Tiitcha

As my small floating rickshaw was pulled by the mottled red Smarl boy to the water's edge of the river, I was terribly confused. The bank was a muddy mess of reeds and wet slop and my dress was not going to survive the transition in any graceful or decorous way. I tried to ask if there was a pier or dock of some sort that he could pull me to, but the boy didn't understand me, and I had not taken the time to learn their strange tongue. So, at a loss for anything better with which to make landfall than the treacherous journey from rickshaw to shore, was I. To his credit, the boy did try and assist me, though it was of little help. The bottom foot of my dress was ruined by the filthy waters and I lost a slipper to the depths. Throughout the whole ordeal, of stepping from boat to shore, he smiled his slanted smile at me, obviously desirous of a generous tip. He wiped the mud from my hem and did the best he could to save the fabric. It wasn't his fault, of course. I was ill prepared for a trip to the southern edge, and I regret that now.


As he led me to the hut where I was to meet with Professor Etee, I discerned a limp on the boy's gait. His calf sported two small puncture wounds, and was swollen. His mottled red and black skin hid the line of blood, that I would later be told was there. He had obviously pricked himself upon something. I stopped him and pointed to the injury, but he just smiled back at me with that strange slanted smile and held my hand as he led me toward the professor's lodgings.


There is a clear memory, that I can recall now with ease, of the serene look upon his face, as though the boy had not a care in the world. At the time, I felt humbled and relaxed by that expression. My dress was ruined, and I was slogging through the mud and jungle wearing only one shoe, but all in all, things weren't so bad for me. I was safe, and healthy, and exploring. At that moment, I was actualized. It occurred to me then to wonder if he felt like this all the time, that perhaps this serene philosophy was the secret to the legendary Smarl longevity. I would have asked him, could I have communicated anything at all with him.


In short order I was brought to Etee, bathed, clothed, and supped upon something that was once alive but was now dead and tried to embrace my strange and natural surroundings with humility. In the morning, I was told that the boy who had led me here was dead. Poisoned by a creature in the river through which he dredged to bring me here so that I would not have to row myself.


The serene expression he bore was an effect of the venom, and not the great Smarl experience I had supposed it to be. He didn't fret, or show concern at his own life, even though he surely knew of the deadly bite's mortal implication. What part of the apparent non-concern was to be attributed to the drugging poison of which he was inflicted? And what part was his desire for payment? A payment which would mean food for his mother and sisters? I skipped breakfast, in silent protest for the terrible way in which our kind had taken advantage of the Smarl. Etee bought the boy's body from the family, so that he could study the wound that slain him. He paid the grieving mother well for the dishonour his autopsical examination would bring to the boy under their customs. The first-hand witnessing of the Smarl exploitation was souring my stomach.


However, when the boy's most certainly dead corpse rose from the examination table and started chewing upon Professor Etee's face, I regretted skipping breakfast.

from the memoirs of Madame Gentry. 

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Chokevines