Srikanth Reddy

 From Underworld Lit

XXII.

That night, the twins put on a show for the villagers. Chen watched from a wobbly stool in the front row. Some sort of fermented pink liquor was passed around in a hollow gourd. Low in the sky, a full moon polished everything silver.

The boys danced on stilts like drunks in high marsh grass. One shook a rain stick, wearing an armadillo mask. The other, dressed as a whippoorwill, blew into a flute carved from bone. Everybody clapped in time. As if by magic, the gourd kept reappearing in Chen's hands.

With a flourish, the spotted boy unsheathed his machete, looking up to the sky. Opening wide, he slid the blade down his throat. It disappeared slowly, passing through the pharynx, the voice box, and then the esophagus. Chen retched in sympathy, but soon recovered himself. Deep in the foliage, the crickets and rain frogs resumed their pulsating whistle.

[I love Popol Vuh: Definitive Edition trans. Tedlock—trans].

Next, the twins set fire to the schoolhouse with lit cigars. Jugular bulging, the constable howled in the moonlight. Burning papers fluttered out like hurt birds from the window. A storm lantern exploded with a fiery pop. The load-bearing joinery began to show through, lit from within, until the whole affair was reduced to blazing lacework. At last the roof caved in, followed by the walls, leaving only a spidery doorframe full of smoke. It was too much for the children, who were led away in tears.

[I love Popol Vuh: Edición Definitiva trans. Villanueva—trans].
Now it was time for the night's final act. The boy with the jaguar spots dropped to his knees. His brother lay on the ground before him, eyes rolled back, looking inward. With a swift fluid motion, the kneeling boy plunged a hand into his brother's chest, withdrew a dripping fist, and brandished it like a fishmonger advertising the day's catch. A dark rift opened, unnoticed, in the Milky Way overhead.

[I love Bō bō ěr·wū: Zuìhòu de bǎnběn trans. 列子—trans].

"Rise up!" the jaguar commanded.

The bloodied youth rose to his feet and, gazing out on the crowd, slowly raised a fist in the air. The villagers leapt from their seats with a universal roar. Wobbling on his stool, Chen struggled to stand, too, as the world began to spin, counter-clockwise, around the former tea-totaler from Hóu-tcheou-fou. The last thing he remembered was somebody leading him off in the dark.