Cannibal

2

u f i e ar e seate d unde r stars . W e ar e seate d o n th e thi n white ski n o f a cal f wit h th e fu r stil l on , th e hai r o n th e hide tha t i s as stiff a s my mother' s Iris h hair i n black. Bu t now almos t white ? Th e month s ar e years here . I feel ho w long i t take s fo r th e ligh t o f thes e star s t o arriv e i n suc h whiteness, in clusters which would be cruelly unfamiliar i f I kne w whic h wer e whic h a t hom e o r eve n notice d the m • 1 4 2 there unde r al l tha t electri c ligh t an d movi e ligh t an d T V glow tha t put s ou t mos t o f th e star s excep t fo r o n th e Fourth o f July when people see them because they look up, and try to blow them ou t with fireworks . Today i s th e Fourth . O f cours e I am no t sure , on e da y I was sick an d maybe I skipped a day and maybe not, mayb e I put i n tw o day s since that kin d o f fever i s a blackout an d a stretch, a bulb burning ou t whe n you'r e not looking . Bu t if it is the same day on this ball Earth, under thes e stars, i t is righ t tha t ther e i s a radi o tha t play s thi s musi c tha t makes yo u wan t t o lif t you r leg s eve n i f the y hav e bee n lifted al l day , musi c wit h word s abou t ho w bomb s flare a t either sunse t o r rise—the smal l light o f stars being at bot h ends of the sun's doings—and about flags. People move in the dark against the radio and before th e stars. The y ar e wha t i s s o valiantl y waving , i n th e thic k smoke of the fire which is made from dr y dung to keep bugs off, an d th e smok e o f th e pipe s fro m a shar p stron g lea f which, whe n burnt , isn' t inhale d bu t held , bu t non e o f th e smoke h e sometime s make s ou t o f th e leave s fro m a suit case that th e people who are missing fingers an d noses an d even fee t dea l unde r th e tree s i n bigge r places . A t leas t I don't thin k so . We have been walking all day and not stop ping and the suitcase which he uses as a seat when we res t was not opened. But I don't know. He could have, in smok e this thic k wit h thi s kin d o f music , wit h peopl e her e an d not here. Except no t now . No w h e i s singing . He stand s b y a pil e of dr y dun g waitin g t o bur n an d put s hi s arm s ou t an d moves his mouth an d th e words seem t o come out o f him , these word s tha t som e po p sta r i n a gol d stretc h lowcu t 15 • something accordin g t o th e announce r i s beltin g ou t i n a high pitch to people in bleachers. His lip s mov e agains t wha t littl e ligh t ther e i s betwee n the smok e an d th e star s an d th e fire, hi s hands bea t o n hi s chest a t...