The Einstein Intersection - Samuel R Delany , Neil Gaiman Page 0,3

midnight. Once I stopped on a bridge to watch the small canal drift through the close walls beneath the nightlamps and clotheslines. At a sudden shrieking I whirled: half a dozen wailing cats hurled themselves about my feet and fled after a brown rat. Chills snarled the nerves along my vertebrae. I looked back at the water: six flowers-roses-floated from beneath the bridge, crawling over the oil. I watched them till a motorboat puttering on some larger waterway nearby sent water slapping the foundations. I made my way over the small bridges to the Grand Canal and caught the Vaporetto back to Ferovia. It turned windy as we floated beneath the black wood arch of the Ponti Academia; I was trying to assimilate the flowers, the vicious animals, with Lobey's adventure-each applies, but as yet I don't quite know how. Orion straddled the water. Lights from the shore shook in the canal as we passed beneath the dripping stones of the Rialto.

Author's Journal: Venice, October 1965

In a few lines I shall establish how Maldoror was virtuous during his first years, virtuous and happy. Later he became aware he was born evil. Strange fatality!

Isidore Ducasse (Comte de Lautreamont), "The Songs of Maldoror"

All prologue to why Easy, Little Jon, and me don't herd goats no more.

Friza started tagging along, dark and ambiguous, running and jumping with Little Jon in a double dance to his single song and my music, play-wrestling with Easy, and walking with me up the brambly meadow holding my hand -whoever heard of La-ing or Lo-ing somebody you're herding goats with, or laughing with, or making love with. All of which I did with Friza. She would turn on a rock to stare at me with leaves shaking beside her face. Or come tearing towards me through the stones; between her graceful gait and her shadow in the rocks all suspended and real motion was. And was released when she was in my arms laughing-the one sound she did make, loving it in her mouth.

She brought me beautiful things. And kept the dangerous away. I think she did it the same way she threw the pebble. One day I noticed that ugly and harmful things just weren't happening; no lions, no condor bats. The goats stayed together; the kids didn't get lost and kept from cliffs.

"Little Jon, you don't have to come up this morning."

"Well, Lobey, if you don't think-"

"Go on, stay home."

So Easy, Friza, and me went out with the goats.

The beautiful things were like the flock of albino hawks that moved to the meadow. Or the mother woodchuck who brought her babies for us to see.

"Easy, there isn't enough work for all of us here. Why don't you find something else to do?"

"But I like coming up here, Lobey."

"Friza and me can take care of the herd."

"But I don't mi-"

"Get lost, Easy."

He said something else and I picked up a stone in my foot and hefted it. He looked confused, then lumbered away. Imagine, coming on like that with Easy.

Friza and I had the field and the herd to ourselves alone. It stayed good and beautiful with unremembered flowers beyond rises when we ran. If there were poisonous snakes, they turned off in lengths of scarlet, never coiling. And, ah! did I make music.

Something killed her.

She was hiding under a grove of lazy willows, the trees that droop lower than weeping, and I was searching and calling and grinning-she shrieked. That's the only sound I ever heard her make other than laughter. The goats began to bleat.

I found her under the tree, face in the dirt.

As the goats bleated, the meadow went to pieces on their rasping noise. I was silent, confused, amazed by my despair.

I carried her back to the village. I remember La Dire's face as I walked into the village square with the limber body in my arms.

"Lobey, what in the world ... How did she . .. Oh, no! Lobey, no!"

So Easy and Little Jon took the herd again. I went and sat at the entrance to the source-cave, sharpened my blade,

gnawed my nails, slept and thought alone on the flat rock. Which is where we began.

Once Easy came to talk to me.

"Hey, Lobey, help us with the goats. The lions are back. Not a lot of them, but we could still use you." He squatted, still towering me by a foot, shook his head. "Poor Lobey." He ran his hairy fingers over my head. "We need you.

You need us. Help us hunt