Forgotten Work by Jason Guriel

Author:Jason Guriel
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Biblioasis
Published: 2020-07-28T00:00:00+00:00

7.

The bonsai mountain goats had multiplied.

Three dozen specimens now occupied

The shelves and nooks in Edmund’s library.

As Jennings walked, he scanned the carpet, wary

Of the toy-scale goats that sprang away

At every step. At times, the goats would bray

Or stand on stacks of unshelved books, which formed

A knee-high mountain range. The young ones swarmed

Him when he kneeled to leave a tray of grass

Supplied by Gardener. Sometimes Maid would pass

A vacuum through and hoover all their droppings.

Goats would flee to low, remote outcroppings —

Books in piles on the floor — or hide

Behind the brocade curtains.

Jennings eyed

A black box on the desk where Edmund used

To work. Beside it, pages. “Elves unloosed

Their arrows at the orc,” the top page read.

He flipped back to the cover sheet. The Dead

Elf’s Song, by Edmund H. It was about

A troupe of singing elves who face a drought

Created by an evil wizard’s spell

And fight assorted trolls dispatched from hell.

(They string their magic lutes like bows, and fire

Arrows at their foes.) The funeral pyre

Scene — where Gordyn, lead elf, lays his friend

Haldir to rest — would have to be the end,

Though; Edmund, dead for three whole years, had left

The work unfinished. (Still, the thing had heft;

He’d gotten almost up to page one thousand.)

Jennings put the sheets down. Outside, scows and

Cars whined by. The neighbour’s green-skinned pup

Went “ribbit ribbit.” Jennings, gloved, picked up

The small black box. Some kanji — etched upon

The lid, but moving, as if being drawn

Clean through the wood — composed a chyron parting

Fibres, the wood a strain of live, self-carving

Pine. They reached the edge and then turned back,

Like vintage vectors changing course on black

Computer screens.

The butler backtracked from

The room, the box in hand. He passed the glum

And bearded men who glowered out from frames

Along the hallway: patriarchs whose names

Began with “E” and ended with “Higashi.”

Edmund’s portrait — maskless, face an ashy

Hue — hung at the hallway’s very end,

Right where the wall ran out. Around the bend

The wall resumed, but since Higashi’s line

Had ended, Jennings had strung up some twine

And clipped on tintypes of the goats. (He only

Said he didn’t like them; it got lonely

In the house when Gardener, Maid, and Cook

Were off on errands. So, he sometimes took

A shot or two.)

This four-skull skeleton crew

Had kept up Edmund’s house, while lawyers, who

Were in no special hurry, sorted assets

From afar. The will had many facets —

Books, collectibles, a giant yacht,

A populated, bonsai Camelot,

And every kind of life-sized Manga statue,

Saucer-eyed and carved from resin, that you

Could collect.

He turned into the study,

Where the man in dark-grey tweed and muddy

Boots was sitting. Haze (the lawyers called

Him that) was signing papers that were sprawled

Across a table. Jennings gently placed

The live pine box before him. Haze (who faced

A yawning fireplace, in which some bonsai

Goats had made a nest) was speaking.

“On my

Life,” he said. “The butler’s brought the box

In. The box. Send.” He seemed to be in talks

With someone via postcard.

Jennings took

A small step back, but couldn’t help but look

As Haze, deep breath, placed one hand on the lid.

The kanji text, ping-ponging, paused — then slid

Back to the centre.

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