large/506/short_stories_009_64kb_mp3/love_of_life_london_jwt_64kb_16
large/506/short_stories_009_64kb_mp3/love_of_life_london_jwt_64kb
English
506
Then he crushed the bones between rocks, pounded them to a pulp, and swallowed them. He pounded his fingers, too, in his haste, and yet found a moment in which to feel surprise at the fact that his fingers did not hurt much when caught under the descending rock. THEN HE CRUSHED THE BONES BETWEEN ROCKS POUNDED THEM TO A PULP AND SWALLOWED THEM HE POUNDED HIS FINGERS TOO IN HIS HASTE AND YET FOUND A MOMENT IN WHICH TO FEEL SURPRISED AT THE FACT THAT HIS FINGERS DID NOT HURT MUCH WHEN CAUGHT UNDER THE DESCENDING ROCK
, and besides they were hunting the caribou, which did not battle, while this strange creature that walked erect might scratch and bite. In the late afternoon he came upon scattered bones where the wolves had made a kill. The debris had been a caribou calf an hour before, squawking and running and very much alive. He contemplated the bones, clean-picked and polished, pink with the cell-life in them which had not yet died. Could it possibly be that he might be that ere the day was done! Such was life, eh? A vain and fleeting thing. It was only life that pained. There was no hurt in death. To die was to sleep. It meant cessation, rest. Then why was he not content to die? But he did not moralize long. He was squatting in the moss, a bone in his mouth, sucking at the shreds of life that still dyed it faintly pink. The sweet meaty taste, thin and elusive almost as a memory, maddened him. He closed his jaws on the bones and crunched. Sometimes it was the bone that broke, sometimes his teeth. WERE NOT IN SUFFICIENT NUMBERS AND BESIDES THEY WERE HUNTING THE CARIBOO WHICH DID NOT BATTLE WHILE THIS STRANGE CREATURE THAT WALKED ERECT MIGHT SCRATCH AND BITE IN THE LATE AFTERNOON HE CAME UPON SCATTERED BONES WHERE THE WOLVES HAD MADE A KILL THE DEBRIS HAD BEEN A CARIBOO CALF AN HOUR BEFORE SQUAWKING AND RUNNING AND VERY MUCH ALIVE HE CONTEMPLATED THE BONES CLEAN PICKED AND POLISHED PINK WITH THE SELL LIFE IN THEM WHICH HAD NOT YET DIED COULD IT POSSIBLY BE THAT HE MIGHT BE THAT ERE THE DAY WAS DONE SUCH WAS LIFE EH A VAIN AND FLEETING THING IT WAS ONLY LIFE THAT PAINED THERE WAS NO HURT IN DEATH TO DIE WAS TO SLEEP IT MEANT CESSATION REST THEN WHY WAS HE NOT CONTENT TO DIE BUT HE DID NOT MORALISE LONG HE WAS SQUATTING IN THE MOSS A BONE IN HIS MOUTH SUCKING AT THE SHREDS OF LIFE THAT STILL DYED IT FAINTLY PINK THE SWEET MEATY TASTE THIN AND ELUSIVE ALMOST AS A MEMORY MADDENED HIM HE CLOSED HIS JAWS ON THE BONES AND CRUNCHED SOMETIMES IT WAS THE BONE THAT BROKE SOMETIMES HIS TEETH
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