See - A Short Story by Sola Osofisan
- By Sola Osofisan
- Published July 29, 2010
- Fiction
-
Rating:
Sola Osofisan
Sola Osofisan is a writer, webmaster and editor of this website. He is the author of Darksongs (poetry) and The Living and the Dead (short stories), published by Heinemann, and DarkVisions (Malthouse short stories).
View all Entries by Sola Osofisan
S E E (THE MAKER OF IMAGES)
- By Sola Osofisan
Naked by the meandering river. Murky water duplicated me. I said to the copy, "It is you I first see this morning of all mornings. Walk with me awhile. Bear my burden of the world. Will this day be better than yesterday?”
Laughter.
The dirty water rippled laughter at me.
The dirty water me laughed and said “You are a sad one, naked man. You see much more than a man should see. You feel much worse than a man should feel. Luckily, you have such broad shoulders! Bear your own burden!”
“You wait and see,” I said without much conviction. “Wait ‘til you see what I see.”
The taunting echo of rippling water…
I donned the colors of many coats. Blank canvas. I reached with the longest arm for the sacred weapons of my warfare. Easel, paint, brushes…
Magic!
I mouthed the magic words and the magic words mouthed me. I waved the wand of unquenchable visions. A leftward mouth…I drew a leftward mouth and the promise of words.
Universal rip.
I dissolved into a…
The dream. I dissolved into the dream…I dissolved into all dreams.
At the corner of entry by the fount of shades in a blurry shrine under the hereafter tree at the crossroads of hysterical shrieks, Eshu lurked like a night in the thief. He hollered a warning. "I shall always be near you. Beside. Behind. Before. Everywhere! You’re in my world now, Maker of Images. That spells trouble. I shall always be near you."
I didn't want the crafty one dragging impossible shadows after me. Valium in a greedy gourd. I poured palm wine in his mouth. He drank himself into a stupor. The sediment unveiled a track. I ventured fearfully into a waiting world of open doors.
Space.
Sudden space.
Sudden space kills the unprepared mind.
Sudden death to sudden space.
“Magic,” I whispered, “Magic.”
With a flourish, I pencilled a war ship at the distant edge where the waters cascaded silently into eternity's open mouth and the bashful sky kissed the sea's wet lips. War ship flying the triumphant flag of recent conquest. War ship.
“Worship here long?" the round woman in the round hat asked.
"Not long. Not too long," I replied.
"You're Margaret, aren't you? From across the canal?"
And I fired right back, "Don't call me Margaret. It a woman name."
And she said, "Well, what are you, sweetheart?"
And I looked at me just to be sure she was crazy and Lord God Almighty in the Heaven and everywhere two breasts ballooned before my eyes and one of them was stuck in a junior's mouth and I cried, "Dearie, dearie me, the Lord God Almighty in the heaven and everywhere He goan do it once again! Jus’ like He made water into sweet-tasting wine hallelujah, He goan perform a sex change. And would you know He didn't even ask my permission?"
And she asked incredulously, "You was a man?"
And right back I said "Sure, Lord God Almighty in the Heaven and everywhere. In another life hallelujah! There was a life before the life we living now, dintcha know?"
And she opened them lipsticked lips and she said, "Tell me, who your man?"
And I let loose my gone-crazy laugh and the black teat it pop out of the junior's wet sucking mouth and I said, "My man him the father of my baby hallelujah. But don't you go reminding me of him. He jus' a memory now. He gone with the war."
And her eyes grew curiouser and curiouser. "Which war'?"
And I said right back, "The war. Any war. All wars don't change. All wars the same. They goan take away the man of all the womens and the father of all the babys."
See.
And so I sketched a footbridge into the dark city. The sour memory of forbidden pleasure stormed in space. The clouds squirmed sickeningly in unvoiced protest. The fumes looked unhealthy, contrived, special effect smoke from machines hidden inside the clogged bowels of countless chimneys. I poked the clouds with a dithering finger and there was rain.
The unclothed children who hadn't seen water since they were manufactured laughed and played in the black rain until they died of pneumonia. Their producers copulated and brought them back to life to breathe recycled air.
A faint breeze raced out of nowhere. A giant bubble followed the faint breeze. Several giant bubbles followed the giant bubble that followed the faint breeze. There were people trapped inside the giant bubbles that followed the faint breeze. Hunger had etched its trademark scars on their faces. They looked grotesque in their anguished clawing for breath…for food...
I dipped my hand in a river of blood. I hefted a saber of light. I slashed the bubbles and set the people free. They floated in disembodied grace. Above all woes. So light no pain could chain. They did obeisance to me. They said I was God.
I ran…
…into the city.
I saw a broken man. I followed a broken man. His blotchy face framed blood-filled eyes. He cradled a listless faith that shuffled between the left the right the center. He spoke to me. He said "I used to love women and full breasts. Then I met a wo¬man with too many breasts. She said she loved me. I ran."
I told him that wasn't my business.
He said "Can't you be your brother's keeper?"
I said he wasn't my brother. All my brothers died at birth and the last one took my mother with him. I am brotherless and motherless and just plain less.
“I could be your father figure…”
He stole that from a song. I accused him of plagiarism.
He cried.
"Do you want to know why I'm so thin?"
I told him I didn’t care much and it wouldn't make any difference.
He told me anyway. "She took too much. I said take a little and give me the money. She pushed pursed lips into the crook of my elbow and sucked so hard. She sucked too hard. Her cheeks swelled until there was no more blood to suck. She said my blood would save another life better than mine. And she didn't even give me the money. Do you want to know why I'm so thin?"
I assured him he'd told me already. He cried.
The broken man cried.
He said he needed a flyer.
Money. No money.
He needed a lift. A push. Something honestly high! A series of protracted explosions in
the bloodstream. A flyer. Just a little height. Swish the shadows swash the light. Align his collid¬ing senses. A little something from the something man!
I couldn't help him. I told him I couldn't help him. I warned him we were getting close to
a marketplace. He looked like a mad man. I warned him they could stone him in the marketplace.
He cried.
I saw his moment bent out of shape by the passing heat of warped time. He had little
time left.
The broken man inched up to his feet. The earth was quicksand sucking hungrily at his
wobbly legs. He failed to rise beyond the knees. He crawled into the road into the distance wailing, "Give me money!"
A young lady walked faster, panicky, clutching her tiny bag as if to give a cold heart
some heat.
"See your morder the morder of a witch like you please gi'me money chewin'gum money
pleeeeeaaaase!”
The young lady ran into the road into the distance.
The street ran.
The city ran.
Gravity unchained what was left of the broken man's mind and he drifted to the periphery
of dimensionless thought. He crawled past one million beggars who held out their cracked cups for him to fill with whatever remained of his emptiness.
He crumpled.
He died.
I cried.
See.
I hastened up from the sand to listen. The wind was talking. The distance-cracked rumble
of heraldic drums. A forgotten village urgently summoning its scattered children to the village square.
Charcoal on youthful skin, he stirred in the writhing stomping kicking frame of a warrior painted for war. "The Milky One has been sighted in the area!" he bellowed. The women and the children retreated from the fire in his eyes, the eruption that was his breath, the whiplash of his many gesticulations. "You know him. Tales of his deeds have followed our race through several generations. I'm talking about the Milky One who shook long hands with the people of Tunmida just before all their able-bodied where stolen like common cattle. He has come to offer us that same long hand…in friendship he says. Are there invisible cracks in his smile? Should we take the hand or should we cut it off?"
Voices.
“...Take the hand...cut it off... ake the ha...it off...the ha…t off...e ha...off...ha...”
Feverish feet stirred the dust to grab suddenly frenzied winds. Interest was the rampaging horse exciting every tongue. A scrawny youth collapsed, jerking spasmodically at the fitstool of epilepsy. A shuddering mother hugged her left breast and coughed into the embrace of her ancestors.
Voices.
And then all froze as Old Age spoke.
"We shall take the hand."
Silence.
Transit to sudden speech. The horse that was interest rampaged again and excited every tongue. The roots and plants earnestly discussed their fate. Barks expanded. Fingery roots probed beneath the earth's coy wrapper. Green talk. Green walk.
The writhing stomping kicking frame of a warrior painted for war stiffened. He could hear it. The people could hear it. Old Age could hear
feel
smell
see
touch.
It.
"Perhaps I should stir the memory of you who do not remember. Many seasons ago, they captured our fathers. They put them inside great vessels that sailed endless waters and they were never seen again. I say they may do it all again!"
Green talked again. The talk was peace. Green walked again. The walk was peace. The writhing stomping kicking frame of the warrior painted for war could hear it. The people could hear it. Old Age could hear
feel
smell
see
touch.
It.
Greenpeace.
Old Age looked into their eyes. Old Age spoke wisdom directly to the fears in their eyes. "Time closes even the biggest of all wounds, little children. Let us take the hand."
The writhing stomping kicking frame of a warrior painted for peace. "Go to the great drum. Speak to the land. Tell the Milky One that once again, our arms are open wide to embrace him. We hope, unlike his forefathers, he will not clasp them in chains.”
The Milky One came.
As once did his forefathers, he clasped them all in chains.
That was just his way.
See.
- By Sola Osofisan
Naked by the meandering river. Murky water duplicated me. I said to the copy, "It is you I first see this morning of all mornings. Walk with me awhile. Bear my burden of the world. Will this day be better than yesterday?”
Laughter.
The dirty water rippled laughter at me.
The dirty water me laughed and said “You are a sad one, naked man. You see much more than a man should see. You feel much worse than a man should feel. Luckily, you have such broad shoulders! Bear your own burden!”
“You wait and see,” I said without much conviction. “Wait ‘til you see what I see.”
The taunting echo of rippling water…
I donned the colors of many coats. Blank canvas. I reached with the longest arm for the sacred weapons of my warfare. Easel, paint, brushes…
Magic!
I mouthed the magic words and the magic words mouthed me. I waved the wand of unquenchable visions. A leftward mouth…I drew a leftward mouth and the promise of words.
Universal rip.
I dissolved into a…
The dream. I dissolved into the dream…I dissolved into all dreams.
At the corner of entry by the fount of shades in a blurry shrine under the hereafter tree at the crossroads of hysterical shrieks, Eshu lurked like a night in the thief. He hollered a warning. "I shall always be near you. Beside. Behind. Before. Everywhere! You’re in my world now, Maker of Images. That spells trouble. I shall always be near you."
I didn't want the crafty one dragging impossible shadows after me. Valium in a greedy gourd. I poured palm wine in his mouth. He drank himself into a stupor. The sediment unveiled a track. I ventured fearfully into a waiting world of open doors.
Space.
Sudden space.
Sudden space kills the unprepared mind.
Sudden death to sudden space.
“Magic,” I whispered, “Magic.”
With a flourish, I pencilled a war ship at the distant edge where the waters cascaded silently into eternity's open mouth and the bashful sky kissed the sea's wet lips. War ship flying the triumphant flag of recent conquest. War ship.
“Worship here long?" the round woman in the round hat asked.
"Not long. Not too long," I replied.
"You're Margaret, aren't you? From across the canal?"
And I fired right back, "Don't call me Margaret. It a woman name."
And she said, "Well, what are you, sweetheart?"
And I looked at me just to be sure she was crazy and Lord God Almighty in the Heaven and everywhere two breasts ballooned before my eyes and one of them was stuck in a junior's mouth and I cried, "Dearie, dearie me, the Lord God Almighty in the heaven and everywhere He goan do it once again! Jus’ like He made water into sweet-tasting wine hallelujah, He goan perform a sex change. And would you know He didn't even ask my permission?"
And she asked incredulously, "You was a man?"
And right back I said "Sure, Lord God Almighty in the Heaven and everywhere. In another life hallelujah! There was a life before the life we living now, dintcha know?"
And she opened them lipsticked lips and she said, "Tell me, who your man?"
And I let loose my gone-crazy laugh and the black teat it pop out of the junior's wet sucking mouth and I said, "My man him the father of my baby hallelujah. But don't you go reminding me of him. He jus' a memory now. He gone with the war."
And her eyes grew curiouser and curiouser. "Which war'?"
And I said right back, "The war. Any war. All wars don't change. All wars the same. They goan take away the man of all the womens and the father of all the babys."
See.
And so I sketched a footbridge into the dark city. The sour memory of forbidden pleasure stormed in space. The clouds squirmed sickeningly in unvoiced protest. The fumes looked unhealthy, contrived, special effect smoke from machines hidden inside the clogged bowels of countless chimneys. I poked the clouds with a dithering finger and there was rain.
The unclothed children who hadn't seen water since they were manufactured laughed and played in the black rain until they died of pneumonia. Their producers copulated and brought them back to life to breathe recycled air.
A faint breeze raced out of nowhere. A giant bubble followed the faint breeze. Several giant bubbles followed the giant bubble that followed the faint breeze. There were people trapped inside the giant bubbles that followed the faint breeze. Hunger had etched its trademark scars on their faces. They looked grotesque in their anguished clawing for breath…for food...
I dipped my hand in a river of blood. I hefted a saber of light. I slashed the bubbles and set the people free. They floated in disembodied grace. Above all woes. So light no pain could chain. They did obeisance to me. They said I was God.
I ran…
…into the city.
I saw a broken man. I followed a broken man. His blotchy face framed blood-filled eyes. He cradled a listless faith that shuffled between the left the right the center. He spoke to me. He said "I used to love women and full breasts. Then I met a wo¬man with too many breasts. She said she loved me. I ran."
I told him that wasn't my business.
He said "Can't you be your brother's keeper?"
I said he wasn't my brother. All my brothers died at birth and the last one took my mother with him. I am brotherless and motherless and just plain less.
“I could be your father figure…”
He stole that from a song. I accused him of plagiarism.
He cried.
"Do you want to know why I'm so thin?"
I told him I didn’t care much and it wouldn't make any difference.
He told me anyway. "She took too much. I said take a little and give me the money. She pushed pursed lips into the crook of my elbow and sucked so hard. She sucked too hard. Her cheeks swelled until there was no more blood to suck. She said my blood would save another life better than mine. And she didn't even give me the money. Do you want to know why I'm so thin?"
I assured him he'd told me already. He cried.
The broken man cried.
He said he needed a flyer.
Money. No money.
He needed a lift. A push. Something honestly high! A series of protracted explosions in
the bloodstream. A flyer. Just a little height. Swish the shadows swash the light. Align his collid¬ing senses. A little something from the something man!
I couldn't help him. I told him I couldn't help him. I warned him we were getting close to
a marketplace. He looked like a mad man. I warned him they could stone him in the marketplace.
He cried.
I saw his moment bent out of shape by the passing heat of warped time. He had little
time left.
The broken man inched up to his feet. The earth was quicksand sucking hungrily at his
wobbly legs. He failed to rise beyond the knees. He crawled into the road into the distance wailing, "Give me money!"
A young lady walked faster, panicky, clutching her tiny bag as if to give a cold heart
some heat.
"See your morder the morder of a witch like you please gi'me money chewin'gum money
pleeeeeaaaase!”
The young lady ran into the road into the distance.
The street ran.
The city ran.
Gravity unchained what was left of the broken man's mind and he drifted to the periphery
of dimensionless thought. He crawled past one million beggars who held out their cracked cups for him to fill with whatever remained of his emptiness.
He crumpled.
He died.
I cried.
See.
I hastened up from the sand to listen. The wind was talking. The distance-cracked rumble
of heraldic drums. A forgotten village urgently summoning its scattered children to the village square.
Charcoal on youthful skin, he stirred in the writhing stomping kicking frame of a warrior painted for war. "The Milky One has been sighted in the area!" he bellowed. The women and the children retreated from the fire in his eyes, the eruption that was his breath, the whiplash of his many gesticulations. "You know him. Tales of his deeds have followed our race through several generations. I'm talking about the Milky One who shook long hands with the people of Tunmida just before all their able-bodied where stolen like common cattle. He has come to offer us that same long hand…in friendship he says. Are there invisible cracks in his smile? Should we take the hand or should we cut it off?"
Voices.
“...Take the hand...cut it off... ake the ha...it off...the ha…t off...e ha...off...ha...”
Feverish feet stirred the dust to grab suddenly frenzied winds. Interest was the rampaging horse exciting every tongue. A scrawny youth collapsed, jerking spasmodically at the fitstool of epilepsy. A shuddering mother hugged her left breast and coughed into the embrace of her ancestors.
Voices.
And then all froze as Old Age spoke.
"We shall take the hand."
Silence.
Transit to sudden speech. The horse that was interest rampaged again and excited every tongue. The roots and plants earnestly discussed their fate. Barks expanded. Fingery roots probed beneath the earth's coy wrapper. Green talk. Green walk.
The writhing stomping kicking frame of a warrior painted for war stiffened. He could hear it. The people could hear it. Old Age could hear
feel
smell
see
touch.
It.
"Perhaps I should stir the memory of you who do not remember. Many seasons ago, they captured our fathers. They put them inside great vessels that sailed endless waters and they were never seen again. I say they may do it all again!"
Green talked again. The talk was peace. Green walked again. The walk was peace. The writhing stomping kicking frame of the warrior painted for war could hear it. The people could hear it. Old Age could hear
feel
smell
see
touch.
It.
Greenpeace.
Old Age looked into their eyes. Old Age spoke wisdom directly to the fears in their eyes. "Time closes even the biggest of all wounds, little children. Let us take the hand."
The writhing stomping kicking frame of a warrior painted for peace. "Go to the great drum. Speak to the land. Tell the Milky One that once again, our arms are open wide to embrace him. We hope, unlike his forefathers, he will not clasp them in chains.”
The Milky One came.
As once did his forefathers, he clasped them all in chains.
That was just his way.
See.