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Caspar Riga

today less science more god

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I'm rewriting two old books into one unmarketably big volume. Here's a paragraph:

Tehuti wanted to chase the hound away, he smelled of death, but Atlas had said he had to be welcome somehow, or he would not have shown up inside the fence, so the elf just circled him once or twice. At one point his jaguar tail touched the hound, who had a suit and upright build, and the elf could sense something he had never sensed before. The hound belonged to someone. Not like a love or a slave, but like something that truly belonged. What he sensed was that the devil belonged to God, whom he had never heard of, since the children of man did not share that kind of information. Intuitively he said:
“You belong in a garden, but not in Andai’s garden,” and as he said it, he knew whom he was circling. This was also an inventor. “Are you the inventor of death?” he asked the hound straight out. El Djha’athangh, as he was called in this respect, ‘the angel who occupies himself with death,’ had to laugh a bit and his mind shot through the sedation, which had kind of worn off when he had chased the elf earlier. He was careful. Either the elephant or the jaguar had experienced some deep insight into the numbers, one he could not afford to miss, but the creature probably wasn’t aware of it yet. Yet he was on Earth, so one wrong word, and God would show.

As I wrote this, I realized that it was all from the second book; in fact it appears, now that I've been blending them for a week, that I am keeping most of the first book, and rewriting most of the second. But that will change halfway through the roadworks, when I am going to paste a whole chapter in. Anyway, as a new property to both the stories, the devil now actually has something to say. Tehuti (the hero of the story) finds out he laid this claim on Andai's garden (the devil being stolen from a garden himself) :

‘I pay a fool’s price. With the stirring of the stars, when the green comes up, I state the taxes according to the ground level. Given this term, I calculate the tax demand in March, at which point I brush through my hair and state the top sum. Do not worry; I have equal rights. Whose name it will fall on, says little to me. What concerns me is a simplicity in the matter of rights. Whose payment occurred here, will yet hear from me. I folded back from my rights, but I already have everything taken care of.’

Point being that the devil taxes the future. Will there be enough future left in my story? Enough for me to wonder.

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