One of his dozens of offspring would father progeny that would trickle down through latitudes of generations and spurt out the wheezy furball that invented Velcro. Another offshoot would punch Houdini in the stomach. More than one froze to death in a Greyhound bus station. Today his youngest descendant lost her virginity on a water slide. A pity that he was the last of his line to be erotically subdued with the ropes he chewed through the day after making landfall in Belize.
He was a conquistador, trampling babies on his armored horse. Codpiece was a dodo beak, dialect was Sevillian speak, beard preserved the best part of every course. Oceans couldn’t wash away the tenderest bits of the Portuguese ear he chewed off a corsair and swallowed while plummeting into a bloody sea. He floated to shore on the gas-filled intestines of a Moor he’d abducted in Marrakesh. A weekend later he crawled onto New World sand and saw her dancing around the fire, sloth fat bubbling on her cheeks, rocking shells from up and down the America East Coasts. Ovaries full of melodies.
His eyes didn’t move from her as her band of relatives fell on and subdued him. She gave it right back to him, proud and unblinking and haughty.
A 7-day journey inland to an unknowable place of native understanding. For six consecutive nights he escaped into the bushes with her. At the moment of sublimity, when the mind’s singularity rushes to singularize the farthest expanses of the universe, she howled the same savage words he heard on three other occasions:
One: from a woman when a jaguar appeared for long enough to snatch away a small boy.
Two: from the group entire when the night sky cleared momentarily, unveiling an undulating underbelly of talkative stars.
Three: from his own mouth in the moment before-during-after he impacted the obsidian outcropping after being hurled with great ceremony from a cliff at dawn on the seventh morning after his capture.