(1/3) Go Saddle the Sea by Aiken Joan

Author:Aiken, Joan [Aiken, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9780152060640
Google: ECkTjVR9ae0C
Amazon: 0152060642
Publisher: Graphia
Published: 1977-01-02T07:00:00+00:00

Among all the voices I could hear that of Sammy, cheerfully upraised, and then he began to invent new twirls and flourishes to vary the tune—and perhaps to let me know that he hoped I was managing my part of the business without too much fear or difficulty.

Crawling between the legs of that ox was certainly one of the strangest and most disagreeable tasks I have ever undertaken. I would sooner spend twenty hours learning Latin or reading about the martyrdoms of the saints with Father Tomás than go through that again. Although the calm regular sound of the men singing did seem to soothe the ox in some degree, I could tell that it was still very nervous and ready to panic at any new occurrence. I had to creep and squirm, thrusting my way past its bony hocks, expecting every minute that it would pick up a huge cloven hoof and plant it on some part, of my body.

Having wriggled my way past the hind legs, I crouched underneath it and found that the worst part of the task still lay ahead of me, for the front legs were much thicker, and seemed immovably planted in the narrow passageway. When I tried to push and squeeze between them the ox became frightened and bellowed; the sound, coming from directly above me, was like a tremendous clap of thunder.

"Are you making good progress, my son?" called Father Ignacio calmly. He was holding a torch, but its light did not penetrate past the bulk of the ox.

"I am having a little trouble with the front legs, Father," I called back I had one elbow in a patch of mud, and was trying to lever myself past a massive, hairy leg with the other elbow, pulling myself sideways over the rocky, slimy ground like a crippled lizard, and expecting at every moment that the ox, with some hasty fretful movement, would crush me like a slug against the cave wall.

At last, after what seemed hours of pushing and squeezing, but was, in reality, I suppose, about ten minutes, I managed to struggle past its knees, and took a few moments to get back my breath. Beyond the ox, the passage was about four feet wide; it felt like a huge hall, and I stood up, enjoying the sensation of being able to straighten my shoulders and stretch my arms. Then I found the muzzle of the ox in the dark, and gave it a pat, to show that I bore no sense of grievance for all the trouble it had given me.

The poor ox started and snorted at my touch. I passed my hand up its great horns and found that one of the tips appeared to be caught in a narrowing crack.

"You will have to go backward, brother," J told it. "And I'm afraid you don't seem to have the sense to do that."

"Do you have the rope?" called Father Ignacio.

"Yes; it is still tied round my leg," I called back.

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