Joey’s hand reached out. He watched as it trembled, struggling to grasp the brown paper bag. He was afraid, horribly afraid, but he must wrap the ice cube before it grew into an iceberg and sank, dragging him down with it. He knew he needed medication, but the medicine bottle was empty. Mary would bring more; if he could only stay calm until she came. Joey took a deep breath, thrust a hand into his mother’s oven mitt, moved as close to the fallen ice cube as he dared, closed his eyes and grabbed. With his eyes open and arms outstretched, he dropped the cube into the bag. Using the gloved hand, he wrapped the paper over and over until the square piece of ice was transformed into a damp ball of paper. Joey breathed out. He wrapped elastic bands around the parcel and threw it into the kitchen pedal bin. Would that be enough to hold it?
He picked up the newspaper and sat with it, on the bin. He tried to read. He mustn’t let Mary know he was afraid. He took his lucky pen from his pocket. He’d started the crossword by the time Mary came home.
“I’ve got your medication, would you like some now?” she asked. “It’s okay, you needn’t get up, I’ll bring it over.”
She poured some chilli sauce onto a plastic measuring spoon and handed it to him. As he swallowed and coughed, she filled a tumbler with water.
“Ice?”
Joey began to cry.
“Drink it as it is then, Joey. Drink the water and you’ll feel better.”
He sipped and sobbed alternately. As he drank the last few drops, he was once again almost under control.
Did you have to put something in the bin?” Mary asked.
Joey nodded. He didn’t look at his sister.
“That’s okay, Joey. If you don’t want something, then you should put it in the bin.”
“Really?”
“Yes, really.”
“It was an ice cube, Mary, should you put ice cubes in the bin? Do other people do that? Do you?”
“I might, if I dropped it on the floor, or if there was something wrong with it.”
He looked at her now. “There was, Mary. There was something wrong. It was bigger than the others.”
“Maybe the tray was filled unevenly?”
“I hadn’t thought of that.” He dropped his gaze, and began to fidget.
“What did you think of?”
“I don’t know.”
“Yes you do, Joey.”
“I can’t remember.”
“Joey, look at me.”
He glanced up, she smiled and he tried to do the same.
“Joey, I’m your big sister, I remember when you jumped off the roof with an umbrella, thinking it would be your parachute. I remember when you tried to paint the dog orange, because Mum said he wasn’t very bright. I was there when you started that fire, the one that scared you. I’ve seen you do lots of daft things, and helped you clear up after them. Joey, trust me now.”
“I feel silly.”
“Tell me.”
“I thought it was growing, that it would get bigger and bigger. I felt all cold and wet where it touched me. I thought there was bad stuff in it. I was scared, Mary.”
“You’re not scared now, are you?”
“No.”
“What did you do with it?”
“I put it in a paper bag, so I couldn’t see it.”
“That explains the tomatoes on the floor.”
“Sorry, Mary. I had to do it quick. I thought it was still growing. It felt bigger when I’d wrapped it. I put lots of elastic bands on it and put it in the bin. Then I sat on it, so it couldn’t grow anymore”
“Well, that was clever.”
“Was it?”
“Yes, Joey. You got really frightened, but you remembered what you’ve been told. You didn’t keep looking at what made you scared. You know when you’re scared you should go somewhere safe, or get somebody to take away the scary thing. You remembered that.”
“You weren’t here, Mary. I took my medicine, lots of it, but it didn’t help.”
“I’m sorry I wasn’t here, Joey, but you did really well without me. You did everything right.”
“I’m glad you’re back now.”
They hugged each other.
“Joey, shall we look in the bin?”
“Can’t you just take it away?”
“No, Joey. Now you get up and stand over there by the door. I’ll look.”
Mary took the soggy bag from the bin. Joey didn’t watch her, he didn’t like looking at her burnt arms. They reminded him of the fire. He didn’t want to think about the fire. Mary placed the sodden paper on the kitchen table and removed the tightly wound elastic bands. There was nothing inside.
“Where’s it gone?” Joey asked.
“It’s melted.”
“Just an ordinary ice cube then?”
“Yes, Joey.”
“I was frightened of an ordinary ice cube.” Joey cried.
“You were scared, Joey, but you were brave too, you didn’t know it was ordinary when you wrapped it up.”
“Brave?”
“Yes, Joey. I think you’re getting better.”
“Yes, I am.”
“I think we should go back and see Doctor McKenzie. You could tell him how much better you’re getting.”
“I don’t know. He asks funny questions. He wanted to take me away from you.”
“I won’t let him do that. But Joey, will you see him again?”
“I don’t know.”
“Please Joey.”
“I will then, if you’ll come with me?”
“I’ll always be with you, Joey,” she whispered, her words almost drowned by a shout from another room.
“Joey, who are you talking to?”
“No one.”
His mother came into the kitchen. She glanced round at the spilt tomatoes, soggy paper, elastic bands and chilli sauce bottles.
“Are you all right, Joey?”
“I was thinking about Mary.”
“Oh Joey,” his mum hugged him. “You miss her, we all do. I wish I knew how to help you.”
“I’ll go back to Doctor McKenzie, if you want.”
“Thank you, Joey.”
Patsy Collins lives on the south coast of England, opposite the Isle of Wight. Her stories have been published in a range of UK magazines including; The Lady, Woman’s Weekly and My Weekly. Her work has also been accepted by a variety of websites including Every Day Fiction and PatientUK.
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23 Responses to “ICEBERG • by Patsy Collins”
Comments
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June 28th, 2009 at 1:20 am
Great piece of storytelling, Patsy. Love the way you’ve managed the drip-feed of information.
June 28th, 2009 at 4:50 am
Not bad. I began to suspect something was funny when he took chili sauce for medicine, but the ending worked out nicely.
June 28th, 2009 at 6:46 am
Great story. The chilli sauce tipped me off too, but I figured the sister was crazy too, not dead. Nice twist!
June 28th, 2009 at 7:30 am
That was a creepy one, for sure – very ‘Sixth Sense’!
June 28th, 2009 at 7:32 am
Really strange tale. I liked this alot. It was very well written and I too, liked the ‘drip-feed’ (well put) of information. Sad and creepy at the same time.
June 28th, 2009 at 9:01 am
I really liked this piece until the end. I think the introduction of the mother (while a slightly interesting twist) was unnecessary. It was more interesting to me to think they were older, a sister hanging on to a brother meant to be institutionalized.
June 28th, 2009 at 9:41 am
Lovely story, Patsy, and excellent delivery.
June 28th, 2009 at 1:29 pm
Very nicely done.
June 28th, 2009 at 5:00 pm
A very good story and well executed.
June 28th, 2009 at 7:28 pm
Wow. Big props on this story. I was baffled by the beginning, but all was forgiven when I finally caught on to what was happening. Great twist on the end. Joey is one messed up kid.
My only question, which has nothing to do with the writing, is to wonder people with schizophrenic psychosis actually hear voices that are completely rational, like Mary’s. It would seem that if they have that ability to generate rational thoughts–albiet through a sort of proxy–that would open up an avenue to help them cope.
Just got me thinking. Great story.
–John
June 28th, 2009 at 8:07 pm
J.C. – There is no reason to believe that the hearing of schizophrenic psychotics is more impaired in regard to completely rational voices than in regard to confused. It’s just that manic depressives CALL them schizophrenic when schizos act in surprising ways. Before the days of psychoanalysis, they were known in the vernacular as schlemiels and schlemozzles. My spelling is probably inaccurate, but then “albeit” is spelled with the e before the i; the word is a schizo schlemozzel word and needs a schlemiel to set it straight.
June 28th, 2009 at 8:16 pm
Roberta – I believe in the days before psychoanalysis, these people were called “possessed by demons”.
June 28th, 2009 at 9:02 pm
schlemiels: (Yiddish) a dolt who is a habitual bungler.
schemozzles: (Yiddish) a confused situation or affair; a mess
schlimazel: (Yiddish) an unlucky person
“Schlemiel, schlimazel, hasenpfeffer incorporated!” (Laverne and Shirley.
___
“It’s just that manic depressives CALL them schizophrenic when schizos act in surprising ways.”
I was not aware manic depressives habitually went around calling schizophrenics names, particularly in Yiddish.
–John
June 28th, 2009 at 9:24 pm
I admit the chili sauce thing got by me; I just figured it was a way to get Joey to take his meds. It took me a little while to get past the first sentence–I never like reading about appendages having a life of their own. In this case, however, I’m glad I didn’t let that put me off enough to miss what was in the end a very satisfying story.
June 29th, 2009 at 6:51 am
Jim – You’re right, of course. Such people had various names according to who was doing the calling.
J.C. – The “schlemiel/schlimazel” dichotomy is older than that T.V. program.
I’ve heard it expressed better – A schlimazel is someone who always gets hurt. A schlimiel is the is the dolt who intends to hurts him.
Now now you’re aware; I’ve known several yiddish people, including some of my relatives, and being multilingual, they are expert at calling people names.
June 29th, 2009 at 6:55 am
Wow! I read this one yesterday, and even found myself thinking about it at work today. Top characters, and the ending floored me, with both the spookiness and the sadness coming through in spades. Not bad to get all that in a flash
June 29th, 2009 at 8:03 am
I meant “Now you’re aware,” Not “Now now you’re aware.”
June 29th, 2009 at 10:01 am
Thanks everyone for all the comments and the interesting discussion on the various conditions.
Sharon, I understand what you mean about the appendages, but I felt that in Joey’s case he wasn’t fully in control of his actions and it might appear that his hand acted independently, especially when he’d like to distance himself from the action.
June 29th, 2009 at 12:05 pm
Lovely job Patsy. Kept me guessing and will keep me thinking. Thought at first the big sis was abusing her ’slow’ brother what with the chilli sauce for medicine but I’m just dim. Great flash.
June 29th, 2009 at 1:06 pm
A very nice story, Patsy. Overly long, but the reading investkent paid off in the ending. Reminded me mightily of one Alex Moisi wrote a while back.
Coincidentally, I also wrote “The Iceberg,” published by Bewildering Stories in February, at http://bewilderingstories.com/issue326/iceberg.html.
July 1st, 2009 at 9:41 am
Thank you.
July 1st, 2009 at 11:44 am
This was a great story. I love the unreliable narrator, and how he is revealed to be even more unreliable in the end. The matter-of-fact dialog about his weird delusions worked well. Great job, and a good twist.
July 6th, 2009 at 9:30 am
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