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Pig, she cackles. You rebel pig. You'll die the death you deserve. Do I know you? he says again. She laughs again and this time she does not stop. She points at him with her remaining hand. You're-dead-hahahaha-your-time-is-over- hahahaha-the-nation-will-persevere- hahahaha … Heavens preserve us -- The master is crouching down over the old man, who has fallen into a lounging position, on his side. If not for the blood one could almost believe that he is relaxing on a settee, lost in contemplation. His face has relaxed into a careworn smile. Staring at it, the warrior feels that it is almost possible that this man was loved.  |
Why do you smile like that? the warrior snarls. You're dying. Why are you -- He's dead, the master says. No he's not. He's -- But the master is correct. The man's arms have flopped to the ground, and the branches of the bush are free and wobbling. He wears a rictus grin, all sense of age and weariness lost. It's not right, the warrior thinks. I expected that of all things, this would be right. The rest of it, all those intervening years, were simply a process, a crucible, the ignition of circumstance and will. This was to be the return, the one clear act to emerge from a jumble of nonsense --  |
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