With a Head full of Snow... by wytchcroft

WYTCHCROFT'S BLOG

wytchcroft

With a Head full of Snow...
Saturday, October 27, 2007

That season the snow came early again – and further – and deeper – drifting fit to bury a man. The Boy and His brother didn’t mind overly, the schools shut down - or simply vanished with a scrunching of corrugated iron and a last wheezy gasp of dying copper heat pipe - were the ones they had long ago rejected, had left to the drones. “Nuthin’ fer us in them places – ‘cept the Great Lie and the Big Sleep, Bro’… Wanna addle yer mind widdat paleface tomfoolery?”
The Boy loved to listen to his brother, his wide way of speaking – so different from the careful yawning noise he heard everywhere else, or had done leastways – weren’t sure he’d heard a real voice in a great deal of days… maybe the cry babies got their way when the snow came… wailin’ on like ‘terra-forming aint held – we gotta ‘scape to survive – pack it up and roll on’… crying baby adults. Never was worth taking in a mite of what they said – weren’t so surprised when his Bro told him they were listening to the wrong ruttin’ language…
“Y’get me? Our forefathers – our real Fathers-from-Before… on the Earth-That-Was… they had their own tongue – but it done got cut out – y’get me? We done lost our Tongue, Bro’… we aint no better than Reavers if we aint got no tongue… An’ they want us that way… Silent – like Reavers – silent like ghosts… silent like

the snow… a heavy and continual presence… such a loud silence – the fall of it, the still of it – the open white space of it – the seeping numb feeling of it taking your toes and fingers. No tongue, no fingers and toes – hell that wouldn’t leave much! The Boy stuck out his tongue – and felt the bitter cold taste of it – raw and burning – on his tongue – coz he HAD a tongue now… Bro had seen to that – took a painful long while – stealing time in the viewer booths – getting’ access to the library – stealing the teacher’s laptop – going someplace alone to read (and the reading weren’t no easy feat) – to watch... all the movies, listen... to the scratchy old recordings half haunted in static, LEARN… get the moves down, get the look, the tell, the feel, the life of a gone culture... to get it BACK... but he had it now – or enough to get by anyhow. Bro got the tongue first of course – he used it, then he passed on it to the Boy – used it right and well to give them names, new names, fresh names – fresh as the snow.

Bro’ had said “I am One-Who-Sings-Of-His-Fathers… and I am The Hunter.” Upsizing on himself – bare arms reaching up for a summer sun… a sun so red rich and warm – like a spiced apple, back then… “Tha’s my name. Yer a hunter too, ‘course… an’ yer name’ll be… Bird of Two Beaks… coz one day you will fly away – an’ coz sometimes wisdom comes from your mouth… an’ sometimes you talk outta yer ass!”
And the laughing high and buoyant – The Brother cuffing the Boy hard in the chest and grinning like a wolf before its cubs.

“That’s not right! That’s not how it was!”
River pulled her tongue back into her mouth and scowled across at Inara, who still had an arm raised. “It didn’t HURT before… and you said – sometimes I talk out my butt and that’s just….”
Inara looked sheepish – but River started to laugh. It was a raggedy broken kind of laugh – but welcome all the same.
Wu de tyen ah! – Inara had entered into the spirit of things so complete she could swear her goose bumps were just from the cold.

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