Why is Stick?

“Why is Stick?” asks Dene’tum.

Saying Stick outside the singing chambers is small tabu and isn’t enough to quiet the boys in bath six. But the meaninglessness of the question stills them for a moment. They can hear the girls far off. Further still, that thrum could be the wind or the stone chanters or maybe just silence and no thrum. That texture that silence can have. Whatsoever things are lovely, the chanters might sing so slowly it was just talking.

Boys in hot water. Hint of sulfur. The world all around, all possible worlds, is stone. Fish sees no water, human sees no stone.

Stick, and the why of Stick. Impenetrable.

Boys in hot water. The teensy oil lamp not necessary as they could do this whole part of the world with their eyes closed. Wouldn’t even need lip-pops to echo-show the walls.

Boys, and what else but hot water? Stick and why.

Ten breaths.

Finally Wit says “why is Dene’tum” and he is applauded by the boys with his (Wit’s) name whistled downward. A stone passing through air to creek from high chamber. Wit carries the moment. Go Wit. A little popping sound when Wit’s name hits creek.

But no hard feelings and Dene’tum’s name is also said, and said well with the tum part the sound of Drum. A quiet chant of tum tum tum rounds out the moment.

You’d have to be really quiet to have a chance of finding the One note of the bath chamber with the surfaces of five and six having to be still as shinestone and that’s not this kind of moment because the boys have been discussing girls. Not that girls even exist, but. But don’t they, Wit said once, not whistling up at the end like a question. Well people are people wherever you go, right? [upwhistle is question] There are Women and there are Men and there are, wait, what else is there? Fish don’t, Fish doesn’t, count.

A question is: that which is Almost.

A no is: that which is Not.

A girl is. Or isn’t, but there’s some of them in bath four, which is as far off as it needs to be.

Whatever—little Rushing wind has to pee and he’s going to do it in the bath unless they let him go with an I Am moment. They shhh-say his shhshy name and do I Am without stilling the splash and then Rushing is off like a—like what would you say, really?—like something on the balls of its feet. And then tinkle is rock-knocked back to them in angled patterns of sound. He comes back smiling, does little Rushing.

And did anyone notice that ‘tum had asked his question about Stick when the circle talk had been sneaking up on girls in general and maybe Inbreath in particular? Not this “time.” Not this time did anyboy notice. Isn’t Inbreath almost Woman? Not that there are “girls.” Just us people here. Or us young. Us. Not Fish, Woman, Man, and let’s not even talk about Stick.

With a general uprising the boys leap from the water and are not-quite-running to wind chamber to offdry.

Inrush, inrush of breath, is forgotten, though not by all.

—Terrace near Alaska, February near March

[photo by Dave, Wyoming, October ‘25]