affame_le_geant_what_you_are_willing_to_die_for fyn gula "she was not recognizable, not even to herself; she was not a toddler nor yet a baby but only a gaze, a pair of eyes that lingered in familiar surroundings and reflected upon them without personality or body or age or past, as if she was remembering things that had happened before she was born." ~donna tartt, from "the little friend" dr. couge oktuber said nothing about his knowledge of the mandrill and where he saw her and what activity she was involved in. she had been brought to his house for medical attention and that is what he gave her. as his wife praayli and sister-in-law, thora brought the pot-au-eu, ribollita, and other delicasies to the table, couge took a quick look at the mandrill's wound, found it only slightly more than superficial, and in need of a stitch or two for cosmetic reasons; the body's own natural inclination to correct injury had already performed an amazing work of self-correction. he quickly put a fresh bandage and already feeling a slight buzz from the wine, told her there was no hurry, that she should relax and enjoy praayli's culinary artistry. the mandrill sighed heavily. the stress she held within concerning couge's witness was a knife at her throat, but now that he had released his death hold, she felt peace, for no peace can be felt in the process of avoiding life. the aroma of the intricately prepared food was as pleasing as the gathering of camaraderie in the dining room of the quaint farmhouse. the mandrill looked around, as the hearty stew was poured into her ceramic bowl from a roughly-hewn wooden ladle. she immediately noticed a thomas struth foto framed on the salmon-painted stucco wall of a street scene in cologne, germany. she had been to that very city in a parallel life when she was backpacking across eastern europe. she loved his photography, his hybrid scenarios of the world around him, how quiet he was in his devotion, his delicate process of allowing the world to record itself. couge, then, posed a question to the diners, as she swallowed her first bite. "what would you be willing to die for?" he asked, setting his spoon down and gathering the linen napkin from his lap. he dabbed at his thin rabbit lips and looked about the table for a response. everyone ate in contemplation. twinkletoes mcgruder was the first to respond. couge swallowed his wine as he listened. "the splendor of dream itself," he said, buttering a slice of rosemary panini. "last night i was stealthily sneaking on to a luxuary liner yet moored in harbor. the year was early '4o's. i was looking out past priviledged shoulders to the sea, to the waiting blue ocean. i had this sense of wonder, of experience i do not know in this world." "what about it are you willing to die for?" praayli asked, suspending a forkful of rice. she slid it into her mouth and waited for his answer. "for the knowledge that the life i am actually leading now is a dream in someone else's sleep," twinkletoes said. he wiped his mouth and refilled his wineglass. he released his impressions as if they were disembodied, but praayli's warm reception encouraged him. "and if you were to die in this pursuit i would mark your grave with the angelic incandesence of nature," she said, reaching out with her hand and touching his paper sleeve. "dream-lit worlds provide us a glimpse of where we come from and where we will someday return. the magical, self-contained, irretrievable whispers of origin." the mandrill listened and she let the question enter her thinking, a whimsical flutter of a ghost, for death was a perpetual, if not permanent presence accompanying her daily activity. the question of willingess was never a consideration, it was a prerequisite. however, as thora mentioned she would give her life for her children and couge would die for the revolution that would not be televised, that the knowledge of his life and words would be a legacy that even his grandchildren's grandchildren would embrace, she merely smiled, yet inside she was bursting with personal celebration. this is exactly what she wanted and if she could possess this kind of life, there would be nothing that could take it from her. as color slowly drained from the day and pots, plates, and bottles were emptied, she was ready to talk. she was ready to uncover the evil she represented. who she was in her present state was willing to die. 030123 what's it to you? who go blather from