He bit at his watch strap and fled.
He ran past the Ettys, past all the flesh
and the dark, dark horizons. He ran
through the gift shop, a blur of Etty
tea towels, Etty aprons, and Etty
plates. And he ran out of the gallery
into Exhibition Square.
He was leaning against the plinth of
Etty’s statue when she walked up close to
him.
“Looking isn’t touching,” he said. “And
looking is not tasting.”
“Oh, but it should be,” she said. “All I
wanted was an afternoon with my
dearest oldest friend. And I want it
again.”
What Rose wanted was not an
afternoon with her dearest oldest
friend, he thought. What Rose
wanted was an audience. And what
Rose wanted was a victim.
He tightened his watch strap and
hurried away, crossing St. Leonard’s Place
and slipping through an archway in the city
walls.
William Davidson lives in
York and works as an English
tutor for deaf students.