Journal of Student Research 2018

The Tips of Fingers, the Falling of Things Stealing a Peach, Theft of the Peach

115

Losing specificity, locale remains without directness in the eyes of difference. Spry yamen bring spring festival by a forced celebration of banners and drums bombastic put forth by the merchants. Officials, mandarins or otherwise, kept left and right of me, humor about me, above me, in crimson robes, but I do not know who they are, and the distractions kept me interested more than the seriousness. Between these left and right crimson lined megaliths, a man and a boy walked to the dais. There were two, I think, maybe not any but a box, and a pole, for sure a pole, on his shoulder. Unknown to me, but apparent to the world surrounding, was the performative stature of the man and this boy. They were ordered to lead in some gesture or action, of which was decidedly best. Nature, now, could be turned upside down, / fingers slipping away from/ an inverted reality which seems plausible only in contemporary science, and even then, only speculatively, but these peaches, out of season peaches, presented soon, which in showmanship seemed absurd. Woe, &c., &c., avoiding anger. Sun now shines light on forgotten knowns, to the Royal Queen Mother of the West, heaven-somehow, in a garden where said peaches could grow. Void opens where a cord continues to writhe out, being persuaded towards its potential opposite, the sky. Its tens or dozens of feet seeming indifferent, yet confused, in a careful choreograph as its thrown into the air. The cord, riled, stops when it’s almost lost, and the fingertips of the man slightly slip its grasp in a release as it becomes flaccid at a height just above the waist. The fortune of the son, known son now, not boy, is to climb and be above only momentarily to acquire / fingers slipping away from/ peach-knowledge/forgotten-fruit/to-be-stolen fruit/peach-theft. The boy climbs. The rope might fray and murder, but the promise of future wealth, love, and respect bothers the bother and keeps the boy motivated. Like a spider running up a thread. Of its web it doesn’t know, but this strand shows a direction and momentary lapse of judgment. A peach fell. It was the size of a soup bowl, as large as a basin, somehow real and imitation, of Us and Nether. Of Nether and Us a rope falls, no longer tethered and no longer alive, cut to keep theft away. A head fell. It was the boy’s head. The gardener, the watchman, the Queen’s hench cut limb from son limb, tossing lightly-initially as gravity falls stone feet, arms, and legs. A father is a way to bury. He must away. The peach presented to the officials was obtained at the cost of the boy’s life. / fingers slipping away from/ Some pardon of cash must be able to hinder some cries of fatherhood. Then obliged. Ah, some trick kept at bay until payment. Babar! Pa pa’rh! Money received and a small box holds and out steps a grown boy, safe and counter-asunder. They were thankful, however. They either learned or taught this trick, this rope-to-heavens trick, to the White Lotus, erm, White Lily, sect.