26) The land fell silent. It may already have been, but I only noticed it as I dragged my animal back to the cave. Seems there was no wind. What it was I heard this morning sounded like wind. I will never know. I would like to go back in time and pay greater attention to the wind that may have been, and to so many other things that, through diversion or obsession or the interference of others, have passed by me too quickly.
Concentrate: Awful place. I am dragging a dead thing. I shall call it a 'lad'. My little dead lad.
Arriving at my cave, I turn to butchering. I need a knife. Now is as good a time as any to make an inventory of the contents of my backpack. What has the good Dr. Creep packed for me? Hoho. Some socks. Woolie shirts. And medicine bottles filled not with energizing, healing, or pain pills, but with small white pebbles and gray and black flecked gravel. Lord. What a let down. Deeper in the bag I find jerky, dried roots, pamphlets to museums in the North. There is a slim picture book on the bird nests of Bali. Damn strange, Dr. Creep.... All the way to the bottom of the pack is nothing and its relatives, useless and rubbish. Why did you not give me a knife? How am I supposed to quarter this stupid lad or any other thing?
(Among other questions.) Calm. Think back to the comfort of your Antarctic crevasse. Peace. Calm. It was working. I came around. Okay. I need a sharp-edged stone. None sharp enough. I need a sharp stick. The pelt was too tough, like boot leather. Then I'll use my teeth. The lad began bleeding. I do not think it was dead, after all. It bled for long minutes. I stood away from the thing and wept.
I stood apart for a long time, staring at my crime. Hunger or no, this was awkward. I am not use to things dying slowly, and in silence. The lad cooled so that the ticks on its body began to drop away and wander the cave floor looking for a new home. I gathered Dr. Creep's gifts, and, with a handful of beetles, I left this mess forever. North.
Concentrate: Awful place. I am dragging a dead thing. I shall call it a 'lad'. My little dead lad.
Arriving at my cave, I turn to butchering. I need a knife. Now is as good a time as any to make an inventory of the contents of my backpack. What has the good Dr. Creep packed for me? Hoho. Some socks. Woolie shirts. And medicine bottles filled not with energizing, healing, or pain pills, but with small white pebbles and gray and black flecked gravel. Lord. What a let down. Deeper in the bag I find jerky, dried roots, pamphlets to museums in the North. There is a slim picture book on the bird nests of Bali. Damn strange, Dr. Creep.... All the way to the bottom of the pack is nothing and its relatives, useless and rubbish. Why did you not give me a knife? How am I supposed to quarter this stupid lad or any other thing?
(Among other questions.) Calm. Think back to the comfort of your Antarctic crevasse. Peace. Calm. It was working. I came around. Okay. I need a sharp-edged stone. None sharp enough. I need a sharp stick. The pelt was too tough, like boot leather. Then I'll use my teeth. The lad began bleeding. I do not think it was dead, after all. It bled for long minutes. I stood away from the thing and wept.
I stood apart for a long time, staring at my crime. Hunger or no, this was awkward. I am not use to things dying slowly, and in silence. The lad cooled so that the ticks on its body began to drop away and wander the cave floor looking for a new home. I gathered Dr. Creep's gifts, and, with a handful of beetles, I left this mess forever. North.
posted by KJP at 11:59 AM
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