by Tuttle, Dan;
132.
In normal times, BLING yipped at shiny things
and so it seemed like karma he’d acquire
a ring in recompense for hijackings
attempted by the bird. A true ceasefire
meant quid pro quo, a balanced give and take.
But let’s not say that BLING had pondered thus,
and sentiently chosen then to make
an equal trade. An honest error, plus
his paws were small enough to fit inside
the fat circumference of the ring of gold
but not shake off unless he then applied
opposing pressure shrewdly, sevenfold.
And so BLING stood, with bling on left forepaw,
unable to shake ring from his dewclaw.
133.
Between repeated calls to get her dog
to come back down the branch so they could go,
Stel angered. Why was BLING in such a fog?
BLING lingered on branch, flailing, while their foe
sailed out to other tree for fleeting rest.
In desperation to be heard, Stel growled,
the sonic signal that she knew accessed
the deepest canine recesses, where howls
at moons, where licks, where dampened noses, where
the universal code of pup tail wag
lived in one cipher of extraordinaire
genetic complication. Each dog tagged
norepinephrine boost to growling sound:
to snap back to, to re-become a hound.
134.
The gambit worked! The deepest rumble she
could muster from her human vocal chords
earned BLING’s regard by puppy alchemy.
He wisely retrograded trunkward toward
the safety of her perch. His stride was strained
due to the oddity she saw was stuck
on his forepaw. This thing, she ascertained,
would cause his every fourth step go amok,
inhibiting his progress, wor’ying her.
So slowly passed the seconds of return
she simply wished he’d scurry hurried, per
the danger of another swoop discerned.
At last he entered radius arm reached.
She strapped him in and readied for the breach.
135.
Stel’s leaden breaths came quick, she’d failed to clear
the stress of BLING’s return before descent.
But now, with dog strapped to her bandolier
and chest to tree, she hadn’t chance lament.
The bird, she noticed, hadn’t strafed again
but rather had returned to nest and seen
that Stella, Abu, BLING were middlemen
for fate’s intent to family reconvene.
In solitary gesture, they’d transformed
from blatant enemies to neutral guests,
the temperature between them mildly warmed
above the icy levels past suggests.
Into arms wide Stel fell, Ab’s face aglow.
“You’ve earned Swahili’s version of bravo!
136.
I watched that bird the whole of your descent,
I think it might have understood what you
both dared to do. Must feel it’s heaven-sent
to have your stolen children rendezvous
back home!” he gushed, revealing underneath
a wish to have contributed some more
to mission that he’d witnessed to bequeath
the chattels. “Hope an able troubadour
can chronicle in verse what you just did.
I mean, we’re bound to grow in membership
when deeds as this reach ears of other kids.
Official histories make gender quips
impossible, because they’ll know a girl
with chivalry replaced bird’s oyster pearl.”
137.
“I think, Abu, it’s just too soon to tell
the whole wide world about our handiwork.
Recall we never got shopkeep to sell,
but used our modus operandi.” Smirk
made way to both their faces as they styled
themselves as cloak-and-dagger operatives.
“That helps. Street reputations are compiled
by word of mouth. A quest like this one gives
the status to be heard. You told me so.”
The notion floated – being listened to –
uplifted Stel, (her grounding jasper stowed)
then dropped her. “Ab, misdeed admission’s viewed
with admiration from our classmates, but
with punishment from teachers.” “Stel, tut-tut.
138.
You hardly cared before. You hide. This could
first put us Pioneers on global map.”
“If we’re not jailed.” “You think they really would?”
“I stole these eggs.” “You tried to pay.” “With scraps
compared to what the Chinese buyers spend,
according to the shopkeep. Let’s avoid
a lien on Grandmum’s cows. Truth’s a dead end.”
“A rumor ’round the school, to kids,” rejoined
Ab, “think of how they’d think of us! Adults
could never prove—” “No.” Abu slumped a smidge,
dissatisfied the noble quest’s results
prevented build toward fame on story’s bridge.
Declining gaze showed treasury surprise:
accessory pup’s ankle bore as prize.
139.
Ab stooped attentively to study what
was stuck on BLING, who sniffed at it. “What have
we here?” he asked. Stel bent to check the mutt.
“This ring’s so tight we might just have to halve
a paw as to dismantle BLING and band.”
They chuckled nervously. Don’t jokes have barbs
of truth inside? Out there in timberland
they didn’t have extracting tools, though garb
felt packed to gill with gear when they’d set out.
Abu leaned in and twisted it. “Oh, my…”
“What is it?” Stella asked. “A thing I doubt
you’ll want to give its owner back.” “No? Why?”
“You didn’t like the way she seemed to fling
housegirls under the bus. It’s Gumi’s ring!”
140.
“What?! How are you so sure?” she asked of him.
“For one, it clearly fits her window grate.
For two, look here.” “Is that an acronym?”
“No. ‘JGG’s inscribed, and next word states
‘beloved’.” Stel inspected, saw the etched
initials that Abu pinpointed and
retracted doubt the notion was far-fetched:
those letters rested filigreed on band.
“But why,” she asked, “would Gumi’s ring be here?
We also got this stone from that soil bed
I fell in.” “What an odd two souvenirs
to get: one band of gold, one jasper, red.
Let’s figure how to divvy up en route,
because until we’re home, the point is moot.”
141.
The avian equivalent of howl
at moon erupted then from branches high
above their heads, a bellow from the fowl
whose beady eyes traced kids’ egress. “Goodbye!”
Abu and Stella shouted, with a YIP!
from BLING, made happy by return to earth.
They three were pleased to cede their ownership
over the lives of birds approaching birth.
The trek back home demanded focused feet
and eyes to find the footing, fend off falls,
so progress made was firm, but far from fleet,
yet hopes were high for home before nightfall.
> As promised, walking conversation touched
on what to do with ring and jasper clutched.
142.
The Pioneers ignored environs as
they chitted, chatted, stooped and sprung and strode
their way back to the town. Hints of pizzazz
possessing steps to finished deed were owed.
Their speech swayed left and right, from virtuous
to evilest conniving little plots
to pawn the ring then pocket value plus
keep tight-lipped on how they’d struck the jackpot.
The longer the deliberations went,
the darker and more self-enriching schemes
revealed themselves as source of discontent,
as lies could loot all value from daydreams
of being kids with cash. The treasure trove
Stel half-sought wasn’t gold, but room to rove.
143.
“We’ve got a million shillings, let us say,”
said Stella stepping verbally through thought.
“I’m not so sure that we would disobey
our teachers, ’cause they’d think we’re little snots.
I’m pretty sure we’d have to hide the loot,”
she mulled and paused. Inhaling breath anew,
“Nor is it like we’ve chosen lux pursuits
that need a minor fortune to pursue.”
(A decade hence she’d find that she relied
on words themselves, the cheapest of all things.)
“I really think we’re happier outside,
where knowledge and experience is king.”
And so in back and forth it rightly dawned
she’d little wont of money wrongly pawned.
144.
“In light of this as Gumi’s ring,” Ab said,
“you’d get crime pardon if returned.” “Unless
I don’t. Then life is over. Don’t retread
your line that we get status if I fess.”
“But calculus has changed: if ring is found
the world brands us burglarious.” “Yes, Ab.
while it’s in our possession, we’re nigh bound
to secrecy. So give it back, don’t blab,
wipe hands clean and go back to normalcy.”
“Forgo the chance to be a heroine?”
“No. Be one, but a quiet one, quarrel-free.
Anonymously. Stay straight arrow. Bin
the limelight.” Still Stel watched its carats’ glints,
felt gravity toward grabbed inheritance.
145.
“What if,” she backtracked, thought, “I kept that safe?
Were I to fall on harder times could gold
become my parachute? Here, folks’ fail-safe
is going back to family, who’ll uphold
kin’s duty to give food and shelter. In
return the person works the farm or chores.”
Met basic needs as trade to serve the whim
of other household masters frightened. Ores
bounced cheerfully before her eyes. “Fine, Stel.
But since our escapade’s the stuff of lore.
at least we ought to pen ways we’ve excelled
so it can someday spread beyond our shores.
Let’s keep a secret sanctioned record, then
of Pioneer adventures, wheres and whens.”
146.
His other self approved. Both brainstormed names
for what those hallowed records would be termed.
‘The Tome’? ‘The Chronicles’? ‘The Hall of Fame’?
and settled on ‘The Annals’, which confirmed
acceptable amount of gravity
without adjoining legalese or cant.
They buried talk that risked depravity,
this tête-à-tête on if they can or can’t
have better future pawning ring for purse.
The power to choose pleased both. Stel loved this book,
their secret guide to self-made universe.
She rather dreamed how illustrations looked:
each one reflecting her, and yet distinct
as thousand stylized selves would there be inked.
147.
Her mind grabbed onto these and flitted through
locations Gumi mentioned anchoring
initially. Nile didn’t fit her view
of high adventure, Hormuz tanker string
fell short too. Better were the Paris thoughts,
with pictured self sophisticated, ’mong
the throngs at Eiffel Tower viewing spots.
The best were Shanghai’s, kung fu to foo yong.
In places Stel imagined she had grown.
In places Stel imagined she looked pleased.
In places Stel imagined she was known.
In places Stel imagined she was freed.
Could such book chance to fly against winds’ fate
in course that she controlled and would create?
148.
Poor BLING continued stilted striding, kept
from full extension of his paws because
ring bound like plaster on a bone. He leapt
and trotted on remaining three good paws.
“How do you think,” said Stel while forging creek,
“we’re going to get that thing off BLING?” “Let’s face
what’s silently assaulted us: BLING reeks!
We’ll need to bathe him well in any case.”
“You think some suds and scrubs will do it? He
is overdue for cleaning, that’s for sure.”
“We’ll have to find some powder to keep fleas
away again.” “You’re sounding so mature!
I always thought that listing risks and threats
was for adults inventing things to fret.”
149.
A smirking Abu countered, “Maybe most,
but don’t you think we’re better off without
the dog around us turning to bug host?”
She thought a moment, saw his point had clout.
“And even when you’re fine, they’ll badger you
about your chores or being right on time.
On birthdays once you think you just outgrew
the babying, they’ll set new strict guidelines.”
“But not for me,” said Stella distantly,
“because I’ve only Grandmum, don’t have ‘they’.
And she can barely do consistently
the things she needs to stay alive. One day
I fear she might forget. For now, no chance
she’ll notice me beyond a passing glance.
150.
My life’s about just me and little white
lies that I tell Grandmum to smooth the seas.
With no parental guidance, my foresight
is all I have to ease anxieties
of future. Not like anyone at school
is friendly, takes the time to understand
me. Nah—they’d rather play and ridicule
the quirky things that make them wonder, and
I happen to be quite,” her eyes showed tears,
“the easy target, well, ’cause I’m a girl.
Society can’t handle chicks who steer
their own lives rather than pursuing pearls.”
Pal duo stopped, till that point unaware
that Stella battled social disrepair.
151.
“Take Grandmum. Past the cows, you think that she
leaves any safety net? No. Mom or Dad?
Long gone. And here’s this opportunity,
this savior gold to build wished-for launch pad.
You’re urging me to put this out in view,
trust, ride the expectation girls be good?
That’s self-defeat: they’ll brand me as a shrew,
exploit the fact I stole. They’ll say I should
hav
e never self-assuredly bucked rules,
that I’m too savage for autonomy.
And let alone that Gumi thinks girls fools—
I’ll melt her ring, and ought! It dawned on me
to make my own way out: my only hope
is friendlessness – ’cept you – head down, and cope.”
152.
“No wonder you reacted when I said
repatriating ring’s a must. Guess ’ought’
can carry risks. Dynamics flew o’erhead
without my knowing forces that you fought.
Now that you point it out I’ve heard these things,
the little gendered cuts that trim your size.
I got the same as foreigner. It stings
when made to feel as lesser in man’s eyes.”
“You don’t know what it’s like. We’re differ-ent.”
“In some ways yes, in some less than you think.
But save it. Sun’s low. We need swifter stint
a-march to make it home before it sinks.”
“Keep moving,” Stel to self said, “life’s headwinds
aren’t guaranteed to slow or selves rescind…”
153.
“I’m sorry?” asked Abu. “Just muttering,”
said Stel dismissively. She set one foot
in front of next, toward that day’s shuttering.
She needed body calm for mind output.
Return to normal march, remarked Abu,
felt better, as the normal’s meant to sense,
inducing zero musing, no ado.
Stel shushed him quiet and said he’d acted dense.
She watched him muse on that, saw active brain
forget to task his eyes to looking ’round.
They focused at his feet. Still, she abstained
from further hounding him. They were homebound,
she felt more hidebound: nearly spelled the same,
two letters’ difference flipping warmth to shame.
154.
Delightful orange light was blanketing
the scads of shades of green, surrounding scene
enlivened with its end. Sun sank, quitting
the day they’d met adventure unforeseen.
As with all objects in the universe,
when absent warmth, the hues began to pale,
lives migrated to nests. Moonlight disbursed.
Nocturnal creatures wakened ’neath the veil.
Yet nourished by success that afternoon,
kids marched without a further voiced complaint.
Their rapid walk avoided night marooned,
steps’ rhythm reinforcing jaw’s restraint.
A coterie of demons filled Stel’s head,
uncertainty of future yielding dread.
155.
With trouble hardly matching long-past night
they’d spent out in the forest, when Abu
used bottled fireflies as a lantern light,
they found themselves near home at eight past two.
