placing his head to her chest and rocking him. Whatâs your name?
The boy looked at her, said something unintelligible, then placed his head into her breast, whimpering softly.
She cradled him gently.
âYouâs of talking age, I expect, she said. Is you thick-minded? Is that it? I donât think so. Why, if you was thick-minded, you wouldnât have sense enouâ
She felt the movement rather than heard it. A presence. A frightening one. She froze. They were surrounded by thickets and gnarled thick vines. From her kneeling position, she looked directly up at the thick bushes and cypresses in front of her.
Whatever it was, it was right there. Silent; peering at her through a thicket of bushes not more than five feet off. At first she thought it was a shadow, for the sunlight was fast disappearing over the edge of the bay, and the dank afternoon light grimly hung on, dissipating slowly, descending, and bowing to the blackness of the bog, tossing shadows everywhere. But then the shadow seemed to move with the last slivers of afternoon sun that sliced through the slits in the trees, and she saw it move against the sway of the trees again, independently. She stared at it, petrified.
A small piece of the thicket moved and then she sawâor thought she sawâjust feet from her face, what appeared to be the outline of a face and a tall, dark, muscular black man. He had a mass of outrageous, thick wild hair as well, gorgeous in its wildness, frightening in its freedom and abandon. He stood among the dark thick vines, branches, and leaves with the patience and steady resolve of a tree, swaying slightly with the leaves as they swayed. When the wind moved the leaves and branches left, he moved left. When the wind swayed them right, he moved right, each movement ever so slight, so eased and crafted, it seemed as if he were magic and his feet did not touch the earth. Even as the branches and leaves moved up and down, so he moved up and down with them, swaying with the trees, vines, and foliage around him as if he and the forest were one. He didnât speak, just stared silently.
She stared back, wide-eyed.
She could tell by his wide shoulders, wild hair, and broad nose that he was likely the father of this child, and though she could not see his face clearly, she imagined he was not pleased.
She slowly released the child from her lap, gently laid his head on the ground, and stared into the thicket.
âI meant no harm, she said.
He was so still, and it grew so eerily quiet, that after a few moments of staring at the thicket, she was not sure if she was seeing the man or not. The gentle wind died. Darkness began to press itself on the swamp. The bushes and thickets she stared at suddenly refused to move. The air seemed suddenly devoid of sound and of thickness. Only seconds had passed, and yet, as she stared at the thicket just feet away, it seemed like years had gone by and come back again. The figure seemed to slowly dissipate into the leaves and vines as she watched it, and to her disbelieving eyes she began to wonder whether she had seen a man there or not. His eyes were lost in the thicket. She could not make them out anymore. She was staring at them and not staring at them. They were following her and not following her. He seemed to have melted into the thicket and disappeared.
Every hair on her neck still stood on end, as if she had seen a ghost.
âDonât you know the places I been, she said.
She slowly rose, staring at the empty space where the ghost had been.
With a sudden motion, the thicket she was staring at moved twiceâtickâtickâand a tiny bird flew out of it.
She turned and ran.
She bounded off trees, crashing through the thick swamp, confused, exhausted, frightened, running and running, the marsh pulling at her feet, sharp branches tearing at her legs, until she collapsed at the trunk of a thick, vine-covered oak and closed her eyes, terrified, waiting for the
The boy looked at her, said something unintelligible, then placed his head into her breast, whimpering softly.
She cradled him gently.
âYouâs of talking age, I expect, she said. Is you thick-minded? Is that it? I donât think so. Why, if you was thick-minded, you wouldnât have sense enouâ
She felt the movement rather than heard it. A presence. A frightening one. She froze. They were surrounded by thickets and gnarled thick vines. From her kneeling position, she looked directly up at the thick bushes and cypresses in front of her.
Whatever it was, it was right there. Silent; peering at her through a thicket of bushes not more than five feet off. At first she thought it was a shadow, for the sunlight was fast disappearing over the edge of the bay, and the dank afternoon light grimly hung on, dissipating slowly, descending, and bowing to the blackness of the bog, tossing shadows everywhere. But then the shadow seemed to move with the last slivers of afternoon sun that sliced through the slits in the trees, and she saw it move against the sway of the trees again, independently. She stared at it, petrified.
A small piece of the thicket moved and then she sawâor thought she sawâjust feet from her face, what appeared to be the outline of a face and a tall, dark, muscular black man. He had a mass of outrageous, thick wild hair as well, gorgeous in its wildness, frightening in its freedom and abandon. He stood among the dark thick vines, branches, and leaves with the patience and steady resolve of a tree, swaying slightly with the leaves as they swayed. When the wind moved the leaves and branches left, he moved left. When the wind swayed them right, he moved right, each movement ever so slight, so eased and crafted, it seemed as if he were magic and his feet did not touch the earth. Even as the branches and leaves moved up and down, so he moved up and down with them, swaying with the trees, vines, and foliage around him as if he and the forest were one. He didnât speak, just stared silently.
She stared back, wide-eyed.
She could tell by his wide shoulders, wild hair, and broad nose that he was likely the father of this child, and though she could not see his face clearly, she imagined he was not pleased.
She slowly released the child from her lap, gently laid his head on the ground, and stared into the thicket.
âI meant no harm, she said.
He was so still, and it grew so eerily quiet, that after a few moments of staring at the thicket, she was not sure if she was seeing the man or not. The gentle wind died. Darkness began to press itself on the swamp. The bushes and thickets she stared at suddenly refused to move. The air seemed suddenly devoid of sound and of thickness. Only seconds had passed, and yet, as she stared at the thicket just feet away, it seemed like years had gone by and come back again. The figure seemed to slowly dissipate into the leaves and vines as she watched it, and to her disbelieving eyes she began to wonder whether she had seen a man there or not. His eyes were lost in the thicket. She could not make them out anymore. She was staring at them and not staring at them. They were following her and not following her. He seemed to have melted into the thicket and disappeared.
Every hair on her neck still stood on end, as if she had seen a ghost.
âDonât you know the places I been, she said.
She slowly rose, staring at the empty space where the ghost had been.
With a sudden motion, the thicket she was staring at moved twiceâtickâtickâand a tiny bird flew out of it.
She turned and ran.
She bounded off trees, crashing through the thick swamp, confused, exhausted, frightened, running and running, the marsh pulling at her feet, sharp branches tearing at her legs, until she collapsed at the trunk of a thick, vine-covered oak and closed her eyes, terrified, waiting for the
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