Perched on the edge of the sofa the woman knitted. She watched her fingers slide and plane through the gilt thread. She proudly shuffled the pile on her lap. Knit one, purl one, and the soft folds of twisted rope appeared.
Her bird was in its cage with the drape over the top – silenced for the night. The darkness had come down and the song was finished.
The husband had merged into a recliner, all curves and padding. Across his belly were his hands, the thick digits intertwined and locked as always. His monotone voice was falling out of his mouth in dense lumps which she smiled at absently.
She’d look up from counting stitches. There really wasn’t anything left to say.
The words continued to roll out of him in thick wads of phrase. Somehow he sensed she wasn’t quite with him. He reached out and held her narrow shoulder, interrupting her knitting, seeking her attention.
“You’re happy now, love? Right?” asked the man, his weight and force seeking reassurance.
There was only one answer to that question.
She smiled her answer, of course darling, patted his hand and got up from the couch. She placed beside her the skeins of gilt and her bone needles. Delicately heading towards the kitchen she felt the unwinding of the string.
There was the sound of a tiny bell, and the glimmer made by her knitted rope attached to her right ankle. He held the other end tightly.
Twisted Tales 19 – ‘Bird’