Rhetoric is the scourge of woodland creatures. He barks all night, keeping the Engine Driver in a weary state of panic, unsure of who or what might be near. His sense of danger is heightened by lights from within Stetson's cabin to the north, the scurry of black figures blocking the light.
The barking stops at daybreak. The Engine Driver raises his tired eyes to the sky. It's clear, as pure as a lens.
The Employment Officer and her father the Grave Digger emerge from the cabin. They walk past the bean field - beans now sprouting - to the oak. They pass the Engine Driver. They walk to the most western cairn by the creek. There, under the most western rock, they discover the pouch of gold Krugerrands earlier hidden by the Detective.
Excitement hits father and daughter, enough to cause the daughter to buckle under wheezing bout of exhaustion. The pouch is concealed before the Engine Driver arrives, asking about the commotion.
Nothing, says the Grave Digger.
Nothing, seconds his daughter.
What about the duel?
The duel, the Grave Digger says, isn't possible.
The Engine Driver asks why.
The Grave Digger explains that only four bullets are left for the two guns. It's fine if you duel, but what's keeping you safe from the people what the dog barks at each night?
What does the dog eat?
They turn to the dog, lying nearby. He is thin.
You can shoot her, he says, pointing to his daughter, but you'll only have two bullets. Then what'll you fight the next day with?
The Engine Driver brushes each of his thick mustaches with petulant strokes. No, no, no, he says. He explains that this goes against the Unspoken Rules of the duel. One must fight the challenger.
We're already late, he says. What if another challenger comes?
Just then, then Engineer arrives. He waves from the oak.
Now?
The Grave Digger frowns. You'll wait. I need to find bullets.
And we? What should we do? What should we eat?
Wait. Just wait. We'll provide everything.
He shoves past the Engine Driver and to the cabin. Later, he starts his truck left idle by the road and drives to town.
Monday, July 28, 2008
Sunday, July 27, 2008
Employment Officer v. Engine Driver
After catching her breath, soaked head to foot, the Employment Officer and Embalmer fought - and the Employment Officer won.
Her concern isn't one of ammunition scarcity, but of drying off. Or at least of getting out of the rain.
She walks north to Stetson's cabin and bangs on the door. The Grave Digger releases the crude latch and looks outside, careful to open just far enough to keep out the rain. He looks down on a miserable sight: the Employment Officer - her make-up running in streaks down the contours of her puffy face, flat dark hair pressed against the sides of her face and neck, blouse soaked, making apparent the outline of a gargantuan bra. He cries out.
My daughter!
Pee-paw!
The door opens, the Employment Officer enters, and thus begins a tearful reunion.
This is where you've been?
I'm sorry I left you, sugar lumps. I just couldn't bare to be without work, seeing you starve on your government salary.
Oh pee-paw!
Oh honey dough!
They embrace.
I'm all wet from the rain, and I killed a man.
Don't you ever speak of that! We'll get you clean and set.... We'll find a way.
When the Engine Driver arrives, he sees no one. He waits.
Her concern isn't one of ammunition scarcity, but of drying off. Or at least of getting out of the rain.
She walks north to Stetson's cabin and bangs on the door. The Grave Digger releases the crude latch and looks outside, careful to open just far enough to keep out the rain. He looks down on a miserable sight: the Employment Officer - her make-up running in streaks down the contours of her puffy face, flat dark hair pressed against the sides of her face and neck, blouse soaked, making apparent the outline of a gargantuan bra. He cries out.
My daughter!
Pee-paw!
The door opens, the Employment Officer enters, and thus begins a tearful reunion.
This is where you've been?
I'm sorry I left you, sugar lumps. I just couldn't bare to be without work, seeing you starve on your government salary.
Oh pee-paw!
Oh honey dough!
They embrace.
I'm all wet from the rain, and I killed a man.
Don't you ever speak of that! We'll get you clean and set.... We'll find a way.
When the Engine Driver arrives, he sees no one. He waits.
Saturday, July 26, 2008
Embalmer v. Employment Officer
The Grave Digger tells the Embalmer that he's at a loss. He spent the previous night looking again through Stetson's cabin. No bullets were found, or anything relating to their manufacture. He checked the books on his shelves. Apart from one out-of-print manual on simple machine maintenance, all were fictional or on topics of esoteric knowledge. He tried the radio, but didn't understand how to interpret it.
We have four bullets left.
The Grave Digger shakes his head. Reluctantly, he suggests finding another means of dueling.
Like what?
Well... the Grave Digger says tentatively, I was thinking - knife fights.
The Embalmer balks.
Now just hear me out. I can get two buck knives from the warehouse depot. We'll keep 'em sharp. Winner's the one that doesn't bleed to death.
Out of the question.
Well excuse me for thinking outside the box, he says bitterly. He walks back to the cabin.
That evening the schnauzer barks like mad again. It drives the Grave Digger from the cabin, holding a weak flashlight for guidance in the semi-darkness of the quarter moon. He makes it to the oak, where the Embalmer sits awake, armed with both pistols.
Every night that dog's been barking, the Embalmer whispers. Tonight I heard voices from there. Sounds.
The Grave Digger flicks off the light. The schnauzer's barks let up momentarily. Just enough to hear the plaintive call of a loon.
That's no loon, the Grave Digger says. The Embalmer can hear the fear in his voice. It's them.
It only has two bullets left, says the Embalmer as he hands the Grave Digger one of the guns. But that should be enough.
You can't harm them! There're too many. The Grave Digger pushes the pistol back. He looks around nervously, flicks on the flashlight, and makes his way quickly to the cabin.
After an hour, the schnauzer returns to the oak.
The Employment Officer, a triple-chinned bureaucrat in an oversize blouse, stops three times to catch her breathe before settling down in the grass under the shade of the oak. Rain threatens, then breaks. The Embalmer tries hurrying her onto the field, but she demurs over and over.
Need to catch my wind, she says in a throaty drawl.
We have four bullets left.
The Grave Digger shakes his head. Reluctantly, he suggests finding another means of dueling.
Like what?
Well... the Grave Digger says tentatively, I was thinking - knife fights.
The Embalmer balks.
Now just hear me out. I can get two buck knives from the warehouse depot. We'll keep 'em sharp. Winner's the one that doesn't bleed to death.
Out of the question.
Well excuse me for thinking outside the box, he says bitterly. He walks back to the cabin.
That evening the schnauzer barks like mad again. It drives the Grave Digger from the cabin, holding a weak flashlight for guidance in the semi-darkness of the quarter moon. He makes it to the oak, where the Embalmer sits awake, armed with both pistols.
Every night that dog's been barking, the Embalmer whispers. Tonight I heard voices from there. Sounds.
The Grave Digger flicks off the light. The schnauzer's barks let up momentarily. Just enough to hear the plaintive call of a loon.
That's no loon, the Grave Digger says. The Embalmer can hear the fear in his voice. It's them.
It only has two bullets left, says the Embalmer as he hands the Grave Digger one of the guns. But that should be enough.
You can't harm them! There're too many. The Grave Digger pushes the pistol back. He looks around nervously, flicks on the flashlight, and makes his way quickly to the cabin.
After an hour, the schnauzer returns to the oak.
The Employment Officer, a triple-chinned bureaucrat in an oversize blouse, stops three times to catch her breathe before settling down in the grass under the shade of the oak. Rain threatens, then breaks. The Embalmer tries hurrying her onto the field, but she demurs over and over.
Need to catch my wind, she says in a throaty drawl.
Friday, July 25, 2008
Embalmer v. Embriologist
The Embalmer tags along as the Grave Digger prepares the burial of the Electrician. The two men, possibly by some unspoken occupational connection, develop a quick camaraderie.
At least he went quickly, the Embalmer says.
The Grave Digger, flipping through the Electrician's overstuffed wallet, looks up. Never seen one linger, he realizes.
The schnauzer lies nearby, gnawing on a stick he found by the edge of the forest.
They talk. At some point during the course of conversation the Embalmer mentions the shortage of bullets. The Grave Digger walks to the oak and inspects the guns. Three cartridges are chambered in each pistol. A few empty casings litter the area around the table. He looks in the forest dweller's dusty satchel and sees more empties of the same caliber.
We can't go on without ammunition, states the Embalmer. It's not like we can change weapons; it's duel by pistol; it's part of the unspoken rules.
None up in the cabin either, murmurs the Grave Digger.
The Embrilogist arrives on time the following morning. Dark clouds hang over the sky. She walks to the oak. The schnauzer gallops up to meet her, sniffing her hand, before walking off. She meets the Embalmer.
At least he went quickly, the Embalmer says.
The Grave Digger, flipping through the Electrician's overstuffed wallet, looks up. Never seen one linger, he realizes.
The schnauzer lies nearby, gnawing on a stick he found by the edge of the forest.
They talk. At some point during the course of conversation the Embalmer mentions the shortage of bullets. The Grave Digger walks to the oak and inspects the guns. Three cartridges are chambered in each pistol. A few empty casings litter the area around the table. He looks in the forest dweller's dusty satchel and sees more empties of the same caliber.
We can't go on without ammunition, states the Embalmer. It's not like we can change weapons; it's duel by pistol; it's part of the unspoken rules.
None up in the cabin either, murmurs the Grave Digger.
The Embrilogist arrives on time the following morning. Dark clouds hang over the sky. She walks to the oak. The schnauzer gallops up to meet her, sniffing her hand, before walking off. She meets the Embalmer.
Thursday, July 24, 2008
Electrician v. Embalmer
That night the schnauzer, let out of the cabin by the Grave Keeper, barks wildly into the forest. It keeps the Electrician up for most of the night.
He's bleary-eyed and rumpled when the Embalmer arrives.
The Embalmer inspects the pistols. Neither chamber's full, he says.
They look in the drawer under the table, but the drawer's empty.
He's bleary-eyed and rumpled when the Embalmer arrives.
The Embalmer inspects the pistols. Neither chamber's full, he says.
They look in the drawer under the table, but the drawer's empty.
Wednesday, July 23, 2008
Electrician v. Elevator Mechanic
The Electrician digs out the dip under his lip, spits out the detritus left, and repacks a fresh wad. He turns to the Grave Digger, who watches from nearby.
Trying to quit smoking, he explains.
The Grave Digger drags away the body of the Electrical Engineer.
That afternoon the Electrician heads to the cairns by the creek with a pistol and a pocket full of bullets. He stands ten paces away and fires. A small rock on top of the eastern cairn flies off with a crack, leaving a whisp of dust. He swivels and snaps off another shot. The rock atop the center cairn darts off. He swivels again - and hits a third rock atop the western cairn.
This process repeats until all the shells in his pocket are gone. The only cartridges left are the six in the remaining pistol, and four in the drawer.
The next day the Elevator Mechanic arrives. He's a lout of a man with a trimmed goateee. He wears stained jeans and a t-shirt.
My gun's missing a round, he says, inspecting the pistol he chose.
Don't worry about it, the Electrician says. I'll probably kill you the second we open fire.
Trying to quit smoking, he explains.
The Grave Digger drags away the body of the Electrical Engineer.
That afternoon the Electrician heads to the cairns by the creek with a pistol and a pocket full of bullets. He stands ten paces away and fires. A small rock on top of the eastern cairn flies off with a crack, leaving a whisp of dust. He swivels and snaps off another shot. The rock atop the center cairn darts off. He swivels again - and hits a third rock atop the western cairn.
This process repeats until all the shells in his pocket are gone. The only cartridges left are the six in the remaining pistol, and four in the drawer.
The next day the Elevator Mechanic arrives. He's a lout of a man with a trimmed goateee. He wears stained jeans and a t-shirt.
My gun's missing a round, he says, inspecting the pistol he chose.
Don't worry about it, the Electrician says. I'll probably kill you the second we open fire.
Tuesday, July 22, 2008
Electrical Engineer v. Electrician
He kneels and checks the wire.
It just wasn't made to withstand the elements, says the Electrical Engineer. Plastic holds up better than rubberized cloth insulation, but even that wears down with long-term exposure to the sun.
He stands.
It's fine now, but won't be within a year or two.
The Grave Digger and the Electrical Engineer loiter in the shade behind Stetson's cabin, beneath the radio tower. That - the tower - was what attracted the Electrical Engineer in the first place. Then, on making friends with the Grave Digger, his attention turned to the antique radio inside the cabin. And later, the antique wire between the cabin and the well.
They follow the wire to the well.
Description of the well:
The exterior is square in shape - 3' x 3' x 1 1/2' - and built of hand-hewn, worn timber. The interior walls are lined with very fine, polished concrete, slightly age-worn. There's a timber lid with a rough iron ring nailed in the center. This, propped by one side of the well, covers a great engine, modified - through makeshift means - into a crude pump: a rubber tube runs down the well, flows into an aluminum canister, and another tube flops out. Eroded earth marks the soil around the outlet tube. Weeds thrive around the well, now mostly hidden beneath the tall stalks of surrounding corn.
The antique wire runs over the timber and down the side.
The two men peer over the lip. The grey concrete darkens as the well deepens - till it meets the black of the abyss. No reflection of light, no indication of a bottom. Yet there are - as the Electrical Engineer notices on squatting - distinctly carved hand holds against the north side of square, leading down.
The Grave Digger, working on a bit of inspiration, drops a pebble. Two long seconds pass before they hear a plunk.
The Electrical Engineer turns to the Grave Digger. The Grave Digger shrugs.
The next day the Electrician arrives. He wears the light blue jumpsuit of his trade, and a pocket of dip packed under his lip.
It just wasn't made to withstand the elements, says the Electrical Engineer. Plastic holds up better than rubberized cloth insulation, but even that wears down with long-term exposure to the sun.
He stands.
It's fine now, but won't be within a year or two.
The Grave Digger and the Electrical Engineer loiter in the shade behind Stetson's cabin, beneath the radio tower. That - the tower - was what attracted the Electrical Engineer in the first place. Then, on making friends with the Grave Digger, his attention turned to the antique radio inside the cabin. And later, the antique wire between the cabin and the well.
They follow the wire to the well.
Description of the well:
The exterior is square in shape - 3' x 3' x 1 1/2' - and built of hand-hewn, worn timber. The interior walls are lined with very fine, polished concrete, slightly age-worn. There's a timber lid with a rough iron ring nailed in the center. This, propped by one side of the well, covers a great engine, modified - through makeshift means - into a crude pump: a rubber tube runs down the well, flows into an aluminum canister, and another tube flops out. Eroded earth marks the soil around the outlet tube. Weeds thrive around the well, now mostly hidden beneath the tall stalks of surrounding corn.
The antique wire runs over the timber and down the side.
The two men peer over the lip. The grey concrete darkens as the well deepens - till it meets the black of the abyss. No reflection of light, no indication of a bottom. Yet there are - as the Electrical Engineer notices on squatting - distinctly carved hand holds against the north side of square, leading down.
The Grave Digger, working on a bit of inspiration, drops a pebble. Two long seconds pass before they hear a plunk.
The Electrical Engineer turns to the Grave Digger. The Grave Digger shrugs.
The next day the Electrician arrives. He wears the light blue jumpsuit of his trade, and a pocket of dip packed under his lip.
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