Divine Mischief: Poetry & Short Stories by R.A.Lucas by R.A. Lucas

Author:R.A. Lucas
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: BookBaby
Published: 2011-12-15T00:00:00+00:00

Bonus: You can hear the author reading this story online at http://www.screenarts.com/publishing/ebooks/extras.html

Hunter

He knows things. He knows about tides. He knows the difference. He knows where it started. When.

The smacking is small waves on the side of the boat. The whistle is wind through his beard. There are no colors.

He knows that if his father had been a different man, or his mother another women, he would have been the same.

The scream is metallic. You cannot hear it. It is made by the oarlocks.

He would have grown the same. He would have lived all his years the same way.

You can hear laughter. The river rejoicing in the passing of the boat.

It was beyond them. They played no part. Any combination would have produced the same result. The same man.

You cannot see the smile. It produces in those who know it a feeling of sound. A low, even sound. A warm sound. Like purring.

The shadows off the trees have been compared to compass needles. They point the direction the sun will go. It is the same direction the man is going.

His chant is silent. It goes on inside. It began when he did and goes on even now. You cannot hear it, but it comes in waves. Circles. It goes out from him always. In rings. Like those on smooth water after the passing of a loon. It goes on and on and arrives before he does. It goes out and back to where he has been. Warns those who fear him.

There is the scream again. You cannot hear it. The boat moves. The chant goes on. The first leaf falls, transparent.

The man understands change. It is part of his song.

In the boat, around his feet, many small leather bags. Food. Things. The first part is over. He pulls hard on one oar. The boat moves toward shallow water. To where she waits. Seeing.

“I cannot welcome you.” He has heard her. Only.

“But I am here.” He knows she can see him. He brings the boat in to touch the earth.

“I cannot welcome you.” He has heard her. Only.

“But I am here.” He knows she can see him. He steps from the boat and brings two bags. The oars have been in the water a long time. They do not float.

“I cannot welcome you.”

“I have two bags.” He knows she can see them.

“And in them?”

“The first is the light that dances on water. It is yours to decorate the day.”

“And for my nights?”

“Celebrate your nights as you please.” He knows things.

“The second bag?”

“The breath of one as yet unborn. To fill your lungs. Prolong your life.

“Can you see me?” He knows he can be seen.

There is no noise. The wind has quit. The loon has ceased its senseless song. You cannot hear his chant, but it is there. Always. Another leaf lets go.

“Leave them. You need?”

“Nothing. You know me.”

“Why do you come?”

“To see you.” He can hear her. Only.

“You are welcome this night. Stay if you cannot leave.”

“I sleep in the boat. The bags I leave you.

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