things in the dark, aren’t you? That’s how you’re different, huh?” I called over my shoulder.
I crossed the stream and started up the rocks, mad as all Elvis. I didn’t go towards the meadow, but around towards the steeper places, slapping leaves and flipping twigs as I barreled through the dark. Then I heard somebody come on through the shadow, whistling.
There are none here except madmen; and a few there are who know this world, and who know that he who tries to act in the ways of others never does anything, because men never have the same opinions. These do not know that he who is thought wise by day will never be held crazy by night.
Niccolo Machiavelli/Letter to Francesco Vittori
Experience reveals to him in every object, in every event, the presence of something else.
Jean-Paul Sartre/Saint Genet, Actor and Martyr
I stopped. The sound of dry leaves under feet, ferns by a shoulder, approached me from behind, stopped. The hills’ rim had begun to gray.
“Lobey?”
“You changed your mind about coming?”
A sigh. “Yes.”
“Come on, then.” We started walking. “Why?”
“Something happened.”
Dorik didn’t say what. I didn’t ask.
“Dorik,” I said a little later, “I feel something towards you very close to hate. It’s as close to hate as what I felt for Friza was close to love.”
“ Neither’s close enough to worry about now. You’re too self-centered, Lobey. I hope you grow up.”
“And you’re going to show me how?” I asked. “In the dark?”
“I’m showing you now.”
Morning, while we walked, leaked up vermilion. With light, my eyes grew surprisingly heavy, stones in my head. “You’ve been working all night,” I volunteered. “I’ve only had a few hours sleep myself. Why don’t we lie down for a few hours?”
“Wait till it gets light enough so you know I’m here.” Which was an odd answer. Dorik was a grayed silhouette beside me now.
When there was enough red in the east and the rest of the sky was at least blue, I started looking for a place to fall out. I was exhausted and every time I turned to look at the sun, the world swam with tears of fatigue.
“Here,” Dorik said. We’d reached a small stone hollow by the cliff’s base. I dropped into it, Dorik too. We lay with the blade between us. I remember a moment of gold light along the arm and back curved towards me before I slept.
I touched the hand touching my face, held it still enough to open my eyes under it. Lids snapped back. “Dorik-?”
Nativia stared down at me.
My fingers intertwined with hers, hammocked by her webs. She looked frightened, and her breath through spread lips stopped my own. “Easy!” she called up the slope. “Little Jon! Here he is!”
I sat up. “Where’d Dorik go...?”
Easy came loping into sight and Little Jon ran after.
“La Dire,” Easy said. “La Dire wants to see you . . . before you go. She and Lo Hawk have to talk to you.”
“Hey, did anybody see Le Dorik around here? Odd thing to run off-“
Then I saw this expression cracking through Little Jon’s miniature features like faults in black rock. “Le Dorik’s dead,” Little Jon said; “that’s what they wanted to tell you.”
“Huh?”
“Before sunup, just inside the kage,” Easy said. “He was lying by the grave for my brother, Whitey. Remember my brother-“
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I helped dig it-Before sunup? That’s impossible. The sun was up when we went to sleep, right here.” Then I said, “Dead?”
Little Jon nodded. “Like Friza. The same way. That’s what La Dire said.”
I stood up, holding my blade tight. “But that’s impossible! “ Somebody saying, Wait till it gets light enough so you’ll know I’m here. “Le Dorik was with me after sunrise. That’s when we lay down here to sleep.”
“You slept with Le Dorik after Le Dorik was dead?” Nativia asked, wonderingly.
Bewildered, I returned to the village. La Dire and Lo Hawk met me at the
I crossed the stream and started up the rocks, mad as all Elvis. I didn’t go towards the meadow, but around towards the steeper places, slapping leaves and flipping twigs as I barreled through the dark. Then I heard somebody come on through the shadow, whistling.
There are none here except madmen; and a few there are who know this world, and who know that he who tries to act in the ways of others never does anything, because men never have the same opinions. These do not know that he who is thought wise by day will never be held crazy by night.
Niccolo Machiavelli/Letter to Francesco Vittori
Experience reveals to him in every object, in every event, the presence of something else.
Jean-Paul Sartre/Saint Genet, Actor and Martyr
I stopped. The sound of dry leaves under feet, ferns by a shoulder, approached me from behind, stopped. The hills’ rim had begun to gray.
“Lobey?”
“You changed your mind about coming?”
A sigh. “Yes.”
“Come on, then.” We started walking. “Why?”
“Something happened.”
Dorik didn’t say what. I didn’t ask.
“Dorik,” I said a little later, “I feel something towards you very close to hate. It’s as close to hate as what I felt for Friza was close to love.”
“ Neither’s close enough to worry about now. You’re too self-centered, Lobey. I hope you grow up.”
“And you’re going to show me how?” I asked. “In the dark?”
“I’m showing you now.”
Morning, while we walked, leaked up vermilion. With light, my eyes grew surprisingly heavy, stones in my head. “You’ve been working all night,” I volunteered. “I’ve only had a few hours sleep myself. Why don’t we lie down for a few hours?”
“Wait till it gets light enough so you know I’m here.” Which was an odd answer. Dorik was a grayed silhouette beside me now.
When there was enough red in the east and the rest of the sky was at least blue, I started looking for a place to fall out. I was exhausted and every time I turned to look at the sun, the world swam with tears of fatigue.
“Here,” Dorik said. We’d reached a small stone hollow by the cliff’s base. I dropped into it, Dorik too. We lay with the blade between us. I remember a moment of gold light along the arm and back curved towards me before I slept.
I touched the hand touching my face, held it still enough to open my eyes under it. Lids snapped back. “Dorik-?”
Nativia stared down at me.
My fingers intertwined with hers, hammocked by her webs. She looked frightened, and her breath through spread lips stopped my own. “Easy!” she called up the slope. “Little Jon! Here he is!”
I sat up. “Where’d Dorik go...?”
Easy came loping into sight and Little Jon ran after.
“La Dire,” Easy said. “La Dire wants to see you . . . before you go. She and Lo Hawk have to talk to you.”
“Hey, did anybody see Le Dorik around here? Odd thing to run off-“
Then I saw this expression cracking through Little Jon’s miniature features like faults in black rock. “Le Dorik’s dead,” Little Jon said; “that’s what they wanted to tell you.”
“Huh?”
“Before sunup, just inside the kage,” Easy said. “He was lying by the grave for my brother, Whitey. Remember my brother-“
“Yeah, yeah,” I said. “I helped dig it-Before sunup? That’s impossible. The sun was up when we went to sleep, right here.” Then I said, “Dead?”
Little Jon nodded. “Like Friza. The same way. That’s what La Dire said.”
I stood up, holding my blade tight. “But that’s impossible! “ Somebody saying, Wait till it gets light enough so you’ll know I’m here. “Le Dorik was with me after sunrise. That’s when we lay down here to sleep.”
“You slept with Le Dorik after Le Dorik was dead?” Nativia asked, wonderingly.
Bewildered, I returned to the village. La Dire and Lo Hawk met me at the
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