Pin hole
There is a darkness, a warm darkness that envelopes you, moist and glowing, such as when you find yourself in the gullet of a whale, or when you are exploring Gomantong volcanic caves and find yourself sucking in the moist breath of a colony of Bornean fruit bats. This was the oppressive atmosphere we found ourselves crouching in as we crept, hunch backed, through the dark attic space that fluted the ridge space along the spine of the farmhouse. The spring sun beat down on the cedar shingles above us, and the steam sent up from Molly's stew mingled with the wafts of maple syrup. The result was a sickeningly sweet smell of stale cedar and meat that hung dense in the air. Every few feet a beam of light pierced the darkness from a hole in the shingles lighting up and abandoned leather shoe, bundle tied rags or discarded dentures.
After escaping from the pantry we climbed to the attic, and had found this the perfect place to spy on the rooms below. Despite the darkness we paced off the distances. Lucia stopped decisively and pulled a hairpin from my head, leaving a golden wave of hair to flop in front of my face. The hairpin was a family heirloom that had been passed to me on my sixth birthday. The long silver stem was crowned with a tarnished silver ladyclock bug in the 18th century trembler fashion, this treasure had been created by the Austrian jeweler Gustav Swarovski, and the small spring and mechanisms were devised so that its enameled wings fluttered up to reveal a vivid red carbuncle with the vibrations caused by a mild breeze or the light, quick second beat distinctive to the Viennese Waltz. Before I could protest she bit down on the tip end of the pin, pulled a lace from her dress, and made a small bow with it and the discarded bone of a corset from the attic floor. At first I though she was fashioning a small bow and arrow ? fit to slay a mouse ? but instead she looped the pin through the lace, and placed the pin on the plaster below us ? pulling and pushing the contraption set the little bug into a wild frenzy, and slowly drilled a small hole into the ceiling of the room below. She ripped a page from her pocket journal and held it some three feet above little hole ? there, displayed on the paper was transferred a perfect mirror image of a bedroom below. She raised her eyebrow at me in smug silence. I snapped my hairpin back and thrust the dizzied little bug grudgingly back into my hair. We made our way along the top of the house, balancing along the beams, making sure not to step directly on the lath and plaster between, but stopping occasionally to drill, and peer again into another room.
Composed by Dr. G on Sunday, Feb. 8, 2009
Gentle Reader Responses
Elena says:
Hooray. Welcome back!
Loryienne says:
Brave girls!
Tara says:
How do they know what it feels like to be in a whale's gullet?
Rosemary Renlund says:
Alas, what is to become of the daughters Galubrious? I am on ladybug pins and darning needles!
moannie says:
David at authorblog pointed the way and I am enthralled, though I think it might take a visit or three before I 'get' you. I felt as if I were in a Gothic novel.
Alixandra Hice says:
Congratulations on your POTD mention at authorblog.
Debbie Davis says:
I came over from authorblog. Congrats on the Post of the Day mention!!
gaelikaa says:
From POTD. I'm fairly breaking out in goosebumps over here!
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