| I.1.004 |
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The chief citizen of Dentonsville, the Mayor, came up to the Shopkeeper, approaching him
genially, on his way - though not by the shortest route - to visit one of his mistresses. The
mayor carried a small bag of cookies, prepared by one of his daughters, which one of the
few remaining scrawny dogs circulating in the square viewed with envy. 'Carl!' The Mayor's face, as far as his features would allow, was purposeful and firm, his greeting enthusiastic and sincere. 'How are you doing? How ARE things?' As their hands met the Mayor lost his balance on a frozen puddle and was forced to grab the Shopkeeper's coat. 'Whoops! Nearly had a nasty tumble there!" A genial man, the Mayor laughed good naturedly. His name was Don T. Whelk, the Don being short for Denton, his maternal great-great grandfather. Like the Shopkeeper, the position of Mayor in Dentonsville was hereditary and the Mayor's family had long suffered from inbreeding. Don Whelk had a large walleye and large gaps between his teeth which gave his smile a demented look. But with his mouth closed his pudgy cheeks and turned up nose gave his face the look of a new born child. 'Have a cookie?' said the Mayor. As the men stood eating the nearby dog whined and, adopting a submissive posture, crept closer. The Shopkeeper viewed the dog with professional interest. Possession and consumption of animal flesh of any kind in the town was supposed to be strictly controlled. Large animals, such as horses, cows, goats, sheep and pigs had disappeared from Dentonsville long before the memory of anyone still living. It was forbidden to keep any animal other than chickens, dogs and cats and the Shopkeeper's permission was required to slaughter any of these. Yet it was clear to him that the number of dogs in town had declined markedly over the winter. The Mayor too grew conscious of the dog and threw it a tiny scrap of cookie. This act caused a second dog to appear miraculously from nowhere and a commotion ensued. The Mayor aimed an irritable kick. 'Get away. Go on!' The Mayor looked at the Shopkeeper self-consciously. 'Dogs. Ungrateful creatures.' The Shopkeeper frowned. He had never been enamored of the Mayor. He stared gloomily across the square to where the gray Mission wall rose up and beyond to where the inner buildings loomed like a Japanese temple set about with fir trees. He wished the Mayor would go away. The time was just after noon. He had been in the square for three hours; three hours in the cold beneath a steel blue sky with his fingers freezing. He could have gone into the Mission to wait but he would not have felt comfortable there. Out in the square the land was known, familiar ground over which he and a few others held sway. The Mission was an alien place. Its use was mystery; the mystery of death, of the shining moon where once man stood, of holy day and night and the sacred angels of the manger. The Mayor began to feel uneasy, wishing to break away and seek out the warm bed of his mistress. 'Your second isn't it? First was a girl?' The Mayor nodded contentedly at these facts. Information for himself. Glad to have remembered. 'Hoping for a boy?' He nodded again, seriously, with approval. 'Every man should have an heir, especially in your position, Carl.' He patted the Shopkeeper on the back. 'When you've had three or four, not to mention seven like me, you'll learn to take it in your stride my friend. Good day and good luck to you.' The Mayor departed. For genetic reasons only one of his children had survived the age of two. Inside the mission the child was crying, the animal child with its reflex bunching arms and legs, lying on its back, its first act of life to shake its fist at heaven in rage for this unexpected assault upon its consciousness. While Becky lay exhausted, the infant was being taken in hand. As two Sisters cleaned and wrapped him the third was already running down stairs to the door in the courtyard. From there her gentle feet crossed the concrete flagstones lightly, past the small heated pool with its fountain, the rock garden and the birch trees to the door in the high wall. The Shopkeeper saw the door open as a flash of light falling inwards on an unknown land and, within that flash, a small bustling mass of his own kind scurrying towards him, trying to hurry yet not to run, with one hand holding up her skirt and a pleased look upon her face. Out in the forest a steady rustling wind crept through the trees, stalking northwards like a stealthy cat. An overcast was moving in, precursor of a warm front from the south. By midnight it began to snow. |
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