Mama, I said, why does the fountain spew blood?
She didn’t know, mama said, she didn’t think the fountain was spewing blood.
We are visiting a great old temple, papa told me, like her parents and mama parents took them too when they were little like me.
Papa, I said, why did you parents take you to visit the great old temple?
My mama and papa took me to see the great old temple to understand, papa told me.
My mama and papa took me to see the great old temple to understand too, mama said.
To understand what? I said.
To understand us, they said.
My mama and papa took me to see the great old temple to understand the desertion of life into death, mama said.
My mama and papa took me to see the great old temple to understand the hierarchy of family tribune, papa said.
But what about the fountain spewing blood? I said.
There is no fountain spewing blood, they said.
And I thought, yes there is.
Big sister, she told me all about this fountain spewin’ blood when she and mama and papa came back from the big city to visit the temple. She said, she said that she swears she saw a fountain spewin’ out buckets of blood. She swore it to me.
Mama and papa there wasn’t, but when they had their backs turned to me, she said it with a wink on’er eye. There was.
A fountain of blood, gosh! What a sight to see, I’d bet. It made me think about killin’ game and the goats when they got too old. I wondered if it were all thick and sloppy like the kind big sister leaves in the bucket every couple o’weeks. Mama makes her wash the bucket clean with her own two hands, and sometimes there’d be enough to feed that bucket o’blood to the dogs outside. But a fountain a blood, what a sight!
What does one do with a fountain I blood, I couldn’t help but think. Do the people that visit the temple, do they drink it dry?