Myths of Origin Four Short Novels - By Catherynne M. Valente Page 0,85

made from her flesh. She was swallowed by the serpent, too.”

But I was not. I was the serpent and the girl. Mountain was the circus-master.

Now it is quiet. I have covered Mountain. I have covered River. I have flooded the hallways of the Palace and erased the History of the World. The ink itself has dissolved in me until no creature can taste its sourness. I spat the castle from my mouth when the floods came.

The salt-flood of my tears cleansed the world—the abyss is on the face of the earth now, and at last there is quiet. The waters rushed in and the dams broke with a sound like matchsticks snapping, the foam hushed over my belly and my hair floated on the waves like a silver-knotted net. There was a tumult of sea, the great salt waves erasing villages, temples, towns, capitals. It made everything clean, transcendent, pure. When the Moon rose up over the surface of the earth and saw the New Sea, she exulted in her diamond carriage and cried out with her voice of spun glass.

I battered Mountain with waves and forced River to join his water to mine. Mountain is merely buried, his voice shut up in a blue casket—River is within me, and I relive the meal over and over, with delight. He twists in my belly with delicious fervor.

There is flotsam everywhere, but that will pass. Seabirds call out desolate songs and search for aeries that have long been swallowed. They roost now on anything that is buoyant—cradles, spinning wheels, stable doors. That will pass, too. The world will be made again, no doubt. It is the way. The process is indefinite. It is made, it is dismantled, it is made again. Perhaps this time I will make it, and write my name in crushed jade.

I am peaceful now, the peace of the full belly. I look out over the sea and watch my wounds heal themselves. Flesh knits itself to itself, slowly, slowly. I am still missing many teeth, but I have confidence that they will turn up. I can afford contentment, I have bought it dearly.

Half of my body is still hung in the sky like a trophy. I lie on the earth-that-is-me and stare into the sky, which stares back. And we rock ourselves to sleep, we two, in this infinite mirror.

Softly, Mountain rumbles beneath me.

Pheasants Dive Into the Water Becoming Monster Clams

In the dream of Ayako, she touches the book with tender hands and the Fox watches her. In the dream of Ayako she is washed in moonlight scented by the sea. It is becoming very cold, and Mountain has drawn over himself his old snow-cloak. In the dream of Ayako, her hands are terribly thin and have begun, in places, to shine blue and indigo.

In the dream of Ayako, the thought has begun to form in her that none of the women are real, that even she is a shade, a vision. Perhaps the villagers are right to think her a vengeful ghost. Perhaps the village is not real, either. She had, of course, long suspected that the boys who brought her rice were dreams. This thought was like the grain of sand that forces the oyster to make a pearl—it pained her, and yet the fist of her soul closed around it.

Perhaps the dream at the base of her soul was true—the silent girl who did not move. But perhaps not. Ships existed that had no anchors, perhaps even that had no sails or oars. It was possible that she existed with nothing at her core but ether, nothing but a dark swirl of air.

In the dream of Ayako, the Fox lies down beside her in the weak light, her red haunches glittering. She is very lovely, with her grand tail. Ayako thinks that the Fox must have found a great many succulent mice to keep her this fat in the swift-snowed winter.

And because Ayako is lonely, she reads aloud, simply so that she may hear the voice of a human, whether or not she is real.

The Rainbow Hides

In the ninth month of pregnancy the fetus is nearly fully grown. It has gained a great deal of subcutaneous fat and can normally breathe outside the womb at this stage. The mother will experience anxiety and discomfort in the weeks prior to birth. The fetus sleeps for the majority of its tenancy in the womb, and experiences REM sleep, an indication of dreaming.

I kneel in the deep