Annie Proulx's Reddest Eye

[Cheyenne, 4/11/13]

It started before 2 and hasn’t stopped. Wherever that ark is, we ain’t welcomed. They’d save ticks, fleas and maggots before your newborn baby.

On the way here, I passed that quadruple jabbed chick’s place. Was going to stay but her music chased me away. Now I’m sitting outside New Market. The lady behind me just said, “Who wouldn’t want to be happy, but with all you must worry about, often you can’t be happy.” Then, “Today’s tea is very good, very rich!” Suddenly, everybody is laughing. With my 40 cent black sans sugar, I get a tin pot of this richness. It’s still coming down.

“Không vui nổi” implies a struggle to be happy. Every language is mined with untranslatable subtleties. Stumbling blindly over any alien landscape, you must be blown up repeatedly so natives can laugh uproariously. Pointing at your liver or pancreas dangling from some scorched, split open branch, they spit out beverage you’ve never heard of. Good natured, you laugh along even as your soul dissolves further.

For the past 80 months, I’ve spent less than nine in an English speaking environment. We’re counting South Africa and Namibia. (They can also grasp bits of it in Brisbane.) Yesterday, I reread Annie Proulx’s “The Half Skinned Steer” in its entirety, very carefully, twice. Usually, I just marvel at the first paragraph.