of lapping, it is the sound of terrible thirst, it is the sound of shame, you canât see its shape in the dark, you canât see her yellow eyes, her hair is twining in the trees, her feet have turned to roots, her song is hunger, her song is Night, do not listen, she has no name, it is only the steaming rain, the heavy pelting rain, the rain that turns to ice as it falls, Katrina has warned you.
. . . THE PLACE OF fat green leaves, of slugs, puddles teeming with Death, tiny white worms, tiny white eyes, the place of yellow iris, Muirkirk violets, the hot rich smell of green, the dappled backs of snakes, do you think your breath is your own, do you think your thoughts are your own, the woman at the bottom of the pond is listening, that is the sound of her sorrow, that is the sound of Night, the larvae eating the leaves, the white cocoons being spun in secret, do you hear the soldiersâ shouts, the soldiersâ laughter, the gunfire, the screams, the flapping wings, the wild darting eyes, the bones sifting to ash, falling from the sky to melt in the swamp, to turn to vapor in the swamp, her voice is muffled in snow, her blood has frozen white, Katrina knows.
. . . THE PLACE OF your fatherâs blessing, the place that will be your fatherâs grave, the teeming water in which he secretly bathes, the bubbling laughter that runs down his chin, the grasses, the sickle moon floating in the marsh, the cries of summer insects, whose name? whose name? it is not your name, it is not your music, it is Night, it is Death, it is the sound of the woman in the mist, her hair twining in the trees, her feet tangled in the roots, it is the sound of the woman at the bottom of the swamp,you must not heed her, you must not go to her, Katrina loves you and Katrina forbids it.
2.
Esopus, the lost village.
Settled in 1642 on the curve of the river where Muirkirk now stands. A small Dutch outpost of approximately seventy-five men and women who made their way upriver, from the more populous settlements south of the Chautauquas. According to one Claes van Hasbroeck, who kept a personal daybook, in addition to filing systematic and meticulous reports for the Dutch West India Company through the 1640âs, when agents for the Company explored the area of Tahawaus Pass, above the great Nautauga River, it was discovered in 1647 that the little settlement of Esopus no longer existed. All traces of it had vanished from the riverâs bank: no houses, or farming plots, or human artifacts, or even any graves, were to be found. The wilderness had not entirely grown back, a clearing of sorts remained, though overrun with vegetation at its edges.
In his daybook Claes van Hasbroeck asks eloquently what had become of the brave settlers of Esopus: had they been killed by Indians, or sickness, or a bitterly cold winter; had they been frightened away into the wilderness to die; had their God simply abandoned them in this remote spot? But why did no human artifacts remain, no sign of human habitation?
So it happened that Esopus vanished; and vanished yet a second time in memory; for this was the heady era in which Dutch adventurers were intrigued by the prospect of âprodigiousâ and âfathomlessâ copper mines in the more southerly part of New Netherlands; and Esopus was soon forgotten, a mere notation, a curiosity in the historical records of the time.
ROBIN, THE MILLERâS youngest son, was treated cruelly by his father, and mocked by his three older brothers, and, as his mother had died, and therewas no one to love him for his quiet ways, he said to himself, I will leave home and live alone in the marsh. And off he went afoot to the edge of the marsh, and for an hour or more pondered how to proceed; for many a luckless wanderer had died in this place, lured by the beauty of the smooth waters, and the swamp flowers, and the great trees, and the shimmering birds and butterflies that dwelled there. Until finally a snowy
. . . THE PLACE OF fat green leaves, of slugs, puddles teeming with Death, tiny white worms, tiny white eyes, the place of yellow iris, Muirkirk violets, the hot rich smell of green, the dappled backs of snakes, do you think your breath is your own, do you think your thoughts are your own, the woman at the bottom of the pond is listening, that is the sound of her sorrow, that is the sound of Night, the larvae eating the leaves, the white cocoons being spun in secret, do you hear the soldiersâ shouts, the soldiersâ laughter, the gunfire, the screams, the flapping wings, the wild darting eyes, the bones sifting to ash, falling from the sky to melt in the swamp, to turn to vapor in the swamp, her voice is muffled in snow, her blood has frozen white, Katrina knows.
. . . THE PLACE OF your fatherâs blessing, the place that will be your fatherâs grave, the teeming water in which he secretly bathes, the bubbling laughter that runs down his chin, the grasses, the sickle moon floating in the marsh, the cries of summer insects, whose name? whose name? it is not your name, it is not your music, it is Night, it is Death, it is the sound of the woman in the mist, her hair twining in the trees, her feet tangled in the roots, it is the sound of the woman at the bottom of the swamp,you must not heed her, you must not go to her, Katrina loves you and Katrina forbids it.
2.
Esopus, the lost village.
Settled in 1642 on the curve of the river where Muirkirk now stands. A small Dutch outpost of approximately seventy-five men and women who made their way upriver, from the more populous settlements south of the Chautauquas. According to one Claes van Hasbroeck, who kept a personal daybook, in addition to filing systematic and meticulous reports for the Dutch West India Company through the 1640âs, when agents for the Company explored the area of Tahawaus Pass, above the great Nautauga River, it was discovered in 1647 that the little settlement of Esopus no longer existed. All traces of it had vanished from the riverâs bank: no houses, or farming plots, or human artifacts, or even any graves, were to be found. The wilderness had not entirely grown back, a clearing of sorts remained, though overrun with vegetation at its edges.
In his daybook Claes van Hasbroeck asks eloquently what had become of the brave settlers of Esopus: had they been killed by Indians, or sickness, or a bitterly cold winter; had they been frightened away into the wilderness to die; had their God simply abandoned them in this remote spot? But why did no human artifacts remain, no sign of human habitation?
So it happened that Esopus vanished; and vanished yet a second time in memory; for this was the heady era in which Dutch adventurers were intrigued by the prospect of âprodigiousâ and âfathomlessâ copper mines in the more southerly part of New Netherlands; and Esopus was soon forgotten, a mere notation, a curiosity in the historical records of the time.
ROBIN, THE MILLERâS youngest son, was treated cruelly by his father, and mocked by his three older brothers, and, as his mother had died, and therewas no one to love him for his quiet ways, he said to himself, I will leave home and live alone in the marsh. And off he went afoot to the edge of the marsh, and for an hour or more pondered how to proceed; for many a luckless wanderer had died in this place, lured by the beauty of the smooth waters, and the swamp flowers, and the great trees, and the shimmering birds and butterflies that dwelled there. Until finally a snowy
Similar Books
