“Saul,” she said, reaching for his hand. “What happened?”
Saul didn’t know what to say. He didn’t know what to feel. His wife waited for his response. The room waited. The tiny blue flowers on the dirty white wallpaper waited.
“Come on, love. Tell me what the doctor said.” Her eyes looked stable, but like the bogs, Saul knew they could give way to water at any second. She wrapped her hands around his.
The words tumbled out of Saul’s mouth with a loveless life of their own. “It’s a tumor that’s been blurring my vision. It’s inoperable. Pretty soon I won’t be able to see out of my left eye.”
Even though her chin and lips dented the lower half of her face, her eyes hid the water Saul knew was just beneath the surface. She looked at him and somehow swallowed the dents out of her face, waiting for him to continue.
“It’ll be okay,” he said, to assure himself more than her. “Everything will work out. I’ve still got time to earn money for you and the kids.”
The bogs moved from her eyes to her throat, strangling her words and causing the water to surface—first in her eyes, then on her face. “Earn money?”
“For you and the kids.”
“Dearie…”
“I’ll get as many hours as I can. I know it won’t fix everything, and I know the money won’t last forever, but it will still help for a while after I…”
“No. Stop it, Saul. Stop…” Her face was glossy and her entire body heaved. “Just stop.”
He held her face in his hands. Her head was heavy and it was the first thing that felt real since the doctor’s office. He pressed his thumbs under her eyes, wiping away the water. He touched his lips to her forehead.
The following weeks were spent in constant thought. His wife began selling bread out of their apartment to bring in more money, and though they finished with only an extra £60 a week, they stored every pence of it in a coupon box in the highest kitchen cupboard. Some days were full of crying; others fighting, but these days always ended in apology at the chance the words would live forever because of death.
Saul remained at his job because other opportunity was low, and he couldn’t afford to be unemployed. Each day that ended without financial promise caused Saul’s doughy thoughts to thicken and grow to the point that he knew they would never bake into an edible loaf—a rock maybe—but never a loaf. Saul could no longer remember what his head felt like before the constant wringing, squeezing, and growing. He was nearly blind in his left eye and some of the sharpness and color had faded from his right.
Day after day Saul carefully stacked cans and jars of groceries onto row after row of shelves. He walked down the aisles, sweeping trash and replacing fallen or out-of-place items. He sometimes helped make the fish and chips, scoop the carrots and peas, or cut the sticky toffee pudding during the lunch or dinner rush, but usually he just stacked shelves, trying to take his time and stretch out each shift, usually only leaving with seven hours and £49.
As Saul stacked the bottom shelf of spices during his usual Thursday night shift, his boss approached him, and Saul straightened his back and looked up at him with a respectable nod. “Good evening, sir.”
“Saul, what are you doing?”
“Stacking the spices, sir.”
“Which ones?”
Saul turned back to the shelf and stared at the tiny bottles. He couldn’t read the labels, but he knew what they were because of the chestnut-colored dust. He turned back to his boss. “The cinnamon.”
“No. That’s where the cinnamon goes, but that’s not what you’re stacking.”
Saul turned back to the shelf in confusion. He was sure these were the cinnamon bottles. What else looked like…? And comprehension soaked through his skin, skull, tumor, and into his brain. “Cloves,” he mumbled. Saul hadn’t told his boss, or anybody but his wife, about the tumor. He didn’t want his boss to think him incapable or replace him because he would die within a few weeks.
“Yes. And do you know how many customers come in purchasing these bottles from the price label that says ‘Cinnamon’ then go home and put cloves on their porridge? I’ve gotten so many bitter faces in the past week because of your carelessness.” His voice became rigid as he stared down at Saul who was still kneeling on the floor. “Your work has been getting sloppy lately, and with our budget tightening, we’ve been trying to cut hours back.”
“I know, sir; I’m sorry. It won’t happen again. I’ll be more careful.”
“Saul,” he said. “I’m sorry, but we’re going to have to let you go.”
In general, I enjoyed the story. The only comment I’d make in addition to the others already made is that, when writing a story set in another country from your own, pay attention to small details that make it authentic. There are several times in the story where American expressions and spellings are frequently used – ‘diapers’ (we use nappies in Britain), referring to the temperature in Edinburgh being in the teens … this would be in farenheit – we use Celsius here and although these points may seem pedantic, they are important in conveying an authenticity. I noticed them so other British readers probably would too. Although written by and American, perhaps, for an American audience, if the setting is in Britain then everything about the story should be ‘British’ in essence.
The story flowed well and had a natural ‘feel’. Feelings and emotions were very much highlighted but I believe the subject matter facilitated this perspective.
First there are a number of typos e.g: but if it’s about something important, I might could make the journey…
Second, it is very obviously written by a lady – too much description based on feelings.
Third, I got caught in the story but wanted to stop reading it a few times. Anyone who has experienced cancer in their families will find this hard to read (most families have).
The writing needs some tightening up, and a lot of proof reading – sorry Megan.
I love this. The hopelessness of the poor man’s situation comes through clearly. A small suggestion. In the line – Saul said his words with care. “I though you could mabye come to Edinburgh….” – I think I’d change ’said’ to ‘chose’.
I kept hoping he’d turn the tables on his rotten brother and actually be betraying him by exposing the plan but alas, that was not to be.
Unfortunately, I must agree with Christine. The first page did not grab me. There was nothing that made me want to read more about this sad man and his sad circumstances. The conflict needs to be apparent sooner in order to interest a reader.
We value your thoughtful comments.What did you like/dislike?What would improve it?
It’s a very good effort. Some nice sentences and evocativ images. But, the writer might consider going over it again to make the writing crisper. Tighter. For example, first line….A fine film of mist soaked Saul’s skin, glasses, and brown hair as he walked through the gusty alley… could perhaps be more immediate to catch the readers attention by writing instead something like: ‘A fine mist enfolded Saul as he walked along the gray alley.’ Author needs to vary pace of story with shorter, more pointed sentences that focus the action. She might consider whether her words are well chosen for the image she is going for. For example, if — a fine film of a mist soaked him… it mustn’t have been fine but rather heavy. If the author would like me to continue to comment, I will, but I am unable to commit to reading a 5 pg story that doesn’t grab me by middle of second page.
This is a great story! Initially, when I saw the length of 5 pages, I thought it would be too long for a good read online. But when I finished page 5 I hoped for page 6. I wanted more.
Good character development of Saul and Bryan. I’m still wondering about the Dad angle, what happened in their youth that set them on separate paths.
I liked everything about this story. Please contribute more.