Page 8, Paragraph 8 (ends at the top of page 9):
The sun travels high above us, with the sky-beasts* running in front of it, in fear that it may burn them all away to nothing and that there wil be only sky left. I dig, and the wise man becomes agitated at my slowness, and says, "Stop now - the hole's deep enough," and so forth, even though I'm only belly-deep in the hole. He says, "Jump out and cast her down."
Page 9, Paragraph 1 (first full paragraph):
Out I come, grey to the knees with dirt, and look at her. Nothing but white. Nothing but bare, and the life is all gone out of her. I take one step, and then another. Her hair is grey like the dirt. "Be quick about it," says Feather-Ass, and, "Come now. Pick her up," and so forth. I take another step and I'm right next to her. [?]
Page 9, Paragraph 2:
I bend over to grab her foot. She's colder now, and there's no light on her. I lift mother's legs, which are all white on top, and see that the back side of her is dark, as though filled with blood.** I pull, which makes her move a little ways from the puddle, and drags her hair like seaweed behind her, and makes her fart. This is the way we come to the hole, my mother and I. "Cast her in," says Feather-Ass, "and cover her up."
Notes:
*I'm no longer going to translate "sky-beast" as "cloud", because it doesn't capture the sense that the narrator appears to truly think of clouds as living things, not just things that resemble living things.
** A condition known as livor mortis, or postmortem lividity.(http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Livor_mortis)
Showing posts with label page 8. Show all posts
Showing posts with label page 8. Show all posts
Wednesday, July 22, 2009
Page 8, Paragraph 7
Writing this blog is reminding me of how much fun it is to just page through the dictionary, looking things up more or less at random.
***
Page 8, Paragraph 7:
My people stand around the hole, switching their weight from one foot to the other, wanting to go away from here, wanting to continue with their journey [?] walking around the edge of the world from winter to winter, finding porcupines [hedgehogs?] and pigs and edible roots.
***
Page 8, Paragraph 7:
My people stand around the hole, switching their weight from one foot to the other, wanting to go away from here, wanting to continue with their journey [?] walking around the edge of the world from winter to winter, finding porcupines [hedgehogs?] and pigs and edible roots.
Tuesday, July 21, 2009
Page 8, Paragraphs 5 and 6
Page 8, Paragraph 5:
He scratches at his ass and gives me my mother's stone axe head; there's no strength in my hands to hold it. It falls down, and the wise man hits my face so hard that blood comes out of my nose. "Now take it up," he says, "and dig her hole. So that the odd-smelling spirits do not come to her and make us sick when we breathe them in. So that the carrion-bird and carrion-dog come not. So that earth takes earth's due and thinks well of us, and that it is not hard below our feet." So the wise man says now, and, licking the blood from my nose, I dig hard in the dirt.
Paragraph 6:
Below the grass the dirt is cold and grey, and soft enough that I can push a bunch of it up at once [?]. I dig to where there's roots and stones, and it slows me down. The bright dots of sunlight come back on my mother's face, then come off her cheek and slowly move off to between the grass and flowers. I lift up a stone, and there are many worms beneath it. Now I dig the blade of my mother's axe head between them, and they make even more of themselves. My digging makes my fingers bleed. There's blood on my mother's axe head, now; blood in my mother's hole.
He scratches at his ass and gives me my mother's stone axe head; there's no strength in my hands to hold it. It falls down, and the wise man hits my face so hard that blood comes out of my nose. "Now take it up," he says, "and dig her hole. So that the odd-smelling spirits do not come to her and make us sick when we breathe them in. So that the carrion-bird and carrion-dog come not. So that earth takes earth's due and thinks well of us, and that it is not hard below our feet." So the wise man says now, and, licking the blood from my nose, I dig hard in the dirt.
Paragraph 6:
Below the grass the dirt is cold and grey, and soft enough that I can push a bunch of it up at once [?]. I dig to where there's roots and stones, and it slows me down. The bright dots of sunlight come back on my mother's face, then come off her cheek and slowly move off to between the grass and flowers. I lift up a stone, and there are many worms beneath it. Now I dig the blade of my mother's axe head between them, and they make even more of themselves. My digging makes my fingers bleed. There's blood on my mother's axe head, now; blood in my mother's hole.
Page 8, Paragraphs 1 - 4
Back at it.
Page 8, Paragraph 1 (first full paragraph):
He says, "She's dead, and it looks like too much work is what did it to her." He says, "She needs to be buried, after which we will journey a ways off."
Paragraph 2:
Suddenly a rough-voiced woman says that if my mother is no longer alive, it's her lazy son that made her that way that she had to work all the time to forage for him. Many there say, "Yes", "She's right", and so forth.
Paragraph 3:
More loudly, she says, "If his mother is to be buried, it's not my hole to dig". "Yes," says the man that pulled me off my mother. "Make her boy dig her grave, so that he's working for her for once." Now the wise man says, "Yes," and scratches his ass. "Find the boy," he says.
Paragraph 4:
I try to run. Ah, but they're men, and longer-legged than me, and I'm so scared that I run and fall into a briar bush. They pull me out, and I'm all scratched up, and they drag me to feather-ass, who's sitting by my mother. Her head is lying in water. The spots of light have crawled slowly from off the tree across the grass and are back in her eyes.
***
It's amazing how you realize what a vivid picture Moore has painted for you once you figure out the language.
Page 8, Paragraph 1 (first full paragraph):
He says, "She's dead, and it looks like too much work is what did it to her." He says, "She needs to be buried, after which we will journey a ways off."
Paragraph 2:
Suddenly a rough-voiced woman says that if my mother is no longer alive, it's her lazy son that made her that way that she had to work all the time to forage for him. Many there say, "Yes", "She's right", and so forth.
Paragraph 3:
More loudly, she says, "If his mother is to be buried, it's not my hole to dig". "Yes," says the man that pulled me off my mother. "Make her boy dig her grave, so that he's working for her for once." Now the wise man says, "Yes," and scratches his ass. "Find the boy," he says.
Paragraph 4:
I try to run. Ah, but they're men, and longer-legged than me, and I'm so scared that I run and fall into a briar bush. They pull me out, and I'm all scratched up, and they drag me to feather-ass, who's sitting by my mother. Her head is lying in water. The spots of light have crawled slowly from off the tree across the grass and are back in her eyes.
***
It's amazing how you realize what a vivid picture Moore has painted for you once you figure out the language.
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