Pricksongs & Descants (7 page)

(third national they calls it but spite of that it
’
s clear I
’
ve took a hankerin to it all right don
’
t plot my trackin but seems as how we come on it often enough: silver poplars and old old beeches blowin wistcd measures in the green breeze the mingled elms and hazels and westerlies shiftin the flickerin shadows and a clean brook for moonbathin and drownin the lice in and wanderin ivy
-
tendrils and foxglove and colocasia mingled with the laughin acanthus and a sweet bluegrass bed half
-
foot spongy: ain
’
t the happiest valley mebbe but it
’
s happy enough it
’
s happy enough/and old Rameses he savors it here too damn if he don
’
t he
’
s gettin old that boy why I have to damn near bu
ll
whip him ever time to make him decamp this little old dell he sure don
’
t cater none to these long ramblins hasty grub-bins and don
’
t say as I blame him neither/besides this place it
’
s somethin nice well sure it
’
s true they
’
s some tourists here most of the time but I tell ye they ain
’
t bad they don
’
t really bother us none it ain
’
t them that
’
s buggin us and after all you know I ain
’
t the antisocial type in fact it pleasures me no little somewhat to pipe for the younguns tickle em into dancin a round or two and their old folks they like it too don
’
t let em kid ye otherhow/then top of all that why now and again on
luc
k
y
days I even experiences an occa
sion to stick the old staff mongst the tender herbage as the poet says: a hurried little tourist
-
humpin in the copse when the cops ain
’
t heedin
yes
by damn!
women
! can
’
t say as old Morris ever passed a one up: why I
’
ve took on everthin short of newborns and old corses/well ceptin for one mebbe but that there
’
s another story a tender folklay outa the callow prepubes: it was a sunny midday in the hot bulge of spring drove the flock into a grove of massy old oaks dipped my taut untuftcd flesh in the cool runlet nearby reposed alongside afterward blouse wrapped round my breech lettin old phoebus lap me dry made my first squawky boggles on a set of reeds looked up and whaddaya know? seen this here little goosegirl just stretched out beside me! well I was just a youngun I jolted up and grabbed on my breeches showin forth my shiny white croup and that lifted a titter outa her/then snug in my leatherns I let her tug me down longside her and so we got to talkin I said it sure was a nice day wasn
’
t it? and she said yes it sure was a nice day at that and I said her
geese
was mighty pretty and white and she said my sheep they was pretty and white too and just then one of em dumb up on another one and damn if that didn
’
t set
both
of us to gigglin / swan! sure seems silly now to talk back on it/she said the sun was in her eye and pulled me down to shade her I efforted a parched kiss her sweet breath reekin of pogonias broad crescent smile starchy folds of springfrock listin over limbcurves and heftin in flushed breezes her toes to the sun old ganders circlin as if in sacred pieties lilywhite fingers fondlin my loose leatherns and grabbin hold like of a she-goat
’
s milkswoln udder her eyes glittery brown beckonin me and me composin mad poetries in the back of my agitated skull nervous unbuttoned the flowered bodice whitebright breasts slud out of shadows my tremblin lips bent to the nubbins—foul taste! reared back!
goosebit by damn
! scarred and bloodied one blue pap flappin free and crudded under with some mucusy gop like to made me retch right there in her poor silly face it did!/clutched my mouth and backed off her pulled on my togs and all the time the little goosegirl just lay rigid by the runlet bruised boobies to the breeze and grinnin that mad as mad widetoothed moonshaped grin
jumpin juniper
! I switched my surprised flock up outa that there grove fast as they would scat just left that goosegirl alyin there them geese paradin around her in that solemn circle and you know let me tell ye I could make out the unsubtle arc of her big mounded belly a mile away till the next by god mountain cut off my view! damn! well I ain
’
t never been back there I can certain ye that but I done some things since well who knows
?
mebbe even worse yeah mebbe —
oh-oh
!
hey you know Rameses it looks like we just might have to move on damn if it don
’
t! just seen that there little plumpbodied scout of theirs up behind that knob there! they
’
ll be on us by—ah! don
’
t look at me like that old trouper! tain
’
t my fault! and look we still got all night ain
’
t we? the third national! well odd number
’
s god
’
s delight and ain
’
t it so ?)

Dr. Peloris drew up a detailed set of assignments, instructed the team on basic methodology. But before the expedition could get under way, an unforeseen incident occurred: Polly disappeared. Nan cursed, Boris shook his old shaggy head. An entire day was lost in the search. We came across her at last alongside one of the park canals in the Third National, her plump white body splayed out in a bed of plastic nasturtiums, eyes glazed over, simpering smile on her flushed red lips.

“
Poll on the sward,
”
clucked Nan, and macrofilmed the scene.

“
Morris?
”
demanded Dr. Peloris of the girl.

“
Morris was not here.
”
Polly
’
s slow uneven voice reached us from a hollow echoing distance.
“
No. Not him.
”
Rugged announce ment I A man knelt, blessed himself in the blood of the wound.

“
Morris!
”
cried the doctor paling, but by then the man had disappeared.

A gloomy uneasy silence settled over the group. This had been entirely unexpected by most. Dr. Peloris probed the girl, then dictated a field report to her aide, detailed the apparent causes and effects.
“
And, oh, Nan,
”
the doctor concluded in a clear voice that reached us all:
“
seal it with a cygnet ring.
”
Her everready humor broke the spell. We laughed heartily, stood eager and ready to be of service. Cheerfully, we received our equipment, motored to our posts. It was the beginning of the end for old Morris.

Meanwhile, the bearded sheepherder popped up in one park after another. He eluded us less frequently now. Upon sighting him, we recorded his behavior for approximately four hours, then made an intentional appearance to set him trotting again. The sheep were slow, grazed all too leisurely, slept, drank, bred, shat across the green spaces of our public places, nubbing the last of the old hills. Could Morris have made it without them? The question is academic. Morris included them, they him, his speed was describable only by theirs.

(as if I ain
’
t havin troubles enough old Ramescs stages him an insurrection the sonuvabitchl had it in for his old buddy Morris ever since I cropped his marbles and hell I didn
’
t wanna do it but the stock was multiplicatin past all reason and I had to halt it somewheres they was draggin me down to a near standstill: tried to explain it to the old tup but he wouldn
’
t listen had to get his daily diddle he did so what could I do
?
I roasted a coupla the younger lads and docked the old ram but no I shouldn
’
ta done it by damn! shouldn
’
ta done it! old RamesesI whatever got into me? if I just had time to sit down and think I i£ you
’
re gonna eunuch cm you gotta do it young by damn/so that did it he sets about to right the score and so this here afternoon we make the hard trek up into the big hills find us a green knob and settle us down for a breather we
’
re staggerin sick from runnin and dimbin just too much! had to leave a poor old ewe behind on accounta she was just too slow from carryin I left her with no one to care for her damn near made me cry/but now then the sun was lowerin peaceful down in the plain the flock grubbin the good mountain clover and me with a big slab of roast ram outa my pack my cup frothin with snowy white milk and first thing you know I
’
m noddin off dr
e
amin of the old country the slender maids and soft halfforgotten lays me spread out with a fancy little phyllis of just fourteen and never yet mown and I
’
m just creepin in her kirtle with her pantin fast and tonguin my ear when I wakes of a sudden finds me in the midmost of the motherin flock one of the old girls nudgin me in the face with her wet nose and old Rameses
’
bells clangin not far off/can
’
t see plain at first sun down and moon just a fingernail but yes! they
’
re buttin me towards the old ram! still got my fuddled mind on the old country and can
’
t arrange the landscape straight for a moment: but then it hits me! the precipice
!
them goddamn ewes is nosin me towards the precipice!
oboy I try like hell to haul my feet under me but them bitches just knock me down again can
’
t hardly see nothing only just their white wool rollin spooklike in the moonlight their hooves and black faces blocked out by the nightdark and I keep hearin them bells like a tinny dirge gettin nearer and nearer
jumpin juniper!
a goner
by god! and my heart
’
s poundin and I
’
m mebbe even screamin and then oh my god I catch a clear horrifical glim of the edge: pale vision of the plains way down below/old Rameses he
’
s slowly givin ground edgin aside to grant me space to slip of! and away and I furious grab out at the old gruff but all I get is his damn bells and the ewes ain
’
t pushin directly now the old bellwether is movin aside but they
’
re fumblin around clumsy and confused and I know I gotta go any minute—but suddenly quicklike I clap the bells on the nearest mother and send her flyin and janglin off to the right and over the cliff: half the flock follows her over before you can
’
t hear the bell no more me clutchin at last and hangin on to old Rameses
’
hind hoof/and then finally it
’
s over and I stagger over by the rocks collapse grabbin for breath Rameses his troops cut to ribbons droops in retreat to the nearby copse can
’
t sleep all night myself but by mornin I can see the old ram and I have found our truce: what
’
s left to trouble us won
’
t be neither of us)

Data streamed daily into Dr. Doris Peloris
’
skyhigh headquarters. Only rarely did Morris escape our network of observers now, and then but briefly. His least event was recorded on notepad, punch-card, film, tape. Observers reported his noises, odors, motions, choices, acquisitions, excretions, emissions, irritations, dreams. His longest disappearance lasted only three days: at the end o£ that time, some dead sheep were discovered in a ravine, Morris located up in the mountains, so-called, less than an hour later. The report was rushed to Dr. Peloris, high above the City.

“
Little matter,
”
the doctor replied, smiling warmly, turning from her machines.
“
We have him now.
”

Instructions were given to wait for a few hours, then harass him down out of the mountains. Dr. Peloris moved Expedition Head quarters to a skillfully concealed bivouac area within the Third National Park. There, she prepared the reception for the old shepherd.

“
You see, Nan,
”
she explained to her aide that evening,
“
it is now certain that Morris will camp here in this valley, beside this canal and that grove, within five days. The order of his disorder, as exposed by Boris
’
charts and the processed data, forces him to do so no matter what operations his mind might undertake in order to arrive at what he would tend to think of as a decision. Unless, of course, it included the foreknowledge that we await him here. And who knows? perhaps even this knowledge would not suffice to break the power of pattern over mere mind-activity. Were the situation not so critical, I might enjoy the experiment.
”
Nan smiled faintly, lit the doctor
’
s cigarette.
“
Certain precautions will make our job easier, Nan. Please request that the water in the canal be generated with slightly increased velocity, and if necessary, create small obstructions that break the surface. Until Morris is captured there are to be no overcast skies. If this order conflicts seriously with some other department, you are at liberty to alter it to pertain to nights only, but under no circumstances are there to be clouds from mid night until about one hour after dawn.
”