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.:. National Geographic 40 When the day went fiat, when in one summer morning I'd done all there was to do on the face of the earth-twelve blocks I knew too well-when I'd traveled to my borders and between, everything exhausted as I sat on a curb, wondering what in the world could fill the hours, it was to the glowing yellow stacks of National Geographic in the attic that I turned. In the almost cool room one bare low-watt bulb shined toward the dark musty corners as I slid one slim spine from the others. Inside lay the mystery of the distant: the moons of Jupiter, monkey temples in Siam, the lives of Eskimos, desert nomads and their nasty camels. I left the old neighborhood behind, traveling place to place-Kathmandu, Madagascar, Machu Picchu-entranced, anticipating what I knew lay ahead on those waxy pages: the body of some young African woman, her breasts sagging with dust or gleaming with oil, paint, intricate tattoos I imagined I myself might fashion with the touch of my palm and the loud, loud drum of my heart. At the edge of another world whose fevers I did not know but sensed I would suffer with pleasure, in the half-dark attic my eyes opened wide like the eyes of her childrenholding tiny bows or blowguns, toeing the skull of a wild pigand I was revived, ready to hunt the leafy backyards once more. Silly games behind me, until dark I dragged my warm belly over the earth and breathed beyond its rich summer funk the scent she left and I followed, savage, new worlds now mine to conquer. 41 ...

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