Chapter 12 10

Edmund talking to Emma. Beam of Emma. Washing of socks in the small stream. Discussion of foot care (general). Thomas seated on the ground, back supported by tree, smoking, contemplative. Edmund telling Emma that, all things considered, she is the best. Beam of Emma. Julie and the Dead Father holding hands. Thomas smoking. The men playing whist, quoits, boccie. Terrain features being cut down to feed the fires. All the men wearing dark-blue suits with ties. Edmund wearing dark-blue suit with tie. Thomas wearing dark-blue suit with tie. The Dead Father wearing dark-blue suit with tie. Bending over spits rotating with spitted small animals. Edmund tapped on the cheek with Emmas fan. tapped on the cheek with Edmunds thumb. God Almighty. Emma tells Edmund that he doesn't understand. Thumb not to tap cheeks with, she says. Thumb not gracile but rather stumpy, fat, she says. Index finger better if cheek is to be tapped and fan not available. Edmund fucks everything up, she says. Poor wooer, she says. May consider himself as having status of least-favored-nation, wooing-wise. Crushed Edmund. Edmund falls into flask. Thomas turns head, notices distress of Edmund. and notices him doing nothing. Julie says to the Dead Father: Sometimes best to do nothing. The Dead Father replies: Maybe mostly. They continue to hold hands and the Dead Father also gropes a bare foot with the hahd that is not holding hands. Julie retracts foot. Thomas smokes. Events in the sky. Starfall scattering in the dark part. Clouds moving implacably (left to right) offstage, toward the wings. Thomas smoking. The Dead Father attempting to insert hand (left) between waistband of Julies skirt and Julie. Repulsed (warmly). Julie takes the Dead Fathers watch fob and places it in her pocket. The Dead Father smiles. A gift, he says, for you. Thank you, Julie says, thank you thank you. Thank me , says the Dead Father, I am used to it. I do thank you, Jul ie says, and your shoe buckles are nice too. They are nice, says the Dead Father, that is why I have them there, on my shoes, because they are nice. Both regard the Dead Fathers silver shoe buckles. Thomas smoking. Edmund with most of his mouth around the mouth of the flask. Emma interviewing the men. How high are they? 61", 511", 42", and so forth. For my files, Emma says. Thomas smoking, scratches upper left cheekbone lightly with free fingers of left hand. Alarm arrives from the outpost. Alexander runs to Thomas. Whispers to Thomas. Thomas extinguishes cigar, rises, looks about for his sword. Finds same, buckles on sword belt, tucks orange tight (right) into top of orange boot.

The Wends are here, he said. They rushed to the spot. The road blocked. The path barred. An army deployed across the way and far far up on every piece of high ground available. Well now, said the chief Wend, arent you a pretty sight. Good day, Thomas said. Julie lit a cigarette as did Emma. Well now, the chief Wend said again, do you intend traveling more along this road? With your permission. Would you be hauling that great ugly thing there through the length and breadth of the country of the Wends? Only the length, said Thomas. Not the breadth. We dont want him, the chief Wend said. No thank you.

We hadnt in mind leaving him, said Thomas. Just passing through. Is it what I think it is? the Wend asked. It is the Dead Father. Thats what I thought. Thats what I thought. About three thousand cubits, Id estimate. Thirty-two hundred. How do you get him around bends in the road? He is articulated. No rigor mortis? None. Then he is not properly dead. In a sense. Has it both ways does he? In this as in everything. Is there an odor? The odor of sanctimony, is all. Excreta? Monstrous of course. Does he molest women? Not exactly. What does that mean, "not exactly"?

He tries but I restrain him. How is that done? Rap to the forebrain. Does he converse and issue dicta? Thomas did not answer. Well, does he? Nothing that cannot be enthusiastically ignored. The Wend chieftain sat down in the middle of the road, cross-legged. Tarry a bit, he said. They sat. The nineteen. Emma. Julie. Thomas. The Dead Father. Then the Wend army sat with a noise like land sliding. Let me tell you about the Wends, the Wend said. We Wends are not like other people. We Wends are the fathers of ourselves. You are? Yes, said the Wend, that which all men have wished to be, from the very beginning, we are.

Amazing, said Thomas, how is that accomplished? It is accomplished by being a Wend, the leader said. Wends have no wives, they have only mothers. Each Wend impregnates his own mother and thus fathers himself. We are all married to our mothers, in proper legal fashion. Thomas was counting on his fingers. You are skeptical, said the chief. That is because you are not a Wend. The mechanics of the thing elude me, said Thomas. Take my word for it, said the Wend, it is not more difficult than Christianity. The point is, we are not used to having flaming great fathers about to pick at and badger us. We havent the taste for it. are violently prejudiced against it. Therefore this huge big carcass of yours is not something we care to have within our country, even briefly. Some of him might rub off.

Is there another road? asked Thomas. None, said the Wend, that will get you where you are aiming. I take it you seek the Fleece. That is correct, said Thomas. We are not sure it exists, said the Wend. It exists, Thomas said. In a sense. I see, said the Wend. Well, if it exists, it lies on the other side of the country of the Wends. A problem, said Thomas. You could of course fight your way through, the Wend suggested. Thomas regarded the Wend army, in its thousands. This is just the Third Armored, the chief said, indicating his mailed and belted followers. The First Armored is way back over to the east. The Ninth Hoplites are over to the west. The Twenty-sixth Impi is in a blocking position, I cant tell you where. These are just the border troops. They would be delighted, were you to decide to fight your way through.

We are three-and-twenty, Thomas said. Counting Edmund. Your mothers are quite beautiful, said the chieftain. Those two there, the light one and the dark-haired one. Very lovely. They are not mothers, Thomas said. Probably they could learn very quickly, said the Wend, motherhood comes naturally to most. What if he were just a little more dead? Thomas asked, indicating the Dead Father. Would he then be transportable through the country of the Wends? Well of course if he were cut up and cooked, that would put quite a different face on the matter, the chieftain said. Then we could be sure.

Further than Im prepared to go, said Thomas. Meet you halfway, said the Wend, just boil him for a day and well give you free passage. Not a pot big enough in the wide world, said Thomas. May I suggest this: Well whack off a leg and barbecue same as an earnest of good faith and token of guaranteed non-contaminaciousness. A leg? said the Wend. He pondered for a moment. That should be sufficient. But you'll be closely watched, now. No hanky-panky. As closely as you like, said Thomas, but I cant be held responsible for the stench. The chief Wend returned to his men. Thomas ordering wood gathered for the great fire.

Whats this? asked the Dead Father. What now? A little tableau, said Thomas, you have the best part, lie down, close eyes, howl on cue, and stay stiff as a board after. Why? asked the Dead Father. Why me no whys, said Thomas, quickly, stretch out. The Dead Father lay down in the road, the whole great length of him. Anxiety of Emma, ​​Julie, Edmund, Alexander, Sam. The men return with great bundles of firewood. Thomas drew his sword and approached the left leg, the leg mechanical, not human. He began to whack.