The SLAGLands
24-12-2003, 20:34
The Nihilo River was quietest during the day, when only the quiet prattle of sparrows and the chatter of the fishing locals sang to the river as it performed its typical rite of sweeping through the mountains, down across the plain, and at last emptying... somewhere. Most folks around these parts had never seen where the river emptied, and most folks around these parts never would.
Daylight had passed, though, and the stout, pine-covered hills of the Nihilo Valley now echoed with the buzz of cicadas, the chirping of crickets, and the warble of toads. Fireflies danced above the river's surface, the only light beneath the new moon sky. The few shanties and cabins scattered here and there along the shore were dark, every light dimmed. A few were abandoned, but these were indiscernable from those who simply held sleeping riverfolk, people trapped by the ironically damming flow of the river and the thickly wooded mountains.
Can't lose the taste of this river mud
Black water in my lungs...
The song rose in dirge-slow baritone over the midnight symphony. Light began to emerge from around the river's bend, the dim orange and yellow torches. The fore end of a canoe emerged from around the corner, two torches tied by poles to the vessel.
They say you can't step in the same river twice
Well, I been steppin' in this river
Seems like most of my life, so...
The canoe at last appeared, the source of the five voices now evident. One man stood on the front of the boat, holding the torches in place, keeping watch as two other stubble-faced men rowed. On the vessel's stern, two more men dangled poles into the water, dragging its muddy depths.
Sharpen up those draggin' hooks
Pull that sheepshank tight
And cast into the water, boys
We're draggin' for lost years...
Tonight...
The hooks dragged on through the river's rocky bottom; the lookout stood silent; the rowers trudged on. From the side of the vessel, a voice emerged, this time not in song.
"Be so kind as t' remind me what we're doin' out here?" the left-side rower whispered. Quiet--barely above the chirps and croaks of the night. "Police done dragged this river clean, Harv. They ain't found..."
"Police 'round these parts are dipshits, Ray," Harv, the lookout, replied just as quietly. "Couldn't find their asses if their hands were tied behind their backs. Y'know that." Harv turned his head slowly, taking in the entire scene. "If anybody's gonna find that McFinnidy boy, it's gonna be us."
Ray nodded slowly, and the song began again.
See that man?
He's lost his wife
Said she'd be home by eight
That was well on three weeks ago
Now he's walkin' those banks
Still reduced to his fate...
A dull hiss suddenly rose from the woods, low and hideous. Five heads turned toward the river's bank, where only the splintered wood of a shanty and a fallen log greeted them. As if to drive away the source of the noise, the song rose louder.
See that boy?
He lost his girl
Flash flood stole her away
Now he keeps a vigil down by McClusky's bridge
Prayin' for that river to return her one day...
A hiss answered from the opposite shore. The song rose louder.
Sharpen up those draggin' hooks!
Tie that clove hitch tight!
And cast into the water, boys!
We're draggin' for lost loves tonight!
The hiss came from behind now, from in front, from above, from below. Louder and louder the song rose. Five voices became six... eight... ten... twenty...
Can't lose the taste of this river mud!
Black water in my lungs!
"OH GOD!"
And they descended. The five men saw nothing except a quick, bright swoop of green light. A second. A third. They came from each shore, rattling and rocking the boat to and fro. The men swatted, screamed, their screams swallowed by the mountains, by the river, by the firefly green light that tipped the torches... burned the boat... forced the men into the river, only to be held down moments later by the strange green lights.
Bubbles rose from the water, slowed, and faded.
Their duty done, the green lights left the ashes of the burning boat to sink into the river, to join the men beneath its muddy banks. They disappeared into the river, their weary voices joined now in song by five more, deep dirge-slow baritone.
They say even the weariest river in the end will find the sea,
But here among the cattails, all we discuss is breaking free...
Daylight had passed, though, and the stout, pine-covered hills of the Nihilo Valley now echoed with the buzz of cicadas, the chirping of crickets, and the warble of toads. Fireflies danced above the river's surface, the only light beneath the new moon sky. The few shanties and cabins scattered here and there along the shore were dark, every light dimmed. A few were abandoned, but these were indiscernable from those who simply held sleeping riverfolk, people trapped by the ironically damming flow of the river and the thickly wooded mountains.
Can't lose the taste of this river mud
Black water in my lungs...
The song rose in dirge-slow baritone over the midnight symphony. Light began to emerge from around the river's bend, the dim orange and yellow torches. The fore end of a canoe emerged from around the corner, two torches tied by poles to the vessel.
They say you can't step in the same river twice
Well, I been steppin' in this river
Seems like most of my life, so...
The canoe at last appeared, the source of the five voices now evident. One man stood on the front of the boat, holding the torches in place, keeping watch as two other stubble-faced men rowed. On the vessel's stern, two more men dangled poles into the water, dragging its muddy depths.
Sharpen up those draggin' hooks
Pull that sheepshank tight
And cast into the water, boys
We're draggin' for lost years...
Tonight...
The hooks dragged on through the river's rocky bottom; the lookout stood silent; the rowers trudged on. From the side of the vessel, a voice emerged, this time not in song.
"Be so kind as t' remind me what we're doin' out here?" the left-side rower whispered. Quiet--barely above the chirps and croaks of the night. "Police done dragged this river clean, Harv. They ain't found..."
"Police 'round these parts are dipshits, Ray," Harv, the lookout, replied just as quietly. "Couldn't find their asses if their hands were tied behind their backs. Y'know that." Harv turned his head slowly, taking in the entire scene. "If anybody's gonna find that McFinnidy boy, it's gonna be us."
Ray nodded slowly, and the song began again.
See that man?
He's lost his wife
Said she'd be home by eight
That was well on three weeks ago
Now he's walkin' those banks
Still reduced to his fate...
A dull hiss suddenly rose from the woods, low and hideous. Five heads turned toward the river's bank, where only the splintered wood of a shanty and a fallen log greeted them. As if to drive away the source of the noise, the song rose louder.
See that boy?
He lost his girl
Flash flood stole her away
Now he keeps a vigil down by McClusky's bridge
Prayin' for that river to return her one day...
A hiss answered from the opposite shore. The song rose louder.
Sharpen up those draggin' hooks!
Tie that clove hitch tight!
And cast into the water, boys!
We're draggin' for lost loves tonight!
The hiss came from behind now, from in front, from above, from below. Louder and louder the song rose. Five voices became six... eight... ten... twenty...
Can't lose the taste of this river mud!
Black water in my lungs!
"OH GOD!"
And they descended. The five men saw nothing except a quick, bright swoop of green light. A second. A third. They came from each shore, rattling and rocking the boat to and fro. The men swatted, screamed, their screams swallowed by the mountains, by the river, by the firefly green light that tipped the torches... burned the boat... forced the men into the river, only to be held down moments later by the strange green lights.
Bubbles rose from the water, slowed, and faded.
Their duty done, the green lights left the ashes of the burning boat to sink into the river, to join the men beneath its muddy banks. They disappeared into the river, their weary voices joined now in song by five more, deep dirge-slow baritone.
They say even the weariest river in the end will find the sea,
But here among the cattails, all we discuss is breaking free...