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Protista 3
I woke up one morning and at once felt in myself that
something was wrong. I could not move; I could move neither
my body nor my hands nor my feet. At first I thought some-
thing had in the night strapped me down to the ground, but I
could feel no bonds binding me. When I realised what had
happened I almost cried out-but held my breath because
there was no one to hear me. Not only had my hair grown into
the floor like roots, but also my fingers and my toes and the
veins and arteries of my body had all in my sleep grown into the earth floor. I had been turned into some sort of plant, I
thought. And as soon as that thought seared through my head
I immediately could feel that my skin had turned into bark. It
has happened at last, I said to myself. As I did so I noticed that
the circle on the wall had begun to bleed and was running
down the wall: something had happened to Maria. I could not
feel my eyes, nor my ears, but, strangely, I could see and I
could hear. I do not know how long I lay there; nor what days
or weeks passed as I lay there fighting back the feverish
delirium that soon swamped me. And I was staring fixedly at
Maria's life bleeding on the wall; and stared at it so much that I
could see nothing else but that red circle bleeding slowly down
the wall.
It was like sleeping with one's eyes open.
The footsteps outside had stopped at my door and I could
hear heavy breathing. The roof rattled a little as the south-east
wind swept by. And then the breathing stopped. The wind
stopped too, and the roof did not rattle any more. It suddenly
dawned on me that the footsteps were actually inside me; they
were my old heart beating, my old things come home. The
door had not opened, but I could see her clearly. She was mere
bones, a fleshless skeleton, and she was sitting on a tree-trunk.
I was the tree-trunk. I do not know how long she sat there. She
was weeping; clear tears, silvery and yet like glass, coming out
of the stone of her eyeless sockets; and her small gleaming
head rested in the open bones of her palms, whose arms rested
lightly on her knees. And she held between her front teeth a
silver button which I recognised: I had years before bought her
a coat which had buttons like that. It was the sight of her
forlornly chewing that button which filled me with such a
great sadness that I did not realise that my roots had been
painlessly severed and that what was left to do was to bind my
wounds and once more -- but with a fresh eye -- walk the way
of the valley. The roof was rattling once more; the south-east
winds were singing a muffled song through the door. And
those horrid footfalls retreated until their distant echo beat
silently in my breast.
After that, the sun never came up. I do not know where it
had decided to go. Perhaps it fell into the sea where the great manfish lives. Anyway, the night did not come either; it had retreated to the bedrock of the deepest sea where the great
manfish came from. There was in the sky so much of its face
that even the stars had grown vicious and turned into menfish.
And they all wanted company; they were all hungry for me
thirsty for me. But I kept a careful watch and always chewed
the silver button, because that alone can keep them away.
Yesterday I met Barbara's father in the valley:
'I'll get you in the end, you rascal!' he screamed.
But I bit the silver button and turned myself into a crocodile
and laughed my great sharp teeth at him.
He instantly turned himself into mist, and I could only bite
chunks of air. While I was cursing him, a voice I did not recognise said:
'You thought it was all politics, didn't you?'
But there was no one there.
I sneered:
'Isn't it?'
And I sullenly turned myself back into human shape. I had
decided to write all this down because I do not know when the
stinking menfish will get me. Maria, if ever you find this -- my
head is roaring with fever and I scarcely know what I have
written -- I think the menfish are out to undermine my
reason -- if ever you find this-I think Barbara's father is coming to get me and the sky and the earth and the air are all full of
monsters like him and me-like him -- I wish I had been able to
give you a child-my head! -- all grown-ups are menfish, but
remember perhaps there is still a chance that the children -- my
head!
I have been a manfish all my life. Maria, you did well to leave
me. I must go.
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