The Loquat
Written by A. R. Levett
Commended Award in 2012 Talus Prize
Commended Award in 2012 Talus Prize
The sun burns the western horizon as Jarred, a four year-old blonde boy dressed in a white singlet and red shorts, stands at the edge of the paddock watching a sprinkler soak the buffalo grass beneath his bare feet. His eyes trace the sprinkler’s rotation, its long jet narrowly missing him. It splashes against the loquat tree in the centre of the field where his gaze remains on a single golden loquat hanging from a high branch. Jarred licks his lips.
As the water spurt hits the tree, Jarred rushes towards the rusting white ladder nestled between the tree’s branches. He grips the ladder’s flaky surface, rapidly scaling it, never removing his eyes from the impending stream of water. He reaches the third step, careful to sustain his grip before ascending to the next rung. Maintaining his stare, he grasps for the loquat, its position ingrained in his mind’s eye. Without fumbling, he clasps the loquat’s firm surface and pulls gently, drawing the supple branch towards him. The fruit remains attached. His heart leaps.
Jarred glances away from the impending waterspout and stares at the fruit. Glistening drops sparkle on its tangerine surface. Saliva forms at the edges of his lips.
Jarred removes his hands from the slippery ladder, gripping the lithe branch with one, and clutching the loquat with the other. He pulls. A pop sounds as the fruit splits from its stem. Jarred grins before falling backwards. Releasing the loquat, he waves his arms about, grasping for the ladder’s rail, a branch, anything that will prevent his plummet. He finds nothing. Instead, he flails in mid-air and thumps onto the thick grass, pain coursing through his neck. He clenches his eyes against a stream of tears.
Moments pass and the tears subside. He opens his eyes and a penetrating gush of water inundates his face. He flays his arms about, but the spray has passed. Jarred wipes his face with his singlet, snorting acrid water from his soaked nostrils. Pain surges through his neck and back and his eyes begin to flood again. His chest heaves and his jaw drops, unleashing a cry.
From the corner of his blurry vision, he spies an auburn tinge amongst the grass’ green. His cry stops abruptly. In an instant, the pain subsides and memories of the fall, the unexpected splash vanish. Jarred scurries across the paddock like a wild animal and grasps his prize. Smiling, he rolls onto his back, brushes off the loquat and presses it to his open lips. His teeth sink into the soft, fleshy surface and a warm glow radiates through him. Even as the sprinkler resoaks him, Jarred laughs.
© A. R. Levett 2012
As the water spurt hits the tree, Jarred rushes towards the rusting white ladder nestled between the tree’s branches. He grips the ladder’s flaky surface, rapidly scaling it, never removing his eyes from the impending stream of water. He reaches the third step, careful to sustain his grip before ascending to the next rung. Maintaining his stare, he grasps for the loquat, its position ingrained in his mind’s eye. Without fumbling, he clasps the loquat’s firm surface and pulls gently, drawing the supple branch towards him. The fruit remains attached. His heart leaps.
Jarred glances away from the impending waterspout and stares at the fruit. Glistening drops sparkle on its tangerine surface. Saliva forms at the edges of his lips.
Jarred removes his hands from the slippery ladder, gripping the lithe branch with one, and clutching the loquat with the other. He pulls. A pop sounds as the fruit splits from its stem. Jarred grins before falling backwards. Releasing the loquat, he waves his arms about, grasping for the ladder’s rail, a branch, anything that will prevent his plummet. He finds nothing. Instead, he flails in mid-air and thumps onto the thick grass, pain coursing through his neck. He clenches his eyes against a stream of tears.
Moments pass and the tears subside. He opens his eyes and a penetrating gush of water inundates his face. He flays his arms about, but the spray has passed. Jarred wipes his face with his singlet, snorting acrid water from his soaked nostrils. Pain surges through his neck and back and his eyes begin to flood again. His chest heaves and his jaw drops, unleashing a cry.
From the corner of his blurry vision, he spies an auburn tinge amongst the grass’ green. His cry stops abruptly. In an instant, the pain subsides and memories of the fall, the unexpected splash vanish. Jarred scurries across the paddock like a wild animal and grasps his prize. Smiling, he rolls onto his back, brushes off the loquat and presses it to his open lips. His teeth sink into the soft, fleshy surface and a warm glow radiates through him. Even as the sprinkler resoaks him, Jarred laughs.
© A. R. Levett 2012
