Granser singing to his self wylst he mixt the 3 of the 1:
Granser said, “Now comes the las of the mixing which Ive got to say the words.”
I said, “Wel go on and say them then.”
He said, “O no I aint saying them words wylst youre lissening thems the fissional seakerts of the act aint they. You bes go off a littl way.”
I said, “All right then” which I gone out of the rivverside gate and walking by the water I dint want to sit by Goodparley I dint want him to weary me with why wernt I watching Granser.
I jus begun to roal up a smoak when WHAP! there come like a thunner clap it wer like when litening strikes right close it eckowit up and down the rivver. There come up a cloud of smoak from the fents it wernt the regler blue smoak it wer 1 big puff of grey smoak and things wer peltering down out of the trees like when you shake down nuts. The dogs begun to howl.
I gone back inside the fents. That littl hump back hut where Granser ben doing the mixing it wernt there no mor it wer jus only sticks and sods scattert wide. Granser he wer like throwt a way on the groun he lookit emty like when you take your han out of a show figger. His head wernt with the res of him his head wer on a poal. The gate a way from the rivver it had a hy poal on each side of it and Gransers head wer stuck on the poynt of 1 of them poals jus like it ben put there for telling.
Nor that wernt the stranges of it. Goodparley wer stil where Id lef him sitting leaning agenst the other hump back hut. I wer stil looking tords the gate I said, “Gransers head is on a poal.” Which he dint anser me nothing then I ternt to look at him and he had Gransers pounder sticking out of the front of his head. Clout stil rapt roun his head and that stoan pounder drove right in to his skul.
There hung over the place a kynd of scortchy smel a kynd of stinging scortchy smel and the grey smoak driffing thru the blue smoak of the chard coal harts. Twean lite it wer the 1st dark coming on. Bat lite it wer and dimminy the pink and red stumps glimmering in the coppises like loppt off arms and legs and the rivver hy and hummering. The dogs wer howling nor it wernt like no other howling I ever heard it wer a kynd of wyld hoapless soun it wer a lorn and oansome yoop yaroo it soundit like they wer runnying on ther hynt legs and telling like thin black men and sad. Crying ther yoop yaroo ther sad tel what theyd all ways knowit theywd have to tel agen.
I gone to where Gransers head wer on the poal. His eyes wer closd his mouf wer shut. I said, “Granser wil you tel?”
Lissening him then words come to me: What if its you whats making all this happen? What if every thing you think of happens?
I said, “I never thot of my father getting kilt did I.”
Words come: Dint you?
Then I wernt sure. I said, “I wont think no mor.”
Words come: That dont make no diffrents. If you dont think then some thing else wil think your thots theywl get thunk any how.
I said, “What can I do then aswl be my oan doing?”
Words come: Whats the diffrents whos doing it?
The dogsd stoppt ther yoop yarooing. They come to the fents I heard them wimpering like los and greaving childer. All roun I heard the twean lite lissening. I took a las look at Goodparley I thot I myt see vines and leaves growing out of his mouf. Then I slung his fit up and my bundel on my back and off I slyd.
My feet begun to walk me down rivver tords Cambry. Thats where the senter is. All roun myt be a fools circel but the senter is stil what it is and where it is.
I kep wel in from the rivver side I kep wel wide of the coppises I dint want nothing mor to do with chard coal berners for a wyl. Dark nite it wer Dark of the Moon but where the woodlings littlt off to barrens I cud feal it on my face the open of it and I had a fealing inside me I never had befor. Sour groun and dead the barrens are you cudnt grow nothing on them only the dry dus blowing in the summer and the grey mud in the winter. Even the wind blowing the dus is some thing moving tho it aint jus only dead groun in a stilness. Seeds blow in the wind and what is earf but a deadness with life growing out of it? Rottin leaves and dead branches and naminal shit and that it all makes live earf on the dead groun and if you look at woodlings edge all roun the barrens youwl see the runty coming up where skin of earf growit back on nekkit groun. Nekkit groun what ben the bloody meat and boan of Bad Time covering its self with skin of earf and grass and woodlings. I thot: What ever it is its my groun. Here I stan.
