Childhood is over the minute you know you are going to die.
[Night of Thursday, June 17th (day 382)]
[Glass's apartment]
Spit and staunchweed, she's small. Has it in her to be loud, and then there's cleaning, but that's surely a given. Sit down with her in the kitchen--on the floor, making sure I'm 'tween her and the stove--and tilt my head to one side.
"Your mam says you like stories," I say after a moment. "Mind, I'd guess you understand her stories better'n mine. Still an' all." Consider her a moment, and don't have anything to say, and she... well, suppose it's not a mutter nor a squeak, speaking proper. Still, might be the beginning of fussing.
"My mam'd've done better by you for this," I say. "Aright. Once there was a woman--goddess, really, but set that aside--and she took it on herself t'travel on down t'her sister's kingdom and rule of the dead, to rule it herself or to mock it and either way to make it her own. So she glossed herself up and strutted off and down, for all the good the polish and fine did her, as there're seven gates she need must go through, and a toll taken at each of them..." I remember this, and the slip of words, rising and falling and the laying out of the passage down to the end.
"...and so she comes t'the heart of death naked and crawling, as she's given away all she had. And she comes up t'the throne of her sister and her sister's seven judges--you ought mind the number seven, Rose, doesn't show up as much as three but you'll find it echoing all the same--and they look to her and they see she's dragged herself down into death and with that look she becomes a corpse, which given where she was was only the truth of it. And they hung her then on the wall and she rotted to green..."
Catch myself and realize I've slipped to Welsh, and smile a little to hear it. "...grass and water, and tore her back partway up to life, but as she'd died wouldn't let her back t'the world for only the wanting of it. So as her husband's not in mourning for her, she chooses him and he rots in her place for a time..."
Comforting thing, all told, the echo and return and echo back again, half the year and the green growing mindless and eternal and the death and the life and the sacrifice. This the way of things, and suppose if I need sit here speaking t'keep her from wailing might as well go on about something as pleases me t'hear.
"You are like talking to the damn cat," I say, getting t'my feet and picking her up. "Am sure you'll take to offering your mind on what you'd care t'hear--no, you mayn't." Sit down and set her atable so she's at a level as makes it manageable and work my ring out of her hand. "Anyways, sure I'll hear what you care to hear for stories when you c'n speak. Not shy over what you want, I hear. Which is no bloody bad thing, either, long as you keep some sense t'you and have some mind for others. You ought watch Kate for that."
Quiet, then, and consider her. She's seeing aright, and suppose that old's she is now there's no surprise to't. But I'm not her mam, and don't imagine she hears me, and yet...
"She's getting better, maybe," I say after a moment. "Mind, she starts working her wounds over how horrible things are, and no-one else is there, it is your job to have her getting up and setting her hand t'something that'll actually do good. Take her out for a walk or throw up or something as means she needs t'pull herself t'gether and do something." Point at her and yes, she's able t'watch well enough, and after a moment sit back a little and stretch. "I know it's on her to watch you, as she's your mam, but you mind her nonetheless. So, we were speaking of land of the dead. Came a day daughter of the green was out afield..."
[Closed]
[Glass's apartment]
Spit and staunchweed, she's small. Has it in her to be loud, and then there's cleaning, but that's surely a given. Sit down with her in the kitchen--on the floor, making sure I'm 'tween her and the stove--and tilt my head to one side.
"Your mam says you like stories," I say after a moment. "Mind, I'd guess you understand her stories better'n mine. Still an' all." Consider her a moment, and don't have anything to say, and she... well, suppose it's not a mutter nor a squeak, speaking proper. Still, might be the beginning of fussing.
"My mam'd've done better by you for this," I say. "Aright. Once there was a woman--goddess, really, but set that aside--and she took it on herself t'travel on down t'her sister's kingdom and rule of the dead, to rule it herself or to mock it and either way to make it her own. So she glossed herself up and strutted off and down, for all the good the polish and fine did her, as there're seven gates she need must go through, and a toll taken at each of them..." I remember this, and the slip of words, rising and falling and the laying out of the passage down to the end.
"...and so she comes t'the heart of death naked and crawling, as she's given away all she had. And she comes up t'the throne of her sister and her sister's seven judges--you ought mind the number seven, Rose, doesn't show up as much as three but you'll find it echoing all the same--and they look to her and they see she's dragged herself down into death and with that look she becomes a corpse, which given where she was was only the truth of it. And they hung her then on the wall and she rotted to green..."
Catch myself and realize I've slipped to Welsh, and smile a little to hear it. "...grass and water, and tore her back partway up to life, but as she'd died wouldn't let her back t'the world for only the wanting of it. So as her husband's not in mourning for her, she chooses him and he rots in her place for a time..."
Comforting thing, all told, the echo and return and echo back again, half the year and the green growing mindless and eternal and the death and the life and the sacrifice. This the way of things, and suppose if I need sit here speaking t'keep her from wailing might as well go on about something as pleases me t'hear.
"You are like talking to the damn cat," I say, getting t'my feet and picking her up. "Am sure you'll take to offering your mind on what you'd care t'hear--no, you mayn't." Sit down and set her atable so she's at a level as makes it manageable and work my ring out of her hand. "Anyways, sure I'll hear what you care to hear for stories when you c'n speak. Not shy over what you want, I hear. Which is no bloody bad thing, either, long as you keep some sense t'you and have some mind for others. You ought watch Kate for that."
Quiet, then, and consider her. She's seeing aright, and suppose that old's she is now there's no surprise to't. But I'm not her mam, and don't imagine she hears me, and yet...
"She's getting better, maybe," I say after a moment. "Mind, she starts working her wounds over how horrible things are, and no-one else is there, it is your job to have her getting up and setting her hand t'something that'll actually do good. Take her out for a walk or throw up or something as means she needs t'pull herself t'gether and do something." Point at her and yes, she's able t'watch well enough, and after a moment sit back a little and stretch. "I know it's on her to watch you, as she's your mam, but you mind her nonetheless. So, we were speaking of land of the dead. Came a day daughter of the green was out afield..."
[Closed]