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313 pages, Kindle Edition
First published January 1, 2016
The sounds he is making are no longer recognisable as speech. Not as common speech, not even uncommon speech – he is doing the kiddie thing of hoping it will all go away, trying to re-jig reality by a droning sound set up between the world and himself. It begins deep inside his diaphragm and with his eyes shut it vibrates up through his chest and into his sorry neck muscles, and rattles the inner shelves of his head. Things are bouncing on them. On and on. (241)
It is an epiphany, as she waits there is the blue light with the windows open and he nursing home verandah bathed in the bliss of final decisions, but looking more like starlings in full tweet among the crumbs and cars, their rooves of overheating metal in the carpark. All this, expanding into a new innocence in the sunny afternoon like heaven in her thoughts. (51)
He is a Dazzling spitter. Leading from the front and bringin up the contents of the unconscious – this man hoiks up noisy things from his throat and propels them into the garden and onto the tree. It is done without great extension, just a slow leaning back of the head then a sudden forward slingshot - it flies above the paving stones and splats onto the trunk of the orange tree. Trees and Eden and this big Adam in the sun: he coughs and coughs to hoick and sling. (138)