They stacked him on a heap of bodies that was piling ever higher. When the heap was piled high enough, they pushed it out of the cave in barrows and set it on fire. She was careful to conceal her tears from the oafs, but they did fall.
Some came to gather around the table with the others looking at the map. She heard one of those looking at the map say, “It is going well. It is going as well as could be expected. In a few more days it will all be over.”
Another map reader said, “Yes, everyone did a great job. Many are to be congratulated. It shouldn’t be much longer before we take the mines.”
“It is a great day, Gen’rl,” said the first.
“After we take the mines, we will have the advantage. There is no going back now.”
“We shall raise our standard and be proud.”
“We shall overrun their cities and make our demands. There shall be blood in the streets. The people shall rule the day. The wealthy shall be taught a grave lesson.”
“Blood will settle these warring philosophies.”
“War is the king of philosophies.”
“It is a great day.”
The oaf called Gen’rl yawned. “Now I can rest, as I have done my duty to the best of my abilities. I have served the people. I can rest now, because we have all of us done a great job. It is a great day. I am going to rest on my cot and no one is to awaken me unless there is very good reason. And when I awaken I will eat. Prepare one of the mans for my meal. That one there will do, the one with the red hair.”
She gasped as the oaf called Gen’rl pointed to her.
“But she is a favorite of Luf’tnt Auutet, sir,” spoke a subordinate officer of the oafs, out of turn, to the one called Gen’rl, who responded to him with a look in his eyes like a great burning fire.
The subordinate officer bowed and uttered an obsequious apology and then quickly gestured a command to the three-toothed one that roasted mans slowly on the spit.
Obediently the three-toothed one hefted a large stone club in one hand, lumbered over, and grabbed her by the neck.
Swinging her arms and kicking with her legs, she struggled to free herself from the oaf, but she was grabbed and grabbed well.
The cave stank of death and other filths, as these were the unclean oafs. The cave, though it was a place of healing, was littered with their waste and the discarded remains of the mans they had eaten.
The one called Gen’rl stretched himself out on his cot. His subordinate officer, who had spoken out of turn, removed a small singing harp from his sack and set it on the table with the map, which was now rolled into a tube.
The subordinate leaned back against the table and ran his fingers over the strings. The small singing harp sang: “Justice vision, Justice true, fair to the unfair, Justice bleed, Justice be, fairness and equality, Justice be…”
As the music played, the oaf with three teeth in his mouth swung the female man down to the ground when he found a good clean flat place upon which to bash her brains out. She landed on her back. He pressed her down with one hand as he raised the club. But she arched up, flipped away, landed on her feet.
Ran.
He came after her swinging the heavy stone club, which quaked the earth each time it landed.
“Get away from me!” she screamed as she ran.
The others, laughing and calling, “Pick one, pick one, pick a nice fat talking one,” rose up, as did their spirits, and joined in the chase.
She was limber and swift, and she eluded them as she ran to the mouth of the cave.
Laughing and calling and making jokes at each other’s clumsiness, they reached for her and missed, and laughed some more. The one with the club swung it down, quaking the earth beneath her feet. “Fi! Fi! Fi!” he laughed.
She ran. She was almost at the entrance to the cave, but the one who had lost an eye got up from his cot, his mouth a gaping black maw of hawing laughter, and he jumped in front of the entrance, blocking it. He crouched low with his hands out to catch her.
She stopped in midstride and abruptly changed direction. Now she was running toward the one with the small singing harp.
He saw her coming, set it down on the table, crouched low with his arms outstretched and his mouth open in hawing laughter. He waited to catch her.
Narrowly escaping his grasp, she changed her direction again and went up this time.
Up!
Now she was leaping up to the top of the low table, and as they grabbed and clutched after her, she reached for the small singing harp.
She felt them grab her, and grab her well, and lift her. She felt their stinking laughing breath in her hair. She felt the small singing harp in her hands. She felt the familiar strings against her fingers. She felt their teeth in her hair. She closed her eyes and rubbed the strings.
The small singing harp sang: “Justice vision, Justice true, fair to the unfair, Justice bleed, Justice be, fairness and equality, Justice be. Justice we, Justice share, Justice to the unjust, Justice share. Justice of my father, Justice of my land, Justice of the people, Justice be…”
They had set her down on the table. They were singing along in somber voices. Some were saluting. Some were shedding tears.
One was wailing mournfully, “Fi, fi, fi. Ooohhh, fi, fi, fi. Must war always be the oaf’s schoolmaster? So many comrades have fallen beside me in battle. So many noble oafs I have slain. The sun rises in gold and sets in blood. Let it be worth it, oh lord great creator. Oh, let it be worth it.”
One of them said, “She’s one of us. She plays the anthem. She was a spy for us in their tunic.”
“She may be a spy for them. How do we know she’s not spying for them?” said another.
“Because she’s playing our anthem, pinhead!” the first one growled, spitting.
“Who are you calling pinhead?” the second one said, his hand dropping dangerously to the handle of his blade.
Before it could come to blows, the oaf called Gen’rl arose from his cot. The soldiers parted down the middle to make a path for him to the table. His brow knit up in oafish thought, he peered down at the red-haired female man in the tunic of the wrong standard and with the small singing harp singing in her lap. He was silent for many moments before he spoke to them with the authority of his rank.
“She’s a man. Mans don’t spy. They’re putting these little mud mice in the war but they call us savages because we eat them. Oh, fi, fi, fi. They ran is what they did, all of them, dropped their little blades and ran. They’re not soldiers. They don’t understand war and why it is necessary to kill the other oaf and his kin and his generations and wipe him off the face of the earth forever and ever. They don’t understand that oafs can’t be changed, can’t learn to do things a new way — blood must be spilled for the oaf to learn. Indeed, blood ever be the oaf’s schoolmaster. No, she’s not a spy. She’s a talking man. And she’s a musical man too. A combination like that — why, that makes her very expensive.”
The others nodded at his wise words.
The oaf called Gen’rl said, “Give us another song, girl, if you can.”
Her fingers touched the strings again. The others drew close as she played.
The oaf called Gen’rl said, “Back away from her. She’s mine. The spoils of war. I’m taking her home to my children. And if this Luf’tnt Auutet, whoever he may be, has a problem with that, bid him come speak with me about it. Fi, fi, fi. Bid him come speak with me about it with his blade unsheathed.”