TE22 Potpourri

Michèle Rakotoson

Lalana

“The sixth angel poured out his bowl on the great river Euphrates, and its water was dried up to prepare the way for the kings from the East. Then I saw three impure spirits that looked like frogs; they came out of the mouth of the dragon, out of the mouth of the beast and out of the mouth of the false prophet.” The swaying crowd stops dead. They catch their breath. The deaconess’ reading becomes slower, more menacing. “They are demonic spirits that perform signs, and they go out to the kings of the whole world, to gather them for battle on the great day of God Almighty.” Rivo is white as a sheet, the young woman who looks like Saroy has taken a step toward them. “Blessed is the one who stays awake and remains clothed, so as not to go naked and be shamefully exposed.”

shoulders snags on a thornbush and he keeps running, completely naked, finding strength to ascend the slope from God only knows where. Naivo tries to catch up with him, but soon he’s gasping for air, it’s too steep. At the top of the rock hill he finds him, near the tomb of the provincial prince, under a bamboo plant, on the ground, curled up like a fetus and shaking with convulsions, drooling, eyes rolling back into his head, hands clawing at the earth, as if trying to grab onto something, but grasping nothing, and he stammers a stream of words, throwing back his head as if he’s choking, as if he has all his life to expel, or all of the misery lodged in his chest and throat. Remembering the old ways, the old motions, Naivo sits down next to Rivo, he lifts him gently by his waist to give him a little more oxygen. Rivo wheezes and Naivo gives him a cardiac massage, a steady rhythm to help him breathe, while he softly sings hima childhood song. If Rivo must die here, on this rock, under this tree, may the will of he who has decided such things be done, but not in pain, and not with these afflictions. “Not with these afflictions,” he says to the mass of shadows rushing up behind him. “No, no.” “Hold on, Rivo,” he says to his friend, “we’ll go to the sea. We’ll be there in a few hours. You’ll see the waves and the vastness of “Shit, he’s slipping.”

The church is breathless:

“Curse him, curse him. Amen.”

The woman pounced but Rivo reacted faster, he raced off like a shot and Naivo has only a moment to hear the hundred throats swallow at once.

Now, Rivo is racing up the rock face. The shawl around his

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