The Bhikkhuni prays over the dead. She prays over the bones on the pyre and prays over the eaten and half-eaten bodies by the fence.
She returns to the oak. She looks at the design of the bell drawn at the bottom of the List of the Dead. She flips the List. On the reverse, a grocery receipt:
COSMO'S ARTICHOKE HEARTS $1.29
APPLGT P/S HAM ANTIBIOTIC-FREE $6.49
VERMONT OG MULTI GRN BR $4.19
APPLE, ROYAL GALA (weighed) $3.13
etc.
Her first thought is that the prices seem high. Her second thought: who buys artichoke hearts?
She turns the receipt over and, reading the list, awakens to its purpose. She writes Bellmaker, Bhikkhuni, Bhikkhu. Then she folds the list, places it beneath the Artist's box of matches and the Bellmaker's deck of cards, next to the pistols, and takes to tidying the area.
The Biochemist arrives, dressed in a coat and dark slacks and a black thick-knit turtleneck sweater. Her face is closed, chin predominant and cleft, nose long and sharp, eyes drooping. A spindly, awkward figure. She wears a wedding band.
When she meets the Bhikkhuni she bows slightly, glances at the pistols, then at the Bhikkhuni.
The Bhikkhuni conscripts the Biochemist. Together they move the body of the Bellmaker beside the pyre. The Biochemist, a curious woman, walks to the eaten and half-eaten bodies by the fence. The crows scatter, alighting on the wire fence nearby. The rats squeak and worm away through the tall grass. She kneels over the body of the Bacteriologist. Mostly disfigured and torn, but her pink jacket and russet hair make their mark.
Oh, she says. She calls the Bhikkhuni over. The Biochemist explains that they had worked together at the university. The Biochemist offered advice on the Bacteriologist's post-doc paper regarding the viral-induced manufacture of spider pheromones. As she says this, a large spider crawls over the Biochemist's face, and into her black and gaping mouth.
They return to the oak and select their pistols. They take the field, standing ten paces apart.
They raise their guns. Their guns go off.
Showing posts with label bhikkhuni. Show all posts
Showing posts with label bhikkhuni. Show all posts
Saturday, March 22, 2008
Friday, March 21, 2008
Bellmaker v. Bhikkhuni
The rain continues. The Bellmaker stands beneath the tree, the Bhikkhu's stinking robe over his head.
Then the rain stops.
The Bellmaker drags the body of the Bhikkhu to the pyre. He covers him with the robe. He walks to the creek. Then west, downstream. Every thirty paces or so he crouches and checks the soil at the bank. He pauses just east of the small tributary, spots something and kneels. Reaching out, he presses his thumb into a stripe of blueish clay running along the edge of the gulch. He pinches off a piece the size of an acorn and rolls it between his fingers. He smells it, tastes it, and determines it excellent clay for a mold.
He looks up.
The Bhikkhuni arrives from the road. She, unlike the Bhikkhu, has a robe of single cut. It's red. Her head is shaved. She carries a walking stick and an alms bowl. She affects a stern, purposeful look as she walks toward the Bellmaker.
He tells of her his discovery. She kneels and touches the clay. It's moist and frigid. He explains his intentions.
The two dig with their fingers until their fingers are numb. They collect the clay in the alms bowl. When the alms bowl overflows, the Bellmaker collects the clay in his shirt, lifting it to form a papoose.
They take the clay to the table. There, as the Bhikkhuni examines the guns, the Bellmaker draws a design on the bottom of the List of the Dead. Then, taking the deck of cards from his coat pocket, begins listing instructions. An instruction for each card, starting with clubs, in ascending order, alphabetically, to spades. Finished, he lays the cards on the table. He heaps the clay in the bowl, drapes the bowl with - after running to collect it - a damp rag torn from the Bhikkhu's robe.
While he runs the Bhikkhuni sees the diagram: a small bell, five inches in height.
Why this, she asks as he drapes the damp rag over the clay.
The Bellmaker doesn't know. It seems like the only thing he knew to do, at a time when the need to do something is strong.
They chose their guns and take the field, standing ten paces apart.
They raise their guns. Their guns go off.
Then the rain stops.
The Bellmaker drags the body of the Bhikkhu to the pyre. He covers him with the robe. He walks to the creek. Then west, downstream. Every thirty paces or so he crouches and checks the soil at the bank. He pauses just east of the small tributary, spots something and kneels. Reaching out, he presses his thumb into a stripe of blueish clay running along the edge of the gulch. He pinches off a piece the size of an acorn and rolls it between his fingers. He smells it, tastes it, and determines it excellent clay for a mold.
He looks up.
The Bhikkhuni arrives from the road. She, unlike the Bhikkhu, has a robe of single cut. It's red. Her head is shaved. She carries a walking stick and an alms bowl. She affects a stern, purposeful look as she walks toward the Bellmaker.
He tells of her his discovery. She kneels and touches the clay. It's moist and frigid. He explains his intentions.
The two dig with their fingers until their fingers are numb. They collect the clay in the alms bowl. When the alms bowl overflows, the Bellmaker collects the clay in his shirt, lifting it to form a papoose.
They take the clay to the table. There, as the Bhikkhuni examines the guns, the Bellmaker draws a design on the bottom of the List of the Dead. Then, taking the deck of cards from his coat pocket, begins listing instructions. An instruction for each card, starting with clubs, in ascending order, alphabetically, to spades. Finished, he lays the cards on the table. He heaps the clay in the bowl, drapes the bowl with - after running to collect it - a damp rag torn from the Bhikkhu's robe.
While he runs the Bhikkhuni sees the diagram: a small bell, five inches in height.
Why this, she asks as he drapes the damp rag over the clay.
The Bellmaker doesn't know. It seems like the only thing he knew to do, at a time when the need to do something is strong.
They chose their guns and take the field, standing ten paces apart.
They raise their guns. Their guns go off.
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