The Water-Method Man

But Akthelt and Gunnel were better. They were in love; they were two against the world; they were formidable. And so was the world. I thought I knew the story.

I started out being faithful to the original. My translation is literal through the first fifty-one stanzas. Then I followed the text of the story fairly closely, just using my own details, until stanza one hundred and twenty. Then I translated pretty loosely for another hundred and fifty stanzas or so. I stopped at stanza two hundred and eighty and tried a literal translation again, just to see if I'd lost the hang of it.

Gunnel uppvaktat att titta Akthelt.

Hanz kniv af slik lang.

Uden hun kende inde hunz hjert

Den varld af ogsa mektig

Gunnel loved to look at Akthelt.

His knife was so long.

But she knew in her heart

The world was too strong.

I stopped reading with this wretched stanza and gave up on Akthelt and Gunnel. Dr Holster laughed at this stanza. So did Biggie. But I didn't laugh. The world is too strong - I saw it all coming! - the author was trying to foreshadow the inevitable doom! Clearly Akthelt and Gunnel were headed for grief. I knew, and I simply didn't want to see it out.

Lies! they would be shouting at me, those who knew me then. Old Bogus's mush-minded ability to read his own sentimentality into everything around him! The world was too strong - for him! He saw himself headed for grief - the only one we knew who could see a lousy movie and love it, read a rotten book and weep, if it had a flicker or a jot to do with him! Muck in his mind! Goo in his heart! What do you think he's called Bogus for? For truth?

Never mind them, the heartless schlubs. I live in another varld now.

When I showed Tulpen two hundred and eighty she reacted in her solemn fashion. She put her head down to my heart and listened. Then she made me listen to hers. She does this when she recognizes a vulnerable situation; there are no sarcastic breast-flips when she's moved.

'Strong?' she said. I was listening to her heart; I nodded.

'Mektig,' I said.

'Mektig?' She liked the sound; she went off playing with the word. Playing with the words was one of the things I really liked about Old Low Norse.

So there. Yogurt and lots of water, and a certain sympathy when sympathy matters. I'm all right. Things are straightening out. There is the matter of my urinary tract, of course, but in general things are straightening out.

6

Prelude to the Last Stand

Bogus Trumper

918 Iowa Ave.

Iowa City, Iowa

Oct. 2, 1969

Mr Cuthbert Bennett

Caretaker/The Pillsbury Estate

Mad Indian Point

Georgetown, Maine

My Dear Couth:

Am in receipt of your fine encouragements and most generous check. They have Biggie and me down and under at Iowa State Bank & Trust; I relish the feeling of plunking your check on them. If Biggie and I are ever in the chips, you'll be our honorary caretaker. In fact we'd love to take care of you, Couth - to see that you eat enough during your long, alone winters; that you brush your mane forty strokes before sleep; and to provide a fine young fire for your sea-draughty bed. In fact, I know just the fine young fire for you! Her name is Lydia Kindle. Really.