Archive for the ‘Edd Vick’ Category
Feast Night
Tuesday, April 29th, 2008
A dozen crystal chandeliers hover above the Amazon rain forest, illuminating thirty square meters of greenery. A single parti-colored macaw bursts from the canopy, flinging itself across the sky into midnight darkness. A pair of dusky titi monkeys cling to each other, chittering softly.
The canopy of the forest smoothes itself, becoming more solid, more level. Branches climb here and there, twine themselves, become rough then more polished chairs and a great rectangular table.
Leaves widen, become cup-shaped and dish-shaped. They float up to the table. Guavas, acai berries, and mangoes give up their juices. Ten squealing tapirs rise above the canopy, their heads rip themselves from their bodies, and numinous fires roast the bodies.
The heads pile themselves on the table.
One moment the only sound is the faint plop of fat dripping from the carcasses. Then twelve chairs sink under the weight of unseen beings. The thirteenth chair remains unused.
Meat and juice disappear bite by bite, sip by sip. Bones fall through the forest’s canopy. By the time the meal is over the cups and plates are sodden, decomposing. Holes appear in the table. The chandeliers dip one by one to plunge into the jungle. The chairs decay and crumble.
The thirteenth chair is left. Finally it too decays. When the last of it drops away it is as if a presence withdraws from the world. Night once more claims the jungle.
The Day Her Feet Became Buoyant
Friday, April 18th, 2008
Mildred Fondren stomped her way across Europe. England, France, Germany, Switzerland, and Greece had been dealt with in three days each. Now it was Italy’s turn. In Venice, Pompeii, and Rome she’d get off the bus, get her picture taken, buy a commemorative spoon, and embark for the next set of ruins.
Until her feet rebelled. On her way from the Vatican to the Coliseum they tingled. From the Coliseum to the Trevi Fountain she got pins-and-needles. And when she got back to the hotel they refused to carry her a step farther. They floated up to the ceiling of the bus, exposing her to ridicule, to indignation, to astonishment, and to the crosswind coming through the windows.
“Signora Fondren,” said the tour guide. “You must come down this instant. It is not proper to stand on the roof.”
“Now, Millie,” chimed in Miss Arbogast, that suck-up. “Show a little decorum. That might be how folks in Akron behave, but when in Rome–”
“I’m trying–” said Mildred, making swimming motions with her hands. She floated down a few inches, but when her arms tired she floated back up again. Awkwardly pushing her dress up her legs, she walked to the door. And there she stopped.
“How am I going to go anywhere outdoors?” she said. “I’d just float away into the sky.”
“Maybe some weights,” suggested the tour guide, checking her watch. She spoke to the bus driver, who pulled a pair of heavy suitcases from storage under the bus. He frowned.
“They are his bags,” said the guide. “He hopes you will let them go if you float away.”
Mildred grabbed each handle as it was offered, and found herself pulled to bus’s floor. She maneuvered her way out the door. Once on the ground, she walked the bags to the door of the hotel, both relieved and mortified that her dress had once more fallen over her face so she could not see the sky above her legs.
Doctors could find nothing physically wrong with Mildred. It was not as if all of her was lighter than air, only that her feet exerted a powerful upward force. At the first tentative suggestion of amputation she firmly shooed them out and made reservations to return early to Ohio.
And that is where she remains to this day. You could look her up.