We present an extract from Oddbody, the debut short story collection by Rose Keating
Oddbody is a collection of ten bold and unsettling short stories that confront themes of desire, fear and shame, each one asking how far the bounds of the human form can be pushed, stretched – and subverted. A woman finds herself navigating a co-dependent relationship with a ghost. A waitress gives birth to an egg during her breakfast shift. A doctor puts his patient on a cleanse to 'purify' her mind, body and soul. Through playful but provocative prose, Rose Keating traverses a realm both dreamlike and nightmarish, exposing – to the bone – the absurdities and horrors of the feminine experience.
From Bela Lugosi Isn't Dead
When Saoirse woke, Bela’s eyes were still closed. His nose was pressed up against hers, his cloak twisted under her arm. She could feel his breath on her mouth, stagnant and chill as the meat aisle of a grocery shop. It smelled of fungus, chopped liver, champagne. Saoirse tried to sit up, and her vision blurred. The room was too hot. 'I don’t feel good,’ she said.
‘I know. We’re sick.’
Bela stroked the top of her head; her hair was drenched in something sour, like stomach acid and spoiled milk. ‘Disgusting,’ Bela said and began to plait three strands.
Mam entered the bedroom without invitation. She frowned at Bela. He shrugged and clicked his fingers; his body popped like a bubble into glimmering shards. Saoirse and Mam watched them fade to a shimmer in the air.
Mam turned to Saoirse. ‘Up.’
‘I’m sick.’
Mam pressed her hand against Saoirse’s forehead.
‘I have work. You’ll be here on your own.’
‘I’m fourteen. I’m not a baby. And I won’t be on my own.’
Mam pressed her lips together, putting her hands on her hips.
She looked like she was about to say something. She shook her head and walked out the door.
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Listen: Rose Keating talks Oddbody to RTÉ Arena
Mam made her Lemsip before she left. Saoirse lay on the couch swaddled in a quilt, Bela sprawled on the opposite side, legs overlapping with hers.
‘I’ll be back in a few hours,’ Mam said, handing her a mug.
‘You forgot Bela’s.’
Bela pulled open his cape, leaves and teeth and bubble- gum wrappers falling out. He reached in and took out a steaming mug.
He gave Mam a thumbs-up. Mam sighed.
Bela kicked her under the blanket, playing footsie. His feet were bare and cold and burned her skin with frostbite; he left scorch marks on her ankles.
‘You’re hurting me,’ she said.
‘Maybe.’
Ginger hopped up onto his lap; he stroked her fur, the length of her spine. He cradled her skull in his hand. ‘Do you know how long cats live for?’ he asked, squeezing lightly — Ginger purred louder, nuzzling into his claws.
‘I don’t know. Ages.’
‘Are you sure?’
Ginger rolled over, exposing her plump, plush stomach to the air. Bela dragged a claw down her centre. She stretched her belly up, greedy gut pushing into the sharp nail. Saoirse took a long sip from her mug. The bitterness of the Lemsip made her eyes water.
‘Want to watch the movie?’ she asked.
Bela smiled, stood. He put the video in the player.
--
She liked how Bela looked. He was a little ugly, and he was also very beautiful. He had a big nose and protruding ears and a pointed, cruel mouth. His eyes were strange and wonderful— a spotlight always shone on them from somewhere on the ceiling, but she could never find the source. He kept his hair greased back, the harsh slash of widow’s peak framing the deep lines of his face. Those lines fascinated her. She wondered what they felt like, the crevices of his forehead, the cracks along his eyes. Before him, she had never seen a man his age so close. He was so much larger than the boys she knew, shoulders wide, long legs towering over her.
Bela usually looked like how he did in the movie, but not always. He was good at changing. He could change into a bat, into a wolf, into a horde of rats. Sometimes he changed into a cat and chased Ginger around the kitchen. Sometimes he changed into other people.
He would look like David Bowie or Tom Cruise or Brad Pitt.
He’d flash a bright, blunt smile and spin her in a waltz down the hallway until she was dizzy.
Saoirse watched Bela pick up the photo of Dad that Mam kept on the fireplace. It wasn’t a good photo. It was overexposed, the face indistinct. Dad wore dungarees, and his arms looked young and strong and sunburnt. Bela put the photo down and turned to her.
His face began to twitch, features spasming. His cape and clothes fell away, revealing a pair of dungarees underneath. His head spun in a circle and then stopped. His face was blurred, the flesh whirling and flickering. Saoirse focused on the static smudge expression, trying to see the features; her stomach rolled with nausea, ears ringing.
He tilted his head.
‘Are you a good girl?’ he said, his voice distorted. Her nose began to bleed.
‘Don’t,’ she said.
He stopped. He shrugged and settled back to himself.
--
They watched the movie when she was sick. They watched it on Saturday mornings. They watched the movie after school while waiting for Mam to come home. They watched it every day on repeat. Bela mouthed along with his lines, eyes fixed on the screen. His fangs slid out, protruding over his lips, a thin line of drool dripping down his chin. Sometimes he’d practise them aloud, twirling his cape around himself as he flew upwards in excitement.
‘To die, Ginger, to be really dead, that must be glorious,’ he said, lifting the tabby up and swinging her in his arms. Ginger’s rusted fur turned grey as they spun, and so did the air around them, shades of it leaking out from Bela’s fingertips like a fog over the sitting room. The world turned to black and white. Saoirse looked down at her pink skin, now glowing bone white in the darkened room.
Sometimes they even watched it with Mam, Saoirse sandwiched between her and Bela on the settee.
‘How can you watch the same thing over and over?’ Mam asked on one occasion.
‘I like to know what’s going to happen.’
‘Doesn’t that get boring?’
‘I think it’s good to know what’s going to go wrong.’
Bela nodded in agreement, passing the popcorn bowl across to Mam. Mam stared at it— she looked sick. She closed her eyes and napped while they watched.
Oddbody is published by Canongate
