Without the white fox, stillness pervaded the scene. Every sand-grain was nestled impeccably against the next. The worms’ puddle sat tranquil on the mountainside.

The puddle shimmered. The fox’s exhalation had laced it with a fern of frost. When frost-leaves melted, the puddle rippled. This rippling was the only motion in the ocean of dust.

The last melting frost-leaf left bubbles of foam on the puddle. From the foam, a human arm emerged. It felt the puddle as if to shake numb knees awake, but could not find them.

So it slapped the puddle to make more foam, from which it squeezed another arm. The new arm was a right arm as well, so the first arm mushed it back into foam and sculpted it again. The new arm was a left arm, and the arms set to work.

Together they sculpted froth into a human head.

Then the left arm made left legs and the right arm made right legs. Together they chose the best legs to pair. They mushed the extra legs into a torso.

The arms attached the head to the neck, attached the legs to the thighs, and attached themselves to the shoulders. They dribbled the remaining puddle-water over their body and scalp to become hair.

The whole body stood shakily because its head was on backward. The arms reversed the head and dotted the eyes with pupils.

Dan was whole again at last. The agony was over.

He lay on the red mountain. Where was the bird? Where was the fox? Dan watched the horizon for them.

Why was he here? He recalled cleaning a bong and wondered if combining crickets and liquor could produce delusions. Or perhaps the powder in Leo’s bowl was cricket mixed with centipede—or pure centipede! Maybe Leo knew Dan would take his bong, and had prepared centipede to punk him. Dan tried not to think about it. He pretended this was reality, because it felt real, and the idea of being trapped in a hallucination made his throat itch. Dying alone on a mountain would be for the best.

A white cloud appeared on the horizon. Dan couldn’t remember why he was watching the horizon, so he was afraid. Dan ran.

He hid behind rocks and watched the cloud pop like a bubble of snow. The snow sculpted itself into a fox. The fox clawed at the red mountain.

A cave opened. The giant bird emerged from the mountain and greeted the fox with a wave of its robes. Dan couldn’t hear their conversation. The fox dove for the cave, but the bird blocked it with a wing. The fox relented and waited.

The bird pulled, from within the mountain, the tip of a wide white wing which lined the cave like a thick rug and heavy curtains. The fox and bird entered the cave, treading only on the white wing. Fluffy feathers barely bent beneath the fox’s weight.

Dan crept up to the cave. It breathed like a beast. The white wing adjusted like an uncomfortable tongue. Dan debated entering himself, until he realized the cave was closing. Then he threw himself on the wing. The red mountain swallowed him like a pill.

Next Section
Commentary

The man-sized amoeba bleated and struggled on the red mountain, boiling with teeth. Molars mashed the amoeba’s guts. Canines spun sadistically. Triangular shark-teeth swam like fins at sea.

Teeth ground down the amoeba until all that remained was like a cramping gonad the size of a soccer-ball. So many teeth bit the flesh-sphere that it seemed made of teeth and nothing else, even while sensitive gums suffered silently inside. The teeth swirled on the surface as if conveyed by convection. A deep whine from the center increased in pitch and volume.

The tooth-ball bulged. A narwhal tusk, spiraled and spinning, drilled three feet skyward before the tooth-ball rolled and stubbed the tusk on the mountain. Still the tusk grew longer and thicker. Its thickening cracked other teeth. The cracking of teeth was the source of the whine, which had become a shriek.

The tusk stretched gums until they snapped. Broken nerves burned in dry air.

When the tusk surpassed twenty screeching feet, the tooth-ball shuddered, then expanded and contracted like a lung. The teeth retreated into the gums, leaving pores which gasped for air. Each wheeze pulled the tusk back into the ball until it was totally hoisted within.

Finally the ball of gums breathed easy. It relaxed into brown slime which spread in a muddy disk.

Then pseudopods danced from the mud like goop on a sub-woofer. The longest pseudopods grappled and merged where they met.

The merged pseudopods wriggled like earthworms. As more worms formed, the mud became clearer. When the mud was just a puddle of water, ten thousand worms were tangled in pandemonium.

The tangled worms wriggled as one. The dusty red mountain disturbed them, and they yearned for soggy soil. They crawled to the edge of the mountain and felt sheer cliff-face. If they jumped, the impact would be painful, and the sand would cut like hot knives, but then they could dig into moist darkness. They leapt!

“Nice try!”

A white fox bit the worm-heap like it was a venomous snake and dragged it back onto the red mountain. She threw her head to toss her prey and chomp again with greater grip. The worms tried escaping, every-worm-for-itself, but they’d tangled too thoroughly to separate. The fox beat them senseless against the ground.

“Now, how to do this…”

The fox exhaled. Her breath froze the pink worms white and blue. Then she sat on her haunches and closed her eyes. Her body evaporated to join her tail’s misty mass. Her cloudy form descended over the worms and swirled faster and faster until she lifted them away from the red mountain, into the desert.

Next Section
Commentary

Dan slept on his arms, so in the morning, they were painful and numb. Faith was unsympathetic. “If you’re awake, it’s time to leave.”

“Huh?” Dan managed to sit up. He surveyed the wreckage from the party. Empty liquor-bottles cluttered counter-tops. “How’s Beatrice?”

“BeatBax is waiting for you to leave so she can come out for breakfast.” Faith folded her arms. “In case you forgot, you tried to start a fight last night. We don’t appreciate that atmosphere in our apartment.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Damn right.”

“That guy,” said Dan, “Henry. Don’t you recognize him? He’s Leo, from high-school.”

“I know,” Faith sighed. “He’s my cricket-dealer. Or he was, until I saw that tattoo. Now I don’t I want him around anymore, either.” She pulled Dan by the arm. “C’mon, Dainty. Get outta my house.”

Dan lingered by the door. “Can I come back another time? Beatrice and I didn’t finish our cricket together.”

“You want cricket?” Faith took Leo’s bong and pressed it into his hands. “Scram!”

---

Back in his apartment, Dan put the bong on his coffee-table. The bong was a glass cylinder a foot tall. Brown water clogged its two internal chambers. From the bottom chamber, a sliding glass tube stuck out at an angle to hold a bowl of powdery bug-bits.

He pulled the sliding tube and soggy bug-bits slopped out. Dan pinched his nose—he couldn’t risk a whiff. He almost set the tube on the coffee-table, but worried it would soak the wood with stench. He shuddered and lay the tube on a pile of napkins.

He donned rubber gloves to empty the bong into his sink. He retched at the unleashed odor. He donned a surgical-mask.

The glass was almost opaque with crust. Looking into the top chamber he that saw the bong filtered smoke through five slotted glass fingers. No wonder Leo never bothered cleaning the complicated interior—it was a Sisyphean task, a punishment.

So Dan began.

He filled the bong with tap-water and emptied it. This barely affected the congealed crust, so he tried a hundred more times, but that didn’t help either. Before he resorted to acid and bleach, he realized he should be careful of chemicals in the instrument he’d inhale from. Internet research suggested the proper solution was rock-salt and isopropyl alcohol.

He put the bong in the sink and poured salt in its mouth, then opened one of his many, many bottles of isopropyl. He sniffed the alcohol through his surgical-mask. It made his nose burn, which he hoped spoke to its pipe-cleaning power.

He emptied the whole bottle into the bong. It seemed impossible that the bong could hold such volume. He heard trickling liquid, and realized the bong leaked from two holes in its lower chamber: the hole for the sliding tube, and a smaller hole meant for plugging and unplugging to control airflow. Embarrassed he hadn’t noticed them before, Dan covered the holes with saran-wrap and finally filled the pipe with alcohol.

He saved the powdery bug-bits from the sliding glass tube in a tupperware container. He filled a plastic-baggie with more salt and isopropyl and sealed the glass tube inside. He put that baggie in a bigger baggie so nothing leaked.

Then he stood over the sink and shook the bong in his right hand and the baggies in his left. He shook them for fifteen minutes, just looking out the window waiting for time to pass.

When he emptied the bong, he absentmindedly sniffed the toxic runoff. He’d already burned nose-hairs on the isopropyl, so he should’ve known the foul process’ byproducts would smell even worse.

But two-thirds of the crust sloughed off. He refilled the bong and baggies with fresh salt and alcohol and vowed to shake them for half an hour.

His arms tired after twenty minutes. For motivation, he imagined the pipe was Leo. “Save the whining for your daddy.” The salt swirled in Leo like spiky snowflakes.

He emptied the bong and baggies, but this second cycle took only flecks of the remaining crust.

Dan refilled the bong and baggies with salt and alcohol, but frustration didn’t provide enough energy to shake them for long. He was still drunk and hungover. He decided to let it soak while he slept through the afternoon. He took off the gloves and surgical-mask.

---

He must have been more tired than he realized, because he slept through the night.

When he woke, he emptied the bong again. The gunk slipped into the sink with a satisfying sound and the glass gleamed. Dan slid the glass tube into the lower chamber and poured the powdery bug-bits from the tupperware back into its bowl.

Cleaning the bong had taught Dan how to fill it with water for smoking. Fluid poured into the top chamber flowed up the five glass fingers to fill the bottom chamber. Enough water remained in the top chamber to cover the glass fingers’ slots, so smoke would have to bubble through them.

Having the rest of Sunday free, Dan sat on the couch and toked up.

---

Some kind of amoeba bubbled and blopped on the red mountain. The amoeba was translucent orange and the size of a man. It wriggled like it didn’t want to exist.

Its core spawned white specks. The specks formed flecks, which collected into flakes. The white flakes tore the jelly of the amoeba’s belly. The amoeba groped with blind pseudopods in impotent agony.

A shadow passed over the amoeba. An enormous bird landed with thunderous wing-beats. The sapphire bird in sky-blue robes watched with emerald eyes as the flakes in the amoeba turned into teeth. Molars and canines were torturous instruments tearing the amoeba’s innards. The amoeba smacked the ground wetly.

“You’re a big one. Congratulations for finding the Mountain.” The bird withdrew its wings into its robes. “But I cannot collect you. You’re obviously a novice smoking beyond their limits, filled with shrieking teeth.”

The amoeba curdled with nerves for the teeth to tear through. It bristled with pleading eyes which were swiftly blinded by blood.

“I cannot help you.” The bird marched up the mountainside. “My assistant will take you to Anihilato.”

Next Section
Commentary

Dan sipped the last dregs from each pint. He’d started slurring, so Jay elected not to buy him another. “I think I’ve met Leo.”

“Of course you have,” said Dan. “He was in our homeroom in high-school.”

“I meant more recently, but continue.”

Dan buried his face in his gloved hands. “Leo never got to beat the smug out of me. I attended college where my dad killed himself, since the University was financially supportive and let me live in his old apartment. I didn’t see you or Beatrice or Leo for years, but Faith took art-classes on campus, and we always ate lunch together. One day she invited me to a party.”

---

Faith lived with Beatrice on the top floor of a beach-side apartment. The first floor belonged to a frat-house whose brothers streamed up the exterior steps in a vertical zigzag of bed-sheet togas. Dan made no conversation as he climbed. Instead he watched the stars.

On the top landing, toga-brothers filled the balcony overlooking the ocean. Faith leapt from the crowd and hung from Dan’s neck. Her cheeks were flushed. “Dainty! You made it!” She kissed him before he could protest. He smelled beer on her breath. “Isn’t this great, Dainty? The whole apartment is up here!”

A door burst open and a boy in a blue bed-sheet ran out to puke over the railing into the sea. Dan almost vomited at the sight. “Are these guys friends of yours?”

“They’re so nice! We go on hikes with their chapter. Hey, you want a beer?”

“I don’t drink. Where’s Beatrice?”

“She’s not into parties.” Faith dragged Dan to the railing and kissed him again. “Don’t you love this view of the ocean? I wish I could fly over the waves like a bird!”

“I thought you’d want to be a fox.”

“I’ll be a flying fox.” Faith licked Dan’s teeth. She was a foot shorter than him, so she really had to reach for his molars. “Are you into this? Am I bothering you?”

“Does Beatrice drink? I can’t imagine her drinking.”

“Oh, Dainty.” Faith released his shoulders. “You could have everything anyone ever wanted, right in front of you, and you’d still chase BeatBax to hell and back just to make awkward small-talk.”

“Well, you’re her girlfriend, and you’re kissing me.”

“BeatBax and I have an understanding.” Faith considered kissing him again, but smiled mischievously and pulled a bug-stick from her pocket. “But since I’ve kissed you, it would only be fair for you to kiss her, right?”

“Huh?”

“Share this bug-stick with her.” Faith kissed the butt of the cricket and put it between Dan’s lips. “It’ll be just like smooching. So don’t say I’ve never done you any favors!”

Inside, half the guests were girls who chatted on couches and drank beer from plastic cups. A portly man in sunglasses and a pink toga taught the crowd to smoke powdered cricket from a water-pipe. “Sometimes I grind centipede and sprinkle it on top. Gives it a kick, you know what I mean? But that costs extra.”

Drunkards clogged the hall waiting for the bathroom. Dan squeezed past and knocked on Beatrice’s door.

“Come in?”

He did. “It’s me. Dan.”

“Oh. Faith told me she invited you.” Beatrice was reading her bible in bed. “Is that her lipstick on your chin?”

Dan wiped his chin. “Sorry.”

“It’s alright. We have an understanding. Shut the door, okay?”

He did. “Faith wanted us to share this bug-stick.”

“Oh. Cool.” Beatrice put down her bible and cast off her blankets. She wore footie-pajamas with bunny print. She pat the bed beside her. “Sit down.”

He did. “I’ve never smoked before. I don’t even have a lighter.”

“I’ve got one. Faith and I have smoked bug-sticks since high-school.” Beatrice lit the head of Faith’s cricket and puffed until its eyes glowed red. She blew smoke out her open window. “Do it just like that. If you want to, I mean.” She gave him the bug-stick.

Dan inhaled. “Whoa.” He coughed.

“Like it?”

“Where do you get these?” He passed her the bug-stick.

“I don’t know. Faith buys them.” Beatrice puffed and tapped ash into the trash. She passed it back. “Dan, you’ve been staring at me gormlessly for as long as I can remember.” Dan puffed and stared at her gormlessly. “All I ever do is tolerate you and you’re infatuated, like life wouldn’t have meaning without me. Why? You don’t know anything about me.”

“I know you like birds.”

“That’s just it, though. All you know are tidbits. I don’t even like birds that much, anymore. I prefer rabbits and bunnies.” Beatrice took the cricket and blew smoke out the window. “And I only know tidbits about you. You barely talk, except to try endearing yourself to me. I don’t know the real Dan.”

“There’s nothing to know. I’m a pillar of salty guilt who can’t stop looking back.”

“You’re at a party. You should just be salt and alcohol.” Beatrice passed him the bug-stick. “Do you really think kissing me would make you feel less shitty about yourself?”

Dan nodded while he held smoke in his lungs.

“Oh, please.” Beatrice kissed Dan and inhaled the smoke from his chest. Dan collapsed back on her bed. She blew hi smoke toward the moon. “There. Now you’ve got no excuse. Get over yourself.”

The door opened.

The man in sunglasses and pink toga took several seconds to shut the door behind himself as he fumbled with drunken swagger. When he turned to Dan and Beatrice, he almost dropped his bong in surprise. “Oh shit! I thought this was the can.”

“Two doors down,” said Beatrice. “Didn’t you see the line?” The man sat on the bed between Beatrice and Dan and offered his bong to her. “No thank you. We’ve already got a bug-stick.”

“Sweet.” The man took the cricket and inhaled heartily. Dan stuck his tongue out like he tasted something terrible. “But I’ve got centipede. It makes crickets look like cockroaches.”

“We’re not interested,” said Dan.

“My name’s Henry.” Henry extended a hand for Beatrice to shake.

Dan shook it. He noticed Henry wore his toga higher up his chest than any other frat-brother. “I’m Leo,” said Dan. “Isn’t centipede hugely illegal? More-so than crickets?”

Henry gave the cricket to Beatrice. She wiped off Henry’s saliva with her sleeve, then passed the cricket to Dan. Dan inhaled until the whole cricket was ash. He gave the butt to Henry, who tried to suck smoke from it but failed. “All bugs should be legal,” said Henry.

“American bug-law definitely needs revision,” said Dan. “The war on bugs was always a farce, and crickets seem harmless.”

Henry smirked and tried to pass his bong to Beatrice, who ignored it. Henry eventually toked from the bong himself. He finished smirking to blow smoke in Dan’s face. “I bet you’d want bugs to be taxed, too, huh.”

“No one likes paying taxes,” said Dan, “but I’d wager crickets would be taxed like many other luxury goods.”

“Pfft.” Henry shoved the bong into Dan’s hands, daring him to toke. “I don’t need Uncle Sam stealing my tax-money to build roads for poor people.”

“But you came here on public roads.” Dan held the bong but didn’t smoke.

“Don’t you know roads were better in the 20s, when private companies paved them?”

“What’s that have to do with what I said? If you use a service without paying for it, you’re a thief.”

“But I do pay for it, with taxes!”

“No you don’t! A second ago, you said taxes were stolen from you—you don’t pay a dime! You can’t have your cake and eat it, too! Make up your mind!” Leo flinched. “A penny saved is a penny earned. If you don’t protect your property from theft, you rent it at the mercy of thieves. You claim your thieves are the government, so you rent at the mercy of the state.”

“…Cause if I didn’t pay taxes, they’d kill me!”

“What’d be so bad about dying on your feet as a free man? Better to light a candle than curse the darkness. Your cowardice has made you a closeted communist, and a whiny one.”

“You’re the communist!”

“I’m taxed when I choose, because I make my own decisions. I hope you get here someday, Comrade, but I’m not holding my breath waiting for a pinko in denial to escape their mental gulag.”

“Fuck you!” Henry snatched his bong and stood from the bed. “Bugs are wasted on hippies like you, Leo!”

The man in the pink toga stormed away. Beatrice huffed and crossed her arms. “Thank goodness he’s gone. What a weirdo. Why did you provoke him?”

“I’ll be back.” Dan stood from Beatrice’s bed, left her room, and jogged back down the hallway.

“Dainty!” Faith waved him to a couch. “Have you seen this guy’s bong?” Henry, smiling at the crowd around him, didn’t notice Dan sit beside Faith. Faith whispered in Dan’s ear. “What happened? I figured you’d wanna talk with BeatBax for a while.”

“Can I have a beer?”

“Um… Sure.”

“Put some liquor in it.”

Faith stood and stumbled to the keg to fill a plastic cup. Dan watched Henry grind bug-bits. “Here, Dainty.” Dan drank the beer in one gulp. Faith giggled when he asked for more. “You smoked that bug-stick, right? Take it easy. Crickets and drinking don’t add, they multiply.”

“Anyone wanna buy a centipede?” Henry unscrewed a jar and made a girl smell it. She grimaced. “I got these from a guy who smuggled `em off an island somewhere. Primo stuff—I sampled some before I drove over. You know, the secret to driving high is to go faster than you think is safe.”

The crowd couldn’t tell if that was a joke or not. Dan examined the centipedes. “It looks like your source got the better of you,” said Dan. “He gave you centipedes with no antennae.”

Henry finally noticed Dan. “Everyone knows you don’t smoke the antennae, idiot.”

“The antennae are the best part,” said Dan. “It’s biology: that’s where the pollen is. Don’t be salty just because you got conned.”

“Dainty, what are you doing?” Faith held his hand.

“You wanna take this outside?” asked Henry. “Cause I don’t mind takin’ this outside.”

“Why bother?” Dan stood and whipped off his shirt. The party-goers murmured. “Fight me right here.”

“Dainty, what the hell!”

“You serious, bro?” Henry put his bong on the coffee-table and stood. He was an inch shorter than Dan, but twice the weight. “Can’t you see I’d beat the shit out of you?”

“All I’m worried about is cutting my knuckles on your sunglasses.” Now the crowd spoke behind their hands. Frat-brothers in togas were ready to tackle Dan to the floor. “So if you wanna fight, take `em off.” Henry took off his sunglasses. His eyes were bloodshot. “The toga, too. I don’t want you blaming your bed-sheets for tripping you up once you regain consciousness. Because I’ll knock you out,” Dan said, in case it wasn’t clear.

“Dainty, please! Sit down!”

Henry was hesitant to open his toga, but seeing men in bed-sheets prepared to take his side, he shrugged it off and stood bravely in his boxers.

The crowd went silent. All eyes were on Henry’s swastika tattoo, which was big and bold and professionally inked—he’d obviously doubled down since high-school. Henry shook, deciding whether to draw the toga back over his chest. Instead he raised his fists to fight.

“He’s not with us!” promised a man in a bed-sheet. “I’ve never seen him in my life!”

Three men in togas tackled Henry. “Get off!”

The frat carried Henry to the door. Dan didn’t care to watch them chuck Henry off the balcony into the ocean. He sat next to Faith and put his shirt back on. “Faith, I don’t think I can drive home. Can I sleep here tonight?”

“On the couch,” Faith declared. “I’m sleeping with my girlfriend. You can leave in the morning when you sober up. Don’t wait for us to show you the door.”

Next Chapter
Commentary

…Faith surprised Dan from behind. He jumped, and books bounced in his backpack. “Faith, don’t scare me like that!”

“Sorry Dainty.” They walked the halls of their high-school. “Wanna eat lunch with me and BeatBax and Jilli?”

“I’m gonna spend lunch in the library.”

“Aw, too bad. When you’re near, boys quit trying to pick us up. You know that guy in our homeroom who always wears sunglasses?”

Dan blanched and scratched his nose. “Yeah, I know him. Leo.”

“What an ass. He hit on BeatBax yesterday and it was totally awkward.” Faith giggled behind her hand. “He did push-ups on our lunch-table and we all ignored him. He offered BeatBax a cricket, and she flipped to random pages of the bible and pretended passages prohibited smoking. When he wouldn’t take the hint, I pulled BeatBax close and we made out. He was so mad!”

“Wow.” Dan blushed imagining Faith and Beatrice kissing. “I’ll bet.”

“Anyway, have fun hitting the books!”

---

Dan enjoyed having the library to himself. With the librarian busy at the front desk and the rest of school out to lunch, Dan could walk each aisle inspecting spines without worrying about being watched. He pulled five books off the shelves and claimed a table in the back.

His first book’s cover showed a temple from Thailand. Its front wall wore two swastikas, one facing clockwise and the other facing counterclockwise. Dan hid the swastikas by opening the book so the cover laid flat on the table. He admired a two-page photo of a forty-foot Buddha carved in a cliff-side. A hundred alcoves hid smaller statues of aspects and avatars.

Someone slapped him on the back. Dan released an embarrassing yelp. “Don’t do that!”

“What? It didn’t hurt.” Leo sat beside him. He wore sunglasses and a buttoned shirt hugging his corpulence. “What’re you reading, Danny-boy?”

“Nothing. Don’t touch me.”

“I’m just being your bro,” said Leo. “I can’t change who I am.”

“If you can’t be yourself without hitting me, be yourself at a different table.”

“Whatever, man.” Leo leaned in his chair. “Hey, you know that chick with the tits, right? Name starts with a B.”

“…Beatrice?”

“Yeah, yeah! What’s her phone-number? She was all over me yesterday. I gotta seal the deal with a dick pic.” Dan pretended not to hear. “C’mon, don’t cuck me!”

“What does that even mean?”

“You know. Cuck. Cucking. You’re cucking me, you cuck.” Leo croaked the word like a toad. When Dan shook his head, Leo grunted. “You know. It’s when someone keeps you from getting what you want.”

“Really? Is that what it means?”

“Forget it,” said Leo. “I’ll get B’s number from someone else. I bet she puts out all the time. Half the guys here must have her cell.”

“So bother one of them.”

Leo wouldn’t leave. “C’mon, what’re you reading?”

“Hey, quit it!”

Leo lifted the cover of Dan’s book and grinned at the swastikas. “Don’t get caught with this, Danny-boy. Liberals will eat you alive.”

Dan pressed the cover flat against the table. “Swastikas have different meanings in different cultures.”

“Hey, I get ya, Danny-Boy.” Leo peered left and right over his sunglasses. “Do you ever feel like…” He pushed his sunglasses back up his nose. “Like we should get all the gays in one place and just…” He mimed firing a gun. Dan had no words. “You know, shoot `em. Am I right?” Leo raised his eyebrows like he’d told a joke and expected Dan to laugh. When he didn’t, Leo shook his head. “Whatever.”

“Why would you say something like that?”

“I said whatever,” said Leo. “Hey, wanna see something cool? I did this myself.” Before Dan could answer ‘no,’ Leo unbuttoned his shirt to his sternum. He had a tattoo in the center of his chest the size of a man’s palm, with lines thinner and weaker than pencil-lead. It was supposed to be a swastika, but Leo had reversed two spokes—he must’ve had trouble inking his own chest in the mirror. He’d tried correcting a backward spoke, but it just looked like a capital T. Leo seemed proud of his fragile snowflake, but Dan thought it resembled a crude firearm with a hair-trigger. “What do you think?”

Dan hesitated. “Anyone admiring Hitler should bite a bullet in a bunker.”

“C’mon, can’t you take a joke? I can’t be a Nazi, I ain’t German! I was born and raised in So-Cal! I don’t even like swastikas, it’s just funny to see people so upset. Besides, everyone knows Hitler only killed himself ’cause his bitchy wife made him.”

“He was married just forty hours. Still, that’s better than you, right? You’ve never had a girlfriend, have you, Leo?”

“Hey, neither have you!” Leo folded his arms, but couldn’t cover the swastika. “And Hitler was awesome when he wasn’t being a lefty. You’d know that if you did any research!”

“Get away from me,” said Dan.

“Huh?”

“I said fuck off, but I’ve thought better. I’m leaving.”

“Look, Danny-boy.” Leo stood with Dan and followed him between bookshelves. “Don’t you know stuff like this pushes me to the alt-right? People like you make me who I am.”

“That’s literally impossible.” Dan reshelved a book. “The conceit of the alt-right is personal responsibility. If you move to the alt-right, it can only be because you choose to, by definition. Blaming me for your political views just shows how humiliated you are.”

“I’m not humiliated!” Leo buttoned his shirt to hide his tattoo. “My only political belief is freedom!”

“Freedom from what?”

“Stop looking at me like that!” said Leo. “Freedom from whiny bitches like you, and taxes! Obviously!”

Dan reshelved the rest of his books. “Is taxation theft?”

“Yes! Duh!”

“Who’s responsible for protecting your property from theft, and what pathetic excuse did they give you for their failure?”

Leo said nothing.

“You’re too lazy to live free. You talk a big talk, but your power-level’s not worth hiding.”

Leo stomped. “Shut up! My dad is rich, I know what I’m talking about.”

“Your dad’s taxed, too. My dad’s not taxed. Why would anyone believe your overblown rhetoric when you obviously don’t believe it yourself?”

“So you’re telling me to shoot the taxman?”

“Patrick Henry said ‘give me liberty or give me death,’ not ‘give me liberty or I’ll whine and scrounge for pity-points.’ A coward’s a Communist no matter what their government allows or requires them to pretend to be instead.”

“What, you want me to go full Waco?”

“You mean kill your family in a fire? Yes, please. Do the world a favor.”

Leo clocked Dan in the jaw. Dan’s head hit two bookshelves as he fell. Leo turned and made sure his collar concealed his tattoo.

“Hey.” Dan, crumpled on the floor, produced a crisp twenty dollar bill from his wallet. “Get a swastika on your forehead. And go to a professional, or you’ll get infected.”

Leo refused the money. “Why?”

“So everyone knows to look at you the same way I do.”

Leo looked over his shoulder to see if the librarian was near. “This summer, Danny-boy? I’m gonna beat the smug outta you.”

Next Section
Commentary

Because Beatrice died so recently, and the lightning cremated Faith so thoroughly, their funerals were held together. Their urns were arranged on a lawn by a lazy river. Beatrice’s urn was creamy and marbled, while Faith’s was matte white. Jay didn’t recognize half the mourners. He knew Faith’s uncle by his tinfoil fedora, and he heard Dan sobbing, but everyone else was just more friends and family.

“I’m sorry for your loss,” Jay said to Uncle Featherway.

“You’re Faith’s friend, right? Do you know what happens when you die?”

“Um.” Jay looked at the urns. “What do you think?”

“Aliens made humans to mine gold,” said Uncle Featherway. “When we die, we’re reincarnated to keep mining. At the end of time, the aliens will collect our gold, and everyone loyal to them will board their spaceship.”

“Wow,” said Jay. “Does the tinfoil keep aliens from reincarnating you?”

“The tinfoil is for different aliens,” said Uncle Featherway. “The mind-readers have battled the gold-miners for eons.”

“I see,” said Jay. “Faith told me you attended a lecture at Sheridan Cliff-Side College. Before you leave for Wyoming, could I interview you regarding Virgil Blue?”

“Sure,” said Uncle Featherway. “Blue didn’t say anything, though,”

“I want your impression anyway. When are you free?”

“After the funeral I’ll be waiting for my train in the sports-bar across the street. Hey, is that your friend over there? He’s pretty beaten up.”

“Oh. Excuse me.” Jay walked to Dan and pat his shoulder. “Dan, have you eaten today?”

Dan absorbed his tears with his black gloves. “I haven’t eaten since Faith died.”

“Let’s try eating, then. I’ll pay.”

Dan turned to the urns. The urns were framed by the river, which Jay thought was a fitting metaphor for impermanence. Dan concentrated on the scene like he wanted to freeze it forever in his memory. Finally they left the funeral. “Where should we go?”

“There’s a sports-bar across the street,” said Jay. “It’ll have the essentials.”

Dan declined to order. Jay ordered only water and bought Dan a tuna-sandwich. Dan picked crumbs from the bread until he built enough momentum to take a bite. Soon Dan discovered he was ravenous and finished the sandwich, so Jay bought him another.

“Thanks,” said Dan. “Jay, you’ve put up with me for a decade. Just… thanks.”

“Knowing you has been a pleasure,” said Jay. “I know Beatrice and Faith would say the same.”

“Really? I killed them.” Dan chewed his second sandwich. Jay didn’t know what to say. “Both of them are dead because of me.”

“What do you mean?”

“You know, I’m…” Dan put down the sandwich. “Can I order a drink?”

“Did you drive here?”

“I walked.” Jay ordered Dan a pint of stout. The pint was thick like mud, but its head was white cream. “Beatrice left the centipede-party because of me.” Dan drank half the pint the moment it was put before him. “I made her shake my hand and she couldn’t stand me anymore. She pretended she was called by the hospital and left in such a hurry she didn’t see the bus.”

“Dan, even if that were true, it wouldn’t be your fault.”

“And that’s assuming she didn’t throw herself under the bus to get away from me for good.”

“I can’t imagine she did.”

“And Faith—oh, poor Faith—”

“Faith was struck by lightning, Dan. That’s no one’s fault.”

“I looked so pitiful she offered to get breakfast,” said Dan. “I basically stabbed her in the back.”

“That’s wrong.”

Dan finished his pint and ordered another. He finished his sandwich while he waited for the drink. “I killed my dad, too.”

“I’m sure you didn’t, but I’m listening.”

Dan sipped the stout. “My parents were divorced, so I only saw my dad for a few hours a year at his university. Each year, he gave me a book. Before senior-year of high-school, my mom dropped me off in the campus courtyard and I climbed the stairs to his office. He asked how I enjoyed Dante’s Inferno, and I said it was the best book he ever gave me.

“So he gave me the Purgatorio and the Paradiso. I was taken aback; he’d never given me two books at once. Seeing my expression, he asked if I had any questions.

“I asked, ‘What happens to Dante’s guide, Virgil? I hope he was only put in Hell to lead Dante to God, and he’ll be admitted into Heaven for his service.’

“And he said, ‘I’m afraid the Virtuous Pagans are in Hell forever, but on the outer rim, their only punishment is distance from God’s light, which they never even knew in life. So they’re free! Wouldn’t you rather spend eternity with those rejected scholars than the stuck-up prudes in Heaven?’

“So I—” Dan interrupted himself by ordering another stout. The bartender topped off Jay’s water. “I asked him for more book-recommendations. Suddenly his face went pale and his hands shook, and he apologized for being absent most of my childhood, and for only interacting with me through academic literary discussions. I said that was okay, because it got me great grades in English, and I wanted to study religion in college.

“But he said there was so much more to life than reading books professors gave me. So I asked for books I wouldn’t see as a Religious-Studies major. If there was more to life, show me.

“He said, ‘Let me give you the essentials.’ He started with sci-fi. ‘This one’s based on Dante’s Inferno. It’ll make you look at religious texts in a new light. See, literature is written by people, and anyone can write anything. Fundamentally there’s no difference in legitimacy between this sci-fi novel based on Dante’s Inferno, the real Inferno, the bible, or the koran.’

” ‘Then how do you know what to believe?’

” ‘There’s no such thing as believing. Consciousness is neurological background radiation from which reality bubbles like particles and antiparticles.’ He passed me a physics textbook. ‘Everyone has a worldview implied by the alignment of their synapses. We mentally test hypotheses in this mental theater, making us reject some stimuli while seeking others.’

“He produced a thick tome. ‘Godel, Escher, Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid. Logic is no escape from the epistemological problems innate to the human condition. Rather, the infeasibility of complete and consistent logic points directly to the ultimate truth: the self is an illusion, arising from nothing and returning to nothing when it’s done.’

“He kept piling books in my arms. ‘Joseph Campbell and Carl Jung. You’ll see them as a Religious-Studies major, but they’re worth reading early. There’s a heartbeat behind humanity. The only permanent station is unity with the Universal Conceptualization of All Things. Says Krishna to Arjuna in the Bhagavad-Gita, ‘The body, the ego, the senses, the vital forces, and the indwelling monitor of the Ultimate Consciousness: whatever action a being performs, proper or improper, these five factors are its cause… Being one with the Ultimate Truth, joyous within the self, neither lamenting nor craving, equipoised to all things, one achieves transcendental devotion to me.’

” ‘Oh, and one more.’ He gave me the last book on the shelf. ‘The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy.’ ”

“While I struggled to fit the books in my backpack, my dad looked over the courtyard. ‘Dan, before you read the Purgatorio, you should know Dante’s Virgil is more tragic than you realize. His Aeneid saved a soul from Hell, yet Virgil is still barred from Heaven. In justifying Alighieri’s Almighty, I can only suggest that transporting souls to salvation would be more pleasurable to Virgil than Heaven. To grease cosmic mechanisms would be Virgil’s utilitarian delight. Every aspect of Hell is necessary to maintain Dante’s divine scheme, even the woods of suicides. So thank you for visiting me, because teaching you is the only resolution I could hope for. I know I’ve given you the tools to recover from what I’m about to do.’

“Then he stepped out the window. His body broke branches and he splattered on the ground. He died on the way to the hospital.”

“Oh. Wow.” Jay ordered Dan another tuna-sandwich and another pint. “I’m so sorry. I had no idea.”

“It’s okay,” lied Dan. He downed the stout.

“You didn’t kill him, though.”

“Recommending books was the only thing keeping him alive. I sucked that from him like a vampire.”

“You were the best aspect of life for someone obviously struggling.”

Dan bit his sandwich, but suddenly lost his appetite. “Anyway, you can see why school was difficult that year. The worst was in late May, when…”

Next Section
Commentary

Dan bit his nails while pacing in the airport lobby. Each time he turned, he checked the schedule on the opposite wall. Jay’s flight filtered to the top as his plane approached.

“How much longer, Dainty?” Faith stretched across four seats, threading herself under three armrests. “Why’d we come so early?”

“He’ll be here soon.” Dan scanned the misty morning sky for the shape of an airplane. The landing-strips were frosted and dewy. “I wanted to beat traffic.”

“It’ll be rush-hour on the way back,” said Faith. “Maybe I should drive us home so you don’t have to worry.”

“I can drive us home.”

“Are you sure?” Faith now crawled over the armrests. She wore a heavy white sweater, since the clouds looked like rain. “You bite your fingertips when you’re anxious, Dainty. If you have to drive in traffic, you’ll bleed on the steering-wheel.”

Dan resisted putting a finger in his mouth. “I’m not anxious about traffic.”

“Oh.” Faith collected herself in one seat. She crossed her ankles and clasped her hands in her sweater’s pocket. “I miss Beatrice too, Dan. She was my girlfriend. It’s gonna be okay.”

“I don’t want to talk about it.” Before he could stop himself, Dan found his index-finger between his lips.

“Well, can I get you something to eat? Maybe breakfast?”

Dan checked restaurants down the corridor. “Nothing here appeals to me.”

“Chips? Gum?”

“No, no.” Dan sighed and looked over the streets of Burbank. “A cinnamon-bun sounds good.”

“Oh? Where are they? I’ll buy three so you, JayJay, and I can share.”

Dan pointed out the window. Across the street, a diner advertised cinnamon-buns dripping with icing. “Let me give you some cash.”

“Don’t worry, they’re on me!” Faith pranced to the escalators. “If JayJay gets back before I do, tell him I missed him, okay?”

As soon as she left, Dan bit a fingernail. He tore more than the white crescent. The skin under the lost nail was magenta. Dan rubbed it to salt the wound.

If Faith saw the nail, she’d throw a fit. Well, no, but she’d coo sympathetically, and that was worse. Dan jogged to an airport convenience-store and bought black gloves. He didn’t wear them right away—he sat near Jay’s terminal and ate all the skin around his nails. When Jay’s plane broke through the clouds, Dan donned the gloves to hide his hands.

Jay was among the first to disembark. Dan waved. “Jay! Jay!”

“Dan! Oran dora!”

“How was the flight?”

“I survived.” The two hugged. “Is Faith here?”

“She’s buying breakfast. She told me to say she missed you. Did you get good pictures?”

Jay showed Dan his camera’s screen. “Look: these masked dancers lead to this circle of monks. They walk, they chant—it’s like the Kaaba, but there’s a bird in the middle. That’s why my framing is wonky: there are giant birds everywhere, and Sheridanians are emphatic about not photographing them. Here, this statue is actual-size, maybe even a little small.”

“Whoa.” Dan compared the bird-statue to pines in the background. “They must be eight feet tall.”

“Yep. The statue represents the Biggest Bird, a local folk hero. It’s not coddling a toddler, that’s supposed to be a grown man. It’s just not-to-scale.” Jay skipped to a photo of Virgil Jango Skyy. “I’ve never seen anything like Sheridan. You’ve got to go, Dan. You know more about religion than I do.”

Dan tried to press camera-buttons, but his black gloves were too bulky. “Maybe I can write my thesis on Sheridan. I’ll run it by my adviser.”

“Here, I got you a souvenir.” Jay gave him the orange plush fledgling. “I got one for Faith, too, and I bought seashells, but they’re being shipped. Where’s she buying breakfast?”

“She’s bringing buns from across the street.” Dan led Jay to the window overlooking the diner. “There she is.”

“She looks happy,” said Jay. Faith bounced on her toes waiting at the crosswalk with a bag of buns. “How about you, Dan? Are you feeling okay?”

“Oh, you know.” Dan sucked a gloved finger. “Not great.”

As Faith crossed the street, she saw Dan and Jay at the window and waved at them. “Hey! JayJay!” A speeding bus ran the red light and almost hit her head-on. Faith leapt to safety with a yelp. When her adrenaline wore off, she laughed and finished crossing the street.

Then she was struck by lightning. She left only a scorch on the sidewalk.

Next Section
Commentary

Jay penned Jango’s story in his notepad. Jango sniffed smoke from the brass burner before concluding: “Faith and Jango finished the cricket while walking to the monastery. ‘I think I’ve watched your brother’s anime,’ said Faith, ‘but I’m kinda hung up on the timeline here.’

” ‘The Mountain sent you from the next eternity to the mortal plane,’ said Jango. ‘The concept of causality collapsed when you crossed.’ Jango climbed a rocky ledge. Faith leapt it like she was weightless. ‘Clearly our meeting in Wyoming has not yet occurred. Where do we find each other?’

” ‘Sheridan.’

” ‘I suppose my pilgrimage is predestined by the Mountain,’ said Jango. ‘I’ll bring you a bug-stick. I owe you.’

” ‘Centipede too, please,’ said Faith. ‘My friend and I had lots of fun with it. But powdered! I think we’d be creeped out by all the legs.’ Steam started rising from her tail. ‘Uh oh. I’m evaporating. How embarrassing.’

” ‘You’re returning to the Mountain,’ said Jango. The fox watched her snow-torso bubble and pop. ‘Oran dora, Faith Featherway.’

” ‘I was only here like twenty minutes,’ said Faith. ‘This sucks.’

“As quickly as she’d appeared, Faith disintegrated into mist.” Virgil Jango Skyy smiled at Jay. “Consider this story, students. I hope you sleep soundly.”

---

After the sermon, Jango led Jay to the door. “Jay, we would love to let you spend the night.”

“I appreciate the offer, but my tour leaves in the morning.” Jay sloshed his lantern of oil. “Could you help me light this?”

“Of course, of course.” Jango pulled brown thread from his cane. He lit the thread on a candle and dipped the flame in Jay’s lantern to light the oily wick. “Please open this door. It’s heavy for me.”

Jay opened the door. He and Jango stepped onto flagstones flanked by fireflies. “I can’t thank you enough, Virgil Skyy. You have a beautiful monastery. Everyone will love the photos you’ve let me take.”

“One more for the road.” Jango posed with his cane and smiled. Jay crouched to capture the best views through the open doors. Virgil Blue had not moved from the courtyard.

“Does Virgil Blue need help?”

“Virgil Blue’s constitution is not what it used to be,” said Jango, “but they’re okay.”

“They’ll retire to the cloudy peak someday.” Jay checked the photo. “Right?”

“After they appoint a successor,” said Jango.

“I like the sand-dollar walls. The flickering candles make them look like eyes.”

“That’s intentional,” said Jango. “The final judgement will occur in the House of Eyes. There, the Biggest Bird will scrutinize our sins.”

“My friends Faith and Dan enjoy an anime like your little brother’s manga.” Jay scrolled through his camera’s photos. “In fact, I’ve had hallucinations a little like that anime.”

“Hallucinations come from the same place as everything else: the Biggest Bird. Her influence is seen in cultures worldwide.”

“I see. I guess it only makes sense there’d be some parallels.”

“There’s still time for questions.”

Jay thought. “Do you believe in… reincarnation?”

“Hm… When we die, we wake in the next eternity. If we make it to the Mountain, we become a Zephyr. But if you miss the Mountain, the sand eats your soul—so you’re reborn to try again.”

“I don’t understand,” said Jay. “You’re reborn when your soul is destroyed?”

“Of course,” said Jango. “Otherwise everyone would remember past lives.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Jay wrote the quote in his notepad. “Could someone be reborn, uh… alongside their previous life?”

Jango shrugged. “That’s not for me to know.”

“Do you know anything about pulled chains or spinning wheels?”

“Hey.” The old man bent his cane at him. “I’m not dropping the meaning of life in your lap. If you want the monk treatment, be a monk.”

“I see. Thank you, Virgil Skyy.” They both bowed and Jay helped Jango close the door behind him.

Before he left, Jay used his empty pastry-box to collect the shattered glass of Leo’s jar he broke. Then Jay circled the monastery to show Leo his lantern’s light. He killed time photographing nearby centipede-bushes. The bushes had more thorns than leaves, protecting their centipedes from harvest. Jay settled for the photos.

After an hour, Jay sighed and scanned the dark island. He did not see Leo’s red Hawaiian shirt. Maybe Leo had nabbed his centipedes and returned to the inn alone. Jay returned the way he came, hoping he had enough oil.

---

A night at the inn rejuvenated Jay. He ate a breakfast of coconut-meat and legumes while waiting for the others to wake. He thanked the innkeepers for loaning him the lantern and showed them photos of the monastery.

Eva sat beside Jay. “Jadie, did you see my husband last night? Henry didn’t come back to our room.”

“Oh, gosh. We met hiking to the monastery. I said I’d lead him back, but he didn’t want the help.”

“That sounds like Henry.”

“I assumed he came back without me. I’m really sorry. I hope he’s okay.”

“That makes one of us,” said Eva. Her daughter Lilly ate scrambled eggs without comment. “I’m sorry if he caused any trouble.”

“He seemed to want centipedes,” said Jay. “Maybe he’s still harvesting.”

“Typical.”

After breakfast, Michael led the tour to the river. He’d inflated inner-tubes and tied them to the bridge so they bobbed in the water. “The river will carry us to shore. Kids ride with a parent. Then we ferry to the airport. Hey, hey—we have an extra inner-tube.” Michael counted heads. “Where’s Henry?”

“I think he’s visiting the monastery,” said Eva. “He’s not answering his cellphone.”

Michael shook his head and climbed into an inner-tube. “When he decides to return to the inn, he can join whichever of my brothers is there that day.”

“Really? Could he?” Eva and Lilly shared an inner-tube. “Will Henry be imposing on them?”

“Sheridanians are always eager to help,” said Michael, “especially when the person in need is as kind and understanding as your husband.”

Jay chose an inner-tube beside Craig and Suzy. “[Zhang, Li Ying,]” he said in Mandarin, “[I’m glad to have journeyed with you.]”

“[We appreciated your company,]” said Craig.

“Oran dora,” said Suzy. “[We’re off to Easter Island next.]”

“Whee!” Lilly laughed and kicked when Michael cut her cord. Eva and Lilly floated down the river together. Then Michael cut Craig’s cord, and Suzy’s, and Jay’s, and his own, leaving Leo’s inner-tube tied to the bridge. Jay’s tube spun clockwise until it brushed the left bank and spun counterclockwise.

“I hope your husband is okay,” Suzy said to Eva. “How long have you been married?”

Eva held her daughter’s hand. “Since I was pregnant with Lilly.”

“It’s good you travel as a family,” said Craig. “Have you ever been to China?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“There are beautiful birds near a lake where we live,” said Suzy. “Maybe you could visit on your next bird-watching trip.”

“My name is Zhang,” said Craig.

“I’m Li Ying,” said Suzy. “We’d love to host you for a weekend.”

The river bumped Jay’s inner-tube against Michael’s. Michael grabbed Jay’s tube to keep them together. “Oran dora, Jadie.”

“Hi Michael. Thanks for the tour.”

“Did you deliver my letter?”

“I gave it to Virgil Jango Skyy,” said Jay. “But I wanted to ask about the bird-statue. Jango said it’s not a shrine at all, it’s the monastery’s mailbox. Did you know?”

Michael laughed. “I did, but tourists aren’t impressed by mailboxes. My brothers and I call it a shrine to get people interested. Eventually locals started burning incense and lighting candles inside, so the mailbox is always full, and contacting the monastery takes a trek. Thank you for delivering my letter.”

“Huh. No problem.”

Michael released Jay’s tube and the river carried them apart. Jay felt the water, clean and cool. Fish swam under him as he floated beneath bridges. Eventually the river became a timeless one, emptying into the infinite ocean.

Next Chapter
Commentary

Jango told Faith about returning to Kansas in his early fifties to stand on a concrete porch outside an apartment-building. Jango brushed wrinkles from his robes to clear his mind before knocking. A woman peeked through window-blinds and, seeing Jango, opened the door. “Can I help you?”

“Please, thank you. I’m looking for my brother Jun.”

“Jun doesn’t get many guests.” She led Jango down corridors. “He never mentioned a brother.”

“I haven’t come to Kansas in over a decade.”

“Your brother hasn’t left the apartment in about as long.” She stopped at a door with no room-number. “We let Jun rent the basement for cheap.”

Jango knocked, but no answer came. He opened the basement door. It smelled like an animal had lived there for years with little ventilation. “Jun?”

“Don’t turn on the lights.”

“Jun, oran dora!” Jango lifted his robes to step down the stairs. “I’m visiting from Sheridan! Why are you living in a basement?”

“To control the lights.” Jun hunched over his desk, aiming a spotlight at a pencil-sketch. He was slightly over forty-five and more than slightly overweight. “Only visiting, hm? You’re returning to Sheridan, then. Why bother coming back?”

“The Virgils taught me the importance of family.”

“And soon you’ll return to the Virgils to learn more about family.” Jun wiped eraser-crumbs onto the floor. “What a joke.”

Jango approached, but Jun didn’t turn. “You’re wounding me, brother.”

“I hope so.” Jun glanced over his shoulder. “Your hair is gone.”

“Sheridanians shave at religious sites. Most monks are always bald.”

“You’re still a monk? You’re not a Virgil yet yourself?” Jun brushed hair from his face. His mane was long and unwashed. “Mom and Dad weren’t happy when you left Kansas. Now you’re back after they’re dead, and you’re not even enlightened. How pathetic.”

“I’ve learned much from Sheridan. For many moons I danced with fledglings wearing only a bird-mask and feather-skirt. I walked circles until my feet blistered and sat chanting until my pelvis ached. Virgil Green pried my brain apart to show me the Biggest Bird.” Jun shook his head. Jango continued anyway. “With Virgil Green’s approval, I swam to the main island. It took twelve hours. For six hours I swore I would drown, and for the other six, I was drowning. When I crawled onto shore, a bird laid an egg in front of me and pierced the shell with its mate’s tail-feather. I drank the raw egg and it rejuvenated me. I hiked to the white-walled monastery in the manner of the birds, nude and sleeping in the road at night. At Virgil Blue’s monastery, I earned this sky-blue robe. After years of study, I decided to visit my brother, who surely missed me, and whom I missed dearly.”

“You never called, you never wrote.”

“I wrote as soon as I arrived at the monastery. I addressed my letter to our childhood home. You must have moved into this basement by then. Since I received no postage from you, I never learned your new address. You were difficult to find.” Jango sighed the matter away. “How’s the comic you’re drawing coming along?”

“It’s not a comic, it’s a manga. Not that you’d care. You always mocked me for watching cartoons and reading comics.”

“I know. I’m sorry.” Jango laced his fingers and let his sleeves cover his hands. “What was the cartoon we both liked? The anime, I mean? We watched it every Saturday in the nineteen-fifties. It was about combining dragon-robots.”

“Daitatsu no Kagirinai Hogo. The Great Dragon’s Eternal Guardianship.” At last Jun turned to acknowledge Jango’s presence. “You know, that title’s mistranslated. They probably thought the first word was dairyuu—” He wrote two characters on scratch-paper: a star and a moon in a hat beside a serpent. “The great dragon. But actually, it was daitatsu—” More characters: the same star and a foot stomping on a snake. “Initiating political action. Literally, to stand up. It’s a pun, because the word `dragon’ is sometimes pronounced tatsu. All of humanity fights as one, represented by the fully-combined dragon-robot.”

“This guy?” Jango retrieved from his sleeves a plastic figurine. Jun took it with trembling fingertips. “Virgil Blue received this on a pilgrimage to Japan.” Jun turned the figurine over and over. Each limb was a different color, combined with mechanical seams. “Under Virgil Blue’s bell-tower is a library of books from the past, present, and future. The Virgils annotate books as their relation to the Biggest Bird becomes understood. Among them is Daitatsu no Kagirinai Hogo‘s original manga run. Virgil Blue traveled to Tokyo to meet the author and gain insight for annotations. The author, seeing that Virgil Blue owned the full series before the final issues were even conceived, knew the Virgil to be divine and gifted them the figurine.”

Jun set the mini giant space-robot on his desk and tested the articulation. In the show, each colored limb could separate into an independent fighting-machine. “Virgil Blue. Isn’t that the old monk with the cane like a cricket, who stole you from the family?”

“Yes,” said Jango. “To be fair, I was over thirty when I left for Sheridan. I had a house and a job and a wife.” His little brother turned away. Jango knew he shouldn’t press the matter. “When I saw the manga, I told Virgil Blue I watched the anime with my brother. They showed me the figurine and I was awestruck. Blue insisted I pass it to you. There are no coincidences.”

“Say I believe you.” Jun penciled arcs. “There’s an ancient library renting out Daitatsu no Kagirinai Hogo. Why? Why’s that manga so important?”

Jango chewed his tongue. “When Virgil Green described the Biggest Bird with paradoxes, I wondered how one vessel could contain such contradictory aspects. Virgil Blue taught me that the Biggest Bird is the Mountain’s messiah, hence its rarer name, the Heart of the Mountain. To me, this was worse! The Mountain contains all things, so I didn’t care that it contained contradictions. Shouldn’t the Biggest Bird, the Mountain’s messenger, be lesser, not equally complex?

“But when I saw Daitatsu no Kagirinai Hogo in the library, I understood. The fully-combined dragon-robot isn’t piloted by all of humanity at once because disparate parts would bicker. Instead, groups of nations each nominate a pilot so the fully-combined dragon-robot represents all Earth’s variety trimmed of fat and hungry for battle. In the same way, we cannot comprehend the Mountain, but we can comprehend its Heart. So the Mountain paints its contrast in the Biggest Bird.”

At first Jun doubtfully sucked his lips, but eventually he shook his head in reluctant acceptance. “I want to write my own manga inspired by Daitatsu no Kagirinai Hogo. I’m done writing the story and finalizing the designs. Now I’m drawing the first issue.” Jun showed his older brother a sketch of a giant space-robot. Jango expected a stylized sci-fi mecha, but Jun’s robot had weirdly human proportions. Seams separated its arms and neck from its torso, but it had no legs. “In my story, the whole universe except the Milky Way was eaten by a cosmic horror called the Hurricane. These robots and their pilots are called Zephyrs, and they protect the galaxy.”

Jango rubbed his eyes to see detail. “The chest-pilot has a pony-tail.”

“That’s Princess Lucia. Everyone thinks she’s Earth’s last hope, but she dies giving birth due to grievous injury in battle. Her daughter Lucille surpasses her and takes the fight to the Hurricane.”

“I’m proud of you, Jun. Your art is quite distinguished.” Jango brushed his fingers over the dry ink. “You wrote it in Japanese?”

“Mom taught me,” said Jun. “When you escaped Kansas, our parents had one kid to carry their legacy. Mom taught me Japanese and Dad made me read him a Chinese newspaper before he gave up the ghost.”

“I’m afraid my Japanese is limited,” said Jango. “What’s the name of your manga?”

“LuLu’s Space-Time Acceleration. Transliterating to Japanese, LuLu is pronounced RuRu. Look at this kanji with the same pronunciation.” Jun showed him a cover he’d water-colored. One Ru looked like a winged woman holding a chainsaw. Instead of a second Ru, Jun had written a kanji meaning `the same kanji once more.’ It looked like a pointed flower blooming. “RuRu means continuous and unbroken to a meticulous extent. Only by exemplifying humanity’s every aspect can the Zephyrs triumph.”

“That’s a message from the heart, little brother.” Jango hugged Jun. Jun didn’t hug back, but Jango felt radiating affection.

“Tell me, big brother. What else is in Virgil Blue’s library?”

“Mostly books of philosophical and religious merit. That’s why the manga was such a surprise.”

“But is there any more manga?”

“Not that I know of,” said Jango, “but Virgil Blue says when I’m promoted to Virgil, I can read works from the future. If I find your manga, I’ll demand to annotate it.”

Jun sighed and took the drawings from Jango. “I don’t know if I ever want to publish LuLu’s. Maybe someday I’ll travel to Japan and pitch it to an animation studio.”

“I hope you do. When you’ve finished the ending, please send the whole series to me, because it belongs in Virgil Blue’s library.”

So saying, Jango returned to Sheridan.

Next Section
Commentary

 

Left and right were hallways of monks’ quarters cordoned with tapestries of solid color. Ahead opened a grassy courtyard. The young woman led Jay onto the grass, where a hundred silent monks sat cross-legged under the stars. Each wore a uniquely colored robe. All of them faced the back of the courtyard, where the monastery’s wings met and a bell-tower rose.

“[You brought enough for everyone.]” The woman opened Jay’s box of pastries. “[Right?]”

Jay handed a pastry to each monk. Their posture remained perfect and their eyes remained closed as they reached wordlessly for their pastry and put it in their lap. The monks increased in age as Jay approached the bell-tower. Many monks were bald, but some of the eldest had shaggy gray hair. Jay decided those must be Virgils.

The two monks closest to the bell-tower wore sky-blue and navy. The monk in navy had a heavy hood, a silver mask, and sat in a woven nest like those commemorating birds along the trail. Their body warmed porcelain eggs nestled around them.

When Jay held a sugar-powdered pastry for the sky-clad monk, the monk bopped Jay’s hand from below to toss the pastry in the air. He caught it in his mouth with his eyes closed. He giggled like a school-child and opened his eyes. He had one black pupil and one moon-like cataract, white as the pastry had been. “Oran dora,” he whispered.

“Oran dora,” whispered Jay. Jay held the last pastry to the monk in navy. They did not respond. Their silver mask depicted a bird’s face with buggy eyes.

“Virgil Blue cannot sense you,” said the sky-clad monk with the cataract. “Enjoy your pastry. You’ve hiked hard to get here.”

“I did,” said Jay, “because I have gifts for Virgil Jango Skyy.”

“Then sit beside him.” Jango Skyy pat the grass with age-veined fingers. “You must be weary from the elevation. The air’s thicker down here.”

Jay sat and unzipped his backpack. “A tour-guide named Michael gave me this letter.”

“It’s not addressed to me,” said Jango.

“I know, but I hoped you could deliver it to Michael’s children, nieces, and nephews.” Jay pulled Faith’s envelope from his backpack. “I’m afraid this one’s not addressed to you either.”

Jango admired the front of Faith’s holiday-card. He opened the card and inspected her hand-drawn fox. He turned her bug-stick. “Excellent wing-work.”

“My friend Faith Featherway said she owed you a bug-stick. Is that why you expected me?”

“I expected Faith, but an ambassador with her banner will suffice. The Mountain metes what means it may. Welcome to Virgil Blue’s courtyard. Did you climb here just to give gifts?”

“I’m a photographer.” Jay showed Jango his camera. “You gave Faith centipede-powder in Wyoming. She shared it with me, and I was intrigued. I had to meet the men behind the bugs. Before I left, Faith gave me that card and cricket. I know she’d be here if she could be.”

Jango took the camera and scrolled through photos. He had unbecoming digital-savvy for someone so old. “Wise to take such careful photos of Virgil Green’s congregation. They’re quite protective of their matriarch.” At the next photo, Jango flinched. The reaction made Jay flinch as well, but as Jango examined more photos, he laughed and punched Jay in the shoulder. “You had me worried with the mailbox.”

“I’m sorry?”

The old monk returned Jay’s camera, displaying the stone statue of a bird sheltering a toddler on a box of candles. “The mailbox. My vision isn’t as good as it used to be, and that’s a small screen. I thought it was a real bird.”

“Oh, no! I wouldn’t take photos if it were.”

“Why’s it filled with candles? I’m expecting a package.”

“Michael said it was a shrine to a bird who saved a child.”

“Eeeccht.” Jango hocked with disapproval. “Back when any-and-all bird-forgery was forbidden, Nemo, the first Virgil Blue, carved the statue to represent the Biggest Bird. Only his holy hands could depict it. That’s no child, it’s Nemo, full-grown, for scale. It’s a donation-box, but I use it as my address for incoming mail. I guess nowadays it’s a shrine to a bird who saved a child.” Jango stood, bracing himself against the bell-tower, and he walked leaning on a cane like a giant wing-wrapped cricket. “This reminds me of a story. What’s your name, fledgling?”

“Jay.” Jay hesitated to help the old monk, as he seemed able enough on his own.

“Jay, bring that brass incense-burner.” Jango unwrapped Faith’s bug-stick. Dan’s wing-work had preserved the odorous exoskeleton. Jay opened the brass burner and Jango stuck the cricket in it, butt-down. He shook one sleeve and a purple lighter fell into his hand. He lit the cricket’s eyes and Jay closed the burner. “Oran doran, doran dora. Virgils and students, tonight’s closing remarks will be in English to accommodate our visitor. Enjoy your pastries! Jay brought tonight’s dessert and tonight’s cricket.”

The crowd looked at Jay just as he chewed his pastry. Jay panicked and swallowed. “The cricket was wrapped by Virgil Orange,” he said, not really knowing why. The woman who had opened the door waved at him.

“Jay is a photographer. Everyone say cheese!” The monks all smiled until Jay took a photo. “Jay is friends with Faith Featherway, whom I’ve met twice before: once ten years ago in Wyoming, once ten years prior to that quite locally.”

Jay didn’t understand, but he wouldn’t interrupt. He prepared his notepad as Virgil Jango Skyy lectured to the congregation.

“Once, Virgil Skyy was sitting beside Virgil Blue on a misty morning,” said the old monk, in the third person. “Jango stood and pat dew from his robes. ‘Virgil Blue, have you considered retirement?’

“Virgil Blue said nothing.

” ‘You’ve said nothing for years,’ said Jango. ‘You’re stationary like a thorny centipede-bush. It might be time to choose a successor.’

“Virgil Blue said nothing.

“So Jango decided to take a walk. He left the monastery and stepped down steep cliffs—there were no carved steps so long ago, but Jango was spry enough to make do—and greeted birds hiking up. Oran dora!”

The students concurred: “Oran dora!”

“At each bridge, Jango drank from the river and bowed to Virgil Green’s island. He thanked Virgil Green for chasing snakes from Sheridan. Oran dora!”

“Oran dora!”

“Jango came to a bird-statue shading a stone man with its wings. The bird and man stood on a stone box with a hinged panel. Jango bowed to it. Oran dora!”

Even Jay joined: “Oran dora!”

“Jango sat before the bird. He saw smoke seeping from the box’s hinged panel and said, ‘Someone lit incense in this shrine. I should sit and contemplate the Biggest Bird until the incense burns down and the smoke stops seeping.’

“So Jango sat and watched smoke seep from the box. Six silent minutes passed.

” ‘I’d like to see the incense directly,’ said Jango, ‘but I’m too old and achy to open the shrine’s hinged panel. I can only hope someone comes to help me, but if no one appears, I suppose it is not the Mountain’s whim.’

“No one appeared.

“After some time, Jango said: ‘If one of my students would miraculously open the shrine, I would be nothing but grateful.’

“Now the box opened and a monk-boy crawled out groveling for forgiveness. He wore red robes and held a lit cricket. ‘I’m sorry, Virgil Skyy! I know monks shouldn’t smoke outside ceremonies, so I found this hidden place to indulge. I didn’t know it was a shrine! I’ve spoilt holy ground!’

” ‘Don’t worry. This is just our mailbox. You’re my only postage in ages. Pass me your bug-stick.’ Jango traded the bug-stick for a pine-needle. ‘When I was young, but not young as you, I sought to smoke a bug-stick within the monastery. Before sunrise, I sat in the furnace so my smoke wafted up the flue. Then Virgil Blue woke to bring logs. They opened the furnace and I blew smoke right in their face, before they wore a mask. They could have disowned me, but instead they taught me this: when you want to smoke a bug-stick, eat a pine-needle first. This promotes moderation. Now, away!’ The monk-boy ran, chewing the pine-needle.

“When the monk-boy left, Jango put the cricket to his lips. It was burned to the stem, so the smoke was harsh and made Jango cough. The cough hung in the air like a cloud. The cloud snowed into a heap and the heap addressed him: ‘Jangster, it’s you!’

“Jango examined the smoldering cricket-butt. ‘I’ve lost my tolerance. I’m already having visions.’

” ‘Haha, I’m real, silly!’ The heap of snow shuddered and became a fox. Its tail was icy fog. ‘I’m Faith Featherway! Don’t you remember me?’

” ‘I can’t say I do, and I really think I would.’

” ‘We met in Wyoming! I told you my friend had a cat named Django? You said you owed me a bug-stick, and you taught me to smoke them? You gave me centipede-powder!’

” ‘I haven’t left the islands in decades. Why would I visit Wyoming? Why would I give you centipede-powder?’

” ‘You know, I meant to ask you the same questions,’ said Faith. ‘It was pretty puzzling. Here, take this!’ From behind her ear, she withdrew a cricket larger and more exquisitely wrapped than any earthly specimen. Jango knew its origin waited in the next eternity, the Mountain of the Dead. ‘The Heart of the Mountain told me to exchange it for a lesson from the Virgils.’

” ‘On this island there’s just me and Blue, and the Blue Virgil isn’t in a speaking mood.’ Jango shook a white lighter from his sleeve. ‘Allow me the honor of administering your lesson.’ Jango and Faith walked to the river and he lit the cricket. Without opposable thumbs, she adopted a peculiar manner of smoking, lying down to rest the cricket on her forearm. ‘As an emissary from the Mountain’s Heart, the Biggest Bird, you must be a Zephyr. Correct?’

” ‘Nah, you’ve gotta be properly inside the Mountain to be a Zephyr,’ said Faith. ‘I’m just a Will-o-Wisp.’

” ‘Let me tell you about the Zephyrs, then. I first met the Zephyrs when I visited my hometown in Kansas.’

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