The Water-Breather. Ben Faccini
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BEN FACCINI
The Water-breather
To my father, who encouraged all things
Contents
Praise for The Water-breather:
He stands at the edge of the lake and rolls a dry leaf between his fingers. It crumbles apart, pieces flutter from the palm of his hand, down onto the surface of the water beside him. He watches them spin and drift in opposite directions. With the end of his walking-stick, he pushes against thin ridges of mud. They fall away. Water moves forward, running down lines of earth, filling pockets, creating pools.
He sits down on the grass. He lays his head on his knees and closes his eyes. The sounds of the lake wash against his feet.
We are always travelling. From country to country, from grandmother to grandmother. We spend winter and spring in the car and, in the summer, my brothers and I have bottles of water on our laps and sweets in our mouths to soften the tight bends that send us sideways across the back seat.
I am Jean-Pio, the middle child. I sit between my two brothers, waiting for the petrol sign to flash up red. It has been my place since we started moving. I either lean forward, my knees jammed into the gap between my parents’ seats, or I push my head back and let my eyes drift through the metal grid of the rear window. I see onto the rushing roads with the occasional tree or lorry to block out the light. I swallow with every bump and dip to quell my car sickness, measured, like a metronome, by the indicator clicking left and right. I read number-plates, decipher stickers on the backs of cars. I play ‘I spy’ in my head. A for air. B for bend. C for car. D for dead-end. I add up number-plates. I count down the kilometres from town to town. I scan the billboards and signposts for new words.
Sometimes, peering into overtaking cars, I meet the gaze of a hungry dog or the empty silhouettes of strangers. I strain to see what they’re wearing and guess where they might be going. They rarely look like us, eyes set on the horizon, children sitting tidily in a row, but occasionally I catch sight of a family like