Read Nature of Ash, The for Free Online Page A

feels like I’m balancing on a shaking tightrope — and any second I could fall.
    The first thing that strikes me is the metallic stench. I don’t know if I’ve ever registered the smell of blood before, but straight away I’m sure that’s what this is. It’s thick and cloying, settling like glue inside my nostrils and on the roof of my mouth.
    ‘Dad, it’s me,’ says Mikey. ‘Who hurt your face?’
    He reaches out to touch Dad and I step forward to stop him, but Mr Prakeesh shakes his head.
    ‘Let him touch, so he can understand.’ He takes Mikey’s hand and guides it to Dad’s pitted forehead.‘Gently,’ he warns, as Mikey’s fingers flit like butterflies around its rifts and valleys.
    ‘Cold.’ Mikey frowns. ‘Get another blanket.’
    ‘Unfortunately, young man, a blanket will not help. Once the heart has stopped pumping the blood around, the body cools.’ He directs Mikey to touch Dad’s chest, over his heart.
    The sight of Mikey’s squat gloved hand searching for movement nearly does me in. He’s so damn delicate, as if he’s scared of hurting him.
    ‘Not working,’ Mikey says, shaking his head.
    ‘I know,’ Mr Prakeesh replies. ‘We tried our hardest, but sometimes that’s not enough. I’m sorry, son, but now it’s best you say goodbye.’
    Mikey’s so calm I can’t believe it; it’s like the old man’s caught him in a spell. He leans right over Dad’s horrendous face and kisses the only undamaged scrap of skin — a tiny patch on his left temple. Then his arms snake around Dad to embrace him, body-bag and all. He starts to croon, his tone just like a mother soothing a sick child. ‘Poor Dad. Poor, poor Dad. Not working any more.’ He glances up, his face serene. ‘Dad’s dead, Ashy,’ he says, as though I’m the one who doesn’t comprehend. ‘You say goodbye.’ He tenderly folds himself around Dad’s corpse again, murmuring in the same comforting tone. ‘Poor, poor Dad.’
    As I stand transfixed some strange alchemy takes place before my eyes. Mikey’s embrace somehow makes Dad real. He’s our father again and not just an appalling lump of flesh. I can feel the grief welling up inside me, starting as a spasm in my gut, then rolling up my entire body. I start to cry tears of deep sorrow — not just shockor anger — and wrap myself over the top of Mikey to embrace them both. No longer horrified, just needing to be near.
    God only knows how long we stay like this, my crying setting Mikey off, but at some stage he slips out from under me and I’m left holding Dad. ‘I promise I’ll always look after him,’ I whisper. ‘I promise I’ll make you proud.’
    Eventually I straighten up and reach towards the welt left by the greenstone pendant, tracing it with my finger through the glove. All I can hope is that there is some kind of afterlife — that somewhere, out in the unknown, our ancestors are greeting Dad.
    I clutch on to Mikey and we stand together, looking down at him while I prepare to say my last goodbyes. I’m conscious of the nurse and the old man at my back now, embarrassment creeping in as I frame my final words. ‘I love you, Dad. I always will.’ It sounds so trite, so clichéd, but it’s really true. He’s not just Mikey’s rock, he’s mine as well.
    Mikey repeats my words, then we strip off the gowns and gloves. Mr Prakeesh and I shake hands, me bumbling out thanks. He shakes Mikey’s hand with real warmth, and Mikey gives him one of his suffocating hugs. He knows the good guys, Mikey does. Can sense it with unerring accuracy every time.
    We’re silent on the bus ride home. There’s nothing we can say. Yet I feel calmer: that one good cry has washed away some of the bitterness — at least for now. I reckon if heaven and hell do exist (which is a very long shot, as far as I’m concerned), it’s more likely Dad’s gone off to heaven while Mum’s being punisheddown in hell. Not that anyone’s ever confirmed she killed herself, but I