Bascule u r upset. Y doan u juss go bak 2 di ordir & try 2 cam down & tink dis —
Mr Zoliparia, I sez qwietly, I thank u 4 your consern but I intend 2 do this no mattir whot u say. Cheerz oil thi saim.
Mr Zoliparia lukes @ me diffrint than he has in thi past. Ive always liked him & Ive always luked up 2 him evir sins he woz 1 ov thi peepil they sent me 2 when they reelized I tolkd farely normil but I thot a bit funy, + I tend 2 do whot he sez — it woz him sed Perhaps u wood make a good tellir, & him whot sujjestid I keep a jurnil, witch this is whot u r readin — but this time I doan mutch care whot he finks, or @ least I do but I doan mutch care how bad it makes me feel goan agenst his advice bcoz I juss no I ½ 2 do this.
O deer Bascule, he sez & shakes his hed. I do bleev u do intend 2 do this & iss a sorry ting 4 eny persin 2 do 4 sumtin as insignifcant as a ant.
Iss not thi ant, Mr Zoliparia, I sez feelin ded grownup, itz me.
Mr Zoliparia shakes his hed. Iss u & no godam sens ov proporshin, dats wot it is.
Ol thi saim, I sez. It woz mi frend; she woz relyin on me 2 keep hir safe. Juss 1 try, Mr Zoliparia. I feel I O hir that.
Bascule, pleese, juss tink —
Mind if I juss hunkir down heer, Mr Zoliparia?
Givn u detrminded, Bascule, heer is probly bettir than lswhare but am not happi about dis.
Doan wury, Mr Zoliparia. Woant take a second, litterly.
Der anytin I can do?
Yep; let me boro that pen ov yoors. Ta. Now am goanta sit up here — I sqwatted on a chair, ma chin on ma nees, & put thi pen in ma mouf.
'en 'i 'en 'all ou' 'a 'ouf, I start 2 tel him…
Whot u sayin, Bascule?
I take thi pen out ma mouf. I woz juss sayin, when thi pen falls out ov ma mouf, let it hit thi carpet then shaik me & shout Bascule, fast awake!
Bascule, fast asleep, Mr Zoliparia sez.
Awake! I yelz. Not wide asleep; fast awake!
Fast awake, Mr Zoliparia repeats. Bascule, fast awake. He shakes his hed & heez shakin. O deer Bascule, o deer.
If yor that wurried, Mr Zoliparia, catch thi pen b4 it hits & then wake me. Now, just giv me a minit heer… I settil in2 place, gettin comfterbil; thisil onli take a sekind but u ½ 2 feel settld & redy & @ peece.
Rite. Am prepaird.
Thisl all hapin very qwickli, Mr Zoliparia; u redi? I put thi pen bak in ma mouf.
O deer Bascule.
Here we go.
O deer.
& so its off 2 thi land ov thi ded 4 yoors truli 4 thi sekind time 2day, onli this time iss a bit moar serieus.
Iss like sinkin in2 thi sky on thi other side ov thi Erf wifout goin thru thi whole fing furst. Iss like flotin in2 thi erf & thi sky @ thi time, becomin a line not a point, plumin thi depths & assendin thi hites & then branchin out like a tree, like a plane tree, like a hooj bush interminglin wif every bit ov thi erf & thi sky, & then iss like every 1 ov those bits isnt juss a bit ov erf or a molicule ov air eny more, iss like ol ov them is suddenly a littl system ov ther own; a book, a library, a persin; a world… & yoor connectid wif ol ov it, ignorin barryers, like u r a brain sell deep in thi grainy grey mush ov thi brain all closed in but joined up 2 loadsa uthir sells, awash in ther communicashin-song & set free by that trapt meshin.
Boompf-badoom; slapadowndoodie thru thi topmost obvyis layers whot corrisponds 2 thi upper levils ov thi brain — thi rashinil, sensibil, easily understood layers — in2 thi furst ov thi deepdown floors, thi bit under thi cerebral, under thi crust, under thi fotosphere, under thi obvyis.
Iss heer u ½ 2 b a littl bit careful; iss like bein in a not-so-saloobrius neyborhood ov a big dark city @ nite — only more complicaitd than that; mutch moar so.
In here, thi trik is thinkin rite. Thas all u ½ 2 do. U ½ 2 think rite. U ½ 2 b dairing & koshis, u ½ b ver sensibil & totily mad. Moast ov ol u ½ 2 b cluvir, u ½ 2 b ingenius. U ½ 2 b abil 2 use whotevir is aroun u, & thass whot it reely cums doun 2; thi kript is whot they col self-referenshil, which meens that — up 2 a poynt — it meens whot u want it 2 meen, & displays itself 2 u as ur best abil 2 understand it, so iss up 2 u reely whot yoos u make ov it aftir that; iss ol about injinooty & thass y itz a yung persins meedyum, frangly.
Nway, I new whot I wantid so I thot bird.
& suddinly I woz up in sum dark bildin abuv thi wee twinkly lites ov thi city, up thare wif big metajic skulptyirs ov feersum lookin birds & ther woz lots ov screetches & skwaks about thi place but u coudnt c no birds jus heer thi noyse they made & it woz sort ov crusty-soft under foot & smeld asidic (or alkline; 1 ov thi 2).
I snifd about, walkin qwietly, then hopt up on2 1 ov thi big metallic birds & sqwatted there, wings by mi sides, stairin out ovir thi lite-spekd blak grid ov thi citi & not blinkin juss lookin 4 movemint, & lowrin ma hed now & agen & pokin in under mi wings wif thi twig whot I held in ma beak, juss like I woz preenin or sumfin.
Noticd ma wake-up code in thi form ov a ring roun ma lef leg. Handy 2 no it woz thare, juss in case fings go rong an/or Mr Zoliparia flufs his line.
… Staid ther a while, payshint as u like, juss watchin.
Wot u wan then? sed a voice from abuv & behind.
Nufink mutch, I sed, not lookin. I woz aware ov thi twig in ma beak but it din seem 2 make speakin eny hardir.
U muss want somthen, u woodin b heer otherwyse.
U got me thare, I sed. Am here lookin 4 sumbodi.
O?
Loss a frend ov mine. Roost-mate. Like 2 trace her.
We all got frenz we like 2 find.
This 1 very recent; ½ hour ago. Taken from thi septentrynil gargoil Rosbrith.
Sep whort?
Meens — (this is complicated, referin 2 thi uppir data levil whyle am down here in thi furst circle ov thi basement, but I do it) — meens northern, I sed (blimey). Rosbrith. Norf-west on thi grate hol.
Taken by whort?
Lammergeier, I sed. (Didn no that neevir til now.)
Reely. Whot u given in return?
Am heer amn I? Im a tellir. U got ma eer now. Il not forget u if u help. Luke in me if u want; c whot I say is tru.
Not blynd.
Didn fink u wer.
This bird; u catch eny distingushin marx on it?
It woz a lammergeir, thas oll I no, but ther cant b oil that meny ov them aroun thi norf-west cornir ov thi grate hol ½ a our ago.
Lammergeiers r a bit funy theez days, but Il ask aroun.
Fanks.
(flutr ov wings, then:)
Well, u mite b in luk —
– then ther waz a mega-sqwak & a screem & I had 2 turn roun & luke & ther woz a huge grate bird beetin in thi air behind & abuv mi, holdin anuthir torn bird in 1 ov itz talons; thi big bird woz red-black on black & feerse as deth & I cood feel thi wind ov its flappin snappin wings on ma fayce. It hung in thi air, wingz spread beetin like somethin feersly crucified, shaken thi ded bird in its talons so that itz blud spatterd in my Is.
Y u askin qwestions, child? it screemd.
Tryin 2 find a frend ov mine I sed, keepin cam. I clumpd aroun on mi perch 2 fayce thi big red-black bird. Twig stil in ma beak.
It held up one foot; 3 talons up, one down. C these three clawz? it sed.
Yup. (Mite as well play along 4 now, but Im checkin thi exits, finkin ov ma leg-ring wif thi wake-up code on it.)
U got 2 thi count ov 3 2 moov yoor beak bak 2 realty u skin job, thi red burd sez. U heer me? Am startin countin now: 3.
I juss lookin 4 ma frend.
2.
Iss juss a ant. Am only lookin 4 a litil ant who woz my frend.