final point or meaning in the University, it’s—look here, it’s like this: a naked physical fact!”
I gasped with Chickie.
“Like the Ismists say, it all comes down to distinctions in our minds; we can’t ever get to the things themselves. We can thrust, and we can thrust …”
“No!”
“… but the
screen
… the flunking
screen
… it’s always
there
. And when you
try
… to break
through
it … you’re just af
firming
… that it’s
there
.”
“Oh my!”
He paused. “Where I part company with the Ismists, though, is when they say our only choice is to accept the screen, and give up hope of ever knowing things absolutely. You’ll have to read
Footnotes to Sakhyan
one of these days—it’s the Syllabus of Beism, you know …”
“Don’t talk!” his nan cried.
“Sure. You’ve got it exactly. You’ve got to say
flunk
that screen, and
flunk
Reality, and
flunk
True and False. Flunk all!”
“Flunk me, Harry! I know I’m going to shout …”
“It’s no good asking what is—”
“Shut up! Shut up!”
“—you’ve got to be, Chickie!
Be! Be!
”
Beyond any question then they Were, locked past discourse in their odd embrace. And I was fetched with them to the verge of
Being;
I who neither was nor was not, my blood and bones they shuddered to
become!
As is the way of does, the girl called Chickie, having Been, craved yet again to Be; put off her wools, unhobbled her udder, and pled to Harry that he school her more in that verb’s grammar. He, however, seemed done with conjugating.
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded when I said ‘Shut up,’ ” she apologized, hugging him round the neck.
“No, no, you were right, of course.” But his voice was short, and he reached to open another tin as if nothing were pressing at his ribs.
Yet though she entreated and rebuked him, bit at his lobe and cavorted in the gorse, he could not be roused. Not even her offer to shout out verses while they Were could move him.
“Don’t be coarse,” he said.
She teased, she scolded, she declared her husband was a better man; yet there was nothing for it but to dress and depart. Her black garment had been flung upon the bush of autumn-olive that concealed me; she slipped into it not three feet from where I squatted.
“Some Beist,” she pouted. Her friend had already gathered up the blanket and turned toward the road. “I’ve got twice as much Beist in me as you have.”
She drew the waistband over her hips, and I trembled to seize what dimpled near me. Ah, Chickie! my green loins called as she followed after him: poor pretty doe fretful to be bucked, hie here if it’s a beast you’re after! Hie to one a-wrack with the yen to Be; one the mere sight of your haunch has caused whom to Become himself, willy-nilly, and to stand one moment later again at the ready! When the coast was clear I tore out of my wrapper and frisked Chickie-like through the brush, hooting joyfully my pain. To Be, and once more to Be! To burst into all creation; only to Be, always to Be, until no thing was: no Billy Bocksfuss, goat or Graduate, no I nor you nor University, but one placeless, timeless, nameless throb of Being!
6
.
The next day was the longest in the year. My lust went from me with the dew that steamed off the fields where I had lain drenched; not so my resolve. When I trotted to the barn for breakfast I met Max bringing the herd out into the pound. The does moved aside as I approached—but not in the way they’d shunned me when I smelt of soap. Rather, they were wary but not displeased, as if a randy buck had come upon them. I noted with satisfaction that pretty Hedda seemed especially flustered. She snorted when I stroked her ears; speaking softly I made bold to touch one speckled teat, never yet swollen with the charge of motherhood, and she danced away—but not far, and looked back wide-eyed over her shoulder. Max laughed with me, and hesitantly squeezed my arm. He had not
I gasped with Chickie.
“Like the Ismists say, it all comes down to distinctions in our minds; we can’t ever get to the things themselves. We can thrust, and we can thrust …”
“No!”
“… but the
screen
… the flunking
screen
… it’s always
there
. And when you
try
… to break
through
it … you’re just af
firming
… that it’s
there
.”
“Oh my!”
He paused. “Where I part company with the Ismists, though, is when they say our only choice is to accept the screen, and give up hope of ever knowing things absolutely. You’ll have to read
Footnotes to Sakhyan
one of these days—it’s the Syllabus of Beism, you know …”
“Don’t talk!” his nan cried.
“Sure. You’ve got it exactly. You’ve got to say
flunk
that screen, and
flunk
Reality, and
flunk
True and False. Flunk all!”
“Flunk me, Harry! I know I’m going to shout …”
“It’s no good asking what is—”
“Shut up! Shut up!”
“—you’ve got to be, Chickie!
Be! Be!
”
Beyond any question then they Were, locked past discourse in their odd embrace. And I was fetched with them to the verge of
Being;
I who neither was nor was not, my blood and bones they shuddered to
become!
As is the way of does, the girl called Chickie, having Been, craved yet again to Be; put off her wools, unhobbled her udder, and pled to Harry that he school her more in that verb’s grammar. He, however, seemed done with conjugating.
“I didn’t mean it the way it sounded when I said ‘Shut up,’ ” she apologized, hugging him round the neck.
“No, no, you were right, of course.” But his voice was short, and he reached to open another tin as if nothing were pressing at his ribs.
Yet though she entreated and rebuked him, bit at his lobe and cavorted in the gorse, he could not be roused. Not even her offer to shout out verses while they Were could move him.
“Don’t be coarse,” he said.
She teased, she scolded, she declared her husband was a better man; yet there was nothing for it but to dress and depart. Her black garment had been flung upon the bush of autumn-olive that concealed me; she slipped into it not three feet from where I squatted.
“Some Beist,” she pouted. Her friend had already gathered up the blanket and turned toward the road. “I’ve got twice as much Beist in me as you have.”
She drew the waistband over her hips, and I trembled to seize what dimpled near me. Ah, Chickie! my green loins called as she followed after him: poor pretty doe fretful to be bucked, hie here if it’s a beast you’re after! Hie to one a-wrack with the yen to Be; one the mere sight of your haunch has caused whom to Become himself, willy-nilly, and to stand one moment later again at the ready! When the coast was clear I tore out of my wrapper and frisked Chickie-like through the brush, hooting joyfully my pain. To Be, and once more to Be! To burst into all creation; only to Be, always to Be, until no thing was: no Billy Bocksfuss, goat or Graduate, no I nor you nor University, but one placeless, timeless, nameless throb of Being!
6
.
The next day was the longest in the year. My lust went from me with the dew that steamed off the fields where I had lain drenched; not so my resolve. When I trotted to the barn for breakfast I met Max bringing the herd out into the pound. The does moved aside as I approached—but not in the way they’d shunned me when I smelt of soap. Rather, they were wary but not displeased, as if a randy buck had come upon them. I noted with satisfaction that pretty Hedda seemed especially flustered. She snorted when I stroked her ears; speaking softly I made bold to touch one speckled teat, never yet swollen with the charge of motherhood, and she danced away—but not far, and looked back wide-eyed over her shoulder. Max laughed with me, and hesitantly squeezed my arm. He had not
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