Observatory Mansions by Edward Carey

liquorice rolling papers. She rolled a cigarette. She sat smoking. She took a small (black) plastic ashtray from her bag, put it on the table in front of her, and filled it with ash. When the cigarette was finished (this took some time and she smoked it almost until its dampened end burnt her fingers) she tapped her fingers on the table. She was waiting for something to happen. I sat at the other end of the table waiting for whatever it was that was meant to happen to happen. Silence. Emma took a piece of liquorice from her bag and noisily sucked it. Finally that too was gone. She sat still. I waited. Nothing. She rolled another black cigarette. She smoked on in silence.
    My first Emma day was counted out with cigarettes and liquorice. She did not speak. I did not grunt, just watched. Hours of watching with just cigarette and liquorice consumption for diversion.
    When the small black tips had filled the ashtray and her bag of liquorice seemed to have been emptied, Emma stood up again, she pushed the chair neatly under the table, walked to the window, opened it, emptied her ashtray, replaced it in its black home, closed the window, unlocked the door, exited and locked the door again. That was my first day with Emma.

The echo .
    For days two and three with Emma read day one. Twice more. The fourth day brought a new experience.
    I was not enjoying my hours with Emma. I was restless. I was waiting for her to do or say something. I fidgeted. I swung my legs up and down under the table. I began stamping my feet. Emma looked up, she nodded. I stamped my feet harder, she began clumping her (black) clogs. We made a terrific din. We banged on. Her wooden shoes made impressive thumps on the floor. When I stopped stamping, she stopped her clumping. Silence again. She lit another cigarette. I stood up, ran to the nursery door and pummelled my fists hard against it. I groaned. I whined. I yelled. Only when I had quietened down a little did I realize that Emma was clapping and smiling even. She held out a piece of liquorice, clearly for me to eat. I took it. I threw it on the floor, I stamped on it, I flattened the damned black thing. She took another piece out, dropped it, squashed it under her clogs. I screamed. Emma screamed, just as loud and just as panicked. I graced her with an infuriating whine. She did her best to respond to it but hers lacked my resonance. I stopped screaming and whining, there was little hope in those gestures. Emma only copied my sounds and showed no fear of noise. In any case, nobody had come running to save me.
    Emma spoke:
    Frrrrr. Fffffrrrrr.
    I looked at her offended. I understood. If I was to leave the nursery it would only be after a performance of the noise: fffrrrrrr.

I learn to talk .
    Fffff-rrrrrr, instructed Emma.
    Ffffff, attempted Francis.
    Rrrrrr.
    Errrrr.
    Rrrrr.
    Rrrrr.
    Fffffrrrrrr.
    Ffffff.
    Rrrrr. Fffrrrr.
    Ffffrrr.
    Aaaaaa.
    Aaaaaah! (I knew this one.)
    Fffrrrraaaaarrr.
    Ffffaaaarrr.
    Ffffrrraaaarrr.
    Ffffrrraaaarrr.
    Fffffrrraaarrrnnnn. Nnnn.
    Nnnn.
    Ffffrrrraarrrnnn.
    Ffffrrraaarrrnnn.
    Ssssss.
    Ssssss.
    Frarrrnsss.
    Frarrnssss.
    Iiiiiii, sssss.
    Iiiiissss.
    Fraarrnssiiissss.
    Ffraaarrrnssiiisss.
    Francis.
    Frarncissss.
    Francis.
    Frarncisss.
    Francis.
    Francis.
    (Pause.)
    Francis. Francis. Francis. Francis. Francis.
    Francis.
    Francis!
    And Emma pointed at me. I was that sound. I was this – Francis. Said I: Francis. And pointed to myself. Emma held out her wrinkled and cold hand. I flinched. She took my hand and placed it in hers. We shook hands. Francis and Emma shook hands.

Meeting Mother .
    Emma unlocked the nursery door. We went to visit Mother in the drawing room. Francis, I said. Mother kissed me all over my face and stroked my hair, she said to me: Mother, Mummy. Say Mummy. Francis, I said.
    Skip some months, and many pieces of liquorice.
    I could talk. I could deliver sentences. I could speak with anyone and comprehend their responses. I had entered, with regret, the world of