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Shangri-la, issue 6, May-June 1946
Page 3
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GREEN WATER By T. L. RUSH It was no use. I sat down on the ground and stared at the boulder, expecting every minute to see the old man come around it and beckon to me. I had cried hard the second time. I had cried very hard. Not many tears had come, though. That was because I was scared, so scared that I knew tears would blind me and I wouldn't be able to see him coming, and then I couldn't run away. I had conserved the tears but let the sobs build a well inside my throat until I could hardly breathe. Now, I was tired, so I sat on the ground and stared at the huge rock in front of me on the path. Mother had told me not to go down that way. It's summer, I had said. Let me go, please. Something is calling to me. And don't wade, she had said. Don't go up the green path. Don't drink any green water. So I had gone walking in the hot day without my straw hat, kicking up clouds of red dust with my bare feet, feeling the dirt sift through my toes. The branches of the trees hung over me and their leaves brushed softly over my face, while the little twigs from the thorn bushes had pulled at my clothing and scratched my legs. Once, there was a deep scratch, so I picked up some dust, spat into it, mixed up a little paste, and rubbed it on the scratch to stop the bleeding. Everything was asleep in the sun. Even the flies were too lazy to buzz around me. Far, far away, I could hear the screen door bang behind my mother, and she called. But I could not hear what she said, and I did not turn around to go back to try to hear what she was calling. I kept on walking up the road, keeping a red haze between the sun and me with my dusty way of walking. - 3 -
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GREEN WATER By T. L. RUSH It was no use. I sat down on the ground and stared at the boulder, expecting every minute to see the old man come around it and beckon to me. I had cried hard the second time. I had cried very hard. Not many tears had come, though. That was because I was scared, so scared that I knew tears would blind me and I wouldn't be able to see him coming, and then I couldn't run away. I had conserved the tears but let the sobs build a well inside my throat until I could hardly breathe. Now, I was tired, so I sat on the ground and stared at the huge rock in front of me on the path. Mother had told me not to go down that way. It's summer, I had said. Let me go, please. Something is calling to me. And don't wade, she had said. Don't go up the green path. Don't drink any green water. So I had gone walking in the hot day without my straw hat, kicking up clouds of red dust with my bare feet, feeling the dirt sift through my toes. The branches of the trees hung over me and their leaves brushed softly over my face, while the little twigs from the thorn bushes had pulled at my clothing and scratched my legs. Once, there was a deep scratch, so I picked up some dust, spat into it, mixed up a little paste, and rubbed it on the scratch to stop the bleeding. Everything was asleep in the sun. Even the flies were too lazy to buzz around me. Far, far away, I could hear the screen door bang behind my mother, and she called. But I could not hear what she said, and I did not turn around to go back to try to hear what she was calling. I kept on walking up the road, keeping a red haze between the sun and me with my dusty way of walking. - 3 -
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