I don’t believe in God for starters. Not the God of love, leastways, and He forgives us all our sins cos we are His children. Bollocks! I been in church, singing with all my heart and soul, and my body given over to Christ, and my knees sore from sore praying. I been and done all of that shit and still my mammy died and no call for mercy was answered though I was just a girl of thirteen when it happened. And the fucking minister said only that the ways of God is mysterious to us all.
And I don’t believe in telling the truth when a lie will do and when a lie is the kindest thing. And I told my younger sister that Matthew was honest and good and she could do a lot worse. And I told her that even though me and Matthew, we fucked most Monday nights when my sister was studying at evening classes at the school so she could be a nurse.
And I don’t believe in luck, not like my daddy does, and he plays cards every Saturday and he bets on the horses, too, and he comes home with empty pockets and a paper ticket that he says just might mean he’s a millionaire when he wakes. And I reckon with the money he’s lost he could well be a millionaire by now. And luck is just a bullshit word that don’t count for nothing. And for years we was so poor I had to call in on old Mrs Finster twice a week and she’d set me chores to do around her house in return for a good hot meal and something for my sister to eat, too.
Believe me, I don’t feel sorry for what’s what. Aint no good in that, in getting down and miserable and thinking the whole goddamn world is against you when the world is only indifferent. I can’t be doing with people that think like that, not any of ‘em. You just got to make your way and make it good for you and not do no one harm if’n you can help it.
I call in on my daddy ‘bout once a week – Tuesdays is best – and I make him a plate of soup or beef stew, and I slip him a little money which I know he will have spent before Saturday comes around, and that way I can be sure that my money aint being bet on cards and going into the pockets of godless men who believe in luck and waking up some Sunday a millionaire.
And I call in on my sister, too, calling regular just to check on how she’s doing, which is mostly alright. And me and Matthew, we don’t let on to no one, acting like a brother-in-law and a sister-in-law should. Indeed, I think he’s a little ashamed of the Monday nights when we used to fuck, ashamed on account of he’s settled and so far in love with my sister these days, and that’s ok – it really is, cos if there’s one thing that I do believe in, more than taste and touch and seeing what is right there in front of my eyes, what I truly believe in is love.
Got me a guy of my own these days, see, and I reckon as how he’s pretty ordinary but he keeps on the right side of truth with everything and he says he loves me to the moon and back again – and I sort of believe it when he says it. And well, shit, if that aint the holy fucking grail I don’t know what is – trust me.
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The Temple of Air
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