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Shangri-la, issue 6, May-June 1946
Page 4
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I first disobeyed her by wading. It was wonderful. You know how it is---like taking an aching cool drink after being thirsty for a long time. When I set my eyes on that water, I couldn't stand it any longer. When I rubbed my dusty feet together, they felt like dry, rough pater. It is necessary, I said to myself, to get my feet wet. I could beel them twitch in eagerness. There was nothing I could do to stop them. They led me to the creek and in they stepped. The water washed off the mud and sucked in between my toes. I thought the scratch would begin to bleed again when the mud was washed off, but that was a mistaken idea. The water was so icy that the wound closed as if in defense. It was time to go home, but I sat on the bank with my feet tucked under me looking down the deep green path. I had never walked past this boundary before. What could be up there? And what was the green water? Why was mother so sure it would bring me harm? I had just about decided to turn around when I noticed the house. It, too, was green, but old and streaked as if washed by many rains, and there, sitting on the porch, in a broken rocker, was an old man, nodding in the early evening air. I will speak to him, I said, and then I'll go. "Hello." I stood with my hands behind me, staring at him. "Howdy." He opened one eye slowly and then raised the other eyelid a trifle, exposing an empty socket. "What are you doin' down this way?" he asked, rubbing his feet on the porch. "Walkin'." "Tired?" "Nope." "Hungry?" - 4 -
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I first disobeyed her by wading. It was wonderful. You know how it is---like taking an aching cool drink after being thirsty for a long time. When I set my eyes on that water, I couldn't stand it any longer. When I rubbed my dusty feet together, they felt like dry, rough pater. It is necessary, I said to myself, to get my feet wet. I could beel them twitch in eagerness. There was nothing I could do to stop them. They led me to the creek and in they stepped. The water washed off the mud and sucked in between my toes. I thought the scratch would begin to bleed again when the mud was washed off, but that was a mistaken idea. The water was so icy that the wound closed as if in defense. It was time to go home, but I sat on the bank with my feet tucked under me looking down the deep green path. I had never walked past this boundary before. What could be up there? And what was the green water? Why was mother so sure it would bring me harm? I had just about decided to turn around when I noticed the house. It, too, was green, but old and streaked as if washed by many rains, and there, sitting on the porch, in a broken rocker, was an old man, nodding in the early evening air. I will speak to him, I said, and then I'll go. "Hello." I stood with my hands behind me, staring at him. "Howdy." He opened one eye slowly and then raised the other eyelid a trifle, exposing an empty socket. "What are you doin' down this way?" he asked, rubbing his feet on the porch. "Walkin'." "Tired?" "Nope." "Hungry?" - 4 -
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