Rivers by Martin Michael Driessen

Author:Martin Michael Driessen [Driessen, Martin Michael]
Language: eng
Format: epub, azw3, pdf
ISBN: 9781503901261
Goodreads: 36604975
Publisher: AmazonCrossing
Published: 2018-06-05T00:00:00+00:00

Pierre and Adèle

He shall be purified by

Fire, Water, Air, and Earth

The deer stumbled after the reverberation from the shot had already died away, as though it only then realized it had been hit. Its forelegs buckled, and it slid, kneeling, in the direction of the river, its head held high. It was seized by the kind of panic that can also strike a human when he realizes something terrible has happened to him but doesn’t yet know what. Lurching on its three good legs, it tried to reach the far side of the vale.

Two men—one young, one old—appeared from the bushes, their shotguns raised. Their hunting dog set off in yelping pursuit.

The deer, a young doe, plunged into the creek and waded through it with short, crooked leaps; her head, with rolling eyes and dripping chin, just above the surface.

Two other men appeared from the woods on the opposite side.

They, too, had their rifles at the ready, but rather than being aimed at the deer, they were pointed at the men across from them.

“Not one more step!” bellowed one of them. “Keep off our land!”

The deer staggered up the muddy bank toward the inevitable, sagged to the ground, and lay prone on the grass, its long neck bent backward.

The first pair of hunters approached. The eldest, who walked with difficulty, broke open his shotgun and draped it over his bent arm, the barrel pointing downward; at the same time, with his right hand, he felt in the pocket of his corduroy coat and slipped two new shells into the barrels.

“Listen, man,” he shouted hoarsely. “Be reasonable. We shot her on our property. She’s only five meters from us. It’s our kill.”

“Not a chance. She’s on our land. Everything on this side of the boundary is ours.”

As though to accentuate those words, his companion lowered the muzzle of his shotgun and, hardly taking his eyes off the men across from him, shot the deer in the head.

Her legs stretched for a brief moment, as though she considered a last-ditch flight and then gave in.

The dead, clouded-over doe eye still reflected two wooded riverbanks and four men. What it no longer saw was the dog, which, yapping with enthusiasm, had swum across the river and pounced upon her body.

“Call off that damn dog,” said the one who had fired the coup de grace, “or he’ll be next.”

“Babouche, ici!” shouted one of the hunters.

The dog wagged its wet, furry tail in acknowledgement of the command, but at the same time it sank its teeth into the dead animal’s soft underbelly.

“Ici, Babouche! Viens!”

“Call him off, or I’ll blow him away,” the man repeated, leveling his rifle. “It’s my right. He’s poaching.”

“Don’t you dare, you swine!” the older hunter threatened. “Babouche, heel!”

The dog, torn between duty and bloodlust, pulled a strand of gut from the deer’s torn-open belly and backed through the mud and into the water, its ears pitched backward to hear its master’s voice, its eyes glued on the enemy.

“Make him let go!

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