Celia's Song Read Online Free Page B

out from this house front and slithering back to the sea?” Restless asks Loyal.
    Something is wrong here.
    â€œTime was not specified, only intentions,” Loyal answers. “Intentions counted then, more than time …”
    Restless sighs and keeps moving in the direction he had set the conversation.
    â€œThe intentions of the humans were to honour us,” Restless reminds Loyal. Loyal thinks his other head sounds pouty and this worries him.
    â€œThey will. Our obligation is to protect the house from miscreant behaviour and from doubt consuming human will.”
    â€œProtection in exchange for honour. It has been two centuries since anyone lived in the house.”
    â€œI am responsible only for holding up my obligations.” Loyal think Restless sounds more pompous than pouty.
    â€œThe humans have not acted upon their intentions for so long.”
    Loyal concedes. This does not sound so pompous.
    â€œA deal is a deal. Intentions must be executed or all bets are off,” Restless ventures. “We are not responsible for their conduct; their intentions must be executed of their own free will.” He bobs in the direction of his twin.
    â€œThat sounds childish. They behave appropriately. We should too. Next you’ll say ‘They started it.’”
    â€œThey did. Neglect is a kind of crime.”
    Creep face. But I do sympathize with Restless: neglect is a kind of crime. Perfection is so pompous.
    The two heads argue and as the day wears on the argument heats up until both heads are shouting and twisting to emphasize their points of view. The shared body writhes against the constraint of the house front it occupies. Shingles and siding crack and the beams holding the house front shift dangerously.
    They are both right. I back into the wetlands that surround the house almost in the way moats encircled the castles of the newcomers in their old countries. The conversation is headed for trouble, the same trouble as with other arguments I have witnessed when neither party is wrong but only have different points of view. I think arguments about right and wrong are funny creatures anyway, like whitecaps: they are visible, noisy, and so unlike their origins. The caps arise from the sea waves, but are not waves, current, or tide. Likewise, the heads articulate belief, but the argument is not about belief, not even close, and rightness and wrongness become irrelevant because each is emotionally attached to their point of view. Hunger gnaws at Restless, and Loyal is obsessed by his commitment to protect. As I listen to them, I decide the argument has started to sound more like a war strategy: both beings are bent on assuming executive power over the other’s conduct. But conduct is a variable. Beliefs are the only constants and they cannot be proven, they can only be surrendered, upheld, or altered by the being carrying them. Emotions have no brains, so they cannot be won by way of reason or argument. If the heads crawl off the house front, the future will change and it may not be for the better. My hind legs quiver.
    The sun drops from the skyline and the dark folds uneasily over the longhouse and its house front. The house is fragile and the serpent is strong.
    No good can come of this . I shake as each head snaps and pulls against the direction of the other.
    Each snap jogs the frail house. First a board cracks, then a house post loses its moorings. The heads twist their beliefs in a knot of conflict. War dominates the two heads as belief lies dying between them. The dry rot underneath the house crumbles and the mouldy beams fragment as the house loses a foundation timber, which drops the entire structure closer to the ground. Shingles split and tumble after the foundation timber drops. The molded midsection sinks to mush. Finally, the house front falls forward to touch the earth, but not before the serpent slithers out from under it.
    Oh, crap!
    Restless slithers onto the