A Regular Tuesday (Prose, part 4/4)

by Ada

Although the stench really did bother me. And as if that wasn't enough, my stepping back had brought me a little deeper into the shed, to reveal that there was no floor but for the earth itself, and quite the uneven one at that. Why, it was as if someone had been digging in it, surely, and then put the dirt back in its place quite recklessly, without noticing the bumps they created, right where people were supposed to walk. And in such darkness as well – honestly! In the little light provided by the sunshine gleaming in through the open door, I could make out the shape of an axe lying on the ground, altogether specked with dark red spots, and I thought "Rusty, even that! Why, didn't the old man Mr. McCarthy know one should treat one's tools carefully in order to make them last longer?"

At any rate, it wasn't a very big shed, and the light did in fact reach the wall and followed it all the way up to the ceiling, and oh, wasn't that – ? I opened the door a little wider, allowing a bit more light in, the stench so overwhelming now I kept one hand over my mouth and nose, and the other on the door handle. Thinking back on it now, I must have forgotten all about the cat at that moment, as – yes, it was! Life-sized dolls' heads hanging by their hair, some from the wall and some from the ceiling. One of them positively right in front of me, and quite lit up from the open door. "How odd," I thought, "that I did not see it sooner!"

They looked quite funny, to tell you the truth, their eyes and mouths wide open as if in surprise, even shock, perhaps, by the sudden stream of sunlight on their faces. "But," I carried on thinking, "they don't look the least bit life-like, if you ask me, their skin all waxy and ashen-looking, as if about to rot and fall apart at any moment. But – oh! The smell! An animal must have crawled in her at one point, and unable to find its way out in the darkness, the poor creature must have curled up an died in one of these corners, bless it.

Again I remembered the cat, and turned to look in its direction. And there it was, once again preoccupied with cleaning its already glistening fur with that little pink, rough tongue of his. But beside it, as now I had the good fortune of discovering, a second path made its way clear of bushes and ladders and sheds and black cats. Not pebbled, this one, but clearly trodden in the otherwise tall grass, and so, off I went, after having closed the door yet again, relieving the outside world and neighbourhood of the foul stench, and the poor dolls' heads of the sharp sunlight – Oh dear, I do have to laugh when I think about them, such an expression on their faces! –, down the newly discovered path, it leading me all the way out of the garden, and – what do you know! – right next to the Little Shop around the Corner.

But, oh!, where are my manners? I completely forgot to introduce myself! My name is Roisín. Yes, as in the poems and legends of Ireland, but let me tell you, although undeniably Irish by heart and nature, there is nothing poetic or legendary about myself.

And, as I was saying, there was absolutely nothing indicating that this day would in any way at all differ from any chosen previous one. And as I was walking home from the Little Shop around the Corner, my daily fresh bread rolls and yesterday's newspaper in hand, I could see absolutely no reason why it should.