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Authors: Katie Kitamura
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further.
Although they had been brought up together, of the same age and both nursed at
Celeste’s tit, Jose was amystery to Tom. Fatherless Jose,
halfway an orphan, who nonetheless understood things Tom could not comprehend. When Tom
looked at Jose he saw nothing but an opaque surface: the obstruction of things Jose
knew, that Tom could not hope to know. In silence, they turned the horses out and headed
to the High Point.
In the wake of the volcano, the landscape was muted but not quiet. There
were sounds throughout and the sky had the density of the ocean. Tom thought: there was
water everywhere, and waves up in the sky. Around them the farm was calm. As they
climbed they could see the force of the old man’s imprint on the terrain: the
fences corralling the fields, the plow marks in the dirt. The sky churned overhead but
down on the surface things were almost as before. The horses shied when a hawk swooped
down across the path. The two men calmed the horses and pressed forward up the
valley.
They reached the High Point ten minutes later. There, the landscape reared
up violently. The ground a lunging beast but worse. The mountain looming in front of
them, the top blown off and rivulets of lava still flowing. Tom looked across at it. He
realized that things had changed. The ground had come undone and lacked all coherence,
it rolled forward in senseless disorder. They had seen none of it from the valley.
They’d had no idea of its scale.
It was like they had crossed into another world. Tom in particular was not
prepared. He did not have the tools to understand what he now saw. He had never been
anywhere in hislife. Barely having left the farm, a city street
would have struck him like a miracle.
“What will happen now?”
He barely spoke the words, he wasn’t sure he said them at all. Jose
shook his head.
“No person knows.”
“What does that mean?”
“There has never been anything like this.”
Tom looked down at the river. He could see that it was black and brown
with debris. Close to the mountain it hardly seemed to run at all. As if it had turned
to mud. As if it would turn to stone. The mud river, the stone river, ran down from the
mountain and toward the border. Over the border and into their land. Quickly, Tom looked
at Jose.
“There is something wrong with the river.”
Jose took a long time in responding. Then Tom realized he was not going to
respond at all. He was not looking at the river but up at the sky. He was staring at its
churning brightness like he was waiting to go blind.
“What is it?”
He shook his head.
“What is it?”
Tom spoke more forcefully this time. Jose stared at the ground and still
did not respond. Then he shook his head.
“Nothing good.”
“Nothing good? That’s all you have to
say?”
Jose nodded.
“Nothing good.”
“About the river? Are you talking about the river? There is
something wrong with it.”
“Nothing good about nothing.”
Tom kicked the horse and it bolted down the path. After a second, he heard
Jose follow. Tom laughed. To have asked so many times. To have made himself ridiculous.
What had made him think the man knew something, something about the mountain and the
farm, something Tom could not see? If the natives had instinct, they had cunning, and
the two added up to nothing.
His father never had these difficulties. He gave orders and the natives
listened because they knew the old man had no want he could not satisfy himself. Tom was
different. He could do nothing of his own. He needed the servants and they were aware of
this, having had many years to realize the fact. Tom was their superior but on the farm
they were all subordinate to the old man. However. Tom reminded himself that would
change, that would all be changing, soon. His father had promised him as much.
He was calmed by the thought. They took the horses down the slope and to
the stables. The
Although they had been brought up together, of the same age and both nursed at
Celeste’s tit, Jose was amystery to Tom. Fatherless Jose,
halfway an orphan, who nonetheless understood things Tom could not comprehend. When Tom
looked at Jose he saw nothing but an opaque surface: the obstruction of things Jose
knew, that Tom could not hope to know. In silence, they turned the horses out and headed
to the High Point.
In the wake of the volcano, the landscape was muted but not quiet. There
were sounds throughout and the sky had the density of the ocean. Tom thought: there was
water everywhere, and waves up in the sky. Around them the farm was calm. As they
climbed they could see the force of the old man’s imprint on the terrain: the
fences corralling the fields, the plow marks in the dirt. The sky churned overhead but
down on the surface things were almost as before. The horses shied when a hawk swooped
down across the path. The two men calmed the horses and pressed forward up the
valley.
They reached the High Point ten minutes later. There, the landscape reared
up violently. The ground a lunging beast but worse. The mountain looming in front of
them, the top blown off and rivulets of lava still flowing. Tom looked across at it. He
realized that things had changed. The ground had come undone and lacked all coherence,
it rolled forward in senseless disorder. They had seen none of it from the valley.
They’d had no idea of its scale.
It was like they had crossed into another world. Tom in particular was not
prepared. He did not have the tools to understand what he now saw. He had never been
anywhere in hislife. Barely having left the farm, a city street
would have struck him like a miracle.
“What will happen now?”
He barely spoke the words, he wasn’t sure he said them at all. Jose
shook his head.
“No person knows.”
“What does that mean?”
“There has never been anything like this.”
Tom looked down at the river. He could see that it was black and brown
with debris. Close to the mountain it hardly seemed to run at all. As if it had turned
to mud. As if it would turn to stone. The mud river, the stone river, ran down from the
mountain and toward the border. Over the border and into their land. Quickly, Tom looked
at Jose.
“There is something wrong with the river.”
Jose took a long time in responding. Then Tom realized he was not going to
respond at all. He was not looking at the river but up at the sky. He was staring at its
churning brightness like he was waiting to go blind.
“What is it?”
He shook his head.
“What is it?”
Tom spoke more forcefully this time. Jose stared at the ground and still
did not respond. Then he shook his head.
“Nothing good.”
“Nothing good? That’s all you have to
say?”
Jose nodded.
“Nothing good.”
“About the river? Are you talking about the river? There is
something wrong with it.”
“Nothing good about nothing.”
Tom kicked the horse and it bolted down the path. After a second, he heard
Jose follow. Tom laughed. To have asked so many times. To have made himself ridiculous.
What had made him think the man knew something, something about the mountain and the
farm, something Tom could not see? If the natives had instinct, they had cunning, and
the two added up to nothing.
His father never had these difficulties. He gave orders and the natives
listened because they knew the old man had no want he could not satisfy himself. Tom was
different. He could do nothing of his own. He needed the servants and they were aware of
this, having had many years to realize the fact. Tom was their superior but on the farm
they were all subordinate to the old man. However. Tom reminded himself that would
change, that would all be changing, soon. His father had promised him as much.
He was calmed by the thought. They took the horses down the slope and to
the stables. The
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