EPTI decided to just share a few of my stories for a time or more.
Most of them are very drastic, in a way. This one wrote itself like a charm, it is two years old and plays in my Cocoon world. The very human-like inhabitants of this world (in fact to a T) have to go through a cocooning phase around their puberty, for no clear reason, besides the various cultures claim it to be happening. There are two races in this world, and throughout my stories they will meet. That hasn't happen in this part of the world yet - though it will happen with a bang. The dominant culture in this part is a vague polynesien one, sprinkled with some other influences. With the people here, in this story, the roots of this culture are a distant past, because of the immigration and various other reasons, like regional climate change and a very different environmental landscape.
Have fun!
PS: NSFW
The Sound of the Cave
by Dirk Ackermann
+ Show Spoiler +
... I saw her for the first time. She stood amidst the other women of Motueka. Or I should say, the other women were arranged around her. So it seemed to me. As you know I had my share of women, as I traveled the whole of Kingitanga and further. I cannot say they are my weakness, because I uphold the old ways, but you could call my never written travelogues: The journeys and misadventures of a men who couldn't stop touching. I held it to my most official title that it never ended with the words: and died because of it. But, as you are well aware, I am not fully to blame. The world is. It does not function very well, for if it would there couldn't be the mis before adventure. I picture you smiling at that, and I know it is for a different reason, but I see it as the smile of consent.
Every time I came into a village or an inn or a big city I knew which girl was my girl. I knew it and they knew it too. A short glimpse of truth as you ever would be able to experience, yes, even before intuition. Attraction, better, erotic attraction, opens the veil that shades from seeing the real essence and knowing it for what it is in seeing. Albeit for just a tiny fraction of time. As it happened the veil was often very holey for me. Holey or never really closed. I glimpsed it in short or tall women, in fat or skinny ones or in the way clothes were wrapped around them or in hearing them laugh or in their postures or in that full ripeness only women possesses or in the half played shyness they seem to bath themselves with. All my women were always very special, not in the way of finding someone to be special, but in the way someone is very special. Yes, I think that I had my very special truths. But you see, this woman, she is attraction. Attraction and beauty and erotic. She is big. You could call it an abundance of flesh. Her skin cannot hold it all, it seeps out of her, fogging everything around her and veers and ventures back into her. But she is not fat, just on a constant brink of bursting. And she is young and very beautiful and has a deeper complexion, maybe because she is from the southern isles, I would wager Punakitere. And although young, maybe at the beginning of her twenties, she holds herself with an older grace and certainty and looks into the world with those big, beautiful dark eyes. And you see, I saw her there, between, no, atop those other women, and I was not able to see her completely, I just saw her black, freshly cut, only shoulder-long hair, her face, her neck and shoulders, and I knew how the rest of her body would look just from that tiny extract, her lavishly curves, her big breasts and the way her feet would seem small, and how it would be when she moves and her dress would fold at the right places as her flanks swayed and allured while rocking smoothly and all at once very boldly. It was confirmed later, as I saw her walking, with the exception that in her movement her youth showed and a more ritual denial to look the others in the eyes was apparent. I still have to hear a word from her, but I already know how her voice will sound, a little dark, like that dark wood you showed me in Ua Ua, dark and so smooth, but at the edges her voice will break easily. The way she is treated is special too. I can say that she is not tapu, even here, in the north, were the old religion and the concepts get strict in a ludicrous way. No, not tapu, but very odd. They do not shun her, but they avoid and command her in a very subtle but all the more clumsy way. Something lets me think of her as a slave. Slaves are very seldom here though. I saw a few of them around the vales and the Two Rivers, but never here. No, she is no slave. So why do I have the impression that she is? But to whom or what, I wonder. My duty today was very brief and I had other commitments, so I lost sight of her. I could not bring myself to ask about her either. That would be suspicious, me, the First Kupua of The Three Ways, prying after her. She is stunningly attractive, it would raise more than a few eyebrows and questions if I would be too curious about her, and my reputation is more than a little shady as it is, given the last incident in summer. You remember? The one with the visiting chief’s daughter? I did tell you? Of course I did. In the south and in the temples such questions or more action would not care anyone, besides the very jealous or the fact that I might be too old, and youth is the praised aphrodisiac everyone is searching for. But here? They see the world and its nature given structure a lot different. Fortunately my journeys abroad confronted me with a vast and different views, that’s why I am cautious. And, because I lived here for six years now. I know them. More than the years would suggest. They have this temple here and it is the biggest in whole Awanui, which is not all that difficult, and yes, they sing the old songs and do some of the rituals, but that does not mean that they live by it. Maybe it is the cold, wearing this above that and under it there is still something. Though I cannot deny to give this whole ordeal some erotic benefits, this hiding can have its advantages. Although, come to think, the hot lands of the Kang or the deserts in the east don't hinder the people to dress up too and behave in the same demure way as here. Maybe it is the seasons, cold, warm, hot, lukewarm, again cold, that is most confusing. As our people came here long ago they still had the right balance of things. Then they witnessed the seasons. First they had to dress thickly and then, because of outside temperature, this always too short summer, lightly, but in the inside they were always hot, so in summer they felt like the outside, they felt right, they had still a look at the right way, but then winter loomed and they got tempered by it, but summers way was still in them, so they desired but could not always still that hunger as easily as in summer, because of all the layers of clothing and the freezing cold. And after years and years the result was a partially hidden lust. A lust tempered by the comings and goings of the seasons. And their behavior changed and after a while the transformation ended even the partially, because now lust was hidden as static as the rigor passage of the seasons itself. They lust but they hide it, and all their systems live by that. Hiding makes curious and more jealous and it confuses them even more, and that is why they seek balance a lot. It is always a pleasure to show them the right balance though. Especially to the middle aged women. You can imagine that.
My dear friend, I talk about aged women and clothing, but in my mind there is only this young, this very not so delicate creature, this young and voluptuous maiden. I cannot think of something else. I cannot Wait. What did I just wrote? Maiden? Wait. Maiden. Maiden. Oh the gods! I said young, because she is, but she looked at least like in her twenties. But I remember now. I remember the clothes. Her dress. The local traditional dress of a child not yet cocooned.
Puna! the voice calls very muffled. Puna!
I am here, Puna cries.
Com'ere! the voice again. Quickly.
Where are you? he shouts.
Down here, the voice shrieks.
Puna lays the parchments down and rushes around the corners and down. Deep down. Around and around. Stairs, a window, a door and then only the broad steps of the roughly hewn stairs and stairs and steps.
Down there a fresh, watery smell and a good cold waits. Water drips and the light vanishes quickly.
Where are you? I can't see anything, Puna shouts.
Wait, I come to you.
After a while there is the sound of scraping boots, suddenly a coronary shimmer, that lays itself on the brownish, yellowy stone tunnel and then there is the bright candle, carried by a small boy, who is out of breath.
What? Puna says.
You, you have to see. See this.
What?
'Eleu turns and rushes along. You won't believe, he shouts.
What?
A sharp bend and the tunnel ends and a wide room opens to the boys and as the boys go further they tread on lightly flooded rock. On the right corner lies a wide pool. The ceiling over the pool narrows more slowly down and makes the room much bigger. Two shadows lay in the water.
There, the small boy points at the pool.
What? What is this? His eyes widen. The gods, Puna says.
They stare silently.
The small boy goes to the edges of the pool and holds the candle with an outstretched arm. The naked body of the priest lays close and strangely postured along a cocoon.
Look! he says. Uh, it stinks. They stink.
Puna follows slowly. Yes, they do.
What is he doing? the small boy says.
I don't know.
Is he hugging it?
It looks like. Oh, the smell. Puna covers his nose and mouth with its arm.
Yeah.
Yeah.
But look.
What?
The cocoon is
Oh, I see it. The candle. Closer!
Urgh, the small boy says and he makes a retching sound.
Breathe through your mouth, stupid!
The small boy brings the candle closer to the cocoon, to the place where the right arm of the priest presses onto it. A long fissure cuts through the partially darkened and browned fabric of the cocoon.
Closer, Puna says.
They both make themselves as long as possible, careful not to touch the water, their heads close together.
It is her, says Puna.
Yeah.
The wai is gone, Puna says.
Yeah. It is.
The water must have swept it out of the cocoon.
Maybe.
Damn, Puna, look!
What?
Look here.
He cut himself, the small boy says.
The arm of the dead priest shows a grotesque gash from wrist to elbow, the bloated flesh spread wide open, bursting.
He killed himself. The poor, the small boy says.
We should go, 'Eleu. The ghosts.
No, wait.
What?
Did he kill her too?
Oh, 'Eleu, and if, that would the ghosts even more wrathful.
Yes, it would. But look, the penchant my aunt gave me, 'Eleu says and grabs the small bone cage and holds it before Punas eyes. It will fend off the ghosts.
Yes, you. But what is with me? I go.
Wait. I can touch you. Then it will protect you too.
'Eleu grabs Punas left wrist and smiles.
Now, he says.
What now?
We have to move his arm, if we ever like to know.
Oh, 'Eleu.
What? Don't we want to know it?
Puna sighs. After a while he nods.
But we mustn't touch them, he says. We need a stick or something.
Yeah, you are right.
They both search the room with their eyes.
We have to go to the entrance, there was a broom, I believe, 'Eleu says.
Or a branch from outside, Puna says.
Yes, or that. But there was a broom. I go, 'Eleu says and runs off, but a quick arm holds him back.
You stupid river krake, Puna shouts. My arm! You let go off my arm.
Gods, 'Eleu says, and he grabs the wrist.
We both have to go now.
All right, you three feathered chicken.
Shut up.
No, you shut up.
So they go.
As 'Eleu takes the candle with him the light follows. In its flight it lets the narrowing caves ceiling over the pool vanish and gives birth to a look lifespan spark of reflection on a drop of water, that clings to the caves wall, and its further disappearing changes the colors of the things it touches until there is only a contrast and then there is nothing, although there is, and as the noises of the boys die too, the sound of this room is no longer disturbed and the steady gurgling of water and the lonely splash of a drop that hits its inevitable target let it blossom and live as bright and clear as ever, until the boys return and their sounds reach for this sensitive touch me not, this bloom shrivels and shrinks under their loud talk and quick strides but won't ever disappear.
I still can't believe that they are your first, 'Eleu says.
Yeah, Puna says.
The stick, 'Eleu says.
I know, Puna says and he holds the stick and elongates his arm and with it he touches the arm of the dead priest and shoves and pushes, but the arm won't really move.
It won't do, Puna says.
Give it to me, says 'Eleu and he reaches for the stick.
No, Puna says. I've got an idea. He begins to poke and scratch at the cocoon, along the big fissure. It crumbles and folds, some parts break.
The smell, he says.
He tries a specific angle, and pushes down on the stick and then the left side of the cocoon breaks away, folding and laying slowly down onto the surface of the pool. Something moves inside the cocoon.
They both fling themselves back.
Gods, Puna says.
It was just her arm, 'Eleu says. Look!
They again stretch and bend and the candle illuminates her left arm, now slightly draped over the ruins of the cocoon. The light travels over her navel and shines on a big, flattened breast that drapes itself to the left side.
She looks untouched, 'Eleu says.
Hush, Puna says. And with these words he pokes again at the cocoon and works and breaks until the face shows.
You got it, Puna, her face, 'Eleu says.
Hush.
What?
Shut up!
They stand there for a long time and the candle moves softly and the bloom of the cave unfolds again.
She is really beautiful, Puna says softly.
No kidding, 'Eleu says.
She isn't as bloated as he is.
No.
She looks unharmed to me.
Yes.
Let’s go. Tell the others.
Yeah, let’s go.
It's a pity.
Yes.
I mean, how they treated her.
Oh yes. That too.
I think they were just jealous.
You think?
Yes.
But she was strange.
I don't know. Maybe.
I think so.
But maybe we were just strange to her.
Nah, he says and frowns. Maybe. But she was strange. How do you cocoon so late? Something ain’t not right, then.
Yes, maybe.
Maybe.
Oh, the stink. We have to go.
Yeah. Let’s go.
***
Dear Matiu,
I would have written two days ago, but I had a vicious fever, that got hold of me the night I last wrote to you. After I had my revelation I could not sleep and paced restlessly. Maybe that is where I caught the cold. Thanks to the festivities, I am mostly on my own here, as the rest stays in the villages, helping out. I am honest with you, a few times the thought of not making it crossed my mind. Perhaps I should have at least someone beside me. The young Mahi-Mahi would serve that purpose well. He is a good man. And such a name, amidst the never ending woods. A lucky name, I guess. Otherwise I couldn't possibly understand the name, because have you seen dolphins roam the woods or swim the rivers? Curious how such things come to be. In my fever I had some very vivid dreams. In one I thought I would drown in a pool of the fiery piss Pele had just made. I only saw her leave, her huge legs and her behinds and in that moment I lusted for the giantess but I could not get out of the pool, nor did I even struggle. The piss did not burn me, although it was hot, it just made me so weak, that I had to lay me down and then, silently, I drowned in her piss. Sometimes I could not even tell if I was dreaming or if I was awake, and when I was awake I was so feeble I barely could stand up and make my water. You know, I am not afraid of death, at least not as I ever was of life. You never were though. Not that I knew of.
The conscious moments alas were all inhabited by her. In everything I did her very round presence accompanied me. And then I was still disappointed, because I did not dream of her. But otherwise I could not think of something else, she occupied more than enough of me already, more than my mind could handle, obviously. I guess she even became bigger in my memories. I mean her breasts and her thighs and her gorgeous ass. You know, her dress never showed her waist, but she is one of the girls who, besides their otherwise ripe appearances, has a slender waist. Just to make everything worse.
Matiu, to cut it short, I saw her again. This evening. And she saw me. And I saw her knowing. Knowing what lay in my looks for her. That means she is experienced. Could it be merely intuition? Perhaps, but unlikely. With her stunning beauty she should recognize such looks by now, but it did go deeper than that. It was a knowledge born of action, not just of glimpses and questions and whispered answers. She knew, because she went there, and I think, a lot. I came very close to her, tried very different angles, maybe in search for an imperfection, and there were, her little too rectangular face, her somewhat too strong hands and maybe her posture, but they added that little thing of needed shortcomings to make the second look all the more attractive, and to give me a never ending hard-on. All right, it was not only her looks, but her looking back, and that she tried to hide it. Not from me. From the others. There was fear in her eyes. And curiosity. And lust. Lust, induced by me.
My inquiries about her were subtle and then, not too fruitful. I guessed nearly right in Punakitere. She is from one of the many smaller islands that lay directly between Punakitere and the Roaring Coast. Through many debts and family ties she ended up here. Not a slave, but a black fish, that everyone tries to give away, in fear of spoiling mana. And I have to say, they should have all the fears in the world.
As I mentioned, I did not came to know a lot about her story, but you know me, I will. Only this, her name is Ahurewa, they say she is twenty and eight, from a very rich and powerful family, with connections to the court in Mother of Pearl City, and, they say it with incredulity, never cocooned. It sounds unbelievable, right? Never cocooned. I knew of a boy that came close to twenty and two and that made him famous and very lonely, unfortunately he died not long after his cocooning, but the girls were always under twenty. You know how say they, she is a late cocooner. How her life must have been to this point. Poor creature. Of course she lives with the Lapu family now. No other family would dare. I wonder why there were no talks already. Looks, yes, but no talks. She came here thirty days ago, but they let her out only ten days ago. So the old shark knows what they have in her. I can see his wicked smile. And her smile too, that old anaana witch. She was there too, but never spared me a look. The next time I fuck her senseless I will remind her of that.
Kai was not that ungrateful. I have to say that luck was on my side, as she looks like a little version of Ahurewa, not as opulent or big or as beautiful, but a close enough reminder, that a few words and a seemingly by the way steering of her hand to my white hot dick led to a very quick voyage into the cocconing hut where her surprise at my very hard dick ended in us nearly squashing one of the cocoons, as her head leaned against it while I squatted over her, holding myself with my hands on the slippery rocks above, her mouth sucking me off so famished and yet so diligent. And I know, that you know that I was only thinking of the not so young maiden Ahurewa. But of course, woman and that, Kai suspected something, asked me why now of all times, why I had discovered her again, like men on a vessel on see, coming round, thirsting for land, knowing that this sparse land is the only one laying before them, but, better than nothing, or if it was just that the girls started to see the old men in me more than not and if she was the only one that made herself available because seeing from old to old, it never hurts to cancel that out. I lied to her, saying that overcoming my illness had revoked the spark of life and that my fevers had showed me the ones I truly love. Desired, you mean, she said, and with that she thought she had seen through me, but nevertheless caressed my breast with her gentle hands. A very quiet and good moment. One of the best I had in a long time. It is a pity that I did not ever really fall in love with Kai. I like her, I always did. Her only real fault is that she loves too easy, but by no means is she a sparse land. We did not have much time and she was the first to go. Alone I lay by the sprinkling pool, one arm touching it, fingers playing with the smooth texture of the cocoon, eyes at the wooden ceiling of the hut, regretting that the architecture here is not that open, cannot be that open as it is in the south and the big isles, where you can rest your eyes at the stars. When I was a boy, at first I hated to hold vigil by the cocoons, but in later years the silence and the sound of the trickling water, we used the old way of the three stones to water the cocoons, that were nestled in the mahuwa moss, where I more often than not would nestle too, and watching the stars and the moons and thinking about my world made this a much welcomed sanctuary. The only place that comes close to it is the cave under my damned tower. But a pure sanctuary requires the panorama of the stars, don't you think? Here, in the cold and in these dangerous woods, safety, warmth and protection is demanded first, so no stars. I lay and stared and the cold and the fuck, it was hard to stand up, the cold in my bones and my weakness still. It took me nearly two hours to get home again, and now I cannot sleep. I will rest now, though and write later. Good night, my friend.
She puts the parchments down onto her lap, risks a quick look out of the window and listens for a moment, glances at the closed door and reads again.
my very hard dick ended in us nearly squashing one of the cocoons, as her head leaned against it while I squatted over her, holding myself with my hands on the slippery rocks above, her mouth sucking me off so famished and yet so diligent
Her left hand slips under her dress, heaving it high which leaves plenty folds of the cloth on her arm, freeing her legs, her thighs, and wanders into the shadow, where her hand works now, only visible through the green fabric, and she sighs, oppressed, then more loudly, and her eyes shut.
The loud scream of one of the playing children outside unfolds a very disruptive force, that lets her left arm return from the shadows, into the light and with her eyes wide open and her head rapidly moving she looks again out of the window, but the screams and the laughter quickly fade away. Her head bows and she looks at the bundle of parchments that lay besides the chair, and she grabs a stack, reads, flips the pages fast, skims and stops, and again she listens and then she reads.
and as I did this to her, she was barely able to whisper it into Kauunis ears, at least I couldn't understand her, but Kauuni apparently had the same problems, because she kept saying to Halea: "What? Louder. Halea, louder. Halea, I don't understand you. What is he doing?" But poor Halea was not able to say something more coherent than a slurred something, that made the words as absent as the circular movements that her pelvis just did the whole time before and had suddenly stopped as my hand was in her. Kauuni tried to free one of her hands and grabbed at her blindfold, but I saw and prevented it. And you know what? That made her groan, as she never ever did before. She buckled, heaved her weight and that of Halea on top of her in an arch that she held for an astonishing time. So she tried to nestle at her blindfold again and, what do you think, he? I prevented it just as quick, glued to her, to her reaction and she did not disappoint, and again she arched, while Halea still said something into her ear, while trying to not fall off, and my hand was now seriously strained, but I kept doing it to Halea and all of her muscles suddenly flexed and my hand went to hell while I heard the slowly but steadily more and more louder shouts of Halea as she comes and I see the face of Kauuni under her, mouth wide open, sucking air and I
The only thing moving in this room is her hand, her fingers and even that stops and nothing indicates something happening right now and all is quiet and it takes her a while to open her eyes but this moments peace is betrayed by the corners of her lips that tremble and by her right hand, that violently closes its fingers, but stops before the parchments would crumble, and then she lets the air out and it becomes a long and suppressed howl. She stands up, her left hand harshly arranging her dress and her right arm makes a throwing motion, but still she holds the parchments, her left hand suddenly covering her mouth as she searches the room and then her head and her eyes stop. The fire. The open fire in the middle of the room. A look out of the window and then she is by the fire and there is a short span of hesitation, that is abandoned with a heavy shake that lets the parchments free and fall and burn. Now she is in a hurry, she returns to the chair, aims for the stack, a few sheets do not want to be grabbed. Shit, she says and she returns to the fire and throws what is in her hands and she rushes back and collects the rest, the chair falls, and then she is by the fire and throws.
What are you doing? Puna says.
Appalled she turns around.
What? he says and he sees.
You, he says and he lunges, grabbing for the sheets she still holds in her hands and he surprises her, snaps a few and her arms rise in defense but she just stands there, while he yanks the rest of her hands and turns himself to the fire and kicks. Wood and burning parchments fly and he stumbles for them, stepping and hitting with his feet and hands to cover and to extinguish. You, he says again.
Don't, she says and her face is fear. And then she moves and runs out of the door.
You stupid, he screams and there is a break in his voice. I hate you, he screams and he collects the parchments and kicks the wood back into the fire, while tears run down his cheeks.
Half sitting, he tries to sort and to clean and he makes sweeping motions with his hand, to erase the black and the burned and the blackened, and he winks away the tears and then he slows and he stops and he reads.
and I still can't believe that you will never again write back. I cannot believe. After all these deaths, I still can't. I won't. I can't. You, of all. You know, I will never accept that. I have to stop now, have to sleep. I know that I can't in this state, but still. And after all this time. My dear fr
Puna tries to sweep away the black, but it only smears further and smothers the page even more.
and I thought I was over this. I miss you. I miss everyone. Even
Puna scratches at the burned spot and he watches the black pieces fall down.
***
Dear Matiu,
We live in a jester’s world. Otherwise this could not possibly be understood. How the gods mock us. Or me, for that matter. Once. Once. Just once they allowed me to talk to her. And now this. I even do not know if I should be thankful or if I should be very, very mad. You would not be able to guess what happened.
Six days ago, twelve after we talked, she had her first showings of threads on her arm. Understandable, she tried to hide it, to no avail, and two days later she fell into thesleep. Her cocoon looked a healthy color with a little spark of a lilac marbleisation and it smelled just right. The whole Lapu household is in a nice state of chaos, with the bunch of curious attendees, of course for a whole lot of other reasons. I was very blatant, but not a hint of rejection. She was not there, he was, and I actually had a nice talk to him. Of all the big families they have the most bare of the cocooning huts. But nonetheless and if not only for it, it is a thing of beauty. Hers was the only cocoon and I was a little bit disappointed, because it lacked the attraction of her, you know how some cocoons are marvelous to behold? But everything was in order and I did the whole process of checking the vitals, the feel of the fabric and the hearing trial. Everything fine.
Now I have to wait. There were no signs of theawakening, and I have to hold my feet, to not walk into the village each and every day.
But, I cannot wait!
Bye, my dear friend.
Dear Matiu,
Not a sign. Eleven days now and still no sign of theawakening.
In a hurry, your friend.
Dear Matiu,
I am nervous. I c
In the cave, away from the pool, on the dry parts of the ground, Puna turns the page and this is the only sound that disturbs the caves music, lays the page aside to his left and from his right side grabs the last page of the parchments. It is heavily burned. He holds it nearer to the candle.
ear Matiu,
it is the second meeting now. This time all of the wome
and I do not
they really conside
gods
Puna looks at a whole blackened segment and squints at it and shifts the page and brings it as close to the candle and his eyes as he dares. After a moment he shakes his head.
twenty da s
pe is lost.
fri d, ye.
Dear Matiu,
As I thought, my plan worked out. She is a greedy bitch. But I do not believe in me having the upper hand against her. The real price will show itself in the next months, maybe years. I will make sure to make some counter anaanas.
It does not matter. I have the cocoon now. Mahi-Mahi and the boys helped me a great deal and they were nothing but the best you could wish for. Sometimes I do not know how I have the right to be surrounded by such warm human beings.
She is in the cave now. The colour of the cocoon is
remember how
and then you said
e laughed
I cannot hide it, though. You know me too well. What can y
and the irony, our first talk, how the words spurted out of her and I saw it, no, I was witness to, how somebody opened the self, got rid of every hide, every wall and every obstacle that wrapped around its soul and heart, and I was so flustered, ashamed, made small by this monstrous undertaking, that happened right before me and that I never had the strength and guts to do myself. And my reaction? I lectured her about the ways and how she is so very unfortunate to be brought up this way and to end up here, where she never will be able to live like this again.
Puna stops and his left hand searches the pile, turns the burned pages and he skims over them. After a few moments he grabs a few slips that were once a page and he holds them carefully and he reads.
nd after it I wanted to kiss her. Not touch her. I mean, yes, that too, but only if it was part of a kiss, and it was the only thing in my mind. Even while I said all this to her. Kiss her. Kiss her lips. Kiss this wanting beauty, this terrified and wanting woman. Kiss Ahurewa. Kiss her. C'mon, kiss her. Now. Now. Let’s do it. Just kiss her. Ku, just kiss her. Kiss this overly ripe woman. You coward. You old, old coward. And all the while telling her about how the people here lost the way, how they lost that treasure, lost to give the children lessons about lovemaking, about how to give, and more importantly, how to receive pleasure, to sing about it, to make jokes about it. Kiss her, idiot. They lost how it is to live in the whole body, not just parts of it. Kiss her, kiss her. To feel home in yourself, to feel yourself, to have the right to. Just kiss her, you old, damned fool. Kiss the girl that is a woman, that made it a hundred times, made it as she felt the need, as somebody was available, made it, since she could talk and saw it made by the world around her. And saw it taken away from her, as she would not cocoon, saw it and now all that is lost to her. Kiss her, gods be damned. She needs it. You need it. Deliver her. Kiss her.
Puna searches the rest of the slips but then he sighs and he takes the other page again, while still holding the slips in his left hand and again he starts to read the last segment and the last words of the priest Ku.
and the irony, our first talk, how the words spurted out of her and I saw it, no, I was witness to, how somebody opened the self, got rid of every hide, every wall and every obstacle that wrapped around its soul and heart, and I was so flustered, ashamed, made small by this monstrous undertaking, that happened right before me and that I never had the strength and guts to do myself. And my reaction? I lectured her about the ways and how she is so very unfortunate to be brought up this way and to end up here, where she never will be able to live like it again. That was the last thing I gave her. A lecture. No kiss. No comfort. Not myself, only words out of myself. And not even words that were me. As I understood this, pacing in my room, I went down, to the cave, to her. At first I just stood there and as the water played with my feet I knew what to do. I disrobed and I laid me beside her and the water was shockingly cold and my teeth rattled and my body shook and I embraced her. The cocoon did not feel warm and I squeezed, as gentle as I could, but the cold needed more to send it away, and I hoped to make her warm and I laid my ears to it and I thought I heard this typical pulsating sound and I knew that she needed the warmth, my warmth and I let go. The warmth of my streak did not hit the cocoon fully, so I moved further and then I laid me atop of her and the rest of my piss flowed onto the cocoon and down my legs, and after I was done I was so weak, I laid me down, next to her, into the water, into my piss, that the water fast rinsed away.
And you know what? I think that I still have not given her everything I can.
It is morning now. My dear friend, I will go outside now and watch the sun rise, as we both did so often. Maybe if I see the sun, as I feel her warmth, I will know what to do.
Bye, my old friend. I miss you still.
Puna stops reading and lays the page and the slips into his lap and sits a long while, even until the candle starts to flicker. Then he takes the parchments, stands up and he stares at the water of the pool and then he goes, letting the blossom of the cave come to its unmolested life.
Every time I came into a village or an inn or a big city I knew which girl was my girl. I knew it and they knew it too. A short glimpse of truth as you ever would be able to experience, yes, even before intuition. Attraction, better, erotic attraction, opens the veil that shades from seeing the real essence and knowing it for what it is in seeing. Albeit for just a tiny fraction of time. As it happened the veil was often very holey for me. Holey or never really closed. I glimpsed it in short or tall women, in fat or skinny ones or in the way clothes were wrapped around them or in hearing them laugh or in their postures or in that full ripeness only women possesses or in the half played shyness they seem to bath themselves with. All my women were always very special, not in the way of finding someone to be special, but in the way someone is very special. Yes, I think that I had my very special truths. But you see, this woman, she is attraction. Attraction and beauty and erotic. She is big. You could call it an abundance of flesh. Her skin cannot hold it all, it seeps out of her, fogging everything around her and veers and ventures back into her. But she is not fat, just on a constant brink of bursting. And she is young and very beautiful and has a deeper complexion, maybe because she is from the southern isles, I would wager Punakitere. And although young, maybe at the beginning of her twenties, she holds herself with an older grace and certainty and looks into the world with those big, beautiful dark eyes. And you see, I saw her there, between, no, atop those other women, and I was not able to see her completely, I just saw her black, freshly cut, only shoulder-long hair, her face, her neck and shoulders, and I knew how the rest of her body would look just from that tiny extract, her lavishly curves, her big breasts and the way her feet would seem small, and how it would be when she moves and her dress would fold at the right places as her flanks swayed and allured while rocking smoothly and all at once very boldly. It was confirmed later, as I saw her walking, with the exception that in her movement her youth showed and a more ritual denial to look the others in the eyes was apparent. I still have to hear a word from her, but I already know how her voice will sound, a little dark, like that dark wood you showed me in Ua Ua, dark and so smooth, but at the edges her voice will break easily. The way she is treated is special too. I can say that she is not tapu, even here, in the north, were the old religion and the concepts get strict in a ludicrous way. No, not tapu, but very odd. They do not shun her, but they avoid and command her in a very subtle but all the more clumsy way. Something lets me think of her as a slave. Slaves are very seldom here though. I saw a few of them around the vales and the Two Rivers, but never here. No, she is no slave. So why do I have the impression that she is? But to whom or what, I wonder. My duty today was very brief and I had other commitments, so I lost sight of her. I could not bring myself to ask about her either. That would be suspicious, me, the First Kupua of The Three Ways, prying after her. She is stunningly attractive, it would raise more than a few eyebrows and questions if I would be too curious about her, and my reputation is more than a little shady as it is, given the last incident in summer. You remember? The one with the visiting chief’s daughter? I did tell you? Of course I did. In the south and in the temples such questions or more action would not care anyone, besides the very jealous or the fact that I might be too old, and youth is the praised aphrodisiac everyone is searching for. But here? They see the world and its nature given structure a lot different. Fortunately my journeys abroad confronted me with a vast and different views, that’s why I am cautious. And, because I lived here for six years now. I know them. More than the years would suggest. They have this temple here and it is the biggest in whole Awanui, which is not all that difficult, and yes, they sing the old songs and do some of the rituals, but that does not mean that they live by it. Maybe it is the cold, wearing this above that and under it there is still something. Though I cannot deny to give this whole ordeal some erotic benefits, this hiding can have its advantages. Although, come to think, the hot lands of the Kang or the deserts in the east don't hinder the people to dress up too and behave in the same demure way as here. Maybe it is the seasons, cold, warm, hot, lukewarm, again cold, that is most confusing. As our people came here long ago they still had the right balance of things. Then they witnessed the seasons. First they had to dress thickly and then, because of outside temperature, this always too short summer, lightly, but in the inside they were always hot, so in summer they felt like the outside, they felt right, they had still a look at the right way, but then winter loomed and they got tempered by it, but summers way was still in them, so they desired but could not always still that hunger as easily as in summer, because of all the layers of clothing and the freezing cold. And after years and years the result was a partially hidden lust. A lust tempered by the comings and goings of the seasons. And their behavior changed and after a while the transformation ended even the partially, because now lust was hidden as static as the rigor passage of the seasons itself. They lust but they hide it, and all their systems live by that. Hiding makes curious and more jealous and it confuses them even more, and that is why they seek balance a lot. It is always a pleasure to show them the right balance though. Especially to the middle aged women. You can imagine that.
My dear friend, I talk about aged women and clothing, but in my mind there is only this young, this very not so delicate creature, this young and voluptuous maiden. I cannot think of something else. I cannot Wait. What did I just wrote? Maiden? Wait. Maiden. Maiden. Oh the gods! I said young, because she is, but she looked at least like in her twenties. But I remember now. I remember the clothes. Her dress. The local traditional dress of a child not yet cocooned.
Puna! the voice calls very muffled. Puna!
I am here, Puna cries.
Com'ere! the voice again. Quickly.
Where are you? he shouts.
Down here, the voice shrieks.
Puna lays the parchments down and rushes around the corners and down. Deep down. Around and around. Stairs, a window, a door and then only the broad steps of the roughly hewn stairs and stairs and steps.
Down there a fresh, watery smell and a good cold waits. Water drips and the light vanishes quickly.
Where are you? I can't see anything, Puna shouts.
Wait, I come to you.
After a while there is the sound of scraping boots, suddenly a coronary shimmer, that lays itself on the brownish, yellowy stone tunnel and then there is the bright candle, carried by a small boy, who is out of breath.
What? Puna says.
You, you have to see. See this.
What?
'Eleu turns and rushes along. You won't believe, he shouts.
What?
A sharp bend and the tunnel ends and a wide room opens to the boys and as the boys go further they tread on lightly flooded rock. On the right corner lies a wide pool. The ceiling over the pool narrows more slowly down and makes the room much bigger. Two shadows lay in the water.
There, the small boy points at the pool.
What? What is this? His eyes widen. The gods, Puna says.
They stare silently.
The small boy goes to the edges of the pool and holds the candle with an outstretched arm. The naked body of the priest lays close and strangely postured along a cocoon.
Look! he says. Uh, it stinks. They stink.
Puna follows slowly. Yes, they do.
What is he doing? the small boy says.
I don't know.
Is he hugging it?
It looks like. Oh, the smell. Puna covers his nose and mouth with its arm.
Yeah.
Yeah.
But look.
What?
The cocoon is
Oh, I see it. The candle. Closer!
Urgh, the small boy says and he makes a retching sound.
Breathe through your mouth, stupid!
The small boy brings the candle closer to the cocoon, to the place where the right arm of the priest presses onto it. A long fissure cuts through the partially darkened and browned fabric of the cocoon.
Closer, Puna says.
They both make themselves as long as possible, careful not to touch the water, their heads close together.
It is her, says Puna.
Yeah.
The wai is gone, Puna says.
Yeah. It is.
The water must have swept it out of the cocoon.
Maybe.
Damn, Puna, look!
What?
Look here.
He cut himself, the small boy says.
The arm of the dead priest shows a grotesque gash from wrist to elbow, the bloated flesh spread wide open, bursting.
He killed himself. The poor, the small boy says.
We should go, 'Eleu. The ghosts.
No, wait.
What?
Did he kill her too?
Oh, 'Eleu, and if, that would the ghosts even more wrathful.
Yes, it would. But look, the penchant my aunt gave me, 'Eleu says and grabs the small bone cage and holds it before Punas eyes. It will fend off the ghosts.
Yes, you. But what is with me? I go.
Wait. I can touch you. Then it will protect you too.
'Eleu grabs Punas left wrist and smiles.
Now, he says.
What now?
We have to move his arm, if we ever like to know.
Oh, 'Eleu.
What? Don't we want to know it?
Puna sighs. After a while he nods.
But we mustn't touch them, he says. We need a stick or something.
Yeah, you are right.
They both search the room with their eyes.
We have to go to the entrance, there was a broom, I believe, 'Eleu says.
Or a branch from outside, Puna says.
Yes, or that. But there was a broom. I go, 'Eleu says and runs off, but a quick arm holds him back.
You stupid river krake, Puna shouts. My arm! You let go off my arm.
Gods, 'Eleu says, and he grabs the wrist.
We both have to go now.
All right, you three feathered chicken.
Shut up.
No, you shut up.
So they go.
As 'Eleu takes the candle with him the light follows. In its flight it lets the narrowing caves ceiling over the pool vanish and gives birth to a look lifespan spark of reflection on a drop of water, that clings to the caves wall, and its further disappearing changes the colors of the things it touches until there is only a contrast and then there is nothing, although there is, and as the noises of the boys die too, the sound of this room is no longer disturbed and the steady gurgling of water and the lonely splash of a drop that hits its inevitable target let it blossom and live as bright and clear as ever, until the boys return and their sounds reach for this sensitive touch me not, this bloom shrivels and shrinks under their loud talk and quick strides but won't ever disappear.
I still can't believe that they are your first, 'Eleu says.
Yeah, Puna says.
The stick, 'Eleu says.
I know, Puna says and he holds the stick and elongates his arm and with it he touches the arm of the dead priest and shoves and pushes, but the arm won't really move.
It won't do, Puna says.
Give it to me, says 'Eleu and he reaches for the stick.
No, Puna says. I've got an idea. He begins to poke and scratch at the cocoon, along the big fissure. It crumbles and folds, some parts break.
The smell, he says.
He tries a specific angle, and pushes down on the stick and then the left side of the cocoon breaks away, folding and laying slowly down onto the surface of the pool. Something moves inside the cocoon.
They both fling themselves back.
Gods, Puna says.
It was just her arm, 'Eleu says. Look!
They again stretch and bend and the candle illuminates her left arm, now slightly draped over the ruins of the cocoon. The light travels over her navel and shines on a big, flattened breast that drapes itself to the left side.
She looks untouched, 'Eleu says.
Hush, Puna says. And with these words he pokes again at the cocoon and works and breaks until the face shows.
You got it, Puna, her face, 'Eleu says.
Hush.
What?
Shut up!
They stand there for a long time and the candle moves softly and the bloom of the cave unfolds again.
She is really beautiful, Puna says softly.
No kidding, 'Eleu says.
She isn't as bloated as he is.
No.
She looks unharmed to me.
Yes.
Let’s go. Tell the others.
Yeah, let’s go.
It's a pity.
Yes.
I mean, how they treated her.
Oh yes. That too.
I think they were just jealous.
You think?
Yes.
But she was strange.
I don't know. Maybe.
I think so.
But maybe we were just strange to her.
Nah, he says and frowns. Maybe. But she was strange. How do you cocoon so late? Something ain’t not right, then.
Yes, maybe.
Maybe.
Oh, the stink. We have to go.
Yeah. Let’s go.
***
Dear Matiu,
I would have written two days ago, but I had a vicious fever, that got hold of me the night I last wrote to you. After I had my revelation I could not sleep and paced restlessly. Maybe that is where I caught the cold. Thanks to the festivities, I am mostly on my own here, as the rest stays in the villages, helping out. I am honest with you, a few times the thought of not making it crossed my mind. Perhaps I should have at least someone beside me. The young Mahi-Mahi would serve that purpose well. He is a good man. And such a name, amidst the never ending woods. A lucky name, I guess. Otherwise I couldn't possibly understand the name, because have you seen dolphins roam the woods or swim the rivers? Curious how such things come to be. In my fever I had some very vivid dreams. In one I thought I would drown in a pool of the fiery piss Pele had just made. I only saw her leave, her huge legs and her behinds and in that moment I lusted for the giantess but I could not get out of the pool, nor did I even struggle. The piss did not burn me, although it was hot, it just made me so weak, that I had to lay me down and then, silently, I drowned in her piss. Sometimes I could not even tell if I was dreaming or if I was awake, and when I was awake I was so feeble I barely could stand up and make my water. You know, I am not afraid of death, at least not as I ever was of life. You never were though. Not that I knew of.
The conscious moments alas were all inhabited by her. In everything I did her very round presence accompanied me. And then I was still disappointed, because I did not dream of her. But otherwise I could not think of something else, she occupied more than enough of me already, more than my mind could handle, obviously. I guess she even became bigger in my memories. I mean her breasts and her thighs and her gorgeous ass. You know, her dress never showed her waist, but she is one of the girls who, besides their otherwise ripe appearances, has a slender waist. Just to make everything worse.
Matiu, to cut it short, I saw her again. This evening. And she saw me. And I saw her knowing. Knowing what lay in my looks for her. That means she is experienced. Could it be merely intuition? Perhaps, but unlikely. With her stunning beauty she should recognize such looks by now, but it did go deeper than that. It was a knowledge born of action, not just of glimpses and questions and whispered answers. She knew, because she went there, and I think, a lot. I came very close to her, tried very different angles, maybe in search for an imperfection, and there were, her little too rectangular face, her somewhat too strong hands and maybe her posture, but they added that little thing of needed shortcomings to make the second look all the more attractive, and to give me a never ending hard-on. All right, it was not only her looks, but her looking back, and that she tried to hide it. Not from me. From the others. There was fear in her eyes. And curiosity. And lust. Lust, induced by me.
My inquiries about her were subtle and then, not too fruitful. I guessed nearly right in Punakitere. She is from one of the many smaller islands that lay directly between Punakitere and the Roaring Coast. Through many debts and family ties she ended up here. Not a slave, but a black fish, that everyone tries to give away, in fear of spoiling mana. And I have to say, they should have all the fears in the world.
As I mentioned, I did not came to know a lot about her story, but you know me, I will. Only this, her name is Ahurewa, they say she is twenty and eight, from a very rich and powerful family, with connections to the court in Mother of Pearl City, and, they say it with incredulity, never cocooned. It sounds unbelievable, right? Never cocooned. I knew of a boy that came close to twenty and two and that made him famous and very lonely, unfortunately he died not long after his cocooning, but the girls were always under twenty. You know how say they, she is a late cocooner. How her life must have been to this point. Poor creature. Of course she lives with the Lapu family now. No other family would dare. I wonder why there were no talks already. Looks, yes, but no talks. She came here thirty days ago, but they let her out only ten days ago. So the old shark knows what they have in her. I can see his wicked smile. And her smile too, that old anaana witch. She was there too, but never spared me a look. The next time I fuck her senseless I will remind her of that.
Kai was not that ungrateful. I have to say that luck was on my side, as she looks like a little version of Ahurewa, not as opulent or big or as beautiful, but a close enough reminder, that a few words and a seemingly by the way steering of her hand to my white hot dick led to a very quick voyage into the cocconing hut where her surprise at my very hard dick ended in us nearly squashing one of the cocoons, as her head leaned against it while I squatted over her, holding myself with my hands on the slippery rocks above, her mouth sucking me off so famished and yet so diligent. And I know, that you know that I was only thinking of the not so young maiden Ahurewa. But of course, woman and that, Kai suspected something, asked me why now of all times, why I had discovered her again, like men on a vessel on see, coming round, thirsting for land, knowing that this sparse land is the only one laying before them, but, better than nothing, or if it was just that the girls started to see the old men in me more than not and if she was the only one that made herself available because seeing from old to old, it never hurts to cancel that out. I lied to her, saying that overcoming my illness had revoked the spark of life and that my fevers had showed me the ones I truly love. Desired, you mean, she said, and with that she thought she had seen through me, but nevertheless caressed my breast with her gentle hands. A very quiet and good moment. One of the best I had in a long time. It is a pity that I did not ever really fall in love with Kai. I like her, I always did. Her only real fault is that she loves too easy, but by no means is she a sparse land. We did not have much time and she was the first to go. Alone I lay by the sprinkling pool, one arm touching it, fingers playing with the smooth texture of the cocoon, eyes at the wooden ceiling of the hut, regretting that the architecture here is not that open, cannot be that open as it is in the south and the big isles, where you can rest your eyes at the stars. When I was a boy, at first I hated to hold vigil by the cocoons, but in later years the silence and the sound of the trickling water, we used the old way of the three stones to water the cocoons, that were nestled in the mahuwa moss, where I more often than not would nestle too, and watching the stars and the moons and thinking about my world made this a much welcomed sanctuary. The only place that comes close to it is the cave under my damned tower. But a pure sanctuary requires the panorama of the stars, don't you think? Here, in the cold and in these dangerous woods, safety, warmth and protection is demanded first, so no stars. I lay and stared and the cold and the fuck, it was hard to stand up, the cold in my bones and my weakness still. It took me nearly two hours to get home again, and now I cannot sleep. I will rest now, though and write later. Good night, my friend.
She puts the parchments down onto her lap, risks a quick look out of the window and listens for a moment, glances at the closed door and reads again.
my very hard dick ended in us nearly squashing one of the cocoons, as her head leaned against it while I squatted over her, holding myself with my hands on the slippery rocks above, her mouth sucking me off so famished and yet so diligent
Her left hand slips under her dress, heaving it high which leaves plenty folds of the cloth on her arm, freeing her legs, her thighs, and wanders into the shadow, where her hand works now, only visible through the green fabric, and she sighs, oppressed, then more loudly, and her eyes shut.
The loud scream of one of the playing children outside unfolds a very disruptive force, that lets her left arm return from the shadows, into the light and with her eyes wide open and her head rapidly moving she looks again out of the window, but the screams and the laughter quickly fade away. Her head bows and she looks at the bundle of parchments that lay besides the chair, and she grabs a stack, reads, flips the pages fast, skims and stops, and again she listens and then she reads.
and as I did this to her, she was barely able to whisper it into Kauunis ears, at least I couldn't understand her, but Kauuni apparently had the same problems, because she kept saying to Halea: "What? Louder. Halea, louder. Halea, I don't understand you. What is he doing?" But poor Halea was not able to say something more coherent than a slurred something, that made the words as absent as the circular movements that her pelvis just did the whole time before and had suddenly stopped as my hand was in her. Kauuni tried to free one of her hands and grabbed at her blindfold, but I saw and prevented it. And you know what? That made her groan, as she never ever did before. She buckled, heaved her weight and that of Halea on top of her in an arch that she held for an astonishing time. So she tried to nestle at her blindfold again and, what do you think, he? I prevented it just as quick, glued to her, to her reaction and she did not disappoint, and again she arched, while Halea still said something into her ear, while trying to not fall off, and my hand was now seriously strained, but I kept doing it to Halea and all of her muscles suddenly flexed and my hand went to hell while I heard the slowly but steadily more and more louder shouts of Halea as she comes and I see the face of Kauuni under her, mouth wide open, sucking air and I
The only thing moving in this room is her hand, her fingers and even that stops and nothing indicates something happening right now and all is quiet and it takes her a while to open her eyes but this moments peace is betrayed by the corners of her lips that tremble and by her right hand, that violently closes its fingers, but stops before the parchments would crumble, and then she lets the air out and it becomes a long and suppressed howl. She stands up, her left hand harshly arranging her dress and her right arm makes a throwing motion, but still she holds the parchments, her left hand suddenly covering her mouth as she searches the room and then her head and her eyes stop. The fire. The open fire in the middle of the room. A look out of the window and then she is by the fire and there is a short span of hesitation, that is abandoned with a heavy shake that lets the parchments free and fall and burn. Now she is in a hurry, she returns to the chair, aims for the stack, a few sheets do not want to be grabbed. Shit, she says and she returns to the fire and throws what is in her hands and she rushes back and collects the rest, the chair falls, and then she is by the fire and throws.
What are you doing? Puna says.
Appalled she turns around.
What? he says and he sees.
You, he says and he lunges, grabbing for the sheets she still holds in her hands and he surprises her, snaps a few and her arms rise in defense but she just stands there, while he yanks the rest of her hands and turns himself to the fire and kicks. Wood and burning parchments fly and he stumbles for them, stepping and hitting with his feet and hands to cover and to extinguish. You, he says again.
Don't, she says and her face is fear. And then she moves and runs out of the door.
You stupid, he screams and there is a break in his voice. I hate you, he screams and he collects the parchments and kicks the wood back into the fire, while tears run down his cheeks.
Half sitting, he tries to sort and to clean and he makes sweeping motions with his hand, to erase the black and the burned and the blackened, and he winks away the tears and then he slows and he stops and he reads.
and I still can't believe that you will never again write back. I cannot believe. After all these deaths, I still can't. I won't. I can't. You, of all. You know, I will never accept that. I have to stop now, have to sleep. I know that I can't in this state, but still. And after all this time. My dear fr
Puna tries to sweep away the black, but it only smears further and smothers the page even more.
and I thought I was over this. I miss you. I miss everyone. Even
Puna scratches at the burned spot and he watches the black pieces fall down.
***
Dear Matiu,
We live in a jester’s world. Otherwise this could not possibly be understood. How the gods mock us. Or me, for that matter. Once. Once. Just once they allowed me to talk to her. And now this. I even do not know if I should be thankful or if I should be very, very mad. You would not be able to guess what happened.
Six days ago, twelve after we talked, she had her first showings of threads on her arm. Understandable, she tried to hide it, to no avail, and two days later she fell into thesleep. Her cocoon looked a healthy color with a little spark of a lilac marbleisation and it smelled just right. The whole Lapu household is in a nice state of chaos, with the bunch of curious attendees, of course for a whole lot of other reasons. I was very blatant, but not a hint of rejection. She was not there, he was, and I actually had a nice talk to him. Of all the big families they have the most bare of the cocooning huts. But nonetheless and if not only for it, it is a thing of beauty. Hers was the only cocoon and I was a little bit disappointed, because it lacked the attraction of her, you know how some cocoons are marvelous to behold? But everything was in order and I did the whole process of checking the vitals, the feel of the fabric and the hearing trial. Everything fine.
Now I have to wait. There were no signs of theawakening, and I have to hold my feet, to not walk into the village each and every day.
But, I cannot wait!
Bye, my dear friend.
Dear Matiu,
Not a sign. Eleven days now and still no sign of theawakening.
In a hurry, your friend.
Dear Matiu,
I am nervous. I c
In the cave, away from the pool, on the dry parts of the ground, Puna turns the page and this is the only sound that disturbs the caves music, lays the page aside to his left and from his right side grabs the last page of the parchments. It is heavily burned. He holds it nearer to the candle.
ear Matiu,
it is the second meeting now. This time all of the wome
and I do not
they really conside
gods
Puna looks at a whole blackened segment and squints at it and shifts the page and brings it as close to the candle and his eyes as he dares. After a moment he shakes his head.
twenty da s
pe is lost.
fri d, ye.
Dear Matiu,
As I thought, my plan worked out. She is a greedy bitch. But I do not believe in me having the upper hand against her. The real price will show itself in the next months, maybe years. I will make sure to make some counter anaanas.
It does not matter. I have the cocoon now. Mahi-Mahi and the boys helped me a great deal and they were nothing but the best you could wish for. Sometimes I do not know how I have the right to be surrounded by such warm human beings.
She is in the cave now. The colour of the cocoon is
remember how
and then you said
e laughed
I cannot hide it, though. You know me too well. What can y
and the irony, our first talk, how the words spurted out of her and I saw it, no, I was witness to, how somebody opened the self, got rid of every hide, every wall and every obstacle that wrapped around its soul and heart, and I was so flustered, ashamed, made small by this monstrous undertaking, that happened right before me and that I never had the strength and guts to do myself. And my reaction? I lectured her about the ways and how she is so very unfortunate to be brought up this way and to end up here, where she never will be able to live like this again.
Puna stops and his left hand searches the pile, turns the burned pages and he skims over them. After a few moments he grabs a few slips that were once a page and he holds them carefully and he reads.
nd after it I wanted to kiss her. Not touch her. I mean, yes, that too, but only if it was part of a kiss, and it was the only thing in my mind. Even while I said all this to her. Kiss her. Kiss her lips. Kiss this wanting beauty, this terrified and wanting woman. Kiss Ahurewa. Kiss her. C'mon, kiss her. Now. Now. Let’s do it. Just kiss her. Ku, just kiss her. Kiss this overly ripe woman. You coward. You old, old coward. And all the while telling her about how the people here lost the way, how they lost that treasure, lost to give the children lessons about lovemaking, about how to give, and more importantly, how to receive pleasure, to sing about it, to make jokes about it. Kiss her, idiot. They lost how it is to live in the whole body, not just parts of it. Kiss her, kiss her. To feel home in yourself, to feel yourself, to have the right to. Just kiss her, you old, damned fool. Kiss the girl that is a woman, that made it a hundred times, made it as she felt the need, as somebody was available, made it, since she could talk and saw it made by the world around her. And saw it taken away from her, as she would not cocoon, saw it and now all that is lost to her. Kiss her, gods be damned. She needs it. You need it. Deliver her. Kiss her.
Puna searches the rest of the slips but then he sighs and he takes the other page again, while still holding the slips in his left hand and again he starts to read the last segment and the last words of the priest Ku.
and the irony, our first talk, how the words spurted out of her and I saw it, no, I was witness to, how somebody opened the self, got rid of every hide, every wall and every obstacle that wrapped around its soul and heart, and I was so flustered, ashamed, made small by this monstrous undertaking, that happened right before me and that I never had the strength and guts to do myself. And my reaction? I lectured her about the ways and how she is so very unfortunate to be brought up this way and to end up here, where she never will be able to live like it again. That was the last thing I gave her. A lecture. No kiss. No comfort. Not myself, only words out of myself. And not even words that were me. As I understood this, pacing in my room, I went down, to the cave, to her. At first I just stood there and as the water played with my feet I knew what to do. I disrobed and I laid me beside her and the water was shockingly cold and my teeth rattled and my body shook and I embraced her. The cocoon did not feel warm and I squeezed, as gentle as I could, but the cold needed more to send it away, and I hoped to make her warm and I laid my ears to it and I thought I heard this typical pulsating sound and I knew that she needed the warmth, my warmth and I let go. The warmth of my streak did not hit the cocoon fully, so I moved further and then I laid me atop of her and the rest of my piss flowed onto the cocoon and down my legs, and after I was done I was so weak, I laid me down, next to her, into the water, into my piss, that the water fast rinsed away.
And you know what? I think that I still have not given her everything I can.
It is morning now. My dear friend, I will go outside now and watch the sun rise, as we both did so often. Maybe if I see the sun, as I feel her warmth, I will know what to do.
Bye, my old friend. I miss you still.
Puna stops reading and lays the page and the slips into his lap and sits a long while, even until the candle starts to flicker. Then he takes the parchments, stands up and he stares at the water of the pool and then he goes, letting the blossom of the cave come to its unmolested life.
