hatching in sharpened charcoal\ntheir shoes are wet and they don’t care\nthey lean against the wall and they sway back and forth\n[[As I pass them|Bookshop-3a]] they grin and giggle\n

The queue in the bookshop stretches out as far as the door. I’ve already forgotten what time it is, what day. All I know is that it’s not September, because my son starts back in September.\nInside the bookshop it’s warm and moist, the thick vapour of all our dampened garments hanging in the air like unfinished questions\nlike unretractable confessions.\nA woman at the front of the queue is blond and chubby and wears glasses she doesn’t need and has more hair in her nostrils than teeth in her head.\nShe’s forgotten her child’s booklist and can’t remember what the irish book is called\nI want to grab her by the shoulders and shake her\nand spit into her disgusting face, “bun go barr, bun go barr, top to bottom, up and down, up and down, forever\nand ever\nand ever –”\n[[But I don’t.|Bookshop-3]]\n

i carry him down to the stream at the bottom of my garden\nat last the brown has faded from the sky and the rain will never end\n\n[[Okay.|pg 20]]

i love this boy more than anything else in the world\nhe is the most perfect little angel\ni could never permit anyone to do wrong by him\n\n[[Okay.|pg 19]]

Japanese Rice

I suppose I should [[put on the rice|Rice first]] before I go to the shop.\nI suppose I can leave it to\nboil\nwhile I'm out\n\n

I sit down\nin the kitchen\nI make myself a cup of tea that will go undrunk\nI scowl when I remember the other car’s in the garage for the pre-nct so I’ll have to carry all the textbooks home myself\nthose books are heavy\nthey’ll get heavier as they get wet\n[[water weighs us all down|Charity shop-9b]]\n

[[I have to go to the bookshop |Bookshop-1]]

i jabbed and it went three inches into his bicep\nblue fibres from his tracksuit top vanishing into the wound\nblue thread like a cherub’s wings are made of\nhe’s crying more from confusion than pain\nhis friend has scarpered\n\n[[Don't.|pg 14]]\n\n[[Okay.|pg 14a]]

i slashed again\nthe forearm\nhis naked hairless forearm\nit’s raining\n\n[[Don't.|pg 13]]\n\n[[Okay.|pg 13a]]

I go out the front door\nboth cars are gone\nI walk through the lane leading to the little shopping centre\nthe lane is a chessboard, a minefield of bottle caps from bottles of glen’s vodka, the odd spent condom and dogshit that no one ever clears up\nThere’s always some part of this lane that’s wet\nand dripping\nWe’re near a flood plain here\nit happens, you know,\nthey have to move the lambs and the calves into the next field\nthey even get washed away sometimes\n[[it happens|Bookshop-2a]]\n

I start to walk back to the bookshop\nthe two of them are still there\nthe little gurriers\nas I pass they say nothing, do nothing, only grin,\nbut then they start to throw tiny little stones at my feet as I walk away\nmissing on purpose or so I believe\n[[When I hear|Bookshop-2b]] the little clickety-clack of the stones striking the lined, battered concrete I almost think the hail has at last begun to strike us\nfalling down like skittering dented marbles on cracked glittering granite\n

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they whisper things to each other\nI look back up at the bruised-apple sky\nYou can’t trust a sky like that\njust waiting for a chance to make known all its ferocious callousness\nto [[make us answer for all its murderous intent.|Bookshop-5a]]\n

I start making the rice\nlike they make it in japan\nI set an alarm on my phone to go off\nI suppose I can leave it for a little while\n\n[[I have to go to the bookshop|Bookshop-1]]\n

i start to punch him and slash at him with my oustretched hands\nthe rib\nthe arm\nthe neck\npushing him back against the wall\na well-placed punch to the nose\na rabbit punch or a rabid punch\nsmacks him hard and his head smashes against the wall behind him\nsomething snaps\nhis skull \nsomething has happened to his skull\nhe falls over\nhis skull caved in \nlike all of the deflated footballs that litter my back garden\nthe footballs that will never be returned to their owners\n\n[[Okay.|pg 16]]

I start making the rice\nlike they make it in japan\nI set an alarm on my phone to go off\n[[I suppose I can leave it for a little while|Bookshop-1]]\n

I start to walk home\nwhy is this lane always so wet?\nThe two little gurriers are still there\nswaying\nwalking up and down the lane\nbun go barr\nthey try to stop me getting past\ngrinning\ngiggling\nteeth in their mouths like glittering yellow stones in an ashtray stained brown\n[[ex-cuse me, I say|Charity shop-7a]]\n

The people in the charity shop are friendly, but there’s far too many of them.\nThey’re children, really.\nI’m getting rid of old clothes, blankets, shoes, things I liked very much and can no longer stand the sight of.\nI look at the shelves while the older gentleman with the pronounced speech impediment, as though his tongue doesn’t fit in his mouth, shows one of the newer recruits how to inspect items of clothing for wear and tear. Surprisingly, they can afford to be fussy, especially about children’s clothes.\nI wonder why there are always so many cookbooks in charity shops,\neven when they’re by Jamie oliver or ainsley Harriot\nno use for them I suppose.\nSome things are just meant to be gotten rid of after awhile\n[[I wonder if those cookbooks teach you how to make japanese rice too.|Charity shop-7b]]\n

2. Put his head under the water.\n\n[[Okay.|pg 23]]

3. Rinse until the water runs clean.

i lay him down\nand stroke his little face\nand his little caved in skull lies bleeding\nand i must always remember to follow instructions\n\n[[Okay.|pg 21]]\n

1. Place the little boy where the slope in the stream is steepest.\n\n[[Okay.|pg 22]]

--Let the player undo moves? (on / off)\n--In Sugarcane, this enables the browser's back button.\n--In Jonah, this lets the player click links in previous\n--passages.\n\nUndo: off\n\n--Let the player use bookmarks? (on / off)\n--This enables the Bookmark links in Jonah and Sugarcane\n--(If the player can't undo, bookmarks are always disabled.)\n\nBookmark: on\n\n--Obfuscate the story's HTML source to prevent possible\n--spoilers? (swap / off)\n\nObfuscate: off\n\n--String of letter pairs to use for swap-style obfuscation\n\nObfuscateKey: logkxacdbtuzpwhqfysivejnmr\n\n--Include the jQuery script library? (on / off)\n--Individual scripts may force this on by\n--containing the text 'requires jQuery'.\n\njQuery: off\n\n--Include the Modernizr script library? (on / off)\n--Individual scripts/stylesheets may force this on by\n--containing the text 'requires Modernizr'.\n\nModernizr: off\n

i jab a second time\nthe knife vanishes into his gut\nto the hilt\nmy hand does not come away unblemished\nhis eyes widen\nhe’s never felt this wet or cold before\nhe looks me in the eyes like a cat whose owner hasn’t fed it in weeks\n\n[[Okay.|pg 15a]]

everything trucking along just fine and then [[suddenly –|Bookshop-4a]]

\nI start to walk home\nwhy is this lane always so wet?\nThe two little gurriers are still there\nswaying\nwalking up and down the lane\nbun go barr\nthey try to stop me getting past\ngrinning\ngiggling\nteeth in their mouths like glittering yellow stones in an ashtray stained brown\n[[ex-cuse me, I say|Charity shop-8b]]\n

it’s alright\nThe rice is burnt that’s all\nburnt\nto a crisp\nblack\nI pick up the big steel saucepan\ndesigned for even, gentle distribution of heat\nI grasp it by the steel, not by the ergonomically designed plastic handles\n\n[[Hold.|Bookshop-7]]\n\n[[Throw.|Bookshop-7a]]

I hold it for as long as I can bear\nand then [[fling it at the fridge|Bookshop-8]]\n

and five minutes later it goes off\nWhen it’s my turn I really can’t leave it any later and pay by card and ask the nice silvery-haired woman behind the counter if I can come back in ten minutes please\n[[and then I run|Bookshop-5]]

I run\nThe house is burning down\nThe house is burning down\nThe two little gurriers laugh as I race past them\nbut I don’t stop because the house is on fire\nit’s burning to the –\n[[no|Bookshop-6]]\n

When I’m third in the queue the alarm for the rice goes off. \n\n[[I run|Bookshop-5]]\n\n[[I don’t want to lose my place so I leave it for another five minutes.|Bookshop-4]]

I start to walk to the bookshop\nthe two of them are still there\nthe little gurriers\nas I pass they say nothing, do nothing, only grin,\nbut then they start to throw tiny little stones at my feet as I walk away\nmissing on purpose or so I believe\n[[When I hear|Bookshop-2]] the little clickety-clack of the stones striking the lined, battered concrete I almost think the hail has at last begun to strike us\nfalling down like skittering dented marbles on cracked glittering granite\n

Fionn Murray

it leaves a dent\nthe rice clumping on the floor like an ashtray being emptied\nI sink to my knees and watch my hands blister and smart\nlittle bubbles of skin\nas though hailstones have worried their way under my flesh and are melting into my bloodstream\nvanishing through my veins to [[stab me in the heart|Bookshop-9]]\n

That rice\nso much of it\nit was so small and fragile and important\nit was so close to being perfect\njust like the rice they have in japan\nand now it’s\ngone.\nAll gone.\n[[I go out the front door.|Bookshop-10]]\n

[[no|Dream-6]]

the extent to which citizens are permitted – entitled – to take the [[law|Dream-5]] into their own

[[no|Dream-8]]

it never happens like [[that|Dream-7]] does it

It makes for a most satisfying sound, like a balloon popping unexpectedly. The boy is so shocked, he looks like he’s just been told he was adopted. His face begins to smart, almost like he’s blushing. I like to hope that he’s still able to feel embarrassment, shame. He drops the book he holds, Bun go Barr, and it thumps on the ground.\n“Now listen, the pair of you,” I say, stilling my voice. They’re already starting to look to their feet. “I know your names, I know both your mothers, they’ll be hearing from me, and the guards may be as well, we’ll see. Now both of you clear off, the pair of you.”\nThey both scarper. The nice silvery-haired woman from the bookshop and the older gentleman from the charity shop appear at the top of the lane and come and help me. They bring me into the charity shop, taking with them the books that can be salvaged, and make me a nice cup of hot, very sweet tea. I tell them what happened.\nAnd then I get my picture in the Examiner. [[I become|Dream-2]] part of the debate about the nanny state our society is sliding into, and a hero for ordinary folks defending themselves against harassment in the streets. Everyone, I’m sure, has heard that story about the burglar who was trying to break into a house on a rainy night, slipped, fell, injured himself, and promptly sued the owners of the house in question.\n

the limits [[of|Dream-4]] self-defence

I [[am|Dream-3]] prompting serious debate about the ethics of vigilantism

oh my little boy\ni brush his hair out of his eyes\nhis dead little eyes\ni pick him up\nand carry him through the saturated streets to my house\nhuffing and wheezing all the while\n\n[[Okay.|pg 18]]\n

i stamp on his chest with one foot\nyou know when youre struggling to open a pistachio and you finally manage it\nwell\nwhen after repeated furious stamps his ribs finally give out under me\nit feels just like that\nhis tough little ribs folding inwards at last like an empty egg carton being flattened\nits raining\ni dont remember when last i saw this much blood\n\n[[Okay.|pg 17]]\n

what happened was\n[[i was making sushi|pg 10]]\n

[[never|Dream-9]]

i slashed blindly at the boy on my right\na glancing blow\nacross the knuckles\nlike a streak of raspberry sauce upon melting vanilla\nhe yelled in surprise\n\n[[Don't.|pg 12]]\n\n[[Okay.|pg 12a]]

i had a kitchen knife for chopping the rolls of dried seaweed into delectable bitesized chunks\nthe knife was in my pocket\ni took the knife out of my pocket\n\n[[Don't.|pg 11]]\n\n[[Okay.|pg 11a]]

1. Leave to soak in five minutes in cold water to cover.\n2. Drain in a colander for five minutes.\n3. Put the rice in a saucepan with 1¼ cups cold water.\n\n[[Okay.|pg 2]]

I still have so many things to do today.\n[[I have to make the rice like they make it in japan.|Rice]]\n[[I have to go to the bookshop|Put on rice first-a]]

everything trucking along just fine and then [[suddenly –|Charity shop-2]]

I have so many things to do today.\n[[I have to make the rice like they make it in japan.|Rice first]]\n[[I have to drop some old clothes off to the charity shop.|Charity shop]]\n[[I have to go to the bookshop and collect the books my son will need when he starts back in school|Put on rice first]]\nThe books are from such wide-ranging subjects as\nmaths\nenglish\nhistory\ngeography (he needs a whole book on how to memorize the thirty-two counties, or so it seems)\nscience\nirish\nThe textbook he needs for irish is called “bun go barr”\ntop to bottom\nup and down\nup and down\nup and down\nnever stopping.\n\n

Picking up dribs and drabs and droplets of warm dried sweat\nclumping at the roots\nLittle droplets.\nSo many of them.\nYou could [[spend your life counting them and never ever get to the end.|pg 9]]\n

The sky when I woke up this morning was like a used coffee filter hanging over us\na used coffee filter dripping dirty dregs on the back gardens of the world.\nIt was the colour of a bloodstain on a wedding dress that won’t ever\nquite\ncome out.\n\n[[Okay.|pg 4]]

This\nthis is how they make rice in Japan.\nMaking Japanese rice is just one of the things I \nhave to do\ntoday.\n\n[[Okay.|pg 3]]

It’s the sort of morning where you look outside and it could be anytime\nanytime at all.\nYou call this summer\nyou having a laugh\nEven the trees are covered in dregs, of burnt coffee grounds that will never be ingested\nthe stream at the bottom of my garden has turned to a milky dark off-brown.\nNothing lives in my garden.\nIf some little gurrier kicks a ball over our wall [[it stays where it is d’you hear|pg 7]]\n

I woke up in a very nice double bed from a very nice shop that sells beds\nwith a very nice white duvet with a subtly off-white faux-lace motif around the edges\nand a very nice mass-produced, aggressively asymmetrical painting by an obscure artist named Harvey Norman.\n\n[[Okay.|pg 6]]\n

The smell of summer rain rising from hesitant tepid concrete\nit's like eating gravel for breakfast\nthe heat in the distance,\nthe haze of a battlefield in some distant oriental land.\n\n[[Okay.|pg 5]]

The people in the bookshop tell me to come back in a little while, they’re just getting some orders in.\nI suppose I'll [[go to the charity shop|Charity shop-6b]]\ninstead\nwhile I'm waiting\nmaybe the crowd'll have thinned out a little.

Last night I carried my sleeping son to his bed\nhuffing and wheezing\nI told him he could stay up to watch the film if he put his pyjamas on first\nHe lay in the bed and [[I ran my fingers through his hair|pg 8]]\n

i slashed again\nthe forearm\nhis naked hairless forearm\nit’s raining\n\n[[Okay.|pg 13a]]

i slashed blindly at the boy on my right\na glancing blow\nacross the knuckles\nlike a streak of raspberry sauce upon melting vanilla\nhe yelled in surprise\n\n[[Okay.|pg 12a]]

And now\n[[I have to go back to the bookshop|Bookshop-1b]]

I suppose I should [[put on the rice|Rice first-a]] before I go to the shop.\nI suppose I can leave it to\nboil\nwhile I'm out\n\n

everything trucking along just fine and then [[suddenly –|Charity shop-3a]]

and then [[fling it at the fridge|Bookshop-8]]

I start making the rice\nlike they make it in japan\nI set an alarm on my phone to go off\nI suppose I can leave it for a little while\n\n[[I have to go to the bookshop|Bookshop-1a]]\n\n[[I suppose I could go to the charity shop first either|Charity shop-1a]]

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