All clean rice requires some violence.<\/p>\n
You can\u2019t see the filth, the starch, the sogginess, but it\u2019s definitely in there. It\u2019s nice to use a metallic bowl. That way you can hear the grains score a thousand tiny percussions against the black, enameled steel. It\u2019s the water that helps you see the whole point of it all. Without the water, you\u2019d think everything was fine. Keep running your fingertips through it, as though it were someone\u2019s hair. Put some violence into it, if you want to make sure you clean all of it. Throw the rice from one side of the bowl to the other. Just when it thinks you\u2019ve drained it off, plunge it into water again. Don\u2019t even give it time to breathe.<\/p>\n
Serious rice washing takes time, and effort, and a lot of belief. Your hand should hurt by the end. There should always be some pain involved, otherwise you\u2019re not doing it right. You should think about something serious, something worthwhile, when you do it, too. I think about history\u2014about everything that has happened up to now, about all the people who have gone before me, to bring me to this moment. Switch the radio off. Don\u2019t look at your phone. Everybody should think of something serious when they wash rice.<\/p>\n
When the water\u2019s clear, that\u2019s when the beauty begins. It\u2019s the moment I always wait for. When I see those grains standing clear in the water, running between my enlarged fingers, I realise I\u2019ve done enough. It\u2019s like I\u2019m there in the water, too, a grain of rice amongst ten thousand, existing in perfect transparency. I lose myself in the moment.<\/p>\n
The cook is always a kind of anti-climax\u2014just heat, and closure, and muffled, thumping noise. And the eating, as we all know, is only enjoyable because of all the things we had to do. All the energy we had to put into the rice to make it what it is: white, fluffy, pure.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Inspector Columbo never had a wife. She never existed. He didn\u2019t even date when he was in the Academy. What started out as a ruse, a feint, grew, like a gradually exercised muscle, until she was present in every investigation, hovering behind each question, somehow implicit in each remark. It made him feel stronger, powerfully ordinary, impressively normal. He used the lie so often he started to believe it himself; when he got home he called out her name, asked for his dinner, started relating the details of the day\u2019s case. As though his existence wasn\u2019t already strange enough: a police detective in Los Angeles, waging a class war against the rich. Only to her could he confess the joy he felt, putting the wealthy behind bars. As time went on, however, he sometimes wondered if he had made the right choice. Late in his life, he thought of divorcing her, but by then it was too late. He had gotten used to the little things: the tuna sandwiches she made for him, the fridge notes she left for him, the tiny flask of coffee she always prepared and placed by the front door before she went to bed.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
They have all made a secret pact that if the father fails the driving test a fifth time, they will do something really really bad to him.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Only Stewart isn\u2019t told, but he suspects.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In a way, it is the culmination of a series of concerns: the sloppiness, the tardiness, the unfamiliarity with technology, the indifference towards most forms of popular culture, overall the eccentric mistrust of an amazing time to be alive.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Of the three children, only the smallest\u2014Joy\u2014seems unsure about the pact. All she knows is the big figure who tucks her into bed and brings her sweets from work. Her siblings mock her for this. She loves them, loves her father, doesn\u2019t know who to believe. She hugs everyone to defer having to make a decision.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Four times was enough. Whether he was truly to blame or not was irrelevant. The gradual sense is of a swollen stream dammed to breaking point, of a balloon about to burst, of a plastic bag finally stretched to its very limits.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The first time was clumsiness\u2014why did he roll onto the railtrack as he waited?! The second time anxiety\u2014should he have dared a turn on the red, risking all on such an open transgression? The third time malevolence: Stewart had felt the man\u2019s sneer sit like a cat on his shoulder all through the drive. The final time, simple impatience: no desire to wait for the car to pass by in its own lane, his own senseless, urgent need to arrive at a completely fictitious destination.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
The day before the test, Stewart watches his family even more closely than usual. The brothers are practicing shots on tin cans with their air rifles in the back garden. He observes his sons from the bedroom window, startled at their malevolence towards him, their channeled, focused hatred, so soon after his recovery.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
Joy is in her bedroom, playing with her dolls. He comes into her room briefly, kisses her little head, sits Barbie next to Cindy, hugs her with eyes closed as he leaves. If he flees, she is the only one he will miss.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
In the kitchen, he confronts Martha with his thoughts. She is clearly wrong-footed, startled at the discovery, surprised by his perception. It disturbs him to watch her think up something on the spot. She pleads with him, he throws up a smokescreen,\u00a0 she tells him he\u2019s ill, feigns concern for his well-being. Stewart\u2019s world grows darker with each hour.<\/p>\n
<\/p>\n
\u201cMr Madsen, is everything okay?\u201d<\/p>\n
The examiner looks at his candidate with concern \u2013 the tear-filled eyes, the slight tremble of the left hand as it holds a wallet, the face so obviously in need of sleep\u2014and then behind him, at a small family standing on the doorstep of the house, waiting to wave him off.<\/p>\n
\u201cMr Madsen?\u201d<\/p>\n
The man next to him nods after a moment, and points ahead, as if to say, \u201clet\u2019s go\u201d. The sky is dark and overcast.<\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"
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