A Straining Compass
Mother tucked the white square of a letter
into her dress
ran her hand over the black leather
cover of the large Bible
before opening it, and
reading
Jacob listened from his place on the
straw-topped stool,
not to the words but to the
peaking and troughing of Mother's voice
the tremor of worry
and exhaustion
under the surface
the letter was from Uncle Emiel
but instead of his words
she chose to read them
the words of God
the housemaid was gone
the shelf in her chamber bare and
her clothing missing from
the cabinet
run off said Willem
dead said Henrik
sent packing said Willem
disgraced and sent packing said Henrik
covered in bruises said Willem
and both arms broken said Henrik
liar
idiot
Father did not find his way home
not for supper and not for breakfast
for a blank stretch of days
in which Mother read
and read aloud
from the thick Bible
and Jacob cocked his head
and listened
top in hand
not liking what he heard
Willem
arriving well past the sleeping hour
droop-eyed and sagging
when he appeared in the doorway, wishing no supper
Ahrens, always that blasted Ahrens
Ahrens and more Ahrens, I am sick of that name
within minutes
he was snoring
gap-mouthed
still wearing his working clothes
one hand
dangling from the bed
Jacob plotted his course
calculated and charted
rode the strange, unsettling tide
of the days as they
darkened, leeched of daylight
spinning the wooden top and waiting
listening to Mother
listening for the Leviathan
the compass needle was trembling, straining towards
true north
and the Leviathan
was preparing to break the surface
to show its horrible face
in the blinding light of day
its arms unfurled
and greedily clutching the air to catch
and embrace
them
all
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