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THE HOUSE ON THE BORDER OF BUDESRADShort fiction by Ben Jellicoe | Illustrations by Zozi
PART ONE She'd built a life for herself in the small town of Elitz, just off the border. A river ran ruler straight, dividing the town. It ran just outside her house. It was unclear whether she preferred to be solitary, had chosen it, or whether she was afraid. She walked by the river before work, otherwise she stayed inside her thin yellow house and read. In books she opened up other worlds and became someone else. When, among those for whom talk of others' business is a competitive sport, the girl in the thin yellow house came up in conversation, they would wonder how she afforded a house all to herself. She did not seem to have any family. They did not know, but that was exactly how: her family had died. The house was all there was, now. Once a summer house, now a home. For her it held memories of childhood, happiness, and safety. |
The accountant she worked for was satisfied with her command of mathematics, and with her silence. He preferred a quiet office, and was himself quite solitary.
She read the history of the town, sitting in her window seat, softly cushioned. With glass between her and the reality of the place, in her attic on the top floor, it became an enticing story. It wasn't something real. She read of the town, when it had been the border. The ruler straight river had been the perfect natural boundary. That was why all the buildings were new here, even the church. The border hadn't stayed there for long. Elitz, she read, was now firmly part of Budesrad, the proud amalgamation of states. She pictured it as a dot on someone's map. Another town, amalgamated.
It was still early. The sun was yet to set. She picked her navy coat off the peg and locked her door behind her. It was quiet enough to hear the river. She walked on the bank, on the river's side of the shiny black railing. Her feet took her into the dusk as it gathered in the valley. She headed for the square.
She read the history of the town, sitting in her window seat, softly cushioned. With glass between her and the reality of the place, in her attic on the top floor, it became an enticing story. It wasn't something real. She read of the town, when it had been the border. The ruler straight river had been the perfect natural boundary. That was why all the buildings were new here, even the church. The border hadn't stayed there for long. Elitz, she read, was now firmly part of Budesrad, the proud amalgamation of states. She pictured it as a dot on someone's map. Another town, amalgamated.
It was still early. The sun was yet to set. She picked her navy coat off the peg and locked her door behind her. It was quiet enough to hear the river. She walked on the bank, on the river's side of the shiny black railing. Her feet took her into the dusk as it gathered in the valley. She headed for the square.
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Their rifles were jagged grey spikes in the dying light. They faced the square, where the market stalls were being packed away. Their faces were grey stone. The statue was designed to last for a long, long time. Perhaps, she thought, it would outlive the empire.
A sliver of shadow approached the statue from the other side. Night was creeping in to the square from the corners. The figure stopped, so close to the arrayed soldiers she could no longer see him. She heard a wet noise, followed closely by the slap of liquid on stone. Curious, she poked her head round the side. Eyes wide, he stepped back in fear. He had been glaring at the soldiers' backs. Now he turned, glancing around, and fled across the square. With only a moment's hesitation, she followed. PART TWO
Night had fallen. The alleyways, lined with slick cobbles, became a maze. She watched his flapping legs and pumping arms, never more than one corner behind. When he stopped at last she nearly collapsed. They leaned against red brick walls, opposite each other in the thin street. He didn't try to run again. Her coat felt too hot; the autumn air was cold against her flushed cheeks. It was too late to be out. “Why are you following me?” He sounded indignant. Boys did not like to be out-run. |
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“Because you ran.” She answered simply. He glared at her. She read the glare and saw he was scared. Not angry, not really. “And because of the rifles.” The fear showed truly on his face then, without veil. “I hate them too.”
He shrugged. “I dunno what you mean.” She smiled.
“This used to be over the border from Budesrad.” She pronounced it like a foreigner, as she had been, just like him. “Then it wasn't. Elitz was a pretty town. I came here as a girl. The statue wasn't there then.” She watched his eyes. He wasn't sure. “I wouldn't rat you out if you went at it with a sledgehammer.”
“Then why were you following me?” This time, he simply sounded puzzled. She just smiled.
He walked her back along the river, the black, shiny railing between them as she dangled on the edge. The water below was dark as a starless sky, but the heavens above lit their way well.
He shrugged. “I dunno what you mean.” She smiled.
“This used to be over the border from Budesrad.” She pronounced it like a foreigner, as she had been, just like him. “Then it wasn't. Elitz was a pretty town. I came here as a girl. The statue wasn't there then.” She watched his eyes. He wasn't sure. “I wouldn't rat you out if you went at it with a sledgehammer.”
“Then why were you following me?” This time, he simply sounded puzzled. She just smiled.
He walked her back along the river, the black, shiny railing between them as she dangled on the edge. The water below was dark as a starless sky, but the heavens above lit their way well.
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Ben is a law student, home-grown in Birmingham. He writes short fiction at modestimperfection.wordpress.com. He lives mostly in the past and reads Stefan Zweig and Iain M. Banks.
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Zozi is a 23-year old writer and sometime illustrator. She lives in London and blogs at oddlyshapedmarbles.wordpress.com. Her art influences include Tove Jansson, Lauren Child, 1960s fashion sketches, and Marjane Satrapi.
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