the centre of the lawn. Mr. Naubner disliked physical effort and the unpleasant sweating that came with it, but there was no alternative he could think of. The heavy statue would have to be laid horizontally on the ground and then lifted by the head, the lightest end, and dragged. How he would accomplish the dragging without ruining the lawn was to be seen, but first things first. He would think about the second stage of the task once the statue was lying on the floor of the shed.
First, he moved the grass trimmer away. Then the rake and the remaining spade. Afterwards, he wrapped his arms around the goddess's slim waist, thinking once more, and just for an instant, about the box and what it contained, and managed to lower it gradually, without scratching the plaster, until it was horizontal. His arms burned and his back ached but he had done it. Phase two could commence: how to drag the statue safely outside without...
A sudden realization filled him with dread.
He didn't hear the spade digging. He couldn't say when the sound had stopped.
He saw that the hole was left half finished with the spade sticking out of it while he ran across the lawn and into the door of the house, left ajar.
Seeing his cousin standing over the box, holding one of the disassembled parts in his hands, with the plastic half removed, Mr. L.S. Naubner heard himself say something about it not being what it seemed.
"Then what... what is it?" asked Kent, with a look of vague puzzlement.
The cold feeling in his stomach had returned and it was stretching even further, reaching all the way down to his feet and threatening to go up his neck and freeze his head. He felt himself unable to speak.
Then, Cousin Kent started to smile and slapped him on the arm with his free hand.
"I know very well what it is, cousin!" he said. "And I thought I knew you well after all these years. It just goes to show you... life is full of surprises, hey?"
Mr. Naubner still didn't say anything and reached for the part his cousin was holding. Kent held it out of reach and placed a hand against Mr. Naubner's cold chest, preventing him from moving forward.
"What's the matter? You think I'm going to break it? You used to share all your toys with me, remember?"
Mr. Naubner did remember. It was true. He used to share all his toys with his cousin, but only because he was forced under threat of violence. And, most of the times, Kent did end up breaking them sooner or later.
After a moment of teasing, he placed the part inside the box and dusted his hands. It could be because they were dirty from the digging, from going through the wood shavings or it could be something else.
"Come on, don't be like that," said Kent. "It's not like I'm looking through your closet or anything. I came in to have a glass of water and this was sitting right in front of the door. How could I miss it, hey?"
Suddenly, Mr. L.S. Naubner felt positively outraged. A whole life of being pushed around... It was more than enough. He wouldn't allow it to continue. So what if everyone knew about the box, about what was inside and about what he planned to do with it? What business was it of anyone's? He was tired of constantly thinking about other people's opinions. A whole life of concern about what they would think of him if he did this and that. If he behaved in certain ways and did things he wanted to do but never dared because he felt their eyes fixed upon him. It was over. He had enough. Puffing his chest, he started to tell Cousin Kent to leave at once and drag that ridiculous statue with him, but he couldn't. Kent spoke first.
"It's sad, really," he said. "A sad thing that some people have to resort to this. Who am I to judge but... I don't know. It's just not natural. It makes me sad that you had to stoop so low. You could have come to me. There are other ways... Better ways than this." And he pointed at the box. "More natural ways. I'd help you. Honest, I would. That's what family is for."
Was that really what people would think if they knew? That it was sad? That he was sad? Sad, pathetic and lonely. Yes, that would be it. But all the advertisements and the catalogues... Were all those other people equally sad? As sad as he?
"But don't worry," said Kent. "Your secret is safe with me, cousin." He was smiling again, but, this time, it was a different smile. A smile with an implication that Mr. Naubner wasn't exactly sure he understood. Or perhaps he did, but would have preferred he didn't. "Well, we should get back to work," he said. "I have to get back to my life and you..." another look at the box "have your new toy to assemble. Or would you like me to help you out with this also? Don't know much about it, but I learn fast."
Mr. L.S. Naubner looked at his cousin, saw his smile, and felt the cold starting to subside, gradually replaced by a sensation on the opposite end of the temperature scale. He told him it wouldn't be necessary. He would manage on his own. And yes, they should get back to work.
"Can you get me that glass of water? I'm thirsty as hell. Or maybe a beer? Do you have any beer?"
Mr. Naubner limited his consumption of alcohol to a glass of red wine during Christmas dinner, which he spent alone most years and preferred it that way. He told Kent he didn't have any beer.
"All right, then. Water's fine."
Mr. Naubner walked down the hallway and entered his kitchen. He opened the cupboard and took out a tall glass. He placed it over the sink and twisted the tap. Cold water came out and filled the glass almost to the top. He heard Cousin Kent speaking in the hallway.
"Say... you know what would look great on your lawn? We just received a set of gnomes. Real porcelain, none of that plaster shit. Hand painted. I could sell you all five for the price of four. And I'll throw in a plastic flamingo just for the sake of it."
Mr. Naubner twisted the tap again and looked at the glass. It was much more than half full. Then, he looked through the door, seeing his cousin standing with his back to him and leaning against the box. He opened a drawer, reached inside and walked down the hallway.
"What do you say?" asked Cousin Kent, turning around to receive the glass of water and something else besides.
*
Weeks had passed since Mr. L.S. Naubner finally fulfilled his peculiar urges. He didn't feel any different. His views of the world and of himself remained unchanged. It was interesting at first. The feeling was entirely new and, with some effort, he could still recall that initial thrill, that first contact with something that had, for so long, been forced out of his life. But the novelty soon wore off and he realized with a certain perplexity that the peculiar urges which had moved him for so long had lost all of their charm. They were no longer urges to be fulfilled, but recollections of an experience not long passed, of something he felt he needed to do, having done it and moved on.
The content of the box was gone. He had dismantled it again, placed it in black rubbish bags and left them by the kerb, to be collected. He thought he would regret it. He wondered if he would miss it. But he didn't.
As for the large wooden box itself, he hadn't thrown it away. Every morning, during breakfast, when he looked out the kitchen window into his lawn, the same humorous thought occurred to him. He saw the plaster statue of the goddess Athena, which he ended up installing on his own, and thought that, underneath it, the wooden box was lying in two different senses of the word. Simply because it was buried there and, at the same time, because the decaying human remains among the scraps of wood shavings had never had anything FRAGILE about them.
About the author:
Alex Caetano was born. He grew up. First vertically, later sideways. Somewhere along the way, he learned to stand upright and walk. He also learned to read and write (in that order). One day, he plans to accomplish something that is truly awe-inspiring. The world's largest glass of chocolate milk is a possibility.
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