Isaac and The Leopard: Part 3
January 29, 2009
(Continued from Part 1 and PART 2 PART 3 and PART 4)
Isaac circled West and towards the sunken tree; the Leopard moved higher up the branch, calling a slow “rrrrrrRRRRPpppppp” at his approach. Was there recognition in it? Reproach? The Leopard narrowed its glassy, golden, eyes into unreadable slits. Isaac hung in the water, unable to proceed, this placeless frustration tightening around him, fouling his instincts: Did it know why he was there? Would it run?
The Leopard shifted, bowing in its crooked back so its belly faced the sun. Its eyes closed in bliss and Isaac felt slighted. Diminished. Less careful now, Isaac stepped up from the earthy bottom and onto the slick tangle of the trees submerged roots, turning his body until a heavy shadow covered the basking Leopard. Algae smeared beneath his feet, snails burst in crystalline pops of onomatopoetic horror. The tree shuddered as its base loosed in the muck; the Leopards eyes flashed open. Isaac slipped backwards on the root, a low branch drawing a deep scratch across his chest. He did not cry out. He did not splash or claw for purchase. He slid quietly back into the water and waited for the Leopard to jump, the distil haze of his blood vanishing around him.
The Leopard held its ground. Imperious, it roared again “uuuuUUURRRPppppp”. A dozen lesser calls sounded in return, louder for their chorus. Isaac bobbed in the murky water, trying to mark the hidden singers: he’d have words with them when once the Leopard was caught. The next verse began, the callers arrayed in a rough circle around him. Isaac felt the water cool suddenly; sickly strands of weed coiled and clung to his legs: something had changed and he felt unwelcome. Then the Bulls joined the chorus: regal, and resonant, and terrible. Isaac settled deeper in the water, treading slowly, leaving just his face and hands and crown exposed. He knew now he’d been there their too long, but the hunters demands were upon him. He struck his hands across the water in a loud slap, stilling the choir, and then lunged forward towards the Leopard.
(to be concluded in part 4)
February 9, 2009 at 1:32 am
This, to my eye and ear, is the most independently evocative, self-contained and all-round strong section of Isaac’s story thus far… It draws us into the water with him with our eyes, our ears, our sense of touch… Perhaps the only thing left out here would be smell? And it might be too much in a way if not used very carefully I suppose… Whatever the case on the idea of tackling the realm of smell, these are three incredibly strong paragraphs – in addition to the powerful way they tackle the senses they also further understanding of Isaac’s character (stubborn, fierce, foolish?) and the character of the frogs and of the pond itself (collaborative, menacing)…
” Its eyes closed in bliss and Isaac felt slighted. Diminished. ” This is such a simple way of telling us about Isaac’s ego – the fragility of that ego – how easy it is to challenge someone already looking for a fight. The use of the word “diminished” is especially good here…
“snails burst in crystalline pops of onomatopoetic horror.” Funny, without ruining the moody mood and one of the better uses of onomatopoeia I’ve seen in long time (smile).
“the distil haze of his blood vanishing around him” This is just plain pretty as a phrase and strong as an image and given that it is followed by pond and frogs upping their ante by going cool and singing louder, tendrils creeping – it is almost as though the pond has had a ‘taste’ of him and might want more…
Me like Sir Valliant… Me like…
February 9, 2009 at 1:24 pm
“the distil haze of his blood vanishing around him.”
That is lovely. Sad even, in a strange way. Though some of the fancier verbiage seems a little at odds with spare tone you have set. I am curious to see how this turns out.
February 13, 2009 at 12:32 am
“Me like Sir Valliant… Me like”
Thank you, Sulya. I appreciate the care with which you read.
February 13, 2009 at 12:32 am
“Though some of the fancier verbiage seems a little at odds with spare tone you have set”
That is constant stylistic battle that I am far from winning. I am working on it, though.