DISAPPEARING 

Val Roberts

‘Look at the size of this,’ shouts the neighbour.
        'What’s that, Bill?’ I press my boot on the spade, standing it upright in the soil.
Look to the fence, the sun dazzling my eyes.
        'Look at the size of this pumpkin.'
        'Erm …’ Two roundish shapes, like alien heads. Assuming Bill’s holding the pumpkin at head level. Not thinking his head is big. Quite the opposite. Small, warty.
        'Pumpkin soup for tea?'
        'This one’s a winner,’ Bill laughs, appearing further above the fence, blocking the sun.
        'Ah. There you are.'
        Bill buffs the pumpkin with his sleeve.
        Takes me back to my farming years in the Portuguese mountains. Rich soil, proper earthy. Could grow anything. My ex and me planting seeds. Tiptoeing across the land at the back of our Quinta, giggling after drinking bottles of Sagres, torches illuminating the grass to the plot. Poking finger holes in the soil. Wowing shiny objects circling the mountain behind the woods. Wild boar screaming, rustling through the bush; sprinting from the crack of rifles. We were up down, up down. Hole seed, hole seed. And so on. Fun at the time. Him smacking my bottom. The first time he touched me in years.
        'Just needed a few buckets of water,’ shouts Bill.
        'Oh, really.'
        Three months I dragged that hose from the borehole to the plot to water the seeds. My ex retreating to his bedroom, watching BBC World News after I fried his fresh morning eggs. On and on he went. Close encounters. Abductions. More shootings. Dead body found. I learned to shoot a rifle to become self-sufficient. One evening, he went for his stroll through the pine forest with a flashlight. Did not return. And that was the end of that.
        'What d’ya reckon?’ says Bill.
        'Well! When you sow a hundred seeds, end up with a thousand pumpkins spreading across your land on thick green vines, ones you cannot lift because of their size and weight, grow a pumpkin that resembles my ex’s huge head, come and show me.'
        'I’m off to watch the news.'
        I pick up the spade, stare at it.
        Doubt I’ll see Bill again.