The Fig Eater
Chapter One
He stands up next to the girl's body. He looks down at it for a
moment, then carefully steps over the narrow boards lying around it.
He walks across the grass and joins the three men, waiting like
mourners. No one speaks. The body is poised like a still life
waiting for a painter.
Now they watch the photographer edge his way over the boards, his
equipment balanced on one shoulder. He stops and gently lowers the
legs of the tripod into place, then steadies the bulky camera
directly above the girl. Without looking up, he snaps his fingers.
The men silently move aside, shifting their lanterns as a boy passes
between them, moving with a sleepwalker's strangely certain gait,
eyes fixed on the frail pyramid of white powder he carries on a
tray.
The boy stands by the photographer, nervously waiting while he
adjusts the dials on the camera. The photographer ignores him. He
hunches behind the camera and pulls a black cloth over his head. In
the secret darkness, the camera lens tightens around the dead girl's
mouth. The photographer mutters something unintelligible, then his
hand blindly works its way out from under the cloth. The i ... read full excerpt from: The Fig Eater ebook
