Excerpt: VERB TENSES by M.G. da Mota

 

Prologue

 

Coast of Alentejo, Portugal, December 1969

 

The little girl opened her eyes wide, trying to pierce the darkness. She lifted her head off the pillow, listening intently. All she could hear was the wind blowing wildly, the thunder, and the ocean, raging, beating against the sand and the surrounding cliffs. The house shook with the fury of the storm, as if the sea were angry at its presence and wanted to wash it away. Scared, the little girl pulled the covers over her head and squeezed her eyes shut, hoping for sleep. Images of fairy tales floated into her mind. She remembered the story her mother’s best friend had read earlier. It was the story of a little girl, like herself, who went on a summer picnic with her teddy-bear friends. She smiled. A feeling of warmth spread in her chest, her body relaxed, her mind began to drift; and then, she heard it.

A scream. A horrible scream, louder than the storm, from somewhere in the house. Jerking upright, heart thumping, her breath accelerated, became noisy, difficult. She stared into the darkness, listening. There was no mistake. The screams continued then stopped, abruptly. There was a short silence, then voices. Angry voices. Then the sound of glass splintering on the floor. She whispered, afraid,

‘Mummy … mummy, I’m scared.’

Lightning slashed the darkness, briefly brightening the room through the gaps in the shutters. Thunder was deafening. Trembling the little girl rolled out of bed and walked to the door. Opening it slowly she peered into the hall. Light spilled out from the open door of her mother’s bedroom. Relief flooded through her. The storm had woken Mummy too. Running in she cried,

‘Mummy, I’m scared of—’.

Her mother’s bed was empty. Only her baby brother was there, peacefully asleep in his cot. She noticed the room was somehow different. There were clothes, books, scattered carelessly over the floor; a stool lying upside down; a chair on its side. The little girl didn’t understand. Mummy liked everything just so. Mummy always told her off when she forgot to tidy her room and put away her toys. Her heart thumped again. Something must be wrong for Mummy not to clean her own bedroom. Her fear increased. For one scary moment she thought she might have been left alone with the baby.

The screams came again. From downstairs. Hesitantly she walked towards the staircase, stopping on the landing to look through the railings. The stairs were in complete darkness but a strong beam of light escaped through the half open door of the lounge.

The voices were still shouting. They spoke ugly, the little girl thought. She heard bad words. Mummy had told her that little girls should never say them. There was a sudden heavy thud. Fright gripped her. Perhaps there were burglars. She must be brave and help Mummy. Carefully, silently, moving as she had once seen her kitten move while stalking a grasshopper, the little girl began walking down the stairs towards the beam of light.

 

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