
from Clawing at the Limits of Cool: Miles Davis, John Coltrane, and the Greatest Jazz Collaboration Ever by Farah Jasmine Griffin and Salim Washington
contributed by: ALSO JESS!
page 56. fifth line. go!
A pale November sun was sinking now behind the leafless oaks and alders. Frog pulled the little boat up to edge of the stream, hopped out into the ankle-deep water, and pulled the craft ashore. Little Mole stepped daintily onto the cool, muddy bank.
"I'm famished!" he declared.
Tying the boat to a birch sapling, Frog said, "Badger lives not far from here."
"Badger!" Mole said.
Badger had the best-stocked hole of any beast in the forest. Coming now to winter, his larder would be stuffed with the likes of sweet sausage, smoked cheeses, ham hocks, potted meats, jams, butter, and all manner of preserves!
Mole and Frog made their way through the underbrush, their stomachs' grumbling almost audible above the crunching of the leafy forest floor.
"Of course," Frog said, "There is always a price to pay with Badger."
Mole was silent, puffing out plumes of cold air from his little snout. He had been to one of Badger's feasts before.
"No matter," said Mole. "A full belly is worth any price."
Badger appeared promptly at his door. He was wearing his customary vest and breeches, and smoking a savory blend from his Meerschaum.
"Come in, my friends!" he cried, his long row of sharp white teeth belying a gentle, abstracted spirit. "I've just heated up a crock of lamb stew with carrots, shallots, ramps, potatoes..."
Badger trailed off dreamily, his snout lifted to the ceiling.
"Oh, but you must be cold," he said at last. "Come in, come in!"
The three old friends sat round Badger's cheery hearth, stuffing themselves on his simple, hearty fare. After stew there was fig pudding, followed by candied bacon. Sated, they warmed their feet against the andirons.
"Is there anything else I can get you?" Badger inquired.
"I couldn't fit another bite," said Mole.
"Nor I," Frog agreed.
"Some warm cider, perhaps?" Badger asked.
Frog and Mole shook their heads--it was too much effort to speak!
"Then it's story time!" Badger declared, jumping up with sprightly ease, his waistcoat positively bursting at the buttons. He sauntered to his bookshelf and withdrew a heavy leather volume. Frog and Mole exchanged anxious glances. So it was to be a repeat performance.
Badger sat heavily beneath his tome. Licking one paw, he flipped through its pages for some time before stopping.
"Ah," he said. "Here we are. This is perhaps my favorite tale. It was nigh on seven years ago, when a niece of mine, hardly past the age of consent, came for a visit. I remember how her heavy, musky haunches could barely fit through my front door..."
Badger's paw wandered lazily to his thigh, kneading it absentmindedly.
Mole felt the lamb stew burble in his tummy, mixing unpleasantly with the candied bacon. He belched up a small mouthful of half-digested fig. He had forgotten how sick Badger's last story had made him, how unworth-it the meal now seemed, if this was the price. For if there was anything that Badger loved more than a good meal, it was regaling his uneasy friends with a rape fantasy.
from Short Bike Rides, New York City edition by Phil and Wendy Harrington
contributed by: Friday The Sharkteenth: part AIDS