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“Sing in Me, Holy One, and Through Me” by Rob MacWolf (part 2 of 2)
The obsidian mansions plume themselves that they need not the sky.
And so the wind must come again to teach them how to die.
The wind shall break their furnaces, and fling their wheels above.
They shall know not how to stop it. They know not its love.
Today’s story is the second and final part of “Sing in Me, Holy One, and Through Me” by Rob MacWolf, who heard it on the wind but couldn’t say where the wind got it. You can find more of his work in anthologies from the Furry Historical Fiction Society, and on his SoFurry gallery.
Read by the author. Musical engineering by Solomon Harries.
Last time, a nameless coyote drifter appeared in a feud-wracked frontier town, and in the lives of Bethany Smith, the town belle, and Luis Huerfano, the hired ranch hand who works for her parents’ rivals. Whenever the stranger sings, anyone within earshot can be compelled to sing with him, even though what they sing is incomprehensible, sometimes with—as in the case of Rafe Rogers, local hired ruffian—psychoanihilatory results. What this coyote wants, and indeed what he is, remains unknown.
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https://thevoice.dog/episode/sing-in-me-holy-one-and-through-me-by-rob-macwolf-part-2-of-2
Transcript
You’re listening to The Voice of Dog.
Speaker:Today’s story is the second and final part of
Speaker:“Sing in Me, Holy One, and Through Me”
Speaker:by Rob MacWolf, who heard it on the wind
Speaker:but couldn’t say where the wind got it.
Speaker:You can find more of his work
Speaker:in anthologies from the Furry Historical Fiction Society,
Speaker:and on his SoFurry gallery.
Speaker:Read by the author.
Speaker:Musical engineering by Solomon Harries.
Speaker:Last time, a nameless coyote drifter
Speaker:appeared in a feud-wracked frontier town,
Speaker:and in the lives of Bethany Smith,
Speaker:the town belle,
Speaker:and Luis Huerfano,
Speaker:the hired ranch hand who works for her parents’ rivals.
Speaker:Whenever the stranger sings,
Speaker:anyone within earshot is compelled to sing with him,
Speaker:even though what they sing is incomprehensible,
Speaker:sometimes with—as in the case of Rafe Rogers, local hired ruffian
Speaker:—psychoanihilatory results.
Speaker:What this coyote wants,
Speaker:and indeed what he is,
Speaker:remains unknown. Please enjoy
Speaker:“Sing in Me, Holy One,
Speaker:and Through Me” by Rob MacWolf,
Speaker:Part 2 of 2 Rafe Rogers, as predicted, did not recover.
Speaker:He did not seem to mind in the slightest.
Speaker:But there were those who very much did.
Speaker:Among the ferret’s former associates,
Speaker:two especially began to eye eachother, warily,
Speaker:each in suspicion that the other
Speaker:meant to take leadership of the gang
Speaker:and therefore determined to do it first.
Speaker:Randolph “Dandy”
Speaker:Tiltimann, mallard, college-educated and son of a quaker-adjacent commune somewhere in Michigan
Speaker:to whom he still sent a portion of his ill-gotten pay,
Speaker:was rumored to be presenting himself to both Mayor Smith and Sour Pete Corbiss
Speaker:as willing to do whatever unlawful deeds might need doing.
Speaker:Scotsman Jack, a buffalo about whose past the only thing that could be said with certainty
Speaker:was that he was not a scotsman,
Speaker:was determined to prevent him.
Speaker:For nigh to a week, Bethany watched the two factions cross main street rather than speak to one another.
Speaker:According to Luis,
Speaker:whom she had forbidden from returning to his bunk at Corbiss’s ranch, lest the shooting break out there and catch him in the crossfire,
Speaker:these were men who lately
Speaker:had been content to fight and sleep alongside one another,
Speaker:“but I guess when their blood’s up, t’won’t
Speaker:be satisfied with nothin’ but more blood.”
Speaker:Instead of returning to the Corbiss ranch, instead of riding out to check on the surveyors,
Speaker:Luis and Bethany
Speaker:spent days under the plum tree
Speaker:out in the side yard of the Smith house.
Speaker:To be sure, this was the site of many hasty and hushed conferences:
Speaker:Mayor and Mrs. Smith,
Speaker:Doc Englebert, Pete Corbiss when his animosity could be controlled,
Speaker:and Maggie Heckaday who clearly knew more than she could be induced to explain,
Speaker:all had much to discuss.
Speaker:Rumored sightings of the coyote in the dust-colored poncho were, at first, foremost,
Speaker:as well as reports of spontaneous outbursts of singing, which thankfully
Speaker:were never substantiated
Speaker:and produced no further case like that of Rafe Rogers.
Speaker:But tensions among the ferret’s former gang soon superseded those
Speaker:as the most pressing matter.
Speaker:It was carefully not discussed that both the Smiths and Corbiss had played large roles in forming that gang,
Speaker:or that even Doc Englebert would have to concede, if pressed,
Speaker:that he had employed these men for less-than-perfectly-legal purposes.
Speaker:Yet when matters of municipal crisis were done,
Speaker:and others departed,
Speaker:Bethany and Luis would remain under the plum tree.
Speaker:Sometimes with a pitcher of sweet tea,
Speaker:sometimes with Jeb methodically cropping the grass beside them,
Speaker:but often alone. “It felt like the clouds openin’ up,”
Speaker:Luis would often try to describe the feeling of having been rapt within the ineffable music, “and the sun breakin’ through,
Speaker:turns the rain into a blaze-a light.
Speaker:It felt like standin’ on a hill an’ seein’ a great thunderstorm on the far horizon,
Speaker:all lit up inside with lightnin’. Or it
Speaker:felt like wakin’ suddenly,
Speaker:an hour before sunrise,
Speaker:and walkin out inta the night, lookin at the east sky go pale, and knowin’ you’s the only person awake in t’whole world to see it.”
Speaker:And Bethany would agree,
Speaker:yes it was very much like each metaphor he tried.
Speaker:The only occasion on which they disagreed
Speaker:was when Luis said it had felt like coming home from a long journey
Speaker:and letting the door shut behind you,
Speaker:to which Bethany had replied that it felt more like opening the front door
Speaker:and stepping through to begin
Speaker:a long journey. But this disagreement did nothing to break their otherwise unanimity.
Speaker:Who else was there
Speaker:who had felt what they had,
Speaker:and retained enough wits to discuss it?
Speaker:But often they would say nothing at all.
Speaker:The possum would take the armadillo’s paw and squeeze,
Speaker:and he would place his other paw atop hers
Speaker:and close his eyes.
Speaker:And so they would remain until Ma called that supper was ready.
Speaker:Ma had put up surprisingly little resistance to the armadillo staying as the Smith’s houseguest.
Speaker:Always, in the past,
Speaker:Mrs. Smith had openly
Speaker:and voluminously suspected
Speaker:‘that Louie Huerfano’
Speaker:of trying to seduce her daughter for her inheritance.
Speaker:Such things were not unheard of.
Speaker:Indeed, such an outcome had been among various plans Bethany herself had privately entertained.
Speaker:But that was no longer the kind of story this was.
Speaker:When the storm finally came to a head,
Speaker:it wasn’t the kind of affair
Speaker:where the men faced eachother at high noon on an empty main street in neatly dramatic lines,
Speaker:watching intently for the first hand to touch a holster.
Speaker:Such things happen only in stories.
Speaker:Rather, Scotsman Jack and two cronies,
Speaker:an antelope and a horned lizard, stealthily followed Tiltimann
Speaker:as he left the barber in the afternoon,
Speaker:guns already drawn.
Speaker:The sitting duck had only time to look up and see the three barrels pointed at him before-
Speaker:“T̸͈̞͔̈́h̴͖̺̞̦̏i̷̫̱̟̞͍͑̀̔̌́s̸̡͖̰͒͒̀I̸̺̘̝̗̋͘͘s̶̬̫̆̄͝Ť̸̘̓͘͘͝h̸̡͚̦͙̊͂̆̈e̸̜̙̅́̓͂̕H̵̤͇̙̎̀̍́ͅơ̵̡͆̇̈́̓ų̵̰̳͙̈́͛s̶̻̖̲͕̿͌̍̓͘e̵̫͚̎̈̉T̶͕͔́͒̂h̵̩̺̾͠͝͠ä̴̫̱͎́͐̎ṯ̸̥̿̈́̈̈́H̵̪̾̋ͅě̸̖̘̝͇̏͛͠B̷̙͔̳͎̀̊ͅu̷͚͕̟̲̱̐͌̊̒̑ï̴̳̀l̸͍̇̍͝t̴̯̞̑̽̚O̷̱̓̑̓ú̶͍̝̜̍̋͗ẗ̸̩͓̯͓͑̅͜O̵͓̗͂̈̋f̶́͐͜B̵̮̔r̸̢̪̣͋ͅͅē̶̺͝a̴̟̽͒͒̅t̵̙͇̀h̷̢̼̆̀”
Speaker:rang out a voice from the rooftops.
Speaker:Guns froze, triggers unsqueezed,
Speaker:hammers poised but never to fall,
Speaker:in hands suddenly entirely bereft of their owner’s wills.
Speaker:“T̸̼͉̓̕͝h̸͓͎͕̱̀̓̒͛a̵̻̟̭̻͂̊ẗ̵͔̓͜͠W̶̨̲̼̘̱͆͘ã̵̦̓ş̴̻̣̎̅̽̊̓H̴͙̻̮̞̎̒̒́̚i̶̦͍͌̈́̈́s̸̜̦̼̫͗L̵͇̽ȉ̸̼́̄͜v̴͓̩̀͛̾i̶̥̱̱̇̀̾͜͠n̵͙̯̉ͅg̷̼̩͉̪͒T̷̤̓h̷̢̡̝̞́̉̑̚̚i̶̪̼͐̑͂̑͊s̴̙̬̬̎I̶̯͙̠̻̿̍͂̄s̵̠̪̣͆̈́̅̽H̷̼̩̐̈͗͘i̸͔͖̹̮͓͘s̷̫͗͊̀͆D̶̯͆̒͌̂̚é̷̱̈́͝a̶̢̡̰͈̋́̿͋t̷̖̿ḫ̷̔͝͝”
Speaker:A thin coyote in a dust-colored poncho and hood
Speaker:had somehow gotten atop the general store,
Speaker:across from the barbershop.
Speaker:His voice, raised in song, rolled down main street like a flash flood down
Speaker:a months-dry streambed. “T̴̨̛̟͑́ȟ̴̡̡̫͔̲̋̾̆ę̸͎̥̘̈̉s̵͓̖̖̔͆̏͘e̸̤̖͚͆̐̐A̶̧̗̭̤͂͒̓ŗ̷͇̙̤̣͒̈́̌͘e̷̗̫̍H̸̛̹̥͎͊͑̈́̏͜i̷̳̇͗ŝ̶̮̗̳̀̍͌̚C̶̲̜̼̉̈͒̓͆l̴̬͈̂ő̶̝̲ͅt̶͇̝̪̙͕̐̀͗̉h̷̞̣̰̼͇́̾̃́ę̵̱̱͕̅̿̐͝s̵͚̭̻̞̳̀T̶̞̊͆͝h̶͇̙͔̱͗̅̈́o̴̧͓͎̞͌̄̈̿͝ͅư̴͇̗̺͎̆́̾̓g̸̢̦̠̮͔̾͋̍̋ḥ̶̲̩͂͋̄̒͘H̸̡̼̠̤̀͐̑̏̃e̶̠̥̺͈̬̊̽̄N̷͓̗̦̖͚͒ḙ̵̝̰̭̈́͂͌͛e̸̛̲̓̇̉d̵̘̟̓̍́s̴̲̦̓͂͝͝T̸̤̩͐ȟ̸̫̝̞ẻ̶͕̥͕m̷̠̜̮̬͊̂͝ͅN̸͈̬̈̆͠o̷̡̡̝̐̈́͂̕͘M̸͖̘̌̉̑̍͆o̴̧͕͖͇͂r̵̜̺̥̕é̷̝̈́̍̂͝”
Speaker:Tiltimann and Scotsman Jack and his gunmen sang as well,
Speaker:eyes wide and baffled.
Speaker:“T̵̬͕̫̲̪̓͌͆̒h̸͇͉̄͝o̷̰͂̑͐͛s̴̝̙͉͗͐̂e̴̢͔͑͋͐W̴͙͓̑̀e̵̪̮̫̫̓̓͠ͅr̷͈̹͇̺̂͝e̶̹͖̣͔̻̾̚H̸̺͖̙͚̊̉͐ḭ̷̡̱̮͕̌̒͗̓̚s̶̰̎̅͒̓͊ͅŞ̸̨̫̾̔̈h̵̢͖̪̗̱̆͆̈́͝o̷̹͖̮͒e̴̖̞̐̋̎͆͝ś̶͎͚̪͇͜L̸̹̭̺̫̀̈̂́͝e̷̺̻͇̒f̴͚̺̭͎̐ṯ̷̡͎̟͆̎͊ͅO̴̟͔̿́u̸͍̰͉̜̳̽͋̈́͊̓t̴̺͎̥̝͌͒͜ș̸̂̑̚í̸͔̮d̶̼͓̬̔e̷̪̬̅T̶̤̭̣̍h̶̖̺͕̕͝ē̶̡͉̦͚͜D̶͎̟̙̍́̑̀͛ǫ̸͙̼̩͒ǫ̶͙͍͇͂r̷̡̤͚̰̼̉̔͛̕͠”
Speaker:pistols slipped from fingers from which all will and purpose had been withdrawn.
Speaker:Not a one discharged when it hit the ground, of course.
Speaker:That would have interrupted the singing.
Speaker:“Ţ̶̛͇͋͑̽h̸̙̦̝̾̂̆͌͊ȇ̶̟̕s̶̢̖̩͍̊̆̓͠e̸͇̗̿A̴̢̝̞̎̀͊͘r̶͔͘ḙ̶̗̣̎P̶̙͛̈́͑e̶̝̝͔̜̐̈́̓e̷̜͂̆̚͘͠ļ̵̢̼͉͂é̴̱̒́̉d̴̡̫͎͂̀̈Ģ̶̖͍̀̍̀͝r̴̩̅͠à̸̟͈̹̈́̄p̶̥̯̔ë̵͓̿͐̇͐s̸̖͖̓̍̔̆͂B̶̰̰̟͔̓̑̕u̵̧̹͎̦̲͗t̴̛͓̏͛͠P̶̦̋̈̾̀͠r̸̠̥̭̄̽ḝ̷̯̲͘ṯ̶̞͐̋͝ͅe̷͍͠͝n̵̞̂d̴̢̬̻̞͇́̅͝T̷̛͎̉͛̊h̶͎̮͓̃̋̓͐e̵̝̟͙̝̤̓̿y̷̺͓̏̈̕r̶̲̜̄ê̵͉H̵̗̲̟͖̐i̶̜͖̗̥̝͌s̸̨̬̤̬͔͘E̶̪͛̑ŷ̶̨̨͚̖͊̐̅ë̵̟͙͍́s̶̞̪̈́͐̂̈̕T̴̛̫̫̥̱͋͋h̶̬̺̮̘͋͒̐͆̚e̵̡̜̅͒͜ş̷̪̇͑͋͐ͅë̷̡̬́͜Ä̵̢̮̩̲̺́̏̇̐͝ř̷͇͆̍e̴͉̠̬̎̈͗͋͠H̵̢̱̆͌͐̾i̴̫͍̟̤̬̍̑̓͝ś̶̖̼̟͕̣̓̈́̆̌T̸̜̬͒ȩ̸̘̞̌̈́ḙ̴̔̍͋͝t̵̢̯̤̜̺̽͆h̶͎̯̞́̃̅͘O̷̪͛͗͋f̴̬̤̽́͐Ų̶̗̇̅̉͠n̶̢̤̆ư̸̺̝̯͍̓̀s̵̜͔͈̰̻̀̚u̸̬͋̋a̵͎̩̰̿̀́͜l̵̗͖̺͐̚S̴̻̲̱̜̎̈́̾͝i̵͈̲̜͓͒ẑ̶̝̆̓e̸̠̾̆͗”
Speaker:every citizen curious enough, or foolhardy enough,
Speaker:to look out a front window
Speaker:found themselves caught,
Speaker:joining in, unable to look away.
Speaker:“T̸͓̠͎̬͐̀̔̇͐ͅh̸̩̖̃͒̎ĩ̸͍̙̫̩̏s̴̼̣͒Ị̸̗͔̭̳̉̉̃͠s̶͕̜͝Ḫ̴́i̸̡̛̺̔̕̕͘s̶͎̫͛͐̇H̷̻͝o̸̪͑͗̊̿p̸̢͈̮̋͒̈́̇̈́e̸̞̪̎͆̇̚͠f̶̥̼̅͐̊̄ú̴̯ľ̶͓̫̰̩̆͊ǹ̸̦̖̣ȇ̴̳͓͓̲̺̆̃̎͑ş̴͓̭̜̱̏̈͐̈́̊s̶̖̳̟̹̾̉̾̈́͜Q̸̧͙̝̞̏͑̐ú̸͓̩̈́͝͝i̸̙̬͍͚̟̅̀͋͋͘t̴̬͌͐̆̀ȩ̶͍͔͍̚A̴̜̮͋̓t̸̛̪̊̓r̴̺̥̿̄͝ǫ̴͕̥͓̂ṕ̶̡̮̈́̀h̶͙͖̍̓̄̚i̵͈̙̩̠̇͐͆̈́e̴̢̛̱̪̾̂d̴̖̜͎̀͑̆̾͋Ą̷͙͇͕͛ň̵̦̊̏d̸͉͂͠Ť̸͎̠͙̀̌̂͜͝h̴͎̠͐̉ǎ̵̧̢̘̜ͅt̷͇̲̤̹͗͒̔͝ͅs̷̗̓̇̓͛̽͜J̵̧̢̞̰̯̓̿ũ̵͖̗͒̀ş̴͚̖̖̏͆̽͒t̶͈͕̟͊̑́͋͠T̶̝̋̈́̏̚̚ȟ̶̫̓̍̍e̷̒̀ͅẆ̷͔̜̘̗͇͊̍̐i̶̜̖̲̞̊̈́̊͜ǹ̷̡̺͇̪̆d̸͓̈́A̵͈͗͊͆̂W̷̨͓̓̿h̷̢̡͐̽͐̕í̸͔̣̮̤͗s̶̗̉̈́͑̋t̶̢̰̤̬̏͜ĺ̶̯̈́͂i̵̜̲̘̿̍̿̚n̷͉̙͈͒̓́̚͘g̸̥̥̗̍͒̉͒̓O̸̬͙̊̋̈́u̷̠͉̰̅ţ̴̞̩̀s̴̪̊̅̐͊̚ì̴̖͉̣̎͊͐d̵͎͊e̵̬̠̫̲̫͐̍̕” this song was different, Bethany noted, from the last. “T̶̞̃̔͘h̸͍͋̇i̵̺̤̿̓̄̌̕s̸̲̤͊͗͂I̵͚̒͂̕s̴̮̞͓̃̾͊͐͜ͅA̸̢͇͉̜̅̆M̷͔̮͎̜̫̄̌e̸̢̱̭̎̆̒̕͝s̶̩̘̪̦̰̽͐́͗͝s̴͉̟̫̲̀̒̉à̵̘̭͜͜ģ̴̤̜́̈́́e̷̡̲͓̺͜͝Ṕ̴̛̩͂é̵̼͚̺̖̹r̷̜̟̗̍̃͠h̸̙̭͉̩͑a̶̠͔͍̫̱͋͋p̸̿̿̚͝ͅs̷̢̼͔̈M̴͓̙̖̐ͅe̶̢͎̱̪͋̕͠a̶̧̒n̶̠͈̾̊͛ͅt̶̠̟̯͂̀̚ͅŤ̴̼̲̖͓̘͋̈́̈́̉o̵͉̤͖͖͓̓̑͝B̸̠̏͠e̵̘͓̐R̵̨̪̼͉͗͝ͅe̶̖̙͑͘ć̴̥͉̥̞́͐̉e̷̙̗̥̅̀́̽͝ị̶͊̀͘v̶̡̭̹͈̈͜͝ḝ̶̡͎͌̿̔ͅd̴̡̢͇̮̋́̊͌B̷̮͎͉̆̃͑y̴̨͖̞̺͔̌̋̒S̸͍̟̻͑̇͆͆ȯ̵̢̡̯̟͜m̴̝̦̣̂͛͝͝e̷̜̣̟̣͖̐̔̍̚͝b̴̌ͅo̸͕͙͚̚̕d̷̨̢̦͕̿͗͘y̴̡͙̹͊͋̇̇͘P̸͖̥̾ǫ̵̛̩̀̕ś̸̮̰͕̿̎́̚ṱ̵͕̃h̸̡̗̎̃̑͊͋u̸͎̰̩̲̇͜ṁ̵̜̪͖̝̦̿͘o̴̧̰̺̓ų̷̠̙͇͐͛͛ͅs̵̠̘̄̿̾̍̉l̸̮̮̘̔ỳ̶̭̩̻” She let it drag her, unresisting, along its course,
Speaker:or perhaps the drifter’s course.
Speaker:How could she say if there was a difference?
Speaker:“T̶͔̱͎̃̕h̵̟̻̹̅į̷̡͖̃̄̍s̴̱͖͛͒Ḯ̴̻̏̾̑͝s̵̮̒̆̍H̴͉̖͗̎i̴̡͈̩̦̒̈̕͜s̵̺̰̥͆̎̐A̸̫͖̤̾͛̓́́l̵͔̂ẗ̴̠́͗̄̍a̸̯̹͉̝͗̉r̴̛̛͈̲͊̈̀T̴̞̎̔̈́o̵͚͆̽Ṵ̶̖̻̬̃̽ň̴̖͍̳͖̀̈h̷͇̹̪͇̽͝͝ē̴͍̼͙̮̟̍̏͝a̵̡̟̩̦͂͗͋͊̒r̸̫̅͊d̴͚͊O̴̳͍̫̹̳̊̾́̾f̷̱̱̘͉́G̸̮̞̗̗̖͆̇̄̚ǫ̵̢̝̋͊͝d̷̦̏̎͆s̷̤͚̦̒͘H̴̤̜̽͒͜e̶̘̥̿͑̓̆̕͜r̶̘͔̜͉̓̅͌̆ḝ̶͙̟̝̩D̸̡̺͔̻̓̄̆͗͠i̶͖̜͍̞͒̏̈́ͅd̷̥̂̿͘ͅT̸̥͓͝h̴̤͆̂̑͜e̶͔̹͖̣̐y̵̜̯͍̓̉̾̎H̷̨̖͓̾ȇ̶̇̈ͅă̷̢͈̘̺͖̅r̵̳̆̇̽̽͗H̷̢̪̑́i̷̡̻̭̩̫̅͐͑́͝m̵̹͙̤̭͘W̴̝̳̖̒̂̄͘h̶̨̢̖̫̄̚â̵͔̹͕̘̅ͅt̴̳̦͕̖̜̊Á̷̲͖̥̙͛́̒͠r̸̪̉͝e̵̡͇̹̪͍͗T̷̟̥͛̒h̷̠͍̾̀̊̀̋e̵͕̬̙̣̿̄͂̈́́Õ̴̝̹͎͔͋͝d̸̨̺͉̭̮̄̀͒͠͠d̸̨̰̹̭̟̆͋͋͝s̴͔͓͖̀́́̿̓”
Speaker:This song was powerful, and fierce,
Speaker:and defiantly, proudly alive.
Speaker:It was laughter amid a storm, it was a ghost story over an autumn fire.
Speaker:There was some threat to it, some martial spirit in it, or some spirit older than war but without which war cannot exist.
Speaker:It was too wild to be a march,
Speaker:it was too holy to be a bawdy ballad,
Speaker:it was too pure to be some pagan chant, but she had no power to deny it was any or all of those things. “T̶̯̎̍ḧ̸̟̬̺͎́̆̈́i̴͙̙̣̮̠̓̓s̵͍̤̥͌̆͘I̷̭̿̐̉s̵̡͎̙̙̆͜͝H̷͕̝͈̦͝ͅi̷̺̤͎̙̎ͅs̵̨͔͎̒̋H̶̱̿͆̈̏e̸̳͑̋̈͋͆a̴̮̼̝͋͌͠r̵̟͆t̵͇̠̓͜͠͝T̸͓͈̗̥͙͐h̵̛͉̝̮͎͝a̷̙̙̖̝̐͒t̵̺͖̪͍͍̆Ţ̵̳̩̤̞̃͒̄͝ḩ̸̟͌̐͗̒̆ͅe̵̢̥̮̾̇́y̸̹̓͌͛̉̚C̵̦̼͖̈́̆̃á̴̲̩͍̳̪̐ŗ̴̭́v̶̟͎̞̱͘͜e̷͍̘͙͇͊̿d̴̼̈́̉̕ͅÒ̴̫͌̀͑̿ứ̴̤͔̼̓̏̀͜t̴͔̜͎̍O̸̙̽͑͒͂͜͝f̴̲̯̫̜͗͌͋̕W̷͙̖̟̲̄͂ͅö̶̫͔̭̣̥̏́͛͆o̶̢͈͓̮̝̍͗̋d̴̡̺̞̖͛̐”
Speaker:Doc Englebert, Bethany noted,
Speaker:despite his expressed determination to remain inside under the certainty that shelter would protect him,
Speaker:had entirely failed.
Speaker:The goat was on his saloon porch,
Speaker:singing as heartily as any of them.
Speaker:But Mrs. Maggie Heckaday, however, at the porch corner,
Speaker:was stonily silent. “T̴͔̉h̷͉̯͎͐ị̶͚̩̜̪͊̐s̵͓̗͌I̴͖̙̳̲͚̽̎̚s̶̛̺͔̠H̴͈̞̮́i̴̦̣̟̿̑s̷̬̈̈̽͊͜B̶̟̳̈́o̶̤̼̱̽͌d̷̯̠̪̾͋̇̂̾y̷̙͓͋̀̾͜͝” Rapturous joy and terrified awe wrestled across the faces
Speaker:of the rest of the townsfolk of Statfeldt. ”T̷̺͎͈͂͜ḧ̴̩̟́́̒̇i̵͉̦̟͂͛̃͜s̸̳̼̭̞̳̽̂I̸̛͔̱͚̝̞̓̃ș̶̪̼͛͆̄̊͆Ḫ̴͇͖̪̂̀ì̶̘͆̎̑͘s̶̮̭͐̃͘͘B̸̬͚̅͋̏̑̑l̴̡̡̜͌͜o̴̖͒̿̊͜o̵͋͑̅̀ͅd̴̙́́̆̎͝ͅ” But not so much as on the faces of Tiltimann, Scotsman Jack,
Speaker:and his two unfortunate companions.
Speaker:What were their names?
Speaker:Bethany had no idea.
Speaker:“T̸͚͙̞̈ẖ̴̡̒̊́e̸̻͇̺̹͂̕ͅṣ̸̽e̵̞̪̳͇͌A̴͔̺̒̈r̷̭̻͉͔̂͛ĕ̷̞̹͖̭̒̉̿͠T̶̡̐̇̿͛h̴͎̼̞̻̮̏e̵͉̙̎̓W̷̠̞̗̌͗͐͝ỡ̵͇́͑r̷̪̤͖͇̼͊̃͠͝d̵̨̝̯̭̎͗͒̔͠s̴͉̯̣̝͙̓̓̾͆Ţ̶̡͇̻̺̐̈́͋̕h̷̭͇͇̜̋̈́̓a̶̔̒ͅt̵̯̮̥̥̅̀̌Ą̸̹͖̘̩̂̎̀̾͛r̵̛̲̻̯̣͖̅͋͌͘e̸̡̫͇͛̇̕L̷̊̐̋ͅe̷̖̽͐f̴̔ͅţ̸̨̩̆͋͗̿Ö̶̼͉̟͉̎͊f̸̯̻͖͓̣̾̒̑H̵̢͉͓͖̻̕͘i̸͈̲̻̝̫̋s̵͈̒Ṃ̴̀̌̌̒i̶̩̱͙͊̈́͒̓ņ̵̡̢̹̦̑͝d̷̲̘͓͛”
Speaker:The drifter stalked counterclockwise around the circle the four gunmen had formed.
Speaker:When and how he had descended from the rooftops remained a mystery,
Speaker:but his hands and eyes were raised to the sky,
Speaker:preacherlike, all the while.
Speaker:“A̷̯̽̊̽n̸̤͕̥̤͈͂̓́̒͠d̶͍̬̠̀̊̋̑͠Ţ̵̬̘̥̿h̷̙͖̙̗̆͜͝ȁ̴͇̈͋̇ẗ̸̖̓Ȋ̶̢͚̦̟̓̈́̓s̵̟̽̐̓̀̍T̸͇̺̻̈́̿̐̎͠h̷̨͖̼͇̀͌̐e̶̢̙̬̼̥̾͆͝S̷̝̏̋ḱ̴̨̝͋y̸͔̝̖̭̓̆͊H̵͕͓͝ȩ̵͇̋͜͝Ḯ̴̲͍́s̶͉͚̰͆̓͛̓͝S̷̨̟̯͎̈́̏̆̽̾o̸͚̖̝̟̽͐ṁ̵̤͎̯̜̗̓͌̚͠e̸͚͓͈̍̾w̴͚̿̋̇̔͛ͅḧ̶̢̧̝́́̑e̵͓͊͗͐r̸͎̔̽̏̆ë̸̱͉̥̟́̀̽̾ͅB̴͕̺̬͚̋e̴̠͑h̷͓͒̊͐̽͠i̴̗̯̻̗͍̇̓n̷̗͇̜͕̪̈́̈́d̷̤̙̿̊̈́̉͝.”
Speaker:The moment the song ended,
Speaker:each of the gunmen turned.
Speaker:They looked, and moved,
Speaker:not like men asleep
Speaker:or in a daze, but like men who have just heard some piece of devastating news that they have not yet had time to understand.
Speaker:But without a further word, they began to walk,
Speaker:in cardinal directions or as near to them as the town layout would allow:
Speaker:Tiltimann went south, Jack north,
Speaker:the antelope east,
Speaker:the horned lizard west.
Speaker:None in Statfeldt ever saw any of them
Speaker:again. Before anyone could shake themselves back to lucidity,
Speaker:the drifter tossed his poncho over one shoulder.
Speaker:As if nothing whatever extraordinary had occurred, he walked into the saloon.
Speaker:Heckaday nudged Doc Englebert in after him.
Speaker:Bethany and Luis followed.
Speaker:And in a sense this was not so different from how things were meant to go.
Speaker:The power vacuum among violent and lawless men threatens to erupt, but some mysterious stranger intervenes,
Speaker:and is the only survivor:
Speaker:these are pieces that fit together very comfortably and predictably,
Speaker:and the story they build is not unfamiliar though in this case their form was unusual.
Speaker:That may yet have turned things back to how they were supposed to go.
Speaker:But it did not. — Bethany arrived in time to hear the drifter say,
Speaker:“I would like something to drink.”
Speaker:“You… want a whiskey?”
Speaker:Doc sounded as if he were being made fun of.
Speaker:“If whiskey is what you have.
Speaker:I have been singing,”
Speaker:but the drifter explained with utmost calm,
Speaker:“and I am thirsty.”
Speaker:“You go ‘head and put it on mah tab,”
Speaker:Mrs Heckaday urged the saloonkeeper.
Speaker:The goat poured a bourbon for the drifter,
Speaker:and one larger for himself.
Speaker:The coyote accepted the glass without fuss.
Speaker:“I thank you.” “What in God’s name are you?”
Speaker:Bethany had a thousand questions to ask,
Speaker:and no idea which was the most important,
Speaker:so she attempted to put them all into one,
Speaker:“and what the hell do you want?”
Speaker:Or one and a half,
Speaker:perhaps. But the drifter did not look up from his drink.
Speaker:“I have no need to explain myself to you.”
Speaker:He had the kind of voice that was audible across the room even in a whisper.
Speaker:“Well,” Bethany had passed beyond frustration into the kind of anger that completely forgets fear exists,
Speaker:“you got any need to not explain yerself to me?!”
Speaker:The drifter sat up a little straighter.
Speaker:He turned, as if looking at the possum for the first time.
Speaker:The saloon was silent for a moment. “Very
Speaker:well,” said the drifter.
Speaker:His lips barely opened,
Speaker:and he sang a single, wordless note.
Speaker:Bethany felt Luis’s hand clench reflexively on her wrist.
Speaker:But nothing stirred in her throat.
Speaker:No compulsion bubbled up in her mind.
Speaker:And though both her mouth and her armadillo’s hung open,
Speaker:it was only in shock.
Speaker:The drifter’s eyes turned to the crow,
Speaker:still standing carefully between him and Doc Englebert.
Speaker:He held out a hand, in a gesture like an older brother
Speaker:encouraging a frightened sibling to step across a puddle.
Speaker:Maggie’s feathers raised,
Speaker:but when she too remained unexpectedly unsinging they smoothed.
Speaker:Then she blinked in realization,
Speaker:took a deep breath,
Speaker:and began humming the same note as the drifter,
Speaker:of her own volition.
Speaker:The drifter nodded. Tilted his head a little this way,
Speaker:then that, and the note Maggie sang adjusted in pitch till she hit some strange and counterintuitive harmony
Speaker:with which he was apparently satisfied.
Speaker:Maggie’s nod of invitation to Doc Englebert,
Speaker:and his cautious hum,
Speaker:was enough reassurance that
Speaker:Bethany and Luis were driven by curiosity to join in.
Speaker:Hopefully they’d be able to stop if- Oh.
Speaker:In later years, Bethany would find herself unable to describe
Speaker:how she understood the song,
Speaker:or why she understood now
Speaker:when she hadn’t before.
Speaker:But she knew what it meant the way a poet or a storyteller knows what their tale means before they begin the struggle to put it into words, and after the best they can do has failed
Speaker:to fully express it.
Speaker:It meant a great cool mass of something,
Speaker:air or spirit, perhaps, if those were indeed different things,
Speaker:hovering over the land.
Speaker:Older than civilization. Larger than mountains.
Speaker:Stronger than death.
Speaker:It meant that it moved,
Speaker:that every motion, every gust, every wingflap,
Speaker:every breath drawn pulled
Speaker:or pushed the entire mass of it.
Speaker:It meant that all the tales told, when mortal folk forgot, it remembered,
Speaker:for the moment they were put into
Speaker:speech they were a part of it forever.
Speaker:In the same instant Bethany knew that she could stop,
Speaker:and that she wouldn’t.
Speaker:“T̵̹͓͆̓̂̐h̶̞͇̪̖̊ḛ̶͇͉̪̟͛̅̊̈́̕W̷̞̥͇̩̐̑a̶̗̋̓̑̕v̷̛͇̳͔̉e̷̢͐́̀́̽ś̷͔͎̊̚Ǘ̵̖̗̩͎̩p̴̲͇̍̿͊̔̾ö̶̜̲̰̻́̂̀̚͝n̸͓͙̕T̵͚̿͆h̴̠̱͉̙̾̅̔̈́e̵͎̐̋̉̾S̴͖̃ȉ̸̲͉̇͂l̴̤̙̘̂̓̇̋k̴͉̖̥̬͚̋́͑e̵̢̱̬̤̓̏͗͘n̶̢̩͔̫̺̆S̷̭͚͗͗̔å̷̢͓̺̤̅̚ṅ̸͇͑̂̓d̸͎̺͋ṡ̶͖̮̬̹͒̊͆ͅ” the drifter sang softly.
Speaker:It sounded equal parts a lullaby and a lament.
Speaker:For once he seemed content to be a soloist:
Speaker:the four of them in the room with him merely hummed the slowly subtly shifting harmony underneath. “Ȁ̵̘̩̆͆̐r̶̨̛̋̊̿͝ͅę̴̝̦͌Ş̷̺̪̄̾̕o̵̻̝̐̿͝f̸̬̥͓̞̐͂̈̕͠ţ̷͚͓̟̓̈̂͆̋ę̶̣͚̤̉̓̈́͒͠r̷̲̞̗̳͙̄͗̃̊͒T̷̢̨̟̈̈́h̴̹̘̞́́á̶̫͚͓͉̪̈́n̷̘̲̮̈́̔̉̋ͅḨ̸̽͛̈́̚i̶̬̱̫̯͈̒s̴̮̝̦̱͕͒͌̂͘B̸̹̳͖̼̿̅͌̈r̷̘̦̠̣̐͑e̶̮͌̎à̴̮̳̲͛t̴̘̱̓̀̂͒͘h̵̛̛̙̼̑̃͝” and that meant the thousands of years of people who had lived here,
Speaker:once, generations upon generations of them,
Speaker:whose names Bethany had never heard.
Speaker:And it meant the wind remembered them,
Speaker:and remembered their stories. “Ẃ̷̛̲͌͠h̵̬͍̻͠e̶͉̣͈̩̳̅̈́r̵̺̭̈́̅ẹ̶̢̧̖̔̚͜H̵̞̤̼̐e̶̛̛̞͍̊̒͝L̸̢̰̮̂̽̎̏i̸̞̿̌̀ë̵̞̭̜͔̼s̵̮͙̩̟̰͗̂S̷̨̗̆̓a̴̻͌̈f̵̡͈͎̣̔́̀͝͝e̷͖̓̑̒̑̚U̷̧̜͓̳̳͗p̵̡͑̇̍͝ọ̶̳̹͐͝n̶̟͕̈́͒̌̐͝Ṭ̷̡̤͎̘͂̿̈́͘h̵̨̭̳͐̏͑ͅe̶̛̼̫̼̦̋̏S̷͎̬̈́å̶̝͍̌̃̎ṅ̵̫̯̠̹d̶̳̂̓̋͆s̴̢̭͕̲̈́ͅ” and that meant the new people, her people, Luis’s people,
Speaker:displacing them by force,
Speaker:telling themselves stories to help pretend it was right and just:
Speaker:El Dorado and the Northwest Passage,
Speaker:Manifest Destiny and the Missouri Compromise.
Speaker:Stories that the wind remembered,
Speaker:whose falsity it remembered as well. “Ä̶͚̳͓́̆͐̒ș̴͋͂̑͐l̶̢͚̋̋̔͝ě̴̡̧̯͎̜̆ẻ̷͙͌̀p̶̫̿A̷͖̮̋͌͑͘s̷͇̞̎͂͊ͅḎ̴͌͝ê̵̩̝̲̻̄͝ë̷̗̺͇̠́ṕ̸̮̝̊̑̅À̴̛͕̲̻̹́́ş̶̳̳̓̃ͅD̴̞̩̦́ḙ̸͈̞̫͔̅́͘ḁ̵̗̈́̌͝t̵̢̜̖̃̈́̈́͒͝h̶̩̘̲̙̥̓” and that meant the stories of the people who had traveled the trails that crossed here, the hopes carried toward Oregon,
Speaker:the avarice toward California,
Speaker:all the stories they carried from their old countries, the stories of their travels, the stories they had been told,
Speaker:falsely, to induce them to make this journey,
Speaker:the stories that others were even now making up about them to justify more expansion.
Speaker:And the wind remembered these stories
Speaker:as well. “S̶̨͔͉͖̫̎o̶̦͎̘̱͐͜ò̶̲n̸̹̬͒͑̚I̷̧̛̠̍̕Ẅ̶̧̘̠̺́̈́̕͠ȉ̴̧̝̟̬͜ĺ̶͍̳͍͖̎̀͆ḽ̶̱̒̇͝R̶̖͐̽̀ỉ̶̹͔̣̩̺s̴̱͔͆̋̆̚ȅ̷̮̱̥̱̻̋̓F̷̛̘̟͊̃̎͝r̶̲̘̒͌͛̿ỏ̵̢͆̐m̴̗̓͆̃͝H̶̙̒͌̐e̵̟͖̹͕͛̈́r̵̜̔́́͐͝e̷̲̒Á̶̢͙̰̗̈̃̚ń̸̹̣ḓ̵̙̍̓̑G̵͍̺̳͈̟͂̐̽̅o̴̟͌͋” Bethany saw tears standing in the corners of Luis’s eyes,
Speaker:and realized she could feel him, or his mind, beside hers,
Speaker:understanding the things the drifter was singing.
Speaker:She heard, in the note he was humming, the story he wished he could tell,
Speaker:that he’d wished for
Speaker:how many years now,
Speaker:the story of the orphan lucky enough to
Speaker:win the heart of the town belle and settle down,
Speaker:at last, in comfort,
Speaker:and say that he had finally a home.
Speaker:She saw in his eyes that
Speaker:he heard the song in her note,
Speaker:about leaving, traveling, exploring,
Speaker:seeing all the wonders of the world and never setting foot in Statfeldt again.
Speaker:And the wind remembered these stories
Speaker:too. “D̶̫͎̖͘o̵̯̺̱͙͗͆̊̈̾w̷̛͇̫̖̱̳͆̅̀͘n̷̹̝̍͐̆̉Ť̸̢̻̓o̸̡͙̗̫̣̾̑T̵͕̽̈́̓h̶̼͙͛̈͛̈̌e̶̺͔̥̍́͆̍̕Ò̶͍͘ṗ̵̰̮̬͚́͘̕a̴̡̧̢̞̅̇l̷̡̽̎̚S̴̨̜̩̈̊̐̍͘h̶̲̩̕o̴̰͓͉͕̾̈́̈́́͗r̷̹̼̜̝̹͛̒͂ë̸̲͇̦́̌̓̍”
Speaker:and that meant the big story,
Speaker:false, hollow, garish,
Speaker:under which rich men meant to bury all the other stories,
Speaker:to pretend there had never been any story but their own.
Speaker:In which there was only a place for you
Speaker:so long as you could pay for it.
Speaker:But the wind saw through it,
Speaker:and remembered all the stories nonetheless.
Speaker:“Ắ̶̹̺̘̽̚͜n̴̬̘̊̎͌͂̓ͅd̶͕͕̥͕̈́͝Ĭ̷̺̜̒̆͆̚Ẁ̷̲̣̱̝̞̇͋͛̐ỏ̵̡͖̑ņ̴̻̘̎͆̾t̵̝̂F̴̦̐̆̓͌͜e̶̩̠̺̜͐̃͠͝͝ą̸̥̬̒r̷͇̲͉̽T̴̜̻̓͛͠͠h̷̙̖̿̀ę̷̻̮̜͆̄Ş̶̽̅ȗ̶̳͔̅̑̃ņ̶͎̆ḻ̵̯̰͑̎͘ͅį̴̜̻̤͕͒͝ĝ̵̲̈́h̸̟̒̈́̓͝t̵̫͎̂̅͠A̷͎̹̮̞̎̈́n̴͉͊͝͝ẏ̵͙̝̬̓̏͘m̶̳̫̮͊ǫ̵̙̞̭͌r̴̥̖̟͚̈́̑̑̌̅ë̴̳̩̝̼͑” and now the future was unrolling in the music, and Statfeldt itself crumbled shockingly fast,
Speaker:as if it had turned to dry sand before
Speaker:a steady gale. And the wind would
Speaker:remember the story of it. “Ṇ̵͕̹̰̥̿͛͝ȍ̸̢̲̼Ï̷̧̳͔̇̔͝Ŵ̵͚̺͉̃́͒̽ó̷̢͓͖̪͓͊̆͝n̷̨̲̉̎͝t̵̜͉͙͐̂Ḟ̶͇͎͔̺̙ȅ̶̛̹̖̖́̊͝a̸͙̣͐͐̅͋̎r̷̞̺̣̍̈́̍Ṯ̴͖͓̋h̷̘̬͍̬̥̒̀̃e̴̟͗́̃̅Ṡ̵̰͉͗̉͘ȕ̴̻̈́ṅ̸͙̳͚͓̏l̷͎̆i̴̢͍̣̥̿͋g̶̯͚͓͉̭̍̏̕͠h̵͍͆ţ̵̡͉͔̔” Nowhere in that future was there a place for her and Luis.
Speaker:Not together. “Ą̶̦̠̩͐̿̐̑̓n̸̼̣̰͆̽̾́y̷̠̙̪̒͒̇̿m̷͖̜͆̓̃͋ͅo̶͉̳̮̐́͂r̶̲̜̟̊͆e̸͖̲̥̳̾͛̏́”
Speaker:“Stop.” Bethany’s whisper was hoarse,
Speaker:but nothing in her resisted saying it.
Speaker:The hum fell silent.
Speaker:After a moment, the drifter spoke again. “Have
Speaker:I explained myself, then?”
Speaker:And how on earth was Bethany to answer such a question?
Speaker:So perhaps it was fortunate that she had no need to. — “Doc Englebert!” Sour Pete Corbiss bellowed out in the street,
Speaker:“You send that damned conjure-man or what-the-hell-ever sonuvabitch he’s sposed to be out here right the hell now!”
Speaker:A chorus of angry murmurs supported him.
Speaker:The drifter, it seems,
Speaker:was not the only one
Speaker:in harmony with whom the whole town could sing.
Speaker:Mayor Smith was beside the rancher, of course.
Speaker:As was Mrs. Smith,
Speaker:for once wholly unconcerned with the foulness of his language.
Speaker:The last remnants of the Rafe Rogers gang had their guns drawn,
Speaker:but this was America,
Speaker:and they were far from the only men, or women,
Speaker:who had guns. And for those who had none, why, there were scythes,
Speaker:or limb-saws, or baling hooks aplenty for the whole town to have their choice.
Speaker:Which was fortunate,
Speaker:for by the looks of things
Speaker:the whole town felt the need
Speaker:to be armed. “Now then,
Speaker:by the authority vested in me by the people of Statfeldt,”
Speaker:Mayor Smith declaimed, not to be outdone by the likes of Corbiss,
Speaker:“under the Authority of
Speaker:Nebraska Territory,
Speaker:I hereby declare you an outlaw…” “Well
Speaker:go on!” shouted someone in the crowd.
Speaker:“I don’t know his name!”
Speaker:Here there was some hurried and confused civic discussion.
Speaker:Nobody, it seemed,
Speaker:knew the stranger’s name.
Speaker:“And what is this?”
Speaker:within, the drifter had gotten calmly to his feet.
Speaker:“I think, sir,” Luis ventured a guess,
Speaker:“they don’t want you in town no more.
Speaker:Think they’re a bit unsettled,
Speaker:sir.” The coyote gave the armadillo and the possum beside him a long, unreadable look.
Speaker:But then he nodded,
Speaker:“That is reasonable enough.
Speaker:I am unsettling. But then,
Speaker:all that I came here for,
Speaker:I have done.” His poncho, as he strode toward the doors, billowed like a squall line crossing the horizon.
Speaker:“Very well.” “I hereby declare you outlaw,” but let it never be said that Mayor Smith let a little obstacle like that put him off,
Speaker:“person or persons unknown!”
Speaker:The crowd moved toward the saloon,
Speaker:but pulled back sharply with a gasp when the doors blew open,
Speaker:as if with a sudden gust of wind.
Speaker:The drifter and the population of Statfeldt
Speaker:regarded one another.
Speaker:On the one side there was fear, and bafflement,
Speaker:and of their rough marriage was born hostility.
Speaker:On the other side was only unreadable calm,
Speaker:like the cool silent stillness after the rains have passed.
Speaker:“If it is time to say farewell,”
Speaker:Bethany and Luis
Speaker:—perhaps Mrs. Heckaday if her hearing is as good as she claims
Speaker:—were the only ones near enough to hear the drifter whisper,
Speaker:“Then let us say farewell.” “S̵̗̝͔̤̆ǫ̷̅̄̒̚͜͝Ĭ̴̺̳͕̞́W̸͙̺̱͚̠̐͌͝͝i̶̩̓͝ļ̷̯̠̱̈́͋̃̕l̵͍̖̩̻̔̾͝B̶̭̩̙͒̃̽ͅe̶̮͒͒̄̏͂Ŏ̵̤͙̥̯̈̿͗͋ͅṳ̶̢͚͇̈̏t̶̢̢̗̫̽͘I̷̙̓̾̓̚n̴͉͊T̷̢̩̹̗̀̒̑̾ḩ̶̦̮͕̻͌̇̔̑̃e̴̗͚͗͆̅̄S̵̫̺͠u̸̞̼͕͍͋̑ͅn̶̳͖̼̘̙̉̓̑̾r̸̠̣̱̣̻̅̂̄ĭ̴̭͊̐s̶̫̪̣̟̪̓̒ẹ̸͙̞͕̎̒̆͐͌
Speaker:” sang every voice in town,
Speaker:in thunderous unison. “I̷̧͌͛̔̎̚n̷̻͉̝̮͓̑̆̈́T̸̢̘͉̻̜̑͆h̷͔̘̰̗̆͒̄̈͘ͅẹ̶̟̭͂̀͗̆L̴̨̛̖͔̬̊͘͘ō̴̧̢̲̕t̸͚͂͜s̶̢̠̄͐͘͝W̶͕̣̲̿͆ḥ̷̗̆͜ḛ̴̣͙̳̽r̵̲̣͍͗͊̋̊̕ȩ̶̂̇Ò̵̢̡͎̻̲̕l̴̫̠̦͂̉d̷͕͎̑̇̂S̵͉̰͇͇͋ẖ̸̹͎̩͚̈o̶͖̰̭̍̂̃̅͠p̵̢̹̫̆̑̿͝ş̶̙̫̰̇̾̉̃͆ͅW̵̢͎͗̕͠ȩ̴̉̍́r̷̩̔̈͋͋̎ē̴̙̅Ṯ̵̢̳̥̪̑ớ̴̡̫̘̗͎͌͠ř̵̟͉̈̒̈́n̷͎̫̓̓͌͒̓͜D̶͉͉͊̚o̷̡͕͍̖̤̍̌w̴̧̩̠̔͛̔͐ͅņ̶͔͛̑̈́̚
Speaker:” weapons dropped forgotten as faces were flooded
Speaker:not with understanding,
Speaker:but understanding of their lack of understanding,
Speaker:of its needlessness,
Speaker:and of the beauty of not understanding. “Ą̸̦̘̣̩͆͂̆̍͘n̴͚̓̌͛d̷͍̤̬̼̹̆Į̴̛͚̇͝W̸̫̹̅̀͝ͅi̷̪͇̮͓͊̃̔̕l̷̨͎͉̩͛̅̆͊l̸̪̰̖̈́̀B̵͚̹̟̖͕͂̀̃̂̇ĕ̸̫̞̦̤͋̕D̶̨̨͚̣̦̀̎͛͋ȏ̸̢͕̣̲̏̾ẁ̷̝͚̺̂̊͝n̶̨̰͓͛̃̒͝͝Ě̸͍͔̠̭͈͋̆͒̕v̶̢̟͉̭̗̚ę̸̪͋͐͛̀r̸̩̲̓̓ẏ̶̤̊́A̷̝̝̓͊͊̒̑l̵͈͌͗l̶̫̺͉̝̳̅̓̍͘̚e̵̞͉̠͂͗ý̵̙
Speaker:” The population of Statfeldt was not large, only a few hundred.
Speaker:But such things are relative.
Speaker:A few hundred is not much for a town,
Speaker:but it is an enormous bounty for parts in a harmony. “I̸̟͇̘̺͕̮͆̒̆̽̇͜n̶̨̼̼̠͕͉͌E̵̲̋̾̈́͐̅̀͘v̴͚̺̈́̒̋̌̿͋͝ę̸̞̳̦̫̫̫̏̽̓r̶͎̘̯̥̲̅̇̿̎̓̕ͅͅy̶̺̦̹̦̥͐̌F̸̢̻̳̈́̓͂̿͌͌̋ǒ̷͙̓̓̏̏͝r̶̪̭̼͐́̆͘̕͝g̵̭̽̊͘ȍ̸̢̨̘͈͈̫̠͆̌̽̕t̷̠͌̐̆̀͗̏̈ṭ̵̢̟̖̳̉͜ȩ̸̣̘͖͌̓͛͆̒̆͠ͅṋ̵̯̘͈͂̋̅̊T̸̡̛̼̦͕͎̾̒ò̸̩̤̱̞̣̙̫w̵̛̺̜̩̮͕̫͓̎̍̔̇͝ṉ̸͔̪̱̃̃̽̕”
Speaker:It was the most beautiful thing Bethany had ever heard. “A̶̻͙̹̔͒̆̕͘͜ņ̴͕̠͓̗̦̾̌͗̋͂d̶͇͕̭̯̘͍͙͑͊̿̈́Ǐ̵̢̘̥̫̰̆̀̊̈́͂͘Ẃ̶̦̦̦͕̈ḭ̶̟̞̟̥͑̑̈́̃͋̚͜͝ḽ̵͚͎̯̲̲͗̅͗l̸͖͖̼͖̝̓̃Ņ̵͕̪͇̖̹͐̔o̶̢͈̹̤͈͇̿̈̈́̚ẗ̶̡͈̀N̵͕̉͑͐͜͜e̷̲̹̹̬̔̐̐͛̅̽̈́͜ͅẽ̵̫d̴̳͎̞̩͐̐͗Ý̷̮̠̩̫̥ō̷̢͇͙̹͇̯̆͠ų̴͉̻̣͛̋̋̿r̷̫̱̣͙̠͎̖͂Ǔ̸̘̫͈͙̳̍͋͐̕̕m̴̨̡̧̰̮̬̑̾̈̉̂b̷̧̖̭͔̩͝ř̸̹̠e̴͙͕̋͐̊͠l̷̡͖̺͍̝̓͌͜l̸͇̬͕͈̥̅͌͑̂̔͆̚͜ȃ̵̟͈̙̣͑́̽̂
Speaker:” The drifter processed slowly down the saloon steps and into the middle of main street.
Speaker:“T̶̨͓̘͕͍̗̿̊̈̎̎h̶̨͇̝̩̟̣͚͐̈́̊͑̈́ẽ̷̛̩̘͔̈́̾̂́͘Ŗ̸̗̥̟͠a̷̻̬̣̪͒̈́̉̋́͘ͅi̶̘͍͌͑̈́̂̆̐n̵̬͍̠̞̟̘̪͗͑̅̊̽͂͘s̴͇͉̎͒̕͜T̸̟̉͑̍͂ḧ̵͚͖̗͜e̷̦͖̼̤̒y̵̡̲̹̳͊̐̿̔͘Ẉ̵̢̡̰̜̞̅̊ḯ̷̫͇l̷̟̺̫̍̈̀ļ̶̦̱͚̩̀͋D̸̤̫̱͓̯̉ọ̴͍͚͇͙̒͛̈́͜͝͝M̶̖̱̃̆e̵̼̾ͅͅN̴̰͖̠̯̓̇́͠o̵̩̦̲͓͐̉͘H̸̩̓̿͌̿̎͠a̶͔͌r̷̨̠͎̫̩̓̓͑̍͜m̶̱͈̋ ” the crowd parted for him. “I̸̡͕̤̪͛͝l̸̨̢̼͉̖͕̾̑l̸̛͈̭̟̜̹̆̌͝T̴̙̞͇̫́̊̒̉͐͠ų̶̡̡̛̫̻̠͙̄̑̉̂r̷͕̦̈́n̴͍͇̮̓̊̌̐̊͘͘ͅM̸̧͖͍̲͖͎̐͗̓ý̷̨̖̗̤̯͉̮̉̈́̃͠F̵̧̡̠̮̖͚̥̿̔͑̓ȃ̵̢̲̺̯͎̖̘̌̓̅̔̚͠c̷̥͓̒̋̆̑̐e̵̝̯͓͓̜͈̝̊̀̉T̴̐̈́͋͐ͅǫ̷̡̪͍͈́͌͌̍̃͝T̸̙͕̩̤̍̈̉́̽̒́h̸̜̠̖̔͜e̴̢̝̯̲̘̒͂̑͝R̸̺̫͎͆̂̊a̴̡̗̩̰͋͆̏̑̆ȉ̷͖̬̲̽n̸̞͎͂͒̊͑̈́̐͝f̷̉̐͂͜â̶̳̞̳͓͉̭̾͐͘͠l̵̛̛̦͎̯̻̟̦̰̽̋̇͋̋l̴̥͇͌̀̂̃́̂͆ ”
Speaker:At some point, the skies above had become overcast, though
Speaker:as far as Bethany could remember
Speaker:the weather had been sunny and clear all this morning. “Ą̴̱̪̘͍̬̲͋̄̈́̍n̵̝̹͈̬̏͊̽̀̇ḑ̷̈́͊̈́T̷̢̧͓̫͓̟̺̓ḥ̸̢̨̟͙͂̈́́͂̓̚e̸͈̊̄́R̸̤̬̞͙̝̉̉̈́̂͛̓̈́ḁ̶̝̟̬̼́̀̈́̐̈͐̔͜͜i̸͓̹̱̪̍̈́̀̋͜n̴͈̽͠f̷͇͚͍̭̝͍̒͜a̴͔̭̰͚͗̈̆̍̾ͅl̷̼͌̀l̷̫̞̜̥͒̎I̶̺̋̂̋̾͘͘ͅt̵̛̪̂̒͗͐̔K̴̢͕̏̊ḛ̷̟́ḙ̴̃̏̃̚̕p̸͚̄̈̎͘͠ė̶̲̤̗̅̆̄t̷̬͗̔̀h̵͉̙͐̓̂̂̚͝M̷̨̯̗̠͚̬̃͋͋ȇ̷͕̺͕̜̗̳͖̂̑͠Ẃ̶̡̝͍̽̏̀a̷͙̹̦̪̜̽̇̒͛͊̐͆r̴̫͉̬͓̜̓̈̔̍m̴̖͇͋͑̐
Speaker:” But now the clouds overhead were thick and black,
Speaker:churning heavily,
Speaker:and the light around the edges of them had gone a shade of green
Speaker:that anyone who lived on the prairies knew,
Speaker:and knew to fear. “A̶̩̲̤̲̣͐̃́̆́͘ṅ̴̞̙̣̄̈́̌d̸̟͙͆͌́̚͠M̸̢̿͠a̸̢̜͖͙͔̦̪̎̿̏͛͆y̵̢̻͖͎̜͛̑͂̔̀̑͠b̸̡̙͝ë̸͕̫́A̸̧͍͌͂̔̈́t̷̥͕͕̟̋̾̅͋̋̾̕T̴̋͛̊͑͊̚͝ͅh̷̡̡̒̇̅̽̆͜e̵̼̘͚̔̍Ë̷̢̞̟̪̈̓͛̌̔͝ṇ̸̼̗͉̮̗̜̾͛̾̀̾͘d̴̪̣́Ō̸͙̥̓̅̀̐̾f̶̤͍̻͖͙̮̈́̈́͜Ṣ̸̡̥̝͕͐ǒ̵̢͖̹̝̭̏̆̉̈̓m̷̭̉ȅ̷̹̳̉̑̔͌͝A̶͓̼͔̲̟̘̫̔̓u̸̠͚̬͚̟̻̿͌t̸͗͛̈͗͜ù̴̡͙͆̓͘͝m̶̡̥͔̯̲̦̖̓̓ņ̶͇̼͇̬̥͗̆͌̎̀̆ ”
Speaker:But the drifter feared this no more, clearly, than he had feared their weapons
Speaker:or their enmity. “A̶̟̱͖͂S̵͕̟͊̈́͂̓̒̏͝h̸̤̎́į̸͍̙̯͔̥͎̀̓͝p̶̤̻̠̙̒̏͒W̴̡̩̞̮̜͔̰̓̾̃̋i̵̺̞͚͋̿l̵̢̳̭̞̹͇̮̓̈́͗l̸̹̃̓͌̂̕B̵̨͈̫̖̞̙̻͆͛̇̃͐͠ė̷͎̣̠̱͕̼̌̈́͜͝W̶̭̺̰͚̙̝͇̾͂̍̈́͆a̷͈͍͒̏͆͊i̴̬͉̻̞̙̐̾̍̀͑t̶͈̀̍̐̌̄̏̚į̴̮̫͂̉ṇ̷̭̩͖̦̆̍͌g̴̰͓͚̾̉͌̔͘F̵̢͉̮̜̠̣̥̅̈́̒́̔o̵̡̨̱̰̿̾͐̎͐r̵̜̤̤̈́̌͜M̴̡̭̙̰͙̓̿é̵͎́͐͗́͘ ” The music was thrilling and triumphant,
Speaker:a recessional hymn and a valediction fit for martyrs facing the firing squad with a laugh.
Speaker:It was blended with an immeasurable sorrow,
Speaker:but it was a sorrow that it treasured,
Speaker:that it wove into its own solemn pattern and
Speaker:which only made its shouted heights the more joyful,
Speaker:the more triumphant. “W̶̩̳̰̞̺̯͝h̴̡̛̛̬͖̓͆͒̿e̶̮̫̒̏̂̐̀͠ͅr̵̡̢̛͈͉̖̼͕̉̓̃̀͝͝è̶̡̖̱͕̝̦̤̌T̵̡̳̘͓̗̉̈̉́h̶̯̞͎̜̜̜̞̆̑̽̕ę̴̺̟̳̻̪̘̇̏̍̌͘͝Ş̸̜͓̲̰̰̀u̸̧̥̘͆͐͊̎n̵̨̨̘̭̣̣̞̄̃͒̑̀͝Ẅ̴̡̨̤͙̪̯͓́̓̊͒̒̅̃i̶̲͈͙̩̓̎͛̉̒͘l̸̨̟̳͚̤̇̏͌̌̓̈́̈́l̷̜̥͉̇͝B̸̪̘̰̘̮̱̣͝e̶̺͌S̴̞͖̉͘ȩ̴̨̱̝̩̱̤̋̎͗͊t̵̢̬̭̰̫͕̮̐̊́̂̓͝͝t̴̰̪̠̟̽̾͊͛̕i̶̲̩̙̗̤̿ņ̶̱͖̺̐͋͂g̷̢̬̥̭̔̓̆̂A̸̡̼̫̼͑̽̀̈́n̵̖̈̆͒̽̓͜d̶̢̡̯̩̲̅͌͒S̸̩̓̀͒͠ṭ̴̝͖̝̞̠̙͋e̸̙͎͒̈́́ȩ̴̨͈͇̼̝̐͊̉͗͜p̶̛̠̹̲̱̖͂͂̌̈í̴̳͍̝̈́͆̽n̵̛͓͖̼̫̮̣̈̆́̑̍͜ǵ̶̞̞̯͇͇̯̌̕͝
Speaker:” Bethany was so close to understanding it.
Speaker:She could not shake the intuition that something in the words was meant for her,
Speaker:and her alone. “Ỉ̸͖̭̞̫͈͜t̵͓̺̫͕͊͌̏̕͘͝s̵̯̥̹̭̏̆́͘͝͝Ć̶̹̤̩̫̱̰̻̈́̂͂́͝͠o̶͙̻̜͙̪̒l̷̥̣̳̋̏ͅo̷̢̻̱̺̥̍͊r̵̢̩̹͕̐̀̈̀̎̄̿s̶̠̥̣̀͑̂̔̿͘Ȧ̵̜̼̬̰̹͍̓͑̂̏̿ͅl̵͓͙̣̬͒̌͊̍͐́l̶̥͖̎I̴̛̗̝̙͑ņ̸̘̰̜̻͆̾̈̍͘͠͝t̸̼̤͙̦́͑ő̷̥̱̼́̉͘T̶̠͔̲͝h̵̲͓͉̞̞̦̓e̷̯̝̥͓̼̙̩̽̑̉̾͑̈S̶̡̟̮̪͖͉̱͌͛ẹ̴͍͖̉́a̵̘̟̯̲̩̲̒̇ ”
Speaker:In it she could hear the inevitable death of Statfeldt,
Speaker:of all that she knew,
Speaker:and it was all alright.
Speaker:Those things were never going to last forever.
Speaker:She was never going to last forever. “Ḯ̴̛͚͎̺͛̽̔͝ḷ̶͙̙̓̑ͅl̶̼̙͈̳͎̓̓̇͂̋̉͜͝ͅS̷͖̞͇̓̏̄̋a̸̧̛̮͈̓̏́͌͛y̵̰̬͎͍̞͕͗̋̈́̚Ĝ̸̙̮̋̿̍̐͜o̴̘͔̜͓̓͠ǒ̸̫̝͍̩͕̏d̸̫̎̅̈́̈́b̵̡̖̖͕̭̙̮̏̿̚y̵͕̪̙̹̱̯̅̋̒͘e̵̡̼͎͖̫͐͆̿T̴̨̨͖̼̖̺͕́o̴̧̯̫̪̐̿̒̉ͅT̷̢̧͍̤͍̗̔̔͊̀̉ḧ̶̙̙͇̭́̉͗͝ͅe̶̛̞̫̦͕̖͈̰̍̂͐̚͝͠Ṣ̷̲͍̾̿͘͜u̷̡̡͚̗̥͎̓̔̃͆̈̃m̵̪̗̉̓̊͒̋̃̿ṁ̸͉̝͍͍̑͛́͌̆͐e̵̼͉͐͑̔ȓ̷̨̢̺̻̱̦͌̒̑̒͘
Speaker:” But she was here now,
Speaker:and while she was here,
Speaker:she was singing. And it was beautiful. “I̸̢͓̒͝l̸̤͉͕̣̞̘̙̀͋̿l̸̡̡̗̖͌̅̇̈̆L̵̨͓̱̝̖̬̃̿̀̊̒̕͝è̶̼̞̱͍̝̅͂â̷͈͈̥̲̥̜͋͒̈́͆̆͆v̴̻̓͋e̸̥̓̄̌̀̂͠T̵̪̽̈́̓̓ȟ̵̞̎́̈̆̔e̵͕͍̤̗̙̎̑͌́͝͠Ḧ̵͕í̴͕̆ǧ̴̢̡̹͖͓̩̼̅̄h̷͒͂̍͐̑͝ͅw̵͙̋̂͋͆͋̒̌a̴̛͍̯̻̅̇͊̿̄̐y̸̡͈̙̯͑͐̂̚͝͠B̶͇̖̱̝̭̦̏̍ę̷̩̜͇̕h̵̡̨̠͉̫̖̼͆̅͗̄́͝ǐ̷̡̟̩͇̱̓̈́͐̓͠ņ̸͓̫̯̜̼͕̆͆̎̃͘d̷̝͕͑
Speaker:” When the funnelcloud opened up overhead
Speaker:it was as if it were entirely expected. “I̸̻̝̝̹̋̏ͅl̶̢̦͋̀̓̾͜l̷͕̪͙̯̀̍͠͝T̴̬̲̀͌̚a̶̟̹̿̉̚k̴̖̍̉̑̚ë̶̤͉͙͇̬̌̉͘T̴̳̼̽͆̔h̵͖̔͌̽ȩ̸͈̞͎̺͈̝̂̑̈́̓̈S̴̡͎̻̰̻̞̬͆̇͠h̴̟̑̃̑̕͝ḯ̷̡̥̖̙̂͒̓́̕͠p̵̡͚̽́̈͆À̵̤̙̺̠͎͆̈́͝n̷̬̈́͗͆͑̆d̵̛̖̃̀̓̀̓̌F̵̢̡̙̬͍̌͛̓̒o̸̹͓͇̎̆ŗ̵̟̦̘͚̜̅̈́ȅ̴̤͙̗͖̠̀͐̓̃͒̔v̸͇̫̫̥̤͊ḛ̸̙̫̓r̶̝̠͔͙̄̒̄̽̄͠ ”
Speaker:The wind around the crowd was roaring, but it did so in harmony,
Speaker:and did not drown out but rather amplified the song, “B̶̙̙̙̞̩̋̍̏͊͝ȇ̶̛͔̲͚͖͎̞̖́S̵̼͚͐̀o̸̻̳͈͖̍̈̿̓̃͑̾m̸̙̱͔̻̀̋e̷͕͈̠͍͖̼͊ẅ̶̧̼̽̈́̌̈́h̶̨̡͓̐̐̎̄̆̔͝e̸͔̭̮̐͊̈̕ͅr̴̛̠̥̳e̴̡̼͔̰̔̾̃̋́̎̕ͅO̵͕̼͓̯͎̎̅̌̑͊͜͝͝ų̵̦̬̏͂ť̶̬͈̤ͅͅT̶͍͔̣̹̖͚́̅͝ͅh̸͉̲͊̉͂̊̌̑ͅe̶̬̣̹̫̩͐̊̕͜r̵̢͕̖̝͗͛̌͜e̴̤̠͌W̷͙͓͘i̴̭͌̈́̎̔͗͒ẗ̸̙̟̖̙́ͅḧ̷̡͍̦̖́͐͌̚T̷̳͔̮̺̫͌̋͊͘͝ͅh̷̩̭͎͚̾͗̍̓̉ê̵̩͎̯̩̥̰̙̈́Ẅ̷̖͈̰̫̥́ḭ̶̗̭̰̔́̊̄͘̚͜ņ̴̤̩̪̠̀̐̀̊ḋ̷͓̲̱̱͉̺̠͑
Speaker:” The drifter’s poncho was billowing.
Speaker:His face was serene.
Speaker:His feet no longer touched the ground. “Ä̷̛̹̭͚̼́͛͆͂ͅň̵̨̰̱̯̘͖̜̓͆͆̈́͂͝d̴̞̬͛̄́͌͌͆͝T̵̜̔̀̇̂̈̓̏h̷̛͚̥͚͙̭̬̄â̵̯̱̩̟͈̏ͅt̸͓̏̈́͐͆͂̇̓I̷̥̋̀̚͘m̶̢̹̝͓̉Á̴̡̫͖́́̔̈́f̸̞͈͓̬͓̦̏̀̉̓͘͜r̵̗̎͛̆̐͐a̴̺̩̽̅̍̄́̈̌ḭ̸͂̀̅̌d̵̻̬̝̥̏I̴̡͌̊s̴̢̆̅̀͋̉M̶̢̞̳̘̮͂̓͛̀̋̇ý̴͓̪͓̊͌̍̒̚̚A̶̼̲͊̉̃͝n̶̺̜̼̰̈́͠s̵̝̐w̷̨̛͎̓̽́ě̵̯̤̜̻̩̰͐̓͘̕͜r̶̭̠̀̑͂ ”
Speaker:And when he had sung these things, while they beheld,
Speaker:he was taken up by the winds;
Speaker:and the funnelcloud received him out of their sight “I̷̡̯̜̤̣͒̊͂̈̂t̵̺̙̳͊̌̎̿͘s̵͚̪͍̖̫̬̐̽̓T̶̞͚͎̠̞͌ḩ̷̤̟̣̜̈́͆̕ȇ̴̙͈̀Ö̴͓͎̮́̽̒̊̒̓ͅn̷̢͈̭͘ͅl̵̙̝̫̬͔͂̈͛̈͂̚̕y̵̥͙̏̿̌̽̔̕Ơ̶̢͔̰͛̈́̇͛n̵̩͈̋͌͝e̷̪͖̥̹͕̲͛̋͝T̷̢͎͙͐̊͋̀̍͠ȟ̶͈͇̐͋ą̸̣̭̗̻͖̌͆ẗ̷̩̺̲̉̇͐Ḯ̷̤̗͎̕ͅͅỎ̸̱̤̙̘̯̭̥͛̀̋̕ẅ̶͍̙͕̤́̆̒͛̇̌n̸̨̳̖̜͉̹͆̌͛͒
Speaker:” Maybe this was why the town would soon be gone. “Ē̶̻̟̖͉̥̖͜v̶͉̫͓͇̲́͗̐́̆̏e̴̢̛̥͙̩͐̉͑̉̐͘͜ņ̵̳͙̰̋̈́́̆̓͒̕T̷̢̡̲͚̙̫͍͠h̴̨͔̩̞̃̾͛̌́̄̐o̸̡̙̣̖̮̼̱̎̌̍̊̏ư̸̩̲̐́͒̿ͅg̷̨͕̊̓̿̋͂͠ḧ̷̨̨̡͔̲̰̭̄͋̅͂̈́͝Ÿ̷̢͙̰͈̥́̀͒̉o̷̱̻̓̈͂u̶̧̩̫̻͑͌͗̉̅͘͘ḷ̷͇̥̆̍̍̾̕ļ̴̺͕̺͇̝̼́̎̈͝N̴̛̯̲̣̹̐̋̚e̶̳̙̞͉̮̒̍͋̒̚͝v̶̠̗̤͕̍e̷̙̬͉̖̐̀͋͗̈́̏̋ͅr̵̗̎͒S̶̨̾͆̈́͘e̷͔̰͔̿̎̔e̶̡͔̓͗̑̅͛͆̾M̸̼̹̟͊̽e̸̢̮̚
Speaker:” Wasn’t it better to end like this?
Speaker:To go down singing,
Speaker:falling apart under a torrent of unearthly beauty
Speaker:which dwarfed your prior experience like the size of a thundercloud dwarfs a whole continent?
Speaker:Like a haystack blown apart by a tornado? “Ṭ̵̰͙̔̐ḧ̷̝̩̠̃̉a̸̛͇͕̞̖̟̾̾̌̊t̴͉͎̿s̸̨̒̑̄́̚̚W̸̟͚̜͕̣͂̀͂͘͝ḩ̶̩̝͚̫̝͐e̷̤̖̖̤̥͒̎͘͝r̸̢̨̧̮̰͆̿́̅͘è̶̯̬̎͛̏̃̚Ḯ̶̭l̸͈̎̀͛̆ͅl̴̙̭̤̏̃̌B̸̯̘̗̬̪̱̂̊͆́͛ė̶̡̡̖͇̞͇̃̋͑̾ ” “F̴̹̘̙͇̈́̿̾͒̕̚͝i̷͉̳̫͎͍͒̎́̎͑̔͜n̸̢̢͔̜͂͒̓̀̾ả̶̫̤͓̫̯̇̒̒ͅl̴̨̏̎̐l̶͕͉̋̾y̴̛̩̗̲̟̏̾̅̃̏̕ ” ”H̴̜̔̾̄͐̃o̵͓̔̈́̾̾̚ḿ̴̧͚̮̻̮̠ͅe̵̲̬̔̔̎
Speaker:” But the music faded,
Speaker:the wind died, the sky cleared.
Speaker:The people of Statfeldt remained, and the drifter was gone.
Speaker:It was ended. — The railroad surveyors, citing rumors of some kind of episode of mass hysteria,
Speaker:declined to route the tracks through Statfeldt, after all.
Speaker:Rather they turned west,
Speaker:along the preferred route of the old Oregon Trail.
Speaker:By that time, of course, it no longer mattered.
Speaker:Mayor Smith had resigned,
Speaker:citing failing health,
Speaker:and gone back east to a retirement among his lady wife’s kin in Virginia.
Speaker:Pete Corbiss, after a week’s long bout of drunkenness,
Speaker:had been found one morning in a ditch, stone dead,
Speaker:by all appearances fallen from his horse.
Speaker:Rafe Rogers, it is rumored,
Speaker:ended his days in a fringe religious community in California,
Speaker:where he was briefly considered a living saint.
Speaker:In fact, the town of Statfeldt experienced such a population collapse that by the time the land on which it stood graduated from Nebraska Territory to the State of Nebraska,
Speaker:it had dwindled to merely a ‘census designated place.’
Speaker:Many residents, in departing,
Speaker:were most cryptic: ‘the
Speaker:town’d served its purpose,’
Speaker:and ‘what point was there to stayin?’
Speaker:and ‘it’s all blown away’
Speaker:were representative of the typical remarks.
Speaker:In all honesty, there was only one permanent resident,
Speaker:a Mr. Luis Huerfano,
Speaker:who resided in and maintained what was called, for reasons nobody seemed to know,
Speaker:the Smith House. Even when weather damage slowly,
Speaker:inevitably, over decades,
Speaker:tore down the rest of the unused structures,
Speaker:his home kept in good condition:
Speaker:from the weathervane on the cupola
Speaker:to the plum tree in the yard.
Speaker:Drifters and wanderers, over the years,
Speaker:came to rely on the place as a reliable stop,
Speaker:where a hot meal and bed were always to be found
Speaker:in exchange for a story.
Speaker:Mr. Luis seemed to have a great passion for descriptions of far away places,
Speaker:though he confessed
Speaker:to no desire to travel himself.
Speaker:“I have my home,” he would say,
Speaker:“and that’s all I ever wanted.
Speaker:wanted.” One drifter, in particular,
Speaker:returned year after year.
Speaker:A Miss Bethany Smith,
Speaker:possum, sharply-dressed,
Speaker:witty, cosmopolitan,
Speaker:and more than capable of out-cussing a whole navy battalion.
Speaker:To judge by her stories she had been everywhere and seen everything.
Speaker:She had climbed mountains,
Speaker:crossed oceans, trekked to the arctic circle to see the northern lights.
Speaker:She had socialized with Lords and Ladies in Europe,
Speaker:drunk with murderers in Chicago,
Speaker:danced in a parade in Brazil,
Speaker:and sung with the Canadian National Methodist choir,
Speaker:who were, in her estimation,
Speaker:“good enough.” Often Luis and Bethany would sing together.
Speaker:Luis’s other guests
Speaker:were quite unable to understand any of the words, when they did.
Speaker:One day, of course,
Speaker:Luis didn’t meet her at the gate.
Speaker:He wasn’t on the porch.
Speaker:She found him in the kitchen,
Speaker:dishes by the sink washed and dusty,
Speaker:coffee dried to a stain
Speaker:at the bottom of the cup in his hand.
Speaker:He’d gone, while she was out there somewhere,
Speaker:and on his face was an expression
Speaker:much like Rafe Rogers had worn,
Speaker:in the wake of an unearthly song, once upon a time.
Speaker:She buried him beneath the plum tree out front,
Speaker:not far from where they had buried Jeb years ago
Speaker:—he wouldn’t have wanted to rest anywhere but his home.
Speaker:Between the shovelfuls of dry earth there came the sound of distant thunder, across the plains,
Speaker:and when she laid the last dirt above him a cold wind,
Speaker:gentle but firm, brushed across the hills,
Speaker:traced waves through the long grass,
Speaker:and opened up the skies with intoxicating petrichor and soft rain,
Speaker:to settle the grave before the soil could blow away.
Speaker:If there had been any other mourners,
Speaker:they would have seen the old possum straighten,
Speaker:ears up, eyes wide,
Speaker:as if hearing at a great distance some long-familiar but almost forgotten sound.
Speaker:Would have seen her turn west by northwest,
Speaker:the direction that once the Oregon Trail had gone,
Speaker:into the face of the wind and coming storm. They would have seen
Speaker:a look on her face that,
Speaker:even were they here to see it,
Speaker:not a one of them would be able to read.
Speaker:Bethany watched the thunderstorm from the front porch.
Speaker:When it had passed,
Speaker:she made sure all the lights were off,
Speaker:the windows shut,
Speaker:the books in the library, in her handwriting, in Luis’s, in the handwriting of all the drifters Luis had taken in over the decades,
Speaker:were in neat rows.
Speaker:Then she locked the doors behind her and never set foot in her childhood home again.
Speaker:Some weeks later,
Speaker:the law offices of Beranek and Agnelli
Speaker:in Kansas City received a letter,
Speaker:posted from the Union Pacific station in Salt Lake,
Speaker:from an eccentric long-time client of theirs, a miss Bethany Smith.
Speaker:It instructed and empowered them to enter a house she owned, out in the middle of nowhere,
Speaker:and take possession of a collection of books to be found there.
Speaker:These they were to print, bind, and disseminate in whatever way would, in their judgment, best preserve them for posterity.
Speaker:The house, the land,
Speaker:and all other property to be found therein
Speaker:she wished liquidated
Speaker:and the money used to cover any costs of carrying this out.
Speaker:They were not to expect further instructions:
Speaker:she meant to retire out west,
Speaker:in Oregon, or the Columbia Valley,
Speaker:or the Pacific Coast.
Speaker:Whether she ever reached such places,
Speaker:neither Beranek nor Agnelli could say.
Speaker:The real estate sold for a reasonable sum:
Speaker:there was a minor speculative boom in farmland on,
Speaker:though this bubble burst before anything could be done to the place but the demolition of the building itself,
Speaker:so ultimately the land remained vacant
Speaker:save for a feral plum tree,
Speaker:gradually and busily transforming itself into a thicket over the decades.
Speaker:The proceeds of the sale, at least, were a little more than sufficient
Speaker:to cover the cost of what were assumed
Speaker:to be Miss Smith’s somewhat unusual final wishes.
Speaker:Some of the resulting story collections
Speaker:were donated to the Missouri Valley Room of the Kansas City Library,
Speaker:or to the University of Nebraska,
Speaker:and some of what remained was dispersed to various other libraries, collections, archives,
Speaker:rare book dealers, or second-hand book sales.
Speaker:But the bulk of it remained in the custody of Beranek and Agnelli
Speaker:until the freak tornado of ‘27
Speaker:entirely razed the building,
Speaker:leaving behind nothing but the foundations.
Speaker:If anyone but the wind knows where those stories are, today,
Speaker:then I have not heard of it.
Speaker:But I am assured the wind remembers.
Speaker:This was the second and final part of
Speaker:“Sing in Me, Holy One, and Through Me”
Speaker:by Rob MacWolf,
Speaker:read by the author.
Speaker:As always, you can find more stories on the web
Speaker:at thevoice.dog,
Speaker:or find the show wherever you get your podcasts.
Speaker:Thank you for listening
Speaker:to The Voice of Dog.
