Devolution: A Firsthand Account of the Rainier Sasquatch Massacre(65)

But Mostar, she didn’t seem to mind at all. Picking it up, like a basketball a kid had accidentally thrown over her fence. She crouched on her knees to grab it, tucked it under her arm, then gave me a quick glance just to make sure I was still in tow.

We ambled straight into the kitchen. Nonchalant. Inhuman. She reached under the sink, took out a white plastic garbage bag, dropped the head inside, then, after washing her hands—washing her hands!—she opened the freezer and rolled it inside. “Don’t tell Bobbi.” Covering his head with ice. “She knows he’s gone. She doesn’t need to know about this.”

“Here.” She held up an ice pack from the freezer door, pressing it to my cheek, waiting for me to take it. When I did, she raised her eyes to within inches of mine. “Are you here?” Her voice was softer now, her face.

I didn’t intend to sob, it just escaped quickly like a cough.

Her eyes hardened. “I need you here. Are you here?” I straightened, nodded.

“You need to focus on what I’m about to teach you”—her hand, still on my face—“because what you did today was selfish and irresponsible. And stupid, because you went out there without a proper weapon.”





*1 Gonite se u pi?ku materinu!: Get back into your mother’s cunt!

*2 Mr?! Mr?!: “Git! Git!” in American folk language or the traditional “March! March!”

*3 Pi?ko jedna!: You cunt!

*4 Jebem li ti krv: I fuck your blood.





    A’oodhu bi kalimaat Allaah al-taammaati min sharri maa khalaq.

I seek refuge in the perfect words of Allah from the evil of that which He has created.

—Sahih Muslim, Hadith 2708





JOURNAL ENTRY #14 [CONT.]


Mostar released my cheek, took my hand, and led me into her workshop. Her armory. That’s what it looked like now. Bamboo staffs against the wall, kitchen knives out on the workbench. Failed experiments, prototypes, were cast in the far corner. I could see unevenly sawed or split shafts, bent and chipped knives. Snapped shoelaces, different rolls of tape, and an unspooled tangle of shiny red Christmas ribbon.

“Stand here.” Mostar directed me to the middle of the room. “Back straight.” She stared me up and down for a second, then reached for one of the bamboo poles. “Stay still.” She placed the stalk against my back. “Almost perfect.” Then set the stalk on the bench. “Watch, listen. Remember each step exactly.”

That’s why I’ve written the next section down as a kind of instruction manual. I don’t trust I’ll remember anything after I pass out tonight. I’m also stuck on something Mostar said while we worked. Something about “teaching the rest of the village.” I didn’t ask what she meant. I didn’t get the chance. She just jumped right into the lesson and here it is.



* * *



—

How to make a spear from scratch:

Choosing the right bamboo staff is critical. It can’t be tapered. That’ll ruin the balance. And it’s got to fit your height. Too long is too unwieldly. Too short and you risk falling on the blade. It doesn’t have to be exact, more important that the top section perfectly encases the knife’s handle. The staff’s got to have the right girth, thick enough to be strong but not so wide that you can’t get a firm grip. (Wow, that sounds dirty. Sorry, I’m really loopy right now.)

When harvesting the stalk, you saw just below the bottom connector, or whatever those rings are called. It takes a while, especially with a skinny bread knife. And there’s a special method. If you go down one side, like with regular wood, and miss just a tiny bit of connecting fiber, that fiber will tear a strip down the whole length. As Mostar warns, “That will decrease integrity and increase splinters.” The trick is to first saw in a complete circle, severing that tough top layer, before going for the deep cut.

Next, you saw off all the branches (which can be made into stakes) and file down the sharp nubs with an emery board. Oh, for just one square of sandpaper!

I didn’t actually do these first two parts. That’s why she’d measured me. A pre-cut stalk would save time. That was the only part of the lesson she did herself. The rest was hands-on for me.

Like the shaft, choosing the knife takes careful consideration. You can’t just use the longest blade. Those tend to be too thin. The best option is the shorter, eight-inch “chef” type, which also needs to be the right design.

One solid piece, the steel going all the way down through the handle. Otherwise, you can’t attach it to the shaft. And attaching is the trickiest part. If the knife’s grip is held in place by pins, you’re in business. Pins mean holes in the steel. And those holes are the best way to tie them on, but I’ll explain that part in a minute.

Hopefully the grip itself is made of resin. That way you can smash it out with a rock. (I know…not one hammer in the whole village!) Be safe while smashing, those fragments can hit you in the eye. While wearing Mostar’s onion goggles, I felt little chips peppering my face.

Once the grip and the pins are removed, the next step is fitting. Slide the handle into the hollow top of the shaft. If it doesn’t fit (good strong bamboo might not have enough internal room), you’ve got to saw out a little groove with the bread knife. Once your naked blade fits snugly, take it right back out for measuring.