Babayaga

down the window. “What happened?”
    The little man did not answer at first, but looked over at her instead. “Well hello, Elga Sossoka.” She stayed silent. He nodded. “It is an honor to finally meet you. You must have great good fortune to have lived for so long and come so far across so many lands. Perhaps we can borrow some of your luck to change our own poor fortunes. That would be a welcome turn of events.” Then he returned his attention to Brandon. “You see, we had a serious setback. I’m afraid your friend Jake has died. I don’t know precisely how it happened. It was a simple clinical exercise, purely academic. I for one certainly did not foresee any obstacles. This Will fellow did not appear to have that much fight left in him.”
    “I’m confused. Jake’s dead? How?” Brandon asked.
    “As I said,” the little man replied, his tone a bit impatient now, “I do not know. You see, I was interrupted in my work by a group of enormous Negroes who burst into the laboratory firing tommy guns. Zoya Polyakov was with them. They killed Jarl and Malte and then took this Will away. So, your friend Jake’s death is only one part of our problem.” He began explaining what had happened, and although Elga tried to keep up, the many details made it difficult to follow. The one word that did catch Elga’s ear, sticking like a hungry tick to her ear, was the name “Zoya.” The girl had been here, only hours ago. Hearing the name, Elga’s blood flared and her brain hummed with violence. She sat forward and tried to listen more carefully. Finally, frustrated with all the words, she interrupted: “You are looking for Zoya?”
    The little man stopped talking and turned his gaze to Elga. “Why, yes, we might be, do you happen to know where she is?”
    Elga nodded. “Maybe. I don’t know. There are a few places to try. I was hunting for her too. We can hunt for her together now.”
    The little man looked slightly baffled for a moment but then looked at Brandon and smiled. “Yes, Elga, by all means, let us hunt for Zoya together.”
    X

    Witches’ Song Ten

    Oh I do, I do and I am never done
    adoring that which is the automobile.
    No, not only one, but all together,
    the massive swarm, seething and choking,
    teeming and festering, these slithering steel insects,
    black, red, and baby blue, swelling veins stiff,
    enfolding the globe in their great gray
    gaseous cloud of progress’s passion.
    Mere metal boils bubbling upon the earth’s surface,
    shuttling and speeding while oh how I adore
    being nestled inside, armored against the world,
    sinking into the plush ovum of velvet comfort.
    Our first rides were with virile old generals
    who lured us to seduction, humping us amazed
    till their hearts exploded as the tin radio played that fine new jazz.
    Yes, yes, this is truly a carriage for creatures such as us.
    I know, for you it’s your century’s most wondrous innovation,
    but it is truly no more than the same infernal tale,
    man burning for power’s gain,
    peat and straw, cow pies and corpses,
    all manner of forests torn bare,
    whole mountains chewed free of their coal,
    all this, all that, merely kindling to burn.
    Caves and campfires first, then hearths and stoves
    sooting your great cities black
    before adding a coat of locomotion steam, and now
    the inferno trapped, locked in iron, internal combustion,
    no different, not a whit,
    only wheels on gears on stone on steel,
    a new can of burning, always forward motion.
    Man inflames everything he finds,
    first squatting naked, roasting poached fowl,
    then dropping bombs from those droning trumpets buzzing high
    as the floating pond geese gaze up in awe
    at what is so coming down.
    Man was born to char the earth and
    when there’s no swamp gas, black tar, or proud timber to tap
    he sends out his canines hunting rabid far afield.
    While, awaiting their return
    he solemnly builds the looming tall pyres
    that will burn every enemy down.
    XI

    Vidot regained consciousness as he was hanging out at the end of a thread of hair, floating in a high wind. He did not know how long he had been lost in that dream state. In a way, he wished he was back there now, it had been so reassuring to feel like a whole man again, in his old suit, walking the streets of his neighborhood with two strong legs and a sure and steady gait.
    When Vidot had first watched Bendix inject the needle into Will, the flea had nervously wondered what the best course of action might be.