my honeymoon.
This was no Carnival ship.
From the mountaintop on the east side, a thin waterfall slithered into an opening. A pity the mountain was so stingy with its water; the valley could have used some before it died utterly.
We stepped onto the platform of the most frightening suspension bridge ever constructed. I thought there had to be another way around. I would gladly walk ten hours out of my way through steep, rough terrain, but knew that Tsaeb would never let me live it down, either.
The first step onto the swaying bridge and I felt my heart press against my rectum. I froze, unable to lift my three-ton feet any further.
“Come on, Norman!” shouted Tsaeb who was well ahead of Morris.
The bridge extended more than two hundred feet across, and the drop even further. The rotted, weathered wood creaked and groaned under my footing. The thick ropes that kept my balance felt strong in my death grip, but it gave me no comfort. I knew in my heart that the bridge was going to break underneath me, that one foot was destined to push through a weak spot, or the ropes were going to snap in half and send me crashing into the mountainside. I knew, as I continued to walk, that it was my fault alone that my marriage with Amanda ended so badly. I began to ask forgiveness for all my ‘sins’: for taking the extra ten bucks the gas station attendant gave me last year. For ordering CD’s through a mail order club under a fake name — four times — and having the free merchandise sent to the empty duplex next door. For shoplifting a Hershey’s bar at age nine and a box of condoms at age sixteen, which I never actually used. I prayed, with my eyes shut tight, that I would be forgiven for every stupid decision in my life.
I swear I’ll never sin again...I swear.
The wind whipped through my hair. The bridge swayed side to side and with every movement, my arms and legs felt more like jelly. I felt one heavy jolt and then another as Tsaeb and Morris stepped off the bridge and onto safe ground.
“This bridge is as sturdy as Old Ronan’s wooden legs,” said Morris.
I felt a hand on my arm. The awareness came back once my feet touched the earth and air found my lungs again.
“And he’s got some damn sturdy wooden legs! Sure does!”
Tsaeb didn’t taunt me out loud; the smirk pretty much covered everything.
“Lost his legs fightin’ a gator, he did!”
Tsaeb and I followed Morris who talked away as if someone had been actually listening. “...got trapped in...,” and two minutes later, “...a friend of Morris since...,” and his words faded into several more minutes, “...and just snapped his neck like that, like a s’getti noodle over a boilin’ pot of chicken broth!”
The walk to Ronan’s place somewhere on one of the wrecked ships was a long and tiring one. It took nearly an hour to travel down the winding rock and limb-littered path. It was lined with markers made of speared raven skulls. Ravens. They were everywhere, I realized. Ravens circled high above the valley methodically. Ravens took rest on the ships, on the mountain ledges, even on the bridge, all lined along the rope like pigeons on a clothesline. Ravens squawked and cawed and dropped white gifts for the passersby, in generous amounts.
And there were ravens that spoke.
“Pay the toll! Caw !” said one raven next to two others atop a sign that read: Big cReeK.
“Fifty pence, a finger or a toe! Caw !” said the raven in the middle.
Myself, Tsaeb and Morris halted, but only I thought there was something incredibly wrong with this picture.
“ Caw ! That you, Morris McAlister? Hawareya?”
“Yep, Morris is grand, grand,” answered Morris, dipping deep into his pockets. “Morris came with visitors for Old Ronan.” He pulled out fifty pence in the form of six pence, but apparently, the ravens didn’t know the difference.
The raven on the right caught one coin in its beak and the rest fell in a small pile of coins and bird
This was no Carnival ship.
From the mountaintop on the east side, a thin waterfall slithered into an opening. A pity the mountain was so stingy with its water; the valley could have used some before it died utterly.
We stepped onto the platform of the most frightening suspension bridge ever constructed. I thought there had to be another way around. I would gladly walk ten hours out of my way through steep, rough terrain, but knew that Tsaeb would never let me live it down, either.
The first step onto the swaying bridge and I felt my heart press against my rectum. I froze, unable to lift my three-ton feet any further.
“Come on, Norman!” shouted Tsaeb who was well ahead of Morris.
The bridge extended more than two hundred feet across, and the drop even further. The rotted, weathered wood creaked and groaned under my footing. The thick ropes that kept my balance felt strong in my death grip, but it gave me no comfort. I knew in my heart that the bridge was going to break underneath me, that one foot was destined to push through a weak spot, or the ropes were going to snap in half and send me crashing into the mountainside. I knew, as I continued to walk, that it was my fault alone that my marriage with Amanda ended so badly. I began to ask forgiveness for all my ‘sins’: for taking the extra ten bucks the gas station attendant gave me last year. For ordering CD’s through a mail order club under a fake name — four times — and having the free merchandise sent to the empty duplex next door. For shoplifting a Hershey’s bar at age nine and a box of condoms at age sixteen, which I never actually used. I prayed, with my eyes shut tight, that I would be forgiven for every stupid decision in my life.
I swear I’ll never sin again...I swear.
The wind whipped through my hair. The bridge swayed side to side and with every movement, my arms and legs felt more like jelly. I felt one heavy jolt and then another as Tsaeb and Morris stepped off the bridge and onto safe ground.
“This bridge is as sturdy as Old Ronan’s wooden legs,” said Morris.
I felt a hand on my arm. The awareness came back once my feet touched the earth and air found my lungs again.
“And he’s got some damn sturdy wooden legs! Sure does!”
Tsaeb didn’t taunt me out loud; the smirk pretty much covered everything.
“Lost his legs fightin’ a gator, he did!”
Tsaeb and I followed Morris who talked away as if someone had been actually listening. “...got trapped in...,” and two minutes later, “...a friend of Morris since...,” and his words faded into several more minutes, “...and just snapped his neck like that, like a s’getti noodle over a boilin’ pot of chicken broth!”
The walk to Ronan’s place somewhere on one of the wrecked ships was a long and tiring one. It took nearly an hour to travel down the winding rock and limb-littered path. It was lined with markers made of speared raven skulls. Ravens. They were everywhere, I realized. Ravens circled high above the valley methodically. Ravens took rest on the ships, on the mountain ledges, even on the bridge, all lined along the rope like pigeons on a clothesline. Ravens squawked and cawed and dropped white gifts for the passersby, in generous amounts.
And there were ravens that spoke.
“Pay the toll! Caw !” said one raven next to two others atop a sign that read: Big cReeK.
“Fifty pence, a finger or a toe! Caw !” said the raven in the middle.
Myself, Tsaeb and Morris halted, but only I thought there was something incredibly wrong with this picture.
“ Caw ! That you, Morris McAlister? Hawareya?”
“Yep, Morris is grand, grand,” answered Morris, dipping deep into his pockets. “Morris came with visitors for Old Ronan.” He pulled out fifty pence in the form of six pence, but apparently, the ravens didn’t know the difference.
The raven on the right caught one coin in its beak and the rest fell in a small pile of coins and bird
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