Bitch like an angry old geezer! Fuss like fretful old farts!
Throw your cares to the wind, become a stranger to yourself!
Everything is permitted!
Do what thou wilt shall be the whole of the Law!
__________
Momus — god of censure and slander
I
Grandpas tall and he’s got a strong smell … a foul taste … His body is like a skeleton’s, but his face is handsome, even though it’s all wrinkled … He has thin, slickedback white hair and blue eyes that never blink … He’s the world’s best Grandpa, and I’m the only mite he’s ever loved …
We live out on the taiga … Life lurks around the corner … the world’s vast and ominous … we’re not too far from the tundra … it’s dark almost the whole year ‘round … cold blasts and the soul’s penury …
mi ritrovai per una selva oscura …
che la diritta via era smaritta …
I might be a jabbermonkey, but I’m no ape.
__________
mi ritrovai, etc. — “I found myself in dark woods, the right road lost.” Dante (Pinsky trans.)
II
Winter woods … It had been a dear crystal night and the stars had almost glittered like back in the old days. The day that followed was like the survival instinct itself: resilient, dark, and merciless. The sky was a distant presence, the sun a hostile, gray eminence, a selfdestructive nuclear ball that had turned away its face to give us some peace … The woods seemed dead and so unchristianly beautiful … it just made you ache inside … Spruces watched over us, dreary despite their blankets of snow, and we walked a path that no one ever treads.
When the first snow falls in great white flakes, sealing yet another year of need, we trample a winding path down to the village and back to avoid having to put on snowshoes or snowskis … in case someone down there needs a talking to, or we just feel a bit cuddly … Its about five kilometers to Hebbers, but we take another way home … otherwise you get so fucking fed up with the route … They won’t plow, just blow big gaping holes in the gravelroad to finish the job begun by the groundfrost … They don’t want anyone to find their way out here … Me and Grandpawere on our way to the village to teach someone a lesson … and then, when they least expected it, we’d come back and give them a pop quiz.
When you get closer to the village, everything changes … They cut down foresttrees and let them lie, just to have something to do … Snowmobiles barrel around like pregnantcows, mowing down everything they come across … Logharvesters and forest-tractors ramble back and forth, bellowing like crazedkillerbears, destroying as much as possible before the ultimate clearcutting to come … There are traps and snares for all sorts of animals, from willowtits to Siberian tigers, but no one has the time or urge to empty them … the rotting cadavers have a rich smell … Whole trees lie where they fall, if its worth it they take them to the sawmill and chop them up … Only gulls, crows, and magpies can stand the stench of people in the village … Closer to us its more like it used to be … like it was meant to be … The snow has lulled the greenblack firtrees into a mild stupor … it’s utterly still … There’s a merciless beauty in everything, a slumbering fury … On both sides of the path the snow is deep and heavy … it doesn’t support you, but it doesn’t give way … Treacherous shadows tempt you to lie in wait, or offer yourself up … Our path took us through frozen-marshes and groves of young trees bearing the mark of death … Up scraggly pineridges and down blessed sprucevalleys … The forest is the only thing that can keep them out … Animals leave tracks and shit behind … A snowleopard on the trail of some huldra had crossed the path … A capercailzie, which had been fucked to death, lay on its side with sleeptousled feathers and a film over its horrorblackened eyes …
It was so pure and still you could hear God breathe … So cold the spit froze on your lips and your eyelids stopped working … Grandpa had on Predator Camouflage gear, white with a black-twigpattern, and a werewolffurcoat. He had on camelhairpants, roughluxury homespunshoes, a guineapigfurscarf and an NKVD hat. My own head was wrapped in toiletpaper, and I had on an orange Helly Hansen sweater and khaki Beaver Mountain pants tucked into Graninge hikingboots. I had mittens, but Grandpa had lemurfurlined ballskingloves, which cost more than most houses on the blackmarket. We creakedsqueaked as we walked, both because of the snow and Grandpa’s knees. He looked lowspirited and weigheddown … just stumbling along, not even managing to smoke … Suddenly he veered off the path … brushed the snow off a treestump … spread out his heatingpad and sat down … his head trembled … Two huge ravens landed in trees to either side …
— Hurts like hell to breathe, he gasped, I need to rest a while.
His breath steamed like he was smoking, and I went up to him.
— How are you, Grandpa?
— Not so good … Lately my body’s all bitchbitchbitch … every second’s a struggle … it’ll be over soon … I think I hear the death rattle in my throat …
— Are you sick, Grandpa?
— Just old and tired, kid … I’ve outlived myself … Now come here so I can hug you …
He did that and it warmed me to the crotch.
— My boy, my boy … I love you so much it shames me … and its not your fault that Grandpa is sad and has to croak soon … whatever else happens, remember that …
— You can’t die, Grandpa! If you do, I don’t want to stay here either!
— Then who’ll keep the trolls at bay? Grandpa asked and punched me in the gut.
When I’d caught my breath, I was crying.
— I’ll follow you wherever you go, Grandpa … even straight down to hell …
— Ah, that’s a path a man has to walk alone, kid … no point in leaving before you’re finished here … life isn’t made of shortcuts and it doesn’t have boundaries … and there sure as hell’s no coming back …
— No coming back!?
— There’s no such thing as ghosts, you poor little bastard …
— You can’t die, Grandpa! you just can’t!
— There comes a time in every man’s life, boy, when sight goes dim and orgasms are nothing more than bladdercramps … the people you love are gone and nowhere much feels like home … when that happens, it’s time to break yourself of the habit of living … you’ve made your peace … you’re ready to seek the light … because you’ve stopped fearing the dark …
— But I want to be with you! I want you to always exist!
— There’ll always be a Grandpa, mite, Grandpa soothed. But you have to be brave … your Grandpa isn’t dead and derided yet … time enough to learn to take care of yourself … before I’m gone … But we won’t talk about it anymore, you’re getting too worked up … Come here and sit on my knee and I’ll tell you about the good old days …
I sat on Grandpas knee and he put his arms around me.
— Aren’t you cold? he asked.
— Nah, I lied, though I was freezing to death.
Grandpa sat quiet a moment while he sorted his feral thoughts. Then he hawked, spit out a bloodyclump, and began:
— There was a time before everything went wrong, boy … it was an age of magic, myth, and ecstasy … nature was lavish with his gifts … animal life was purely teratological! The first Aryans landed in Garaselet 8,000 years ago and found the thirteen commandments of God carved into the flesh of livingseacalves … we were natures children, baptized by the Devil, and all of Norrland was an orgy in woodland, darkness, and silence … trees wore flesh, rivers flowed with blood … excess and waste … it was the natural order of things … no more than 5,000 men in all of Västerbotten and Norrbotten … Gods sons’ highest culture … there existed truejoy and eternallove … honor and nobility … We lived life to the fullest, hardly slept a wink we were so happy … beside the current’s wild rush … though we knew our dreams would be delightful and boundless … full of future conquests and heroic deeds … Life was an absurdity! Pure chaos! Men laughed in the face of death, lifted their glasses and ran berserk … A man’s pride and joy was in his cock and ass. The world was brand-spanking new every morning, we woke laughing to tears with bedpissing fear … Dionysus was our god and our corporacavernosae told us it was only a hundred yottameters to the universes edge … No one ever talked about doing their part! Au contraire! Woe to those who weren’t a deadweight around someone else’s neck … Work was taboo! We wandered around and simply hung out … saw things that weren’t there … chewed the cud and shot the shit … didn’t give a damn, because that’s how life was supposedto be … Sometimes we worked a little, if we had a mind … But slobs and slackers … that was us to a tee … Of course there was work for everyone, because it was the forestfuckingprimeval, but we thought, to hell with that … A guy might get down to business for half an hour or so, as long as it was easy and fun … Not like now … there’s a heavenwide difference between then and now … it made decent folks of us … There were woodcutters, charcoalburners, and logfloaters … hunters, meshuganas, and eggheads … peddlers, gypsies, and tramps … daylaborers, ditchdiggers, and zingaros … fortyniners, shamans, ai.d hucksters … Lapps, Finns, and Northmen … fauns, satyrs, and centaurs … urnings, albinos, and matricides … mamasboys, clods, and berserkers … tree-huggers, bushkissers, and turfFuckers … There were bonesetters, legtwisters, and skullcrushers … peacemakers, executioners, and pencilpushers … dreamdukes, fantasymarquises, and foolkings … pixies, naiads, and screwballs … eremites, graybeards, and necromancers … hoteliers, whalechasers, and holy bedlamites … teethgnashers, nazguls, and Grandpafogies … dykepluggers, brushburners, and backyardflooders … kiddiediddlers, mischiefmakers, and rabblerousers … soothsayers, knifegrinders, and vulcans … There were naturalists, navies, and shrinks … bravados, turncoats, and tramps … neanderthals, grailknights, and dilettantes … claqueurs, seers, and skizzos … gourmands, narcofiends, and sots … flashers, brownnosers, and indiangivers … desperados, manolitos, and lotitos … rednecks, bushwackers, and backwoodsmen … snipers, pushers, and trappers … fairies, hustlers, and diehards … There were fannyboys, voodoomen, and coalbiters … rumrunners, arsonists, and groupies … butchers, tanners, and crybabies … sweepers, keepers, and reapers … gigglers, grumblers, and grousers … topographers, houdinis, and hungerartists … battlecocks, fistfighters, and nailbiters … sorrowsmokers, pussuckers, and bingeeaters … democrats, dryskins, and babyfarmers … applicants, elders, and supplicants … There were followers, hollerers, and swallowers … camptramps, stallmuckers, and fortunetellers … tumblers, rumblers, and blunderers … conartists, onehanded-typists, and quislings … fakiers, brahmins, and maharadjas … moguls, sheiks, and khans … emirs, imams, and muftis … shahs, sultans, and caliphs … pashas, tsars, and mandarins … massas, sahibs, and tuans … There were gigolos, whoremongers, and bookmakers … wankhers, dirdirs, and pnumes … haruchai, skest, and jheherrin … robberbarons, luckyshots, and nightwatchmen … There were howdydoers, nitpickers, and runemasters … birdsofafeather, backseatdrivers, and blowhards … grimreapers, machinejockies, and sanitytakers.. nutcases, testosteronejunkies, and cherrypoppers … woodcutters, wormgrubbers, and horsel-overs … buttholesurfers, secondcousins, and raggamuffins … There were sufis, zenmasters, and naguals … devils in the flesh, wolves in sheeps clothing, and lumps in the pudding … freeholders, sharecroppers, and homebodies … gravediggers, graverobbers, and cannibals … chickenlivers, wayfinders, and bargainhunters … shysters, oracles, and tricksters … storytellers, timekillers, and supraterrenes … birds on the wing, foxes in the henhouse, and cats on the prowl … grandstanders, philanderers, and pottymouths … loveletterbearers, horsetrackriders, and engineidlers …