A Devil's Dictionary

1980-1

1980

“Do it,” Orley urged, and though I didn’t look at him, I could feel those earnest brown eyes looking at me—eyes that always seemed just a little too intense, as if he might burst into tears or kick your ass at any moment.

“We made a pact, kid,” said Kevin, his voice low, his intonation world-weary—even though he was the same age as the rest of us—Han Solo to the core, at least for today. “Besides, this was your idea.”

I hesitated, the sharpened stick wavering, as the big, green caterpillar inched across the pavement. “I know.” I watched as the insect’s bulbous sections undulated, rising and falling, glistening in the sun. “It’s just that—”

“Here,” said Orley.

He took his own stick and used it to roll the caterpillar onto its back, where it curled into a fetal position and promptly froze, looking like a shrimp at the Chuck Wagon buffet, its multitude of little legs ceasing to move, its tiny antennae holding perfectly still.

“Okay, read that passage. The one about daring to approach the gods. You know, where it talks about blood and danger and becoming like gods ourselves. I saw you bookmark it.”

I looked at the book, The Encyclopedia of Death and Dying—which was lying atop my orange nylon schoolbag precisely where I’d left it—and stood, hefting the volume and cutting to the mark. The sun passed behind a cloud as I read, “Participants in blood sacrifice rituals often experience a sense of awe, danger, or exaltation, because they are daring to approach the gods who create, sustain, and destroy life. Therefore, morale is strengthened by the ritual killing, because the group has itself performed the godlike act of destruction—and is now capable of renewing its own existence.”

There was a slight breeze, which seemed to give the proceedings a funereal air, and I continued, “The underlying philosophical assumption is that life must pass through death.”

Orley said, “That’s it. Okay. So.” He looked from me to Kevin—earnestly, intensely—gripping the sharpened stick. “Considering what’s ahead of us ...” He paused, letting that sink in. “I think we all know what we have to do.” He added: “And why.”

We thought about it, the sun beating down, the breeze jostling our hair. The lake. The sword. The visitations in our dreams. We knew.

“So I say we get to it ... before the Valley Boys show up and it’s too late. Way too late.”

I looked at Kevin—who just looked at me with that Zen Master expression of his but seemed to confirm—before again crouching by the caterpillar. And then we all gripped our sticks—and prepared to do something really shitty.

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