A Natural History of Hell: Stories by Jeffrey Ford Read Free Book Online Page B

clay jar sealed tight with bees wax and sunk on a line into the cool underground stream of the south cave.
    The angel arrived for his harvest dinner, delivered old lady Sharett, who in her service had grown a face on the back of her head exactly like the one on the front, and whisked away the Childs lad to serve in his den. Mira and Jon wondered if it was possible, but a few months after her return old lady Sharett began to show. They were as excited as if they themselves were to be parents. Late that night, they ran across the field to healer Mulithot’s home and whispered to him in his closet.
    Mulithot was not so brave as his mentor, Struth, nor was he as smart. When the plot against the angel was put forward, he became frightened that he was being tested. When he finally agreed, he could not say the words, even in a whisper, but simply gave a subtle nod.
    While they waited for old lady Sharett to come to term, Mira and Jon were torn between the fear that something might happen to her before she could give birth, and the fear that nothing would happen to her, and they would have no choice but to carry out their plan. They and the healer kept the secret for months, like holding in a scream, and Mulithot, in the meantime, though keeping mum, took to strong drink. At night Mira slept on top of Jon to protect him from the doubts she knew tried to invade him in his sleep.
    The hard months staggered by and then . . . the old lady grunted from both sides of her head as the sleek, winged, Alfrod was pulled from her womb by Mulithot’s forceps. Mira and Jon held the creature down by its neck and wrists, while the healer fetched the cleaver. The little Alfrod’s struggle was great, and it was difficult to keep him still what with the desperate action of the violet wings and the fact that he was growing by the minute.
    The cleaver struck through the tiny arm on the second blow, and Alfrod luckily screamed precisely when the mastiffs charged out of the shadow of the forest and onto the open fields. Mira nervously opened the clay jar and withdrew the mutton hand. She then placed the real hand inside and fitted the lid on tight. The healer and Jon held the baby down, and she sewed the false hand onto his stump with a coarse thread woven from vines of the herb dognip.
    Mira and Jon were just closing the closet door when the front door to Mulithot’s home burst in. The healer backed away and slouched against the wall. One dog sniffed at his crotch while the other caught up the newborn and devoured it in three bites. They left as quickly as they’d arrived, and when they were gone the healer passed out. Mira went to the clay jar, looked inside, and gave the barest smile.
    The hand simmered in a stew with carrots and onions. Jon opened the lid to get a whiff of dinner, saw the pale hand bobbing, and shivered, picturing himself picking his teeth with its sharp nails. After many hours, Mira lifted the shriveled mass out of the pot with a fork and called her husband to come eat. Using her sharpest knife, she sliced the meat off the palm and fingers and served it with carrots and onions and gravy . It was so sweet it made them gag, but they hoped it would confer a shred of the angel’s power, or offer some kind of protection. They buried the diminutive skeleton hand in a metal box by the side of the road.
    That night, while the village slept, Mira and Jon left home and carefully made their way across the fields to the forest. They carried no torch or lantern and said nothing. When they reached the tree line and passed into perfect night, where neither the stars nor moon were visible, they tied one end of a length of twine around his waist and the other end around hers. Groping blindly forward, they went in search of the sacred den.
    They bruised their shins and cut their arms and faces on the grasping branches. Although she was frightened and exhausted, Mira took heart in the fact that they’d been in the forest so long without a sign or