The Mothering Coven Read Free Page B

and the guest list were a Venn diagram, the area of intersection would be very, very small. The episteme has a smaller inventory than Ozark originally thought.
    Ozark hears distant cursing. It sounds like “bung-less barrel saunas.”
    There is Ms. Kidney, sneaking up the street. The wind has just swept her Russian hat off her head. Up it goes. Ozark blinks in surprise. Is she imagining things? It is hard to imagine Ms. Kidney. She is so voluble and Ozark’s imagination is mostly pictures.
    “Neck pimples,” yells Ms. Kidney. She kicks Mr. Henderson’s garage door. Her wild, steel blue hair is blowing every which way.
    “Not a brindle, ponies,” shouts Ms. Kidney. She is shouting at her dogs. They are standing silently on the sidewalk, two by two. Ms. Kidney disappears through Mr. Henderson’s garage door just as Mr. Henderson comes out onto his porch. He sees his garage door swing open and slam shut with the wind. He sees the dogs lined up, looking at him. The soup is still frozen on the sidewalk, only now it is white, like cream of mushroom.
    [:]
    Ms. Kidney is staying for Mrs. Borage’s birthday party after all! Of course she is. Ozark has the urge to hook her legs behind her neck for joy, but she hesitates. She does not like to trigger muscle memories from her days as a contortionist. Ozark turns somersaults instead. The muscle memory this triggers is not specific to contortionists. Everyone turns somersaults. Certainly, ev eryone on the guest list. Ozark writes “Ms. Kidney” in purple letters. Now it’s back to her inventory.
    She has reached “Magellan,” as is inevitable. Before Magellan the ships sailed over the thunderous falls that marked the edges of all the oceans.
    “Magellan did something,” thinks Ozark. “He invented hydroelectric dams?” Ozark tries to remember about hydroelectricity. She taps her pen on the paper. Snow is settling on the paper. Ozark shivers. Her face has grown numb. She suspects there is some accumulation on her face, on the bridge of her nose. She remembers when the circus caravans drove through Buffalo, the little towns on the outskirts of Buffalo, and the helpful yellow signs, Bridges Freeze Before Roadway. She remembers Magellan in the Channel of All Saints, how he was starving there, how he gave up all hope. It was All Saints’ Day, and crying, Magellan ate his entire cargo, 26 tons of cloves. After eating 26 tons of cloves, Magellan was unable to form any words. He tried to move his lips but his face was still and astonished.
    “Even much later, when he was discovered by the men and women of the Philippines, his face remained frozen,” says Ozark. “That is why they called him Dumbfoundland and claimed him for Lapu-Lapu.”

X
     
    Dorcas flexes her retinas. So far, so good. She blinks. She looks to left, to the right. Dorcas has returned safely from her first shamanic journey! She is standing in the corner opposite the hat stand. Her fingers tingle. Why? Her arms are stretched above her head, palms up. She lowers them. Her feet tingle too. Why? She looks at her big bare feet with the Fauvist toenails. Of course! The vibrating boundaries of opposing colors!
    Are they Fauvist? Dorcas squints at her feet, far away, on the carpet. There’s the Seine, ultramarine, pink flowers floating, and beneath the blue currents, green sea cucumbers and purple anemones, and on the grassy bank, a dark-haired woman in a violet dress and red hat, scattering white and gold sand. Or is it birdseed? Dorcas gasps. Her whole body is tingling. Why?
    “You’re not dancing,” calls Bryce. Her smock has spots and swirls of vivid color and her bare feet are moving too quickly to decipher the designs on her toenails. They are just a bright flash glimpsed through chair legs.
    Dorcas isn’t much of a dancer. She hops behind Bryce, around and around the wingback chairs. She feels grit on the carpet. Sand? Birdseed?
    “Keep going,” cries Fiona. “Don’t stop.”
    “Let’s dance all