His sooty armchair attached to his backside, Marga would quiz passing-by mothers: Know why we call our newborns brothers? The women would snigger, say: No idea really, but why? They’d shoot glances, snigger again, begin to examine the newfound hairclips.
Marga was expecting Xavier anytime now. The newfound craters—that’d make you wonder why these couldn’t be caused by asteroid impacts—may be too taxing on his SUV. Why’s this town brimful of cuckoos, he’d wonder aloud. Why can’t I know what kind of past this mystery points to?
It was at such a juncture Stanley came asking: Did Yesu come to you and ask? Ask what, Marga asked and then, come again, he said, Jesus, did you say? No, brother, Stanley said, Yesunaathar; the guy that supposedly gave Xavier sir a good dressing-down. Brother, Marga pled, please pull down the shutter, as he stood up startled. Stanley shut it not really wondering why.
No idea really why Xavier wouldn’t show up yet now that the potholes are patched up. Marga cannot go looking for him, not with his arm-chair, riding atop a town bus. Although all he does is impatiently wait for him, he never ceases to wonder aloud.
Ahimaz Rajessh has been published with unFold, formercactus, The Cabinet of Heed, Speculative 66, Big Echo: Critical SF, Liminality, The Airgonaut, Occulum, Surreal Poetics, Jersey Devil Press and Jellyfish Review besides many other zines. His fiction and poetry have been nominated for Best of the Net, Pushcart and Best Small Fictions.