12
I dip the hem of my dress in the pitcher of milk. I clean the skin on my face. I pick between my teeth. I pick beneath my nails. I am pretty and clean. I squeeze gray milk from the hem of my dress. I straighten my dress. I am pretty and clean for the lesson. Spot notices that I am clean. He stands on his feet, his big feet. He totters. He walks toward me. He lifts his shirt. It hurts, says Spot. He puts my hand on the lump. He whimpers. He moves my hand back and forth on the lump. He comes closer. He is very tall, very thick and tall. On his feet, he looks grown. He bends his neck and rests his brow on the top of my head. He breathes on my face, my pretty, clean face. Spot is tall. He is grown, but I can tell that he is hardly a man. His breath is wet. His breath smells spoiled, sweet and spoiled. Around the hard lump, his belly is soft. The buttons on my dress sink into his belly. Black buttons disappear in his belly. Sometimes there are currants in cakes, black currants sunk in the cake. There is a lesson about black currant cake. Two girls ate a black currant cake. They spread cloth napkins on their dresses. They put their hats on the grasses. They lifted the wedges of cake with their hands. They were great big girls. They flattened the grasses. Their teeth turned black. They laughed. They picked each other's teeth. They licked each other's teeth so the teeth were white and clean. They spread cream on the cake. They put their blackened fingers in cream. There are lessons in the nursery. There is so much to learn. I work my fingers between Spot's belly and the buttons. My fingers get wet. They slide on Spot's skin. I bend my fingers so my nails dig in Spot's skin. Spot does not act like a man. He whines. The fluid from his lips drops on my face. Go to your desk, I say. I poke with my fingers. I jerk with my head so Spot's brow slips and his face comes down fast. He takes a big step so he does not fall. He lifts his head. His chin is wet and he does not shut his mouth. He does not smile. Go to your desk, I say. In the corner of the room, there are two desks. Each desk has its bottle of fluid. Each desk has its pile of books. I walk to the desks. Tamworth is crouching beneath a desk. She puts her hands on her knees and looks between her legs. She makes her mess beneath the desk. Her legs shake. She looks at me.
13
On the desks, the books are black. The spines are black. The covers are black. I open the books. Inside, I see black. The children have ripped the pages from the books. I lift a book by its spine. The covers tap together. I make the edges of the covers tap together. The book has black jaws. I laugh. How will the children read the books? I nip Tamworth's arm with the book. I nip her shoulder. I nip Tamworth's nose with the book. She laughs. She knocks the book from my hands. The jaws fall open. The Master's dogs have black, speckled gums. The Master's dogs are old. Their teeth are worn low in their gums. The Master's dogs have stiffened in their hips. Their back legs are stiff when they run. The Master's dogs make their mess in the orchard. They cannot crouch. They make their mess like cows in the field. They lift their tails. They run through the orchard, their mess falling behind. Their mess is yellow fluids. I could not wipe it from the apples. The skins on the apples are cracked. The fluids seeped beneath the skins. The Master's dogs leak fluid in the house. The Master lets his dogs in every room of the house. The nursery door is locked from the outside. The dogs inside the nursery have been inside for a very long time. The children have scattered the piles of hair.
14
There are two chairs in the nursery. The children sit on the chairs. I sit on the rocking horse. The rocking horse creaks. I am very slim, but it creaks. Dust falls from the withers. Nits rise from the withers. I sit astride the rocking horse. The saddle is hard. I tighten my legs. The saddle rubs. It hurts. I lean forward and back. I make the rocking horse creak. The hips have stiffened. The hips creak. The legs are very straight. Nits swarm around the nostrils of the rocking horse. Nits lay their eggs in the nostrils. They crawl between the lips. Tamworth feeds the rocking horse cake. She crumbles cakes in her palm and presses her palm on the lips. She fills the gouge between the lips with cake. She fills the nostrils with cake. Now mess, says Tamworth. She puts her mouth by the ear. Mess, says Tamworth. Nits settle on her cheeks and she slaps the nits. Her cheeks blotch. She tugs the mane with her fist. She slaps the neck. She slaps my leg. Make him mess, says Tamworth. She puts her hand on my neck. She pulls my dress. She tries to sit astride the horse. I push her back. Mess, says Tamworth. She slaps the haunch of the rocking horse. She lifts the tail of the rocking horse. I stand up and the rocking horse rocks forward and back. The withers bump my sex. It hurts. Blood is running through Tamworth's mouth where the hindquarters pushed her lips against her teeth.