The Names

He talked about the world."The world has become self-referring. You know this. This thing has seeped into the texture of the world. The world for thousands of years was our escape, was our refuge. Men hid from themselves in the world. We hid from God or death. The world was where we lived, the self was where we went mad and died. But now the world has made a self of its own. Why, how, never mind. What happens to us now that the world has a self? How do we say the simplest thing without falling into a trap? Where do we go, how do we live, who do we believe? This is my vision, a self-referring world, a world in which there is no escape.”His flesh was pebbled along the forehead and cheeks. He had long wrists and hands. Slowly the two stones began to take on a faintly tapered shape. He rubbed the stones for hours, then days. Bern was hallucinating. They heard her moan and chant. She crawled outside to urinate, positioned on all fours. Three of the men went looking for a stray goat to kill. Owen went to Bern's silo, not knowing why. The seal was in place, an earthen hatch-cover about three feet off the ground, held fast by a wooden bar inserted through a pair of sockets. He removed the cover and bent down to look into the silo. She sat in the dark. The floor was strewn with hay and bits of corn stalk. Her face swung toward him and she stared with no apparent recognition. He spoke softly to her, offering to get water, but there was no response. He told her how the smell of animal feed made him think of his childhood, the grain storage elevators and backyard windmills, the Here-fords in loading pens, the bent metal sign on the little brick building at the edge of town (he hadn't thought of this in thirty years): farmers bank. He remained outside the bin, watching her face float in the dead air. She looked at him.The desert town was like the land reshaped in blocks, some odd work of the wind as it transports sand. Singh cupped his hands to drink from an earthenware jug. One of the other men hunkered in the dust. From this distance the town was silent most of the time. Owen drank. When it was dark and a wind fell from the hills he watched the ashes stir and blow around the improvised spit. The night sky appeared, the scattershot of blazing worlds."Who is the man you're waiting for?”"What man?”"Emmerich said.”"Atcba. A crazy. Bonkers, you know? Wandering for years in these parts.”"Is he close to the town? How do you know he'll head that way?”Singh laughing. "He is bloody close, yes.”"How do you know?”"Just seen him. You just done ate his goat.”"An old man with a beard, more or less in rags?”"That him, mon. He keep walking. It don't do him no good to get no older. He on his last legs for sure. He have to sit down and wait for vulture. Vulture do the business of the desert.”"You're waiting, then, until he enters town.”"You know this. You're a member now.”"No, I'm not.”"Of course you're a member.”"No, I'm not.”"Damn fool. Of course you are.”