Huso flexed his hands around the steering wheel, relieving the tension in his whitened knuckles. In the moment his grip was loosened, he couldn’t help but accelerate for the thrill of it. Hearing the whine of his tinny car working for its bit of road only increased the urge. It was the danger that counted. But he quickly checked himself; he couldn’t afford a traffic fine, and he had to concentrate on whatever his co-worker was going on about over the handsfree. Easing his foot back, knuckles rewhitened.
“How’s the wife doing? Is she coming to the party tomorrow?”
Forming a smile before responding, he leaned forward.
“Absolutely. Looking forward to it.”
Goodbyes had barely finished as Huso ended the call. He was turning into his street now, and needed some time to compose himself before coming home. The bountiful trees beside the road were felling their autumn leaves as he drove. He lowered his window to hear the crunching.
That short respite was over, he recognised, pulling into his driveway. Purposively looking only ahead of him to park and at the door handle to get out, his breathing nevertheless became shallower. After taking at least a minute, wherein he stood hunched over his car door, arms covering head, he suddenly shut it, locked it, and strode across his perfect lawn with eyes level to the entrance of his home.
There was nothing at his front door but a small brown box, packaged with red ribbons. Someone must have had the wrong address. Wondering where his delivery was—it was supposed to have arrived by now—he considered calling the number. Or maybe there had been a mix-up, and the owner of this box must have his delivery instead. Preferring not to consider that possibility, he stooped to read the label. He got up, not having fully registered the words.
It was, in fact, his delivery, addressed to him, with the logos of the service he ordered from imprinted in the cardboard. Was this how they did it? In a cardboard box? But the box was far too small. It had to be some promotional material or something. He lifted it, testing its weight. Inside, something, or someone, moved. Huso dropped the box instinctively, eyes widening as he realised what had happened.
He had been mailed a child for a bride.
With his coffee-fuelled heart threatening its last beats, Huso managed to fumble the key out of his pocket and jam it into the front door. He swung it open in a daze. Behind him, a moan. The box was still there—of course. He whisked around, grabbing a solid hold on it, and raced to the living room.
The carpet needed a thorough cleaning, but it was the only available space. He set it down away from the shards of a broken picture frame. The box was bouncing about a bit. Gazing at it, he considered opening it. Water! How long had it been in the sun? He came back with a cup of water, not realising he had drunk it immediately after pouring.
He sat on the carpet. There was nothing else to do. His hands lowered onto the cardboard, slowly sweeping over its slight ripples. Whoever was inside must have sensed this, becoming still. Mutual anticipation was on each side. For some reason, he counted his digits.
Ten. He ripped the tape off.
As the box was unfolding, pushed outwards from within, Huso squinted. A bright glow was exhaling like a burst of air, soft and colourful, obscuring what was inside. The entire room lit up as if in a cheer, and as it subsided Huso could make out a diminutive silhouette standing in front of him.
In the fading light, eye contact was made, and the two were frozen in place. The child’s eyes were horribly disfigured yet still symmetrical, blue fur coated its face, and a portion of its rainbow coloured hair began tumbling down its neck harmlessly. But the eyes were absolutely that of a child’s, and, despite it all, Huso felt a bubbling enjoyment rising within himself, of which was reciprocated in those eyes. Until they blinked.
He scrambled to his feet, reprimanding himself for his momentary lapse. This was no child. It was a joke! Someone had painted an animal. Thinking that someone was laughing right now, he could only boil. He glanced once more into the animal’s eyes, and, their intelligence piercing him, turned away immediately.
“What a joke!” He said.
The rampage swung into momentum, Huso directing his glare towards household objects as blood turned his face to cherry. Someone was laughing at this moment. He did not know who. Nor why so much effort would be taken for him. But it was typical, somehow. He had always had the short end of things. His hand muscles bulged, quietly seeking any target that would not damage his bones or cut his skin in the punch. Because he needed his hands for typing at the office.
Breathing heavily, his concentration turned to his job. Everyone was aching to meet his wife tomorrow. The pressure was unbearable. How many stories had he told his co-workers about her, over the years? How many would they expose as lies, especially the recent ones? For nearly two months he had been divorced.
He wasn’t about to give them the satisfaction of victory. Moving like a wicked spirit into the kitchen, and suppressing the feeling of being one, he swept probably a thousand unpaid bills off the counter. After cursing the bride service in all earnestness, he gripped the phone and dialled a friend. As it rang, he noticed he was sweating. What would he do with the animal in the living room?
“Hello?”
It took Huso a moment to collect himself.
“Barry—”
Huso realised he had no idea what to start the conversation with. When he thought about it, he actually knew very little about Barry.
“Huso? I can’t hear you.”
He could just scrunch some paper, pretend it was a bad line and be done for the night.
“Sorry about that. Listen, I’m sorry for calling at this hour. I’ve come into some problems reviewing your wife’s insurance policy.”
“Excuse me? You said two days ago… hang on, let me get the file.”
“That won’t be necessary. These guys send out confirmations before its technically true. It’s to do with the postage. By the time it arrives usually its technically confirmed. But I got a technicality here.”
Huso could hear Barry frowning. But he could rely on Barry’s illiteracy in these matters.
“Anyway, it will only be a quick fix. I mean, not a shoddy fix. Just—so what I need to do is to have a meeting with your wife to confirm some details. It needs to be first thing in the morning. You’ll avoid the queue and it’ll be done.”
“Are you sure you can’t just talk to her over—”
“Again, many apologies. It was a personal mistake. I won’t make it again. Not that that would matter for your case, though.”
The receiver was slipping in his hand. A vein was popping in his temple. It was taking everything he had to stifle his conscience.
“Well, Huso. You’ve always been a trustworthy friend. It sounds a bit complicated for me, but alright. I’ll tell her when she gets home.”
Tears were escaping Huso’s eyelids.
“Thanks, Barry.”
It was all he could manage. Setting the receiver back on its perch, he put a hand to his forehead and restrained himself from collapsing. He was not yet that devoid of pride.
Automatically wandering to his bedroom, he took off his shoes and lay on his back. It had been an exhausting day, and now his body was stabilising. In a minute he was asleep, the gentle rising and falling of his chest saying nothing of the storm within.