Trouble getting out of bed; actually, slept poorly last night, awakened from time to time by what must be mice running across my ceiling. Hope it's mice, anyway, amp; not rats!)
Don't know exactly what time it was when I finally got up, but I felt famished amp; really had to force myself to do my exercises. Guess it's because I missed another day. Somehow I only managed to do twenty-seven pushups, though I was supposed to do forty. I'm slipping back – better watch that.
Managed all of Le Fanu's 'Carmilla' before lunch. Wonderful allusions to forbidden books: Magia Posthuma, Phlegon de Mira-bilibus, Augustintts de euro, pro Mortuis, and something called Philosophicae el Christianae Cogitationes de Vampiris by John Christofer Harenberg. Oh, for a peek at such stuff!
Eggs for lunch, from our hens. Still can't say I taste any difference, though Deborah seems to take it as an article of faith that country eggs must taste better than week-old city ones; so I humor her amp; smack my lips amp; tell her that there's simply no comparison. I'm beginning to think that country people have to have it confirmed, every so often, that they've made the right choice.
After lunch, hit the books again. Started Tales of Hoffman but put it aside; ugly, disturbing, amp; a hell of a long way from the Nutcracker Suite. Next, prompted by that odd phallic image in Carol's dream amp; by something Sarr mentioned at dinner last night about there being an unusual prevalence of snakes around here this summer (just my luck!), took down Stoker's Lair of the White Worm, about some legendary monster surviving beneath an old Derbyshire castle.
At first it made a welcome change of pace: not too subtle, I suppose, but I liked the references to local history amp; to a place the author called 'Diana's Grove.' (Cf. 'Lucky's Grove' in the Wakefield tale, sacred to the evil god Loki.) After a few chapters, though, my attention began to wander; I got tired of waiting for the goddamned Worm to show up amp; was put off by the uninspired prose. Dutifully the book brought in the whole supernatural grab bag – the Druids, the rites of ancient Rome, even a discussion of African voodoo – but there was somehow no magic in any of it, amp; no real feeling.
So I occupied myself out here till dinnertime with scissors amp; a can of insect spray, cutting away the ivy that's grown across my windows. Those little green shoots fasten themselves onto the screens amp; cling like drowning men, practically ripping out the wire when I pull at them. Something almost frightening about their tenacity – all that mindless, unshakable will. The spiders living among them seem timid in comparison, scrambling frantically for cover in the leaves. I only killed a few that seemed inclined to stand their ground; amp; now, here at this rickety old table, with the windows dark amp; nothing but the screens between me amp; what's alive out there, I'm teasing myself with Hammer Films visions of how the survivors might take their revenge. Wish, now, I hadn't killed any – or else had killed them all
…
Beef with noodles for dinner tonight, praise the Lord, amp; apple pie for dessert. Drifted into the kitchen a bit early; didn't know what time it was, but knew I. was hungry amp; smelled something good. So did the cats. All seven of them were assembled by the back door waiting to be fed, milling back amp; forth with tails swishing, Bwada growling at the others, amp; I had to push my way through them to get inside (stepping over the usual assortment of bloody mice amp; moles which they'd laid out for inspection amp; which I was careful to avoid looking at). Deborah was humming some sort of hymn; she seemed glad to have me around.
Just then there was a chorus of miaows from outside the door, followed by the clank of an overturned garbage can amp; the sound of little claws scrabbling down the back steps. Above all this I could hear Sarr swearing – words I'd never heard him use before – amp; a few moments later he walked into the kitchen clutching his hand to announce, with some amusement, 'I've just been bitten by a corpse!'
At least he'd thought it was a corpse.
He had just come back from the fields, hungry for his dinner and for human company. The cats had been waiting for him there on the porch, purring and rubbing up against his ankles as they displayed their day's catch – all the luckless Utile animals they'd pounced on in the grass.
Listen to them purr! he thought. They're just natural-born killers. Yet the Lord must love them more than He loves a sinner like me… He stooped to pick up the nearest body, a tiny brown field mouse. Good-natured Azariah, striped like a plump tiger, purred and butted his head against Poroth's arm. 'Away with you!' he muttered, cuffing the cat lightly with the back of his hand. Gingerly he picked the mouse up by the tail and tossed it into the garbage can.
A young goldfinch was next – a good thing Deborah hadn't seen! -and then another mouse. Stooping a fourth time, he paused. The one remaining body looked different from the rest.
At first he'd taken it for the remnant of some larger animal – a fox's paw, perhaps, the stump of a severed limb – until, crouching down to get a closer look, he saw four legs, like little sticks or twigs, and exposed along one end, a row of tiny yellow teeth.
The thing was black, burned-looking, with the texture of dirt and dead leaves; it looked like a child's clumsy attempt to fashion an animal. He realized, quite suddenly, what it must be: the dried and swollen body of a shrew. It appeared to have been dragged across the ground, or even buried; no doubt, too, it had been well mauled by the cats, for the mouth was all askew, nearly vertical, in fact, and there was soil and mold still clinging to its fur. He looked in vain for eyes, and for a tail to lift it by. Grimacing, he was forced to grasp the thing tentatively around the middle. It felt odd to the touch, like picking up a crumbling clod of earth.
Suddenly it moved. He felt it twist in his hand and bite him on the thumb. With a yell he dropped it and watched it patter off into the grass, with Bwada and the rest in frantic pursuit.
'Come back here!' he called, but the cats paid no heed. It was nearly the end of dinner before they returned, with nothing to show for their chase.
' 'Twasn't dead at all, you see.' He scooped himself a final helping of salad. 'Must have been just feigning, like a 'possum.'
'Well, I just hope you don't go getting rabies,' said Deborah. 'You never know in the summertime, and it's a death I wouldn't wish on Lucifer himself.'
'I'm not dead yet,' said Sarr, extending his hand. 'See? It didn't even pierce the skin.'
'Looks okay to me,' agreed Freirs. 'I hope you're not going to start foaming at the mouth right here at the dinner table!'
Deborah shook her head. 'I don't know,' she said. 'I hear flitter-mice in these parts carry rabies-'
'Bats,' explained Sarr, to Freirs' puzzled look.
'-and who knows what other things might be infected. This is one time I'd feel safer if a doctor were around.' She was still fretful as she began clearing away the plates.
'Hey,' said Freirs, 'do you suppose house mice can get rabies?'
'Why?' Sarr was absently examining his thumb.
'Because I think I've got mice living up in my attic back there.'
'You too?' said Deborah, from the sink. 'This sure seems to be the season for them.'
Sarr nodded. 'Yes,' he said, 'we've been hearing them too.' He glanced at Deborah, then dropped his voice. 'Want me to let the cats up there?'
'I heard that,' said Deborah, 'and the answer's no! Jeremy will just have to learn to make friends with them.'