where's that hole!"

He put his hands on the edge to raise himself and peered over.

"There. Bottom right," she said. "Can't you see it?"

"Oh, the bottom ..." said Goro, leaning further over the edge. "It's
too dark to--"

She seized Goro's trousers in a firm grip and heaved.

"--see," he finished, at the bottom of the tub. He was still wondering
how he had gotten down there when the lid came down, bang, and it grew
very dark. He felt the tub sail up, come to rest on something and begin
to move forward with an up and down rocking movement.

It did not take Goro long, in his bucket-shaped night, to realize that
the yamam'ba, having no further reason to pretend a feminine weakness
she probably despised anyway, had placed the tub on her head and was on
her way home. To the mountain.

"Excuse me," he called out. "Where are we going?"

"To dinner," came his former wife's voice through the wood. It grated
unpleasantly. He decided to ask no more questions.

Deep into the woods went the yamam'ba, cutting through thicket and
underbrush, the tub jouncing easily on her head, up and up into the
mountains. Tireless on her long, rangy legs, she travelled along
dead, forgotten roads lined with gnarled ugly trees. Goro heard their
branches, bump-crack-bump, against his self-made prison. A thin edge
of lesser darkness began to show at the top. He hoped it was the first
time the lid had slipped on a tub made by Goro; this sort of thing
could ruin years of reputation. But it might mean a way out of the tub.

The opening grew wider. Looking up, he was able to see a few stars. Did
he imagine it, or was the tub slowing down? He hoped he was not going
to be eaten immediately.

The tub stopped and settled.

 Prev. P 3/7 next