i realize this may come off as new agey. you might smirk. but i liked it, and its parts, and. (nod)
so that's all.
/
Alice of the Fine Parts
Abie Hadjitarkhani
One
And Alice of the Fine Parts flung herself at the dirt so that the Earth might swallow her. The grasses shook off their dewey tears. The insects rumbled sadly elsewhere. The burrowing mammals dug themselves deeper away. But the Earth seemed to take no notice.
And Alice of the Fine Parts flung herself repeatedly at the Earth in the hope that it would eventually swallow her. Lianas collapsed in heaps. Anthills rose up like towers of soft, grainy anguish. Cattle lowed mightily. But still the Earth took no notice. And after more days than her memory held, and half as many nights, Alice remained undaunted, and at last the Earth took notice, grabbing angry at her ankle with a loamy hand.
"Tell me one true thing," said the Earth.
"There is the wind in the leaves of the walnut tree behind my house," said Alice. "There are the footsteps of the birds and the rain on the roof."
"Those things are all true," said the Earth, "but they are more than one."
"They are also one," replied Alice.
"Yes," said the Earth. "And why are you called Alice of the Fine Parts?"
"I have many qualities, each finer than the last, and all finer than the rest. Alas, they are so many and so different, that they do not make a whole."
"Why would you wish to be apprehended all at once?"
"All I can tell you," said Alice, "is that it's what I want."
"We shall see," said the Earth. "In any case, I will not open up and I will not swallow you. I know you are persistent, but I am immovable. Go back to your house with the walnut tree behind it, go back to your birds and rain. And we shall see."
"I have had eyes all my life, and I have not seen. I can no longer bear the truth of the wind in the leaves of the walnut tree. And I cannot bear the truth of the footsteps of the birds and the rain on the roof. If you will not swallow me, I will ask your sister the Sea."
"Ask her if you wish, but in any case we shall see."
Two
Saint Swan of the Sorrows, as a favor to his sister the Sea and his sister the Earth, folded his heart in three times on itself, wound the wind around his eyes, swallowed the fire from the pigeon's breast, and took the form of a tree, tall and wide, with an opaque, straw-colored sap that, when dried, became a viscous, flexible material quite useful in industry. The Witoto called it caoutchouc, the weeping tree, and for generations they slashed its bark in spiral strips with long, gentle knives, letting the milk drop onto leaves where it could be molded by hand into vessels and sheets, impermeable to the rain. Saint Swan of the Sorrows felt each cut three times over, amplified in the wind's echo, burning with the pigeon's fire, and bore it all with humor neither good nor bad. He did not love the way we fail to love each other, or the way the man called Jesus is said to have loved us all; he loved because he was, and he might as well love as not.
The Arawakans felled the rubber tree with the same knives they had used to cut the bark, cutting slowly, methodically, less out of respect for the spirit of Saint Swan of the Sorrows than out of an abiding fear of the angry Sea and her angry sister the Earth. They carried the great log over one river high into the cold mountains, and then across the same river again, farther upstream, to the even colder mountains that lay higher up still. There they heated coals in fires kindled by the sloth's lies and by the anxiety of the spider monkey at the sound of the jaguar's tail in the air above the leaves. They charred the great rubber tree until it was white, luminous and smooth and longer than the river is wide.
Three
Because the Sea is infinite and cold and shifting, and
because her sister the Earth is infinitely compassionate in
her own eternally angry way, because Hope never goes
unpunished, and because Love is not Love that does not
destroy, Alice of the Fine Parts never knew of Saint Swan
of the Sorrows and his sacrifice. Alice of the Fine Parts
never knew of the Witoto who collected the sap. Alice
of the Fine Parts never knew of the Arawakans who labored
six years and seven nights in the service of the cold Sea
and her sister the solid Earth. Alice of the Fine Parts knew
only that the Sea's hands around her ankles were, to her
surprise, warmer than the angry hands of the Earth. Alice
of the Fine Parts knew also that we are all sisters of the
Earth and sisters of the Sea. Alice of the Fine Parts knew
many other things, which were also the same thing, many
things she did not know she knew until she knew at last
and briefly the truth of being whole, held in the arms of
the rubber tree, clutched between the ankles of Sea,
buried in the belly of the Earth.
so that's all.
/
Alice of the Fine Parts
Abie Hadjitarkhani
One
And Alice of the Fine Parts flung herself at the dirt so that the Earth might swallow her. The grasses shook off their dewey tears. The insects rumbled sadly elsewhere. The burrowing mammals dug themselves deeper away. But the Earth seemed to take no notice.
And Alice of the Fine Parts flung herself repeatedly at the Earth in the hope that it would eventually swallow her. Lianas collapsed in heaps. Anthills rose up like towers of soft, grainy anguish. Cattle lowed mightily. But still the Earth took no notice. And after more days than her memory held, and half as many nights, Alice remained undaunted, and at last the Earth took notice, grabbing angry at her ankle with a loamy hand.
"Tell me one true thing," said the Earth.
"There is the wind in the leaves of the walnut tree behind my house," said Alice. "There are the footsteps of the birds and the rain on the roof."
"Those things are all true," said the Earth, "but they are more than one."
"They are also one," replied Alice.
"Yes," said the Earth. "And why are you called Alice of the Fine Parts?"
"I have many qualities, each finer than the last, and all finer than the rest. Alas, they are so many and so different, that they do not make a whole."
"Why would you wish to be apprehended all at once?"
"All I can tell you," said Alice, "is that it's what I want."
"We shall see," said the Earth. "In any case, I will not open up and I will not swallow you. I know you are persistent, but I am immovable. Go back to your house with the walnut tree behind it, go back to your birds and rain. And we shall see."
"I have had eyes all my life, and I have not seen. I can no longer bear the truth of the wind in the leaves of the walnut tree. And I cannot bear the truth of the footsteps of the birds and the rain on the roof. If you will not swallow me, I will ask your sister the Sea."
"Ask her if you wish, but in any case we shall see."
Two
Saint Swan of the Sorrows, as a favor to his sister the Sea and his sister the Earth, folded his heart in three times on itself, wound the wind around his eyes, swallowed the fire from the pigeon's breast, and took the form of a tree, tall and wide, with an opaque, straw-colored sap that, when dried, became a viscous, flexible material quite useful in industry. The Witoto called it caoutchouc, the weeping tree, and for generations they slashed its bark in spiral strips with long, gentle knives, letting the milk drop onto leaves where it could be molded by hand into vessels and sheets, impermeable to the rain. Saint Swan of the Sorrows felt each cut three times over, amplified in the wind's echo, burning with the pigeon's fire, and bore it all with humor neither good nor bad. He did not love the way we fail to love each other, or the way the man called Jesus is said to have loved us all; he loved because he was, and he might as well love as not.
The Arawakans felled the rubber tree with the same knives they had used to cut the bark, cutting slowly, methodically, less out of respect for the spirit of Saint Swan of the Sorrows than out of an abiding fear of the angry Sea and her angry sister the Earth. They carried the great log over one river high into the cold mountains, and then across the same river again, farther upstream, to the even colder mountains that lay higher up still. There they heated coals in fires kindled by the sloth's lies and by the anxiety of the spider monkey at the sound of the jaguar's tail in the air above the leaves. They charred the great rubber tree until it was white, luminous and smooth and longer than the river is wide.
Three
Because the Sea is infinite and cold and shifting, and
because her sister the Earth is infinitely compassionate in
her own eternally angry way, because Hope never goes
unpunished, and because Love is not Love that does not
destroy, Alice of the Fine Parts never knew of Saint Swan
of the Sorrows and his sacrifice. Alice of the Fine Parts
never knew of the Witoto who collected the sap. Alice
of the Fine Parts never knew of the Arawakans who labored
six years and seven nights in the service of the cold Sea
and her sister the solid Earth. Alice of the Fine Parts knew
only that the Sea's hands around her ankles were, to her
surprise, warmer than the angry hands of the Earth. Alice
of the Fine Parts knew also that we are all sisters of the
Earth and sisters of the Sea. Alice of the Fine Parts knew
many other things, which were also the same thing, many
things she did not know she knew until she knew at last
and briefly the truth of being whole, held in the arms of
the rubber tree, clutched between the ankles of Sea,
buried in the belly of the Earth.