When her belly was full, Sene’s skin ached for coolness. She headed straight for the river. Quashe’s river. Before Sene’s toes met the moist river earth, before she could submerge her fingers into the cool dark waters, Sene heard the deep bouncing of her husband Na’s laughter.
< Faru leapt down from Sene’s roof and landed on all fours. He snorted. The sight of her empty dwelling tore through him. Faru, Faru. Without the power of desire, his breath did not call forth horny submission. His presence did not attract an aroused audience of winged, slithering, and walking things. He was invisible. And the horror of it pained him. >
Na? Laughing? Sene crept along the bank toward the unfamiliar sound. She hid behind a tree and peered around the trunk. Na was sitting, legs spread, feet dipped in the water, the seductive crocodile head of Quashe— goddess of desire—leaning against his bare chest. Quashe’s back formed one gleaming stretch of reptile skin. Her torso, neck, and arms were human-soft, honey-amber skin, wet with river dew. Na’s fingers were sticky with her. One palm full of a tight godly breast, the other cupping the curve of fertile god belly. Quashe’s thick tail swished back and forth as she dripped water into Na’s mouth from her crocodile snout.
< Faru, Faru needing the power of desire just as Sene needed breath. >
A flash of anger interrupted Sene’s joy. How could Na be sharing sweetness with this…this…crocodile god? Without a thought, she opened her mouth and sang an imperfect love song:
Both Quashe and Na turned to face the sound of Sene’s singing. Sene. Sene who had so long been a dry discarded thing, stepped toward her husband. Unwavering, she pointed her big belly right at him and sang him to his feet.
Na was, for a few seconds, stilled, his body trapped between godly pleasures and the pull of his wife. Not his wife, a juicy apparition of his wife as a goddess; Sene as a queen, a swarm of butterflies hovering over her holy head.
< Laloro found Faru, bereft, lying flat on his back outside of Sene’s dwelling. Laloro laughed aloud. “You really have lost it?”
He hovered close to Faru’s face.
“Shower me with some horrible disease,” Faru said, reaching for Laloro’s trunk. “Give me some fatal sickness or leave me alone.” >
To Na’s ears, Sene’s song was nothing less than enchanting. In the thrall of her voice, he forgot about Quashe. He forgot the honeyed skin that coaxed him through a labyrinth of pleasure, turned away from the crocodile claws that gifted him with fish and seduction.
Sene opened her arms to her husband, and he stepped into them. Neither of them heard Quashe snarl. Their hands were too busy groping each other, fingers remembering a dance from old forgotten times.
< Laloro took pity on Faru. “Climb onto my back, and I’ll fly you to the Old One.”
Faru climbed on without complaining about Laloro’s warts.
“You are weak,” Laloro teased. “Worse than a mortal. The great vain Faru begging ugly Laloro to disease him?” Laloro raised his trunk and pointed it at Faru as he flew. “Shall I do it? Shall I put you out of your misery?”
Faru didn’t respond. >
Quashe lifted her snout and screeched a series of clicks and trills. Teeth bared, she belched. With every belch, a ripple disturbed the surface of the river. As Sene and Na’s tongues found each other’s throats, tasted each other’s salt, Quashe kept belching.
The river waters swirled, and finally folded in on themselves. From the folds, a humongous crocodile surfaced. At the point of Quashe’s finger, it lumbered onto shore, barreling between Sene and Na. Sene screamed, as the creature, paying no heed to her belly, knocked her onto her back.
< Laloro dumped Faru at the entrance to the Old One’s cave. With his trunk, he tipped the bell to announce their presence. The Old One’s voice drifted out in irritation.
“Who is it calling so loudly?”
“Oh, honored elder, it is Laloro. I am dropping Faru here at his request.”
“How rude,” muttered the Old One. He approached the mouth of his cave slowly. His old gnarled hands clutched two ancient wooden canes. His long white cloths trailed behind him in the dirt as he approached at a snail’s pace. Each of his steps was executed with an enormous amount of concentration and energy.
“Have you no knowledge of protocol?” the Old One said when he finally came face to face with Laloro.
Laloro dropped to one knee and rubbed the pads of his feet together.
“Great one, without whom we’d have no accordance, great settler of confusing matters, we are blessed to be in your presence.”
“Yes, child,” said the Old One, rubbing his groin. “How can I be of service?” >
Still Na had no eyes for Quashe. He leapt onto the crocodile’s back and locked his arms around its neck. The crocodile shook its massive head and Na went flying into a tree. His head thudded against bark. He lost consciousness, and Quashe laughed.
Quashe sprang onto the crocodile’s back and looked down on Sene. As the god searched Sene’s face, river snakes slithered up the riverbank. The snakes slid over the crocodile’s back and settled in coils around Quashe’s arms and waist. Quashe stared without a blink of her reptilian eyes. She stared until the secret to Sene’s power was revealed to her. When she recognized it—the force Sene had used to attract Na—Quashe threw her head back and shrieked.
< The Old One wiggled his nose toward the gourd bowl that rested on the floor near the cave entrance. Faru didn’t move. Laloro sighed and dropped a few coins into the bowl. The Old One sniffed and looked at Laloro disdainfully.
Laloro dropped a few more coins into the bowl. “So Faru has given away his powers. Now he’s sick and wants my help.”
“That is correct,” said Laloro, gazing longingly in the direction of Quashe’s river.
“Why would a vain god do a thing such as this?” asked the Old One.
Laloro blushed. He scratched a patch of dry skin on his back. It flaked and fell to the grass. The grass wilted. >
“Faru,” Quashe said, recognizing the mark of her brother. She leaned forward and opened her huge crocodile mouth over Sene’s face. A forked tongue flipped from the flat of her mouth and flicked over Sene’s lips. Sene turned her head away. Quashe’s snakes writhed.
“Open,” Quashe demanded. Sene clamped her mouth shut. Quashe released a snake. It slid around Sene’s neck in a tighter and tighter yoke until Sene’s mouth burst open in panic.
Quashe’s tongue wrestled Sene’s. She speared the power Faru had banked in Sene’s body and swallowed it. Pleasure sparked through her divine thighs as she leaned back, satisfied.
