Russell Hoban - Riddley Walker

I jus begun to roal up a smoak when WHAP! there come like a thunner clap it wer like when litening strikes right close it eckowit up and down the rivver. There come up a cloud of smoak from the fents it wernt the regler blue smoak it wer 1 big puff of grey smoak and things wer peltering down out of the trees like when you shake down nuts. The dogs begun to howl.

I gone back inside the fents. That littl hump back hut where Granser ben doing the mixing it wernt there no mor it wer jus only sticks and sods scattert wide. Granser he wer like throwt a way on the groun he lookit emty like when you take your han out of a show figger. His head wernt with the res of him his head wer on a poal. The gate a way from the rivver it had a hy poal on each side of it and Gransers head wer stuck on the poynt of 1 of them poals jus like it ben put there for telling.

Nor that wernt the stranges of it. Goodparley wer stil where Id lef him sitting leaning agenst the other hump back hut. I wer stil looking tords the gate I said, “Gransers head is on a poal.” Which he dint anser me nothing then I ternt to look at him and he had Gransers pounder sticking out of the front of his head. Clout stil rapt roun his head and that stoan pounder drove right in to his skul.

There hung over the place a kynd of scortchy smel a kynd of stinging scortchy smel and the grey smoak driffing thru the blue smoak of the chard coal harts. Twean lite it wer the 1st dark coming on. Bat lite it wer and dimminy the pink and red stumps glimmering in the coppises like loppt off arms and legs and the rivver hy and hummering. The dogs wer howling nor it wernt like no other howling I ever heard it wer a kynd of wyld hoapless soun it wer a lorn and oansome yoop yaroo it soundit like they wer runnying on ther hynt legs and telling like thin black men and sad. Crying ther yoop yaroo ther sad tel what theyd all ways knowit theywd have to tel agen.

I gone to where Gransers head wer on the poal. His eyes wer closd his mouf wer shut. I said, “Granser wil you tel?”

Lissening him then words come to me: What if its you whats making all this happen? What if every thing you think of happens?

I said, “I never thot of my father getting kilt did I.”

Words come: Dint you?

Then I wernt sure. I said, “I wont think no mor.”

Words come: That dont make no diffrents. If you dont think then some thing else wil think your thots theywl get thunk any how.

I said, “What can I do then aswl be my oan doing?”

Words come: Whats the diffrents whos doing it?

The dogsd stoppt ther yoop yarooing. They come to the fents I heard them wimpering like los and greaving childer. All roun I heard the twean lite lissening. I took a las look at Goodparley I ½ thot I myt see vines and leaves growing out of his mouf. Then I slung his fit up and my bundel on my back and off I slyd.

My feet begun to walk me down rivver tords Cambry. Thats where the senter is. All roun myt be a fools circel but the senter is stil what it is and where it is.

I kep wel in from the rivver side I kep wel wide of the coppises I dint want nothing mor to do with chard coal berners for a wyl. Dark nite it wer Dark of the Moon but where the woodlings littlt off to barrens I cud feal it on my face the open of it and I had a fealing inside me I never had befor. Sour groun and dead the barrens are you cudnt grow nothing on them only the dry dus blowing in the summer and the grey mud in the winter. Even the wind blowing the dus is some thing moving tho it aint jus only dead groun in a stilness. Seeds blow in the wind and what is earf but a deadness with life growing out of it? Rottin leaves and dead branches and naminal shit and that it all makes live earf on the dead groun and if you look at woodlings edge all roun the barrens youwl see the runty coming up where skin of earf growit back on nekkit groun. Nekkit groun what ben the bloody meat and boan of Bad Time covering its self with skin of earf and grass and woodlings. I thot: What ever it is its my groun. Here I stan.

We ben roading like all ways with the black leader josseling nexy but ½ way acrost the barrens he pusht his nose in to my han. He never done nothing like that befor I cudnt beleave it. Him what lookit like Death on 4 legs with his yeller eyes what dint even care if he livet or dyd and he wantit me to pet him. Thats when I cryd for the dead.

After a wyl I cud feal on my face a littl stilness where the wind wer cut off I cud hear the sylents of the stannings of the Power Ring. Feal the goast of old Power circeling hy over me. Only this time I fealt a Power in me what circelt with it. Membering when that thot come to me: THE ONLYES POWER IS NO POWER. Wel now I sust that wernt qwite it. It aint that its no Power. Its the not sturgling for Power thats where the Power is. Its in jus letting your self be where it is. Its tuning in to the worl its leaving your self behynt and letting your self be where it says in Eusa 5 :

… in tu the hart uv the stoan hart uv the dans. Evere thing blippin & bleapin & movin in the shiftin uv thay Nos. Sum tyms bytin sum tyms bit.

Looking up in to the black where the goast of Power circelt blyn and oansome like a Drop John roun the los hump of Cambry I larft I yelt, “>SPIRIT OF GOD ROAD WITH ME!”

Dark of the Moon it wer. Pas the failing moon of my getting and fulling on tords the moon of my bearthing I gone to the hart of the wud I gone to the stoan wood in the hart of the stoan I gone to the woom of her what has her woom in Cambry.

The black sky dint change colour nor the stoans dint go wite nor the dogs dint runny on ther hynt legs with the shyning colours coming thru them it jus stayd solid black. No lerting from the dogs so I lit a candl. Up jumpt the shadders and shaking on the walls and rubbl. In amongst them stoan trees there wer what you myt call a notness of some 1. Some 1 ben roun there nor not too long befor me. No 1 there now tho. Lookit in the hidey hoal where Greanvine livet. Emty.

Lookit in the out poast. HOAP OF A TREE stil on the wall and the picter of Goodparley with the vines and leaves growing out of his mouf. No 1 there.

I said to the black leader, “Garn the track and fynd?” We gone scanning here and there til finely on the other side of Cambry some way out from the senter the dogs begun harking like they do when theyve got some thing hoalt up.

I callt in to the dark, “Who is it?”

There come back Erny Orfings voyce he said, “Its Erny Orfing Riddley.”

Hed got his self up hys he cud get on a mounding of rubbl and hed like walt his self in he had to move big stoans out of the way befor I cud get to him. I said, “Whatre you doing all walt up like that?” Taking the murky jus a littl.

He said, “Overing the nite. Which I come here looking for you and Goodparley.”

Snick snick I wer striking for the fire I can stil hear in the ear of my mynd that snick snick in the dark that nite in Cambry. I lit the candl and there jumpt out of the dark the face of Greanvine and the face of Orfing. It snuck me this time how much Greanvine realy did look like Goodparley even tho Id all ways thot of him with littl eyes and Greanvines eyes they wer so big and so wide open.

Orfing said, “Looks like him dunnit. Looks like Abel. Befor they put his eyes out I mean.” The candl flame shimmying in the wind and the tears roaling down his face. He said, “He aint with you now is he. You aint with him no mor youve lef him oansome in the dark youve lef him dead havent you.”

I tol him what happent and he covert his face with his hans. After a littl he took his hans down he said, “Riddley dyou think theres hoap of any thing?”

I said, “Theres new earf on the barrens all the time.”

He said, “Parbly them from Good Mercyve took him a way and bernt him by now. How it pangs my hart to think of him jus ashes and blowing in the wind!”