It exists, Thomas said. In a sense.
Is it what I think it is? the Wend asked.
They hurried to the spot.
He is articulated.
Thirty-two hundred.
He tries but I restrain him.
Further than Im prepared to go, said Thomas.
You could of course fight your way through, the Wend suggested.
The men return with great bundles of firewood.
Excreta?
You are skeptical, said the chief. That is because you are not a Wend.
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.
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 problem, said Thomas.
Let me tell you about the Wends, the Wend said. We Wends are not like other people. We Wends are the fathers of ourselves.
Anxiety of Emma, Julie, Edmund, Alexander, Sam.
Only the length, said Thomas. Not the breadth.
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. In fact, we 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.
No rigor mortis?
That should be sufficient. But youll be closely watched, now. No hanky-panky.
You are?
Thats what I thought. Thats what I thought. About three thousand cubits, Id estimate.
Nothing that cannot be enthusiastically ignored.
Does he converse and issue dicta?
Has it both ways does he?
Well, does he?
Yes, said the Wend, that which all men have wished to be, from the very beginning, we are.
Thomas did not answer.
How do you get him around bends in the road?
Monstrous of course.
Amazing, said Thomas, how is that accomplished?
I see, said the Wend. Well, if it exists, it lies on the other side of the country of the Wends.
Thomas was counting on his fingers.
In a sense.
We dont want him, the chief Wend said. No thank you.
They are not mothers, Thomas said.
Thomas drew his sword and approached the left leg, the leg mechanical, not human. He began to whack.
Then he is not properly dead.
Your mothers are quite beautiful, said the chieftain. Those two there, the light one and the dark-haired one. Very lovely.
Thomas regarded the Wend army, in its thousands.
The mechanics of the thing elude me, said Thomas.
Not exactly.
We are three-and-twenty, Thomas said. Counting Edmund.
Why me no whys, said Thomas, quickly, stretch out.
Well now, the chief Wend said again, do you intend traveling more along this road?
What does that mean, "not exactly"?
How is that done?
The road blockaded. The path barred. An army deployed across the way and far far up on every piece of high ground available.
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.
The Wends are here, he said.
A leg? said the Wend.
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.
Whats this? asked the Dead Father. What now?
As closely as you like, said Thomas, but I cant be held responsible for the stench.
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?
The odor of sanctimony, is all.
Why? asked the Dead Father.
In this as in everything.
Is there an odor?
That is correct, said Thomas.
With your permission.
Well now, said the chief Wend, arent you a pretty sight.
Is there another road? asked Thomas.
The chief Wend returned to his men. Thomas ordering wood gathered for the great fire.
He pondered for a moment.
Rap to the forebrain.
The Wend chieftain sat down in the middle of the road, cross-legged.
It is the Dead Father.
They sat. The nineteen. Emma. Julie. Thomas. The Dead Father.
Would you be hauling that great ugly thing there through the length and breadth of the country of the Wends?
None.
Probably they could learn very quickly, said the Wend, motherhood comes naturally to most.
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. God Almighty. Emma tapped on the cheek with Edmunds thumb. God Almighty. Emma tells Edmund that he doesnt 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. Thomas does nothing. Julie looks at Thomas 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, Julie 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.
Meet you halfway, said the Wend, just boil him for a day and well give you free passage.
Tarry a bit, he said.
A little tableau, said Thomas, you have the best part, lie down, close eyes, howl on cue, and stay stiff as a board after.
Does he molest women?
We hadnt in mind leaving him, said Thomas. Just passing through.
Then the Wend army sat with a noise like land sliding.
The Dead Father lay down in the road, the whole great length of him.
Julie lit a cigarette as did Emma.
Good day, Thomas said.
We are not sure it exists, said the Wend.
None, said the Wend, that will get you where you are aiming. I take it you seek the Fleece.
