The Poison Pie Publishing House presents:

October 1, 2020
Manuela found Cole hunched over the desk, oblivious to the late morning light streaming through the window. From the bedroom, she had called for him several times without response. Now that she stood behind him and spoke his name again, she still was met with silence. She approached the desk and examined the stack of paper at Cole's elbow. Picking up the top sheet, she found columns of neatly written numbers Each column contained six pairs of digits. She did not at that time understand their meaning. Meanwhile Cole continued to frantically record this data. She placed a gentle hand on his shoulder but he shook her off.

"Let me finish!" he barked gruffly.

It lasted almost three more hours. By the end, Cole's hand was cramped in a fist from having written continuously for thirteen hours. He collapsed on the sofa, clutching his hand.

Manuela confronted him, holding the stack of papers. "What is this?"

"It is," Cole said with a weak smile, "my parting gift to you."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 4-5 (November 21, 2008, Akarenga Soko No. 1, Yokohama, Japan, digital files)

October 2, 2020
Later in the afternoon, Manuela informed Cole that she had called the telephone number from the radio broadcast. She had spoken to another human being on the other side of the Earth and had told them that at least four or five individuals were gathered in the Atlanta metropolitan area. "They instructed me to collect everyone whom I could find at the airport. They will come in two days."

Cole received the information coolly. He assumed that the authorities would arrest him. Had he been in their position, he would have done precisely the same to a person who had conspired with an alien species, resulting in the annihilation of ninety-nine percent of the human race. Of course, he intended to be gone before they arrived.

Manuela had not mentioned Cole's pages of coordinates, because she did not yet accept that they were a product of anything other than survivor's guilt driven to madness. Moreover, she had feared that introducing some unbelievable element to her story might have prevented anyone from coming at all.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 1 (October 31, 2008, In Famous Carousel, Grande Salle, Paris, France, digital file)

October 3, 2020
Although Cole desired to conserve gasoline, he and Manuela traveled to downtown Atlanta in his truck. They feared the Tesla would betray the existence of Manuela's electrified sanctuary, which she preferred to reveal on her own terms. As he drove, Cole inconspicuously glanced over at his passenger. With her window rolled down, the wind blew her hair about. She seemed intent on ignoring him, a fact that detracted only modestly from her loveliness. Their initial destination was the location on Peachtree Street where Manuela's alarm had earlier been triggered. They proceeded slowly along the street with Cole periodically honking the horn to attract the attention of anyone within earshot. For several hours they ventured along both major thoroughfares and smaller cross-streets without success. Cole refilled one spent tank when the opportunity presented itself. Eventually they returned to Peachtree. Arriving at the intersection with 14th Street, Manuela urged him to turn right. Gathered in front of the Four Seasons Hotel were four individuals. One waved vigorously at them while the others passively observed their approach.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-2 (December 31, 2007, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 4, 2020
Like Manuela and Cole, each member of this quartet had been strangers prior to the deluge. Three had lived within Atlanta and one had driven to the city from South Carolina in hopes of finding civilization. An uneasy tension hung over the meeting of all six. Through a combination of guarded words and outbursts, Manuela and Cole came to understand that the personal dynamics of the group were unsettled and, at times, hostile. The quartet was composed of one middle-aged woman, a teenage girl and two men, all of various races. The girl remained behind the woman, as if her presence offered some protection, presumably from the men. The woman, who had hailed them, appeared to be claimed by one of the men. The other man eyed Manuela speculatively, perhaps lasciviously.

Under their scrutiny, Manuela slipped an arm inside Cole's arm and took hold of his hand. Her touch sent an electric thrill through him, though he knew he was merely being used as a prop to present Manuela as unavailable.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 2 (December 31, 2007, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 5, 2020
Manuela sought to defray the untenability of the situation with news that the South Korean military would arrive in a jetliner at the Atlanta airport on the following day to take them to a refuge, spared by the deluge. Her statement elicited mixed reactions; an argument ensued over who among them was willing to abandon America.

Cole stood within earshot but did not listen carefully. He was reminded unpleasantly of the stress of life before the deluge and especially of the unreasonableness of a race determined to live in a way that destroyed the planet. He found it disappointing that some in this group had survived.

Eventually Manuela announced that anyone who was coming should meet them on the tarmac at the international terminal by noon tomorrow. She and Cole were returning to their base to gather a few personal items. As Manuela spoke, the teenager came up to Cole. In a soft voice, she introduced herself as Xiu, a fourteen year old native of Atlanta. She asked with a quiet urgency if she could accompany them. There was no need to state her fear of spending another night in the present company. Cole passed along the request to Manuela who immediately agreed. As a trio they retrieved the girl's bag from the hotel. The others bridled at her departure. One shouted, "After all we've done for you," followed by a racial epithet. Xiu rode back squished between Manuela and Cole in the cab of the truck.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 2-4 (December 31, 2007, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 6, 2020
There befell a strange situation, or so it seemed to Cole. Xiu ecstatically greeted the horses and fed them apples then cried in gratitude when Manuela offered her a hot shower. She apparently mistook the farm for paradise. On the front porch, Cole and Manuela sat, separated now by the girl upstairs. "Tomorrow, you must give the coordinates to the authorities," Cole said for the third time.

"You give them the papers yourself," Manuela replied, "I don't believe in your alien invasion."

Cole remained silent. Maybe it was better not to believe, despite the overwhelming evidence. He might have tried it himself but for the nightly reminders of Shaharazad. "Promise me," he said, "that you will deliver them. I wrote an explanation."

The sunset lit Manuela's face in crepuscular pastels. An angel of rose and apricot, she was subject to a ferocious embrace when Xiu rushed out, her hair still wet, and clung to her. Cole suspected that Manuela could be relied upon to save stragglers across the world. Certainly, he could not.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 5-6 (December 31, 2007, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 7, 2020
Xiu insisted that she ride with Manuela in the Tesla to the airport, but declined, saying she had no license, when Manuela offered to let her drive. Cole trailed behind in the truck. A bushel of apples occupied the passenger seat. Manuela convinced him to stay with them until the plane arrived. His presence reassured her when the group of three from the hotel, despite their earlier protests, appeared. They sat in a loose line in the shade of a parked plane.

As the hour drew near, Manuela pulled Cole aside. "We could stay behind..." Her voice trailed off. She took hold of him by his wrists, his pulse registering in her fingertips. "You and I haven't figured each other out yet."

Cole understood that he, as a human being, had just this moment to reply. He could not, in good conscience, remain silent. "I thought my appeal was my disinterest."

Manuela flashed a tender smile. "Have you always been this bad at judging people?"

Gazing out across the runway, Cole took a deep breath. "I have pledged my very soul to another; she has no face but a mass of luminous, undulating tentacles."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 7-8 (December 31, 2007, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 8, 2020
When the plane appeared, Cole retreated to a distant access road, where he watched the proceedings from behind a chain link fence. As soon as the jet landed, a dozen men emerged, garbed in white disposable coveralls, elbow-length gloves and respirators. Several of them approached the survivors of Atlanta while another group identified tank trucks from which they could refuel the plane.

Not once did Manuela turn to peer in Cole's direction. It seemed unlikely that the others said anything of his absence; the soldiers in the protective gear never looked his way. Americans to the end, each extended to Cole the individual liberty to choose his own fate. Perhaps they would have acted differently had they appreciated the scale of his betrayal.

Cole had left the coordinates in Manuela's luggage. He knew that she had opened it again and thus seen his addition. He waited until the plane departed before getting in the truck. He found a text message from Manuela with her number and the emergency number broadcast on the radio. She had appended her reasoning, "Just in case you come to your senses." Cole turned the phone's power off, ostensibly to conserve the battery.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 9 (December 31, 2007, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 9, 2020
At the intersection of I-75 and I-10, Cole did not know which way to proceed. He pulled over for the night and slept in a corner room of a run-down motel with the door open to mitigate a lingering odor that Cole suspected had existed prior to the deluge. Shaharazad joined him shortly. Having already lost one of their vaccinating heralds, the diluvian knights bade her be cautious with the one remaining. To their dismay, the deterioration of his functionality was already underway. He had transferred the delivery of the coordinates of all survivors outside the refuges to another, rather than shouldering the responsibility himself. Still, he had included the cover sheet, which Shaharazad had dictated to him. Besides, after the survivors were collected and the terms of the refuge established, there remained one further task for Cole to perform. It was deemed best for Shaharazad to maintain the tenability of her herald a while longer. Of these circumlocutions, she shared nothing with Cole. Rather, she left him only with the knowledge to proceed west.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 10-11 (December 31, 2007, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 10, 2020
The following day presented an intolerable challenge to Cole. He could not escape the absence of Manuela's flamboyant personality. He yearned to see her throw her long arms up in the air in exasperation with him and to hear her deep voice call his name. The hypnotizing allure of Shaharazad's luminous, undulating tentacles proved a poor replacement. It seemed he had traded one intoxicant for another with unsatisfactory results. Oh well, Cole thought, he could not reasonably expect everything to go his way after the end of the world.

As a means of either distraction or consolation, Cole drove west on Interstate 10 non-stop for twelve hours until he arrived in Houston. He remained in the outskirts of the city, taking shelter in an empty hotel. There Shaharazad informed him that he should not act so rashly. He had traveled too far west by three hundred and fifty miles. Tomorrow he was to retrace his path to New Orleans, which he had passed in the early afternoon.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 12-13 (December 31, 2007, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 11, 2020
Cole became annoyed by his watch and threw it out the window in disgust as he sped down the highway into rising sun. He no longer had any purpose for or interest in the schedules of man. Still, it seemed he could not entirely free himself, as the odometer replaced the clock with its steady, measured progress.

Shortly after noon, Cole arrived again in New Orleans. Shaharazad had neglected to provide more specific directions so he was obliged to stop. Observing the signs for the Superdome exit, he recalled that after hurricane Katrina had laid waste to New Orleans in 2005, the covered stadium had served as a refugee shelter. Cole did not especially identify himself as a refugee nor did he have any desire to create another extended delay, postponing his rendezvous with Shaharazad, by encountering more survivors. Nevertheless he parked in the empty lot surrounding the structure, locked the doors of the truck and wandered inside. Such is, we suppose, the perverse thinking of a man detached from time and society.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-3 (May 19, 2007, No Fun Festival, Brooklyn, New York, United States, digital files)

October 12, 2020
Cole stretched out in his sleeping bag at the fifty yard line. The artificial turf of the field was not especially uncomfortable. It cannot be denied that his thoughts turned once or twice to a down-stuffed pillow in one of the surrounding hotels, but the darkness within the dome was complete and he chose not to stir after he was settled.

Shaharazad appeared at the appointed time, lying beside Cole at the prescribed distance. Her tentacles waved languidly, the glow the only disturbance beneath an otherwise perfect shroud of black. She offered no information. Cole was pressed to query her, "Where do I go now?" She studied him without reaction. The tentacles collectively swayed in such a manner that the orifice at the center of her oral disc was momentarily exposed. Cole experienced a deep disappointment at what he suspected was a yawn.

To be sure Cole was not one to hold an exaggerated opinion of his own importance. Nevertheless, it stung to have his insignificance so indiscreetly acknowledged.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-3 (May 3, 2007, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 13, 2020
Cole woke to the weak light of a lantern, though it was not his own. Beneath the aluminum plate and steel ribs of the dome, it proved impossible to discern if the sun had risen. The lantern shifted position, drawing Cole's attention. He thought it strange that the diluvian knights would require external light. Should they not be able to see by their own internal glow? His misconception was dispelled by a barking laugh that degenerated into a coughing fit. When the spell had passed, a man held the lantern up to his face, revealing a grizzled face with a graying beard that had not been trimmed in years. Locks of greasy hair fell across his brow. What little skin was visible--the flesh around his eyes and on his forehead--was wrinkled with age, the creases filled with grime. He smiled in a manner that brought Cole no comfort and revealed a few, yellowed teeth. Fortunately, the lantern's halo did not extend far enough to reveal the long rifle carried in his left hand, or Cole's nervousness would have worsened. The old man spit a glob of phlegm onto the turf, then grumbled, "I take it you're looking for the aliens."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 3 (May 3, 2007, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 14, 2020
In the parking lot of the Superdome, Cole and the man, who without prompting had identified himself as Gabe, stood beside their respective trucks, only one of which, Cole supposed, deserved the adjective beat-up. In the habit of an old man who had lived for years in solitude, Gabe spoke almost continually to himself. Sometimes, the lips moved without sound. Occasionally, Cole could make out the words. Often Gabe emitted a stream of unintelligible mutters of intent known only to himself. "What do you mean, 'Did they send me to claim you?'" said the old man. "You think I'm their lackey?" He squinted at Cole. "I ain't their god-damned lackey." He improvised on this theme for several minutes.

In truth, so incomprehensible were the ramblings of this recluse, Cole could not decipher the only riddle that mattered to him. Had Gabe made genuine contact with the diluvian knights or was he merely crazy? Another doubt crossed Cole's mind. He intended to live, after the deluge, without deception. Yet, Gabe had fiercely decried any alliance with the aliens. Cole feared that the old man would be provoked to violence should he learn of Cole's much greater complicity while serving in the role of herald. This discomfort engendered in Cole a desire to escape the old man's presence as quickly as possible.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 1 (May 3, 2007, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 15, 2020
The obstacle to parting ways with Gabe was that Shaharazad had remained curiously silent on further directions. Only the old man knew the location of the aliens, deep in the bayou, or so he claimed. He glared at Cole and pointed a crooked finger. "They're waiting for you."

The man's words and gesticulations had a theatrical air to them, as if the hermit performed for an unseen audience. Trying to hide his frustration with being forced into a role he did not relish, Cole asked, "How do you know?"

"I escaped," the old man cried, before immediately correcting himself, "No! They let me go. I don't know why." He set down the lantern and rifle in the cab of his truck, so that his dirty hands were free to rub his dirty face. He looked up suspiciously. "Maybe they want me to bring you to them."

As the sun rose higher in the sky over the stadium parking lot, Cole searched for words to verify Gabe's story. He pressed for the old man to describe the physical appearance of the aliens. If they possessed faces of glowing, translucent anemones then Cole might presume Gabe to be less mad than he appeared, or at least no madder than Cole himself. But the old man did not cooperate. He hissed, "Too terrible to describe." Later, he changed his story, saying, "They'll take out my eyes, if I tell you what all I've seen."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-3 (December 30, 2006, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 16, 2020
If any reason governed the movements of the hermit, they were born of fear. A haunted man, he constantly checked over his shoulder. He guided Cole on a tour of downtown New Orleans, where they scavenged preserved foods, fuel and ammunition. At a gun shop, Gabe insisted that Cole arm himself if they were to venture into the swamp. He absolutely refused to allow Cole to voice any objection. A barrage of shouted curses and garbled syllables drowned out words of protest. The old man carried a .22 rifle, a caliber suitable for hunting nutria and other small game, but he demanded that Cole take a Remington intended for deer hunting. "Why do I need this?" Cole protested.

By way of explanation, the old man grabbed hold of Cole by the front of his shirt and shook him violently. There was a rotten taint to this breath.

When Gabe released him, Cole said, "I don't want to kill the aliens. I just want to talk to them."

"Stupid dumb-shit," muttered the hermit. "That ain't for no aliens. If they jump me from the cordgrass, you gotta make sure they don't take me alive."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 4-6 (December 30, 2006, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 17, 2020
It proved impossible for Cole to penetrate the logic of the hermit. One minute he appeared to be on the verge of throttling Cole and the next he sidled up to him as a fellow conspirator in an underground resistance to interstellar invasion. Cole repeatedly suggested a visit to the site where he had previously encountered the aliens. While the old man never precisely agreed to this request, it seemed to Cole that his actions, however contradictory, when taken in aggregate could optimistically be interpreted as leaning in that direction.

The conversation ceased when they traveled in separate vehicles south out of the city to a destination, where, Cole hoped, he would find Shaharazad. They followed US-90 for a spell then exited on a state route. Soon, the hermit abandoned paved roads for one-lane dirt trails in which they slowed to a crawl to navigate around the mud holes that blocked two thirds of the passage. Cole had a sinking feeling that if he were to lose his truck anywhere, it would be to an unexpectedly soft pit in this swamp.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 7-10 (December 30, 2006, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 18, 2020
They parked the trucks within a copse of black willow at the edge of solid land, surrounded on three sides by an expanse of marsh. Cole surveyed the expanse of odd-shaped islands bristling with cordgrass, black rush and hog cane, scattered between interconnected channels and isolated pools of brackish water. In the distance, lone oak trees rooted to high ground stretched their boughs out as far as they pleased with no competition from neighboring limbs.

Gabe led Cole to an airboat on the far side of the copse, hauled up on the bank and hidden by grass. If the back half of the boat hadn't been floating, Cole would not have judged the vessel seaworthy. The flat aluminum hull had been punctured in multiple places, patched with an abundance of fiberglass matting and Bondo. These translucent brown blotches appeared as scabs on the weathered metal. In this derelict craft would Cole approach the majesty of the diluvian knights. He chastised himself silently. Would he have preferred to make his appearance on a glamorous yacht? Of course not. This was the right boat and Gabe the proper ferryman.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 11-12 (December 30, 2006, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 19, 2020
They loaded the airboat with food and fuel from Gabe's truck. Cole was permitted to bring few supplies, save the rifle, which Gabe demanded accompany them. Although the old man had provided not a shred of evidence that he had actually contacted the diluvian knights, Cole felt as if he had no choice but to follow him. Cole accepted that by venturing farther into the swamp he put himself entirely at the hermit's mercy and he was wary of treachery. A pelican glided overhead, wasting not a thought over Cole's anxiety.

Soon they were on the water. Amidst the grumble of the engine and the roar of the fan, there was no opportunity for conversation. Gabe navigated the channels at a measured pace for a spell, then as the waterways widened he opened the throttle. They sped across the marsh as the shadows grew longer. Dusk was not far off. Long before that hour, Cole was utterly lost. He felt a sort of camaraderie with the hermit that being paired in an isolated, wild space can bring two strangers. From the bow of the boat, he glanced over his shoulder at Gabe seated on an overturned crate in front of the fan. For this sentiment, he received a scowl.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 13-15 (December 30, 2006, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 20, 2020
After slowing down to inch through narrow channels, the pair disembarked under heavy shadows on a spit of solid land, covered with a dense growth of brush. Whether an island or the tip of a peninsula accessible only by boat, Cole did not know and the hermit did not offer to clarify. Their destination proved a ramshackle rectangular box mounted on stilts, set back from the shore no more than sixty feet. Perhaps the original handiwork had been sound, but the battering of storms over the years had left its mark. The corrugated metal roof hung at a haphazard angle and appeared to be composed of equal parts rust and patchwork. On all sides save a narrow path to a ladder at the entrance, plant life had encroached. Cole supposed that this external pressure, more than anything else, kept the walls from collapsing.

Cole intuited that this was the hermit's home and soon observed that they were stopping for the night. "Is this where you saw the aliens?" He interpreted Gabe's unresponsiveness as a "no".

Cole harbored no desire to enter the building but, when he speculatively eyed the sheltered space between the stilts, the old man warned him off. "Better you come inside, if you don't hope to wind up in the belly of a gator tonight."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 15-17 (December 30, 2006, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 21, 2020
Within those humble walls, a conversation transpired, which we shall now relate.

"Why'd they show me your face?" Gabe asked gruffly.

"What?"

"You heard me," the hermit answered angrily. "Why'd they put a picture of your face in my mind?"

"I am their herald," answered Cole. It seemed a truth that must eventually be said.

The old man digested this answer for a few moments. "You helped them?" He nodded to himself, as if all the pieces were falling into place according to some inscrutable logic. "Why'd you do it?"

Cole looked about the single room, free of any sign of human attachment. "For the same reason that you chose to live out here."

"A bonnie lass broke your heart?"

Cole glanced up, surprised at the old man's candor.

The hermit laughed uproariously at Cole's gullibility. "I'm just jerking your chain, you stupid dip-shit." He lay down on the old mattress and turned his back to Cole, muttering all the while, "A fuckin' lass broke me heart. Ha!"

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-3 (October 28, 2006, Pauze Festival, Vooruit, Ghent, Belgium, digital files)

October 22, 2020
Inside his sleeping bag, Cole lay on the wooden floor, which sagged beneath his weight. So narrow was the room that Shaharazad, when she arrived at midnight, was forced to lay with her tentacles reaching less than an inch from Cole's nose. Her presence, at least from his perspective, muted the nocturnal chorus of owls, frogs and crickets, which had inundated the shack since the sun had set. "I will see you tomorrow," Cole promised her.

Shaharazad ignored the comment and communicated instead that he had another task before him. He was to speak to the remaining humans on behalf of the diluvian knights one last time.

Cole recalled the cover letter to the coordinates, which he had sent with Manuela. "I already told them that humans have to live within the walls of the refuge and meticulously track their numbers and manage their population. I wrote, though I did not relish it, that those who demanded to leave the refuge could do so only after being permanently sterilized, in order to prevent an uncontrolled population explosion in the abandoned lands. It was, verbatim, what you told me to say."

Lodged amidst the past, present and future, Shaharazad gently sought to coax her herald into laying aside his grievances and composing himself for his final work.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 4-12 (October 28, 2006, Pauze Festival, Vooruit, Ghent, Belgium, digital files)

October 23, 2020
Ordinarily, Shaharazad's departure left Cole in a deep sleep. However, on this night, Cole remained staring into the inky darkness of the shack. A feeble moonlight trickled in through gaps where the walls met the roof. It seemed impossible to him that he had slept in the Superdome only the night before, or that six nights ago Manuela had rested her head between his shoulder blades or that he had ever dwelt in a house with Elaine and Halley. Time had become so distorted that Cole suspected an unraveling of the fabric of reality. A more likely alternative was that he had lost his mind, a side-effect of the repeated exposure to the mental probing of the diluvian knights, who themselves transcended time. At least, after Shaharazad had left, the night song of the marsh returned, deafening and cacophonous. It proved a welcome distraction in which Cole was able to detect some element of what he supposed could be regarded as the natural beauty of things.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 1 (October 23, 2006, Opera Comique, Paris, France, digital file)

October 24, 2020
On the following day, Cole woke to Gabe stepping over him in an attempt to leave the shack. While the morning sun was low in the sky, they ate a meager breakfast of canned foodstuffs. Behind the shack, a raised platform contained three fifty-five gallon drums in which rain water had collected. This water Gabe claimed was potable. Having no other choice, Cole partook of the libation.

Once they were on the airboat again, Cole imagined that Gabe was leading him to a meeting with Shaharazad. At varying speeds they moved deeper into the marsh, a labyrinth of waterways separated not by walls but unpassable patches of cordgrass. At some point, Cole began to associate their wandering path with the unfathomable circumlocutions of Gabe's mind. He was struck with the revelation that the old hermit was intentionally not delivering him to the site where he had encountered the aliens. Rather, Gabe did not know what to do, and was running in circles, or whatever analog the maze allowed, until he had settled upon a course of action. Again, what choice did Cole have but to allow this process to unfold on its own terms?

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 1 (May 3, 2006, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 25, 2020
The sun beat down and burned Cole's skin, exposed on his arms and neck. Light seemed to have no further effect on the leathered flesh of the hermit. We note this unequal treatment of the two men by cosmic forces as a way to justify Cole losing his temper, although, in truth, oftentimes the tempers of men are lost without any justification at all.

"Are you even looking for them anymore?" Cole demanded, when the old man had stilled the engine and was gazing out toward the horizon. He could not keep the frustration from his voice.

Gabe's lips moved but neither with his ears nor his eyes could Cole discern their message. Finally, an audible sentence emerged. "You ever seen one?"

"An alien?"

"Uh huh," said Gabe with a nod.

"Every night for months, since before this all happened, one comes to visit me."

"Did you let one in my home last night?"

"Yes."

"Did you touch it?"

"No," Cole admitted. "I don't touch her." He omitted mention of the one night he had made love with Elaine while Shaharazad remained superimposed over her.

"How do you know it's real if you didn't touch it?"

"It's just a projection through time and space," Cole replied. "There's nothing to touch."

The hermit absorbed these words for a while. "You done all this because of something no more real than a hallucination."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 1 (May 3, 2006, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 26, 2020
They returned to the shack in the evening to eat another scant meal. Afterward, the hermit descended the ladder for a bout of stargazing. He did so from the chair of the airboat, since the ground was perpetually damp. Although not full for another week, a waxing gibbous moon had risen in the afternoon and now illuminated the marsh in reflected light. When Cole joined Gabe, it was only with the aid of abundant bug repellent, which he had packed himself. "You stink," said the old man, before ordering Cole to sit on the bow, the farthest spot from him. After a brief pause, he added, "We'll try again tomorrow."

Although Cole suspected that they had not engaged in a sincere effort to find the diluvian knights, he kept silent.

The rotation of the Earth caused the constellations to wheel about along predictable paths. "They ain't gonna put me in no cage," said the old man to the night sky.

Cole sensed the hermit's fear. It was presumably dread that had kept him from leading Cole to the aliens. He could conceive of no other explanation for the feeble deception that had consumed their day.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 2 (May 3, 2006, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 27, 2020
Shaharazad's visitation that night was fleeting and her effect ephemeral. Cole woke deflated. His day worsened when he observed the hermit stow a fishing rod and tackle box in the boat. Perhaps, he had no intention of disguising their second foray into the marsh as a search for aliens. When Cole questioned Gabe on the purpose of their outing, the old man replied with a query of his own. "How committed are you?" He then insisted that they would not depart until Cole retrieved the deer rifle from the shack.

Cole experienced a great emptiness. The apocalypse had seemed so inevitable at the time. He had followed in the steps of Abraham, willing to sacrifice his family, and no merciful god had stayed his hand. Cole returned to the boat. "How committed am I?" he shouted with a fury that could not be contained. He swung the rifle and soundly struck the old man in the head with the stock, knocking him off his feet, over the lip of the hull and into the shallow water.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, track 3 (May 3, 2006, Showboat, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 28, 2020
Presumably the hermit was satisfied by Cole's answer, for he allowed Cole to drag him out of the water onto the bank and wrap his head in a cotton t-shirt to staunch the bleeding. Of this incident, nothing more was said. They headed out later than intended. Gabe equipped the rod with a spinnerbait and within the space of twenty minutes caught three redfish, releasing the first one without explanation, but keeping the second two on a stringer. He then directed the boat toward the coast, eventually entering an area where the cordgrass of the marsh was replaced by a tupelo swamp. Approaching a stretch of solid land, the hum of the airboat scared off a passel of wild hogs, save for one lone male, seemingly entranced by the sound. Gabe brought the boat to a standstill about twenty yards distant. Needing no instruction, Cole put the rifle to his shoulder and shot the animal. It collapsed on its side without struggle. Looking over his shoulder, Cole said, "Beginner's luck," as if in apology. That night, Cole watched Gabe gut and skin the pig. They roasted it whole on a spit over a campfire. The redfish, still alive on the stringer, received an unlikely reprieve and were released back into the marsh.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino, Franz Hautzinger, Jamaaladeen Tacuma & Hamid Drake - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-5 (August 24, 2013, Saalfelden Jazz Festival, Saalfelden, Austria, digital files)

October 29, 2020
Their bellies full of meat, the two men sat on overturned crates beside the embers of the fire in the small clearing between the shack and the bank. The night chorus of frogs and insects refused to be silenced by either the residual glow or the lingering smoke. Cole explained to the hermit, "There's about eighty million survivors. The aliens are collecting them on the Korean and Scandinavian peninsulas." If this news evinced any interest in the old man, he did not show it. "I'm telling you this," Cole continued, "because, before I left Atlanta, I gave them the coordinates to everyone left on Earth not yet gathered there, including you. They might come for you."

The hermit smiled dubiously, then grimaced when the gesture caused the skin around the wound on the side of his head to stretch. "Ain't a man among 'em that'll outwit me in the bayou."

"I just want you to know," Cole continued, "you shouldn't worry about me turning you over to the aliens. If I am to betray you, it will be to men."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino, Jojo Hiroshige & Yambe Akiko - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-3 (March 13, 2010, Penguin House, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 30, 2020
Later in the night Gabe related the story of his encounter with the aliens. A tropical storm had settled over the coast. When the high winds had subsided, a torrential rain continued to fall for hours. Gabe had only ventured forth in the airboat under such conditions in order to make sure that, if the moorings for his crab traps had come loose in the storm, they weren't lost in the ensuing flood. In the depth of the marsh, they appeared, ten thousand of them arising from every scattered slough, channel and pool, with the hermit in their midst. Their presence seemed to afflict the very water for as it fell from them it formed gossamer sheets that clung to their bodies loosely like gowns. "Water ain't supposed to behave that way. One came at me in long, loping strides as if it weren't wading through water at all. It reached out to me and I felt it rummaging through my mind. I grabbed it by a limb to twist free and that's when I discovered that if a man touches one, he can read its mind just as easily as they read ours. And I read its foul mind and I discovered its secret that nobody else, not even you who sleeps with one every night, knows."

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino, Jojo Hiroshige & Yambe Akiko - unreleased live recording, track 4 (March 13, 2010, Penguin House, Koenji, Tokyo, Japan, digital files)

October 31, 2020
"They're vampires, come to suck the life out of men and women. They've culled the herd to a manageable number, enough to meet their needs, and rounded us up neatly in a couple nice corrals, where they can get at us without no trouble. We're livestock to 'em, nothing more." He jabbed a finger at the remains of the pig for emphasis.

"They got a particular way of draining the life out of us. They feed on memory, so they only want the oldest, with the most years stored in their heads, right at the moment of a natural death. Sick or no doesn't matter to 'em. They gather around the deathbed; the dying face lit by the cool fire that burns inside 'em. Then they suck all the memories out of the brain before it starts to spoil. That's a soul they're sucking out. They may tell you they're preserving these memories, but that ain't true. They're eating our souls through our memories." Gabe folded his arms across his chest. The small portion of his face visible between his beard and hair glowed orange in the light of the last embers. "I seen all this when I touched that one."

Cole supposed that this revelation of a vampiric nature was Gabe's secret, stolen from the aliens. In this case, he was mistaken. The hermit had shared only preliminary information but had chosen not to reveal on that night what he regarded as the most devastating disclosure.

written while listening to:  Keiji Haino - unreleased live recording, tracks 1-3 (April 22, 2006, Kulturbunker Mulheim, Cologne, Germany, digital files)