he slammed the door and ran, across
the shack and straight through the rickety planks on the far side and out into
the dunes and the night.
He
fought five of them that night and nearly killed two, until he found the young
man and one of his friends searching unenthusiastically for him back near the
track.
He
clubbed the friend unconscious, took the young man by the throat. He gathered
up both their knives, and held one blade to the throat of the youth as he
marched him back to the shack.
He
set fire to the shack.
When
the light had attracted a dozen or so of the men, he stood up on the tallest
dune above the hollow, holding the youth with one hand.
The
parktown people gazed up at the stranger, lit by flames. He let the boy fall to
the sand, threw him both knives.
The
boy picked up the knives; charged.
He
moved, let the boy go past, disarmed him. He gathered both knives; threw them
hilt down in the sand in front of the boy. The youth struck out again, knife in
each hand. Again - hardly seeming to move - he let the youth crash past, and
slipped the knives from his grasp. He tripped the youth, and while he was still
lying on the dune's top, threw the knives, sending them both thudding into the
sand a centimetre on either side of his head. The youth screamed, plucked both
blades out and threw them.
His
head hardly moved as they hissed by his ears. The people watching in the
flame-lit hollow moved their heads, following the trajectory the knives had to
take, to the dunes behind them. But when they looked back again, wondering,
both blades were in the stranger's hands, plucked from the air. He tossed them
to the boy again.
The
youth caught them, screamed, fumbled blood-handed to get them the right way
round, and rushed again at the stranger, who dropped him, whacked the knives
from his hands, and for a long moment held one of the young man's elbows poised
over his knee, arm raised, ready to break... then shoved the boy away. He
picked up the knives again, placed them in the open palms of the youth.
He
listened to the boy sobbing into the dark sand, while the people watched.
He
got ready to run again, glancing behind him.
The
crippled seabird hopped and fluttered, clipped wings beating on air and sand,
to the top of the dune. It cocked one flame-bright eye at the stranger.
The
people in the hollow seemed frozen by the dancing flames.
The
bird waddled to the prone, sobbing figure of the boy on the sand, and screamed.
It flapped, shrieked, and stabbed at the boy's eyes.
The
boy tried to fend it off, but the bird leapt into the air and whooped and beat
and feathers flew and when the boy broke one of its wings and it fell to the
sand, facing away from him, it jetted liquid shit at him.
The
boy's face fell back to the sand. His body shook with sobs.
The
stranger watched the eyes of the people in the hollow, while his shack caved in
and the orange sparks swirled up into the still night sky.
Eventually
the sheriff and the girl's father came and took the boy away, and a moon later
the girl's family left, and two moons later the tightly bound body of the young
man was lowered into a freshly picked hole in the nearest outcrop of rock, and
covered with stones.
The
people in the parktown would not talk to him, though one trader still took his
flotsam. The brash and noisy home cars stopped coming down the sandy track. He
had not thought he would miss them. He pitched a small tent near the blackened
remains of the shack.
The
woman stopped coming to him; he never saw her again. He told himself he was
getting so little for his haul that he could not have paid her and eaten as
well.
The
worst thing, he found, was that there was nobody to talk to.
He
saw the seated figure on the beach, way in the distance, five moons or so after
the night he'd burned his shack. He hesitated, then went on.
Twenty
metres from the woman, he stopped and carefully inspected a length of fishing
net on the tideline, the floats still attached and
the shack and straight through the rickety planks on the far side and out into
the dunes and the night.
He
fought five of them that night and nearly killed two, until he found the young
man and one of his friends searching unenthusiastically for him back near the
track.
He
clubbed the friend unconscious, took the young man by the throat. He gathered
up both their knives, and held one blade to the throat of the youth as he
marched him back to the shack.
He
set fire to the shack.
When
the light had attracted a dozen or so of the men, he stood up on the tallest
dune above the hollow, holding the youth with one hand.
The
parktown people gazed up at the stranger, lit by flames. He let the boy fall to
the sand, threw him both knives.
The
boy picked up the knives; charged.
He
moved, let the boy go past, disarmed him. He gathered both knives; threw them
hilt down in the sand in front of the boy. The youth struck out again, knife in
each hand. Again - hardly seeming to move - he let the youth crash past, and
slipped the knives from his grasp. He tripped the youth, and while he was still
lying on the dune's top, threw the knives, sending them both thudding into the
sand a centimetre on either side of his head. The youth screamed, plucked both
blades out and threw them.
His
head hardly moved as they hissed by his ears. The people watching in the
flame-lit hollow moved their heads, following the trajectory the knives had to
take, to the dunes behind them. But when they looked back again, wondering,
both blades were in the stranger's hands, plucked from the air. He tossed them
to the boy again.
The
youth caught them, screamed, fumbled blood-handed to get them the right way
round, and rushed again at the stranger, who dropped him, whacked the knives
from his hands, and for a long moment held one of the young man's elbows poised
over his knee, arm raised, ready to break... then shoved the boy away. He
picked up the knives again, placed them in the open palms of the youth.
He
listened to the boy sobbing into the dark sand, while the people watched.
He
got ready to run again, glancing behind him.
The
crippled seabird hopped and fluttered, clipped wings beating on air and sand,
to the top of the dune. It cocked one flame-bright eye at the stranger.
The
people in the hollow seemed frozen by the dancing flames.
The
bird waddled to the prone, sobbing figure of the boy on the sand, and screamed.
It flapped, shrieked, and stabbed at the boy's eyes.
The
boy tried to fend it off, but the bird leapt into the air and whooped and beat
and feathers flew and when the boy broke one of its wings and it fell to the
sand, facing away from him, it jetted liquid shit at him.
The
boy's face fell back to the sand. His body shook with sobs.
The
stranger watched the eyes of the people in the hollow, while his shack caved in
and the orange sparks swirled up into the still night sky.
Eventually
the sheriff and the girl's father came and took the boy away, and a moon later
the girl's family left, and two moons later the tightly bound body of the young
man was lowered into a freshly picked hole in the nearest outcrop of rock, and
covered with stones.
The
people in the parktown would not talk to him, though one trader still took his
flotsam. The brash and noisy home cars stopped coming down the sandy track. He
had not thought he would miss them. He pitched a small tent near the blackened
remains of the shack.
The
woman stopped coming to him; he never saw her again. He told himself he was
getting so little for his haul that he could not have paid her and eaten as
well.
The
worst thing, he found, was that there was nobody to talk to.
He
saw the seated figure on the beach, way in the distance, five moons or so after
the night he'd burned his shack. He hesitated, then went on.
Twenty
metres from the woman, he stopped and carefully inspected a length of fishing
net on the tideline, the floats still attached and
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