The Sound of Building Coffins

Typhus stood in the doorway directly behind her now. She needn’t turn to know there were tears in his eyes-they were plainly evident at the edge of his voice. There would be a particular something clenched in his hand.

“Where is it?”

Malaria turned to face him. “Sir?” she said.

He waved the coffee bag at her violently. “Where is it? There was something in this bag and now it’s gone! You got no right going through my things!”

“I washed it for you, Typhus. It was stinking up the house with that old catfish smell. Thought it was empty at first.” Malaria felt silly defending herself on this point, all things considered.

“I want it back,” said Typhus evenly.

“Can’t have it back,” said Malaria, turning her gaze back to the swamp mist now rapidly thinning. The sound of her brother’s shallow breath made her feel cruel.

“It’s mine,” said Typhus, in a cracked voice. He sounded beaten and resigned, as a child might sound upon having a favorite toy taken away as punishment. As Malaria imagined West might sound if Diphtheria ever got mad enough to take those damn, precious buttons from him.

Thoughts of West’s love for shiny buttons softened Malaria’s heart unexpectedly, and so she altered her course slightly. Perhaps confrontation regarding such sensitive and scandalous matters would not be the best thing. Could it hurt to simply keep his secret, to help him hide from this one devastating truth? Maybe that would be best.

“I’m not even sure what it was. Didn’t see it till after I washed. Just blobs of brown paper bunched up and crumbling.” She paused, giving Typhus a window to speak if he chose. He remained silent, so she added, “Looked like it mighta been a photograph. Hard to say for sure.”

Typhus’ voice fell to a whisper. “You didn’t see it?”

“No, sir. Just went to wash the stink out yer bag, and found the crumbs after it was too late. I guess whatever it was, it must’ve meant something to you. Sorry I wasn’t more careful.”

Typhus studied his shoes in the doorway, a little bit of that smile from earlier creeping back to his lips. Malaria felt a wave of temporary relief.

“I see you gotcher nice shirt on,” she said with a reassuring smile. “Must be some kinda extra special girlfriend you got.”

Typhus smiled bashfully. “Yes, indeed. I guess you could say that. Hell, I don’t need that old picture anyhow no more. Got me the real thing now. The real thing is what.” He turned to go back inside.

Malaria stared at her left hand, closed in a fist. The smile lingered at her lips, but her brow furrowed. This trouble was not yet through, she sensed. “Typhus?” she called out, her voice slightly higher in pitch than she’d intended. “Typhus? What do you mean when you say you got the real thing?”

Typhus returned to the door, gnawing on a hunk of dry bread he’d found in the kitchen. “Well, I’ll tell you, sis. You was right about that thing in the coffee bag. It was a photograph. Picture of a girl. I been keeping that picture a long time-but now I don’t need it no more. Know why?”

“Why?” Malaria’s eyes were burning.

“’Cause the girl in the picture-well, I found that very same girl in real life.”

The words made Malaria light-headed.

“And, turns out, we got ourselves a little thing going on. Might even get married, I guess.”

Malaria stood up to face her brother. “What did you say?” Gone a shade paler, she suddenly looked very old. Both of her hands were balled into fists at her sides as she repeated, “What did you just say?”

Typhus struggled to decipher what error he might have made. “Well, I mean…we might not get married at all. I mean we just met…I was just saying…”

“The real thing? You said you got the real thing?”

“Well, sure, I found the real thing. Is that so hard to believe?” Switching from defense to offense. “Is it so hard to believe that your little half-a-man, freak-of-a-brother might’ve found a real live woman? Someone who might love him back? Is that so very hard for you to comprehend, big sister?”

It dawned on Malaria that Typhus truly didn’t know. Didn’t realize. Someone had played a trick on him. A cruel trick. Unable to completely shake her rage, she forced her voice to soften, “Typhus, there’s something you oughta know.”

“Who you been talking to?” The anger in his own voice was mounting. This was a type of jealousy, Typhus decided-what else could it be? Malaria had been a spinster so long that she now wished to throw some rain on his own little bit of joy. “What are you doing, Malaria? Why you gotta ruin this for me?”

“Typhus, I seen the picture.”

“Why are you doing this? I don’t care if you seen the picture. Don’t matter, you can keep it. I got the real thing.”

“Stop saying that!” she screamed.

“Don’t you ruin this for me, Malaria. I swear to God I’ll never forgive you if you ruin this for me.”

“Typhus, please,” Malaria was fighting back tears now. “Listen to me. Listen to me.” She waited for their eyes to meet before continuing: “Typhus, I know the lady in that picture. I recognized her. I know who she is.”

Typhus, incredulous: “Lily? You know Lily?”

“Lily?” Malaria’s eyes widened. “That ain’t no Lily, Typhus. No, no, no. Oh dear God in heaven, no…” Malaria crumpled into sobs. “Dear God, Typhus. Someone been playing a trick on you. Someone done played a trick on you. My poor, poor little Typhus.” She stroked his temple soothingly, but he recoiled at the word little.

“I ain’t no little boy. I’m a man.” His teeth clenched, his lower lip jutting firmly.

“You are a man,” she said.

“And you ain’t my mother. You’re my sister.”

“I ain’t. And I am.”

Typhus regained a degree of composure. “What are you talking about, big sis? Listen, whatever it is, it don’t matter. I ain’t never been happier. I met the real Lily and she loves me back. It’s okay. I swear it’s okay.”

“Her name ain’t Lily, Typhus. It’s Gloria. And you ain’t met her cause she dead. Been dead twenty-five years.”

Typhus smiled uneasily. “Now, you just confused is all. One thing I know is she ain’t dead. I-” he almost said saw her, but corrected himself before the words came out, “was with her last night. I…I…I-”

“Her name ain’t Lily, Typhus,” Malaria repeated, “it’s Gloria.” She opened her fist and let the torn pieces of Typhus’ photograph flutter to the ground.

Things began to fall together in Typhus’ mind, and he understood what Malaria was trying to tell him, what she couldn’t say flat out. His face went slack as he studied the wetness of his sister’s cheeks and the pieces of Lily on the ground at his feet. Malaria put her hands on Typhus’ shoulders as if fearful he may fall.

“Typhus, the lady in that picture,” she leaned down to whisper in his ear, “she’s your mother. My mother. Our mother.”

Chapter forty-one. Rising Fog

“Typhus, my brother, I do love you so.”