Nathan
Leslie
The
Flight
My
companion sprinkles the ashes of his dead wife in his stew each evening.
The rest he keeps in an old pouch at his side. As for me, my wife
was sent down the river to us in a basket pierced through with arrows
and daggers of every sort. I withdrew each from her body, and buried
her in the gray stones of this desert. In my satchel I keep these
instruments to someday seek my revenge upon my enemies. This is unlikely.
My companion and I do not speak of it.
My bird
consoles us as we flee from the band of men that hunt us. We never
want for food. Just this morning she caught us a fine hare, and this
evening a wild duck by the banks of the river. Roots and wild herbs
grow plentifully by this river, though it runs low in the dry season.
My bird has been with me as long as I can recall, since I was a boy,
and she sleeps guarding my head. At night I dream of rabid animals,
and awake with the moon still in the sky.
To my
companion the world is upside down. He says that this encroachment
is a sign that the order of the world is not right. I am undecided,
for as I take my bird in hand and flush the brambles by the river,
a peace settles over me. As I release the jesses to let her soar above
and scream downwards towards the soft belly of the hare, I am as content
as ever. Yet, perhaps I am deluded. Perhaps the gods have tricked
me into a false state of contentment. My wife is murdered, as I may
be soon, yet the bird glides regardless, kills its prey and consumes.
Her world is not upside down.
I bring
the hare back to camp, and my companion and I skin it and make a meal
for ourselves, as we may not eat again until the next day. We pack
our belongings quickly and decide to head away from the river, where
they might expect us to be. As we stride forward, I sweep the markings
of our escape route for miles, and the bird sleeps softly on my shoulder
under the raging rays of this sun.
Copyright
© 2001 Nathan
Leslie
All Rights Reserved