29.

Joshua was horrified--this moment, this moment couldn't be what it was--no, nothing this awful could happen. Perhaps to others it did--others he never knew and didn't really believe existed--but no, horror like this, it didn't exist in the real world; that is, his world. The blood--the blood--there was gallons of it. The dark of the forest was horrible, the fact that the sun did not warm him was horrible, the chill was horrible, but most of all the blood was horrible. It went in a path, smeared and dripped out on the ground. Something up ahead lay for him to discover; and whatever it was, it could only mean terror. He jogged along the trail of blood, as it lay moist and dark, splattered and smeared about on the pinecones, pine needles, dust. It was a wide trail, and though Joshua somehow knew it was human blood, it was not possible for one man to bleed so much--it must have been many that had been thus gored, and had danced across this forest bleeding as if bleeding were of no consequence to life and flesh.

Finally, winded, he dropped to his knees. He sat some time, staring down at the dark red liquid, catching his breath.

"Hello." It was a little girl's voice.

He turned to see her. She was a little girl in a white dress, frills at her shoulders and the hem by her feet. Joshua was thankful it was not she who had bled this river--her dress was soiled not even with dust or mud; perfectly, brilliantly white. She wore little red shoes on her feet. He thought they were the shoes such as ballerinas wear, but he didn't know for sure.

"What's your name?" he asked.

"Gretel," she said.

He slowly stood, and looked to her.

"Where does this blood lead?" he asked.

But she did not answer him, but now as he realized how precocious she really was, an old grandmother in a child's body, she said, "What does the word 'Divine' mean?"

"It means . . . it means godly."

"You paused," she said. "Did you not know what it meant? People use the word every day."

"I . . . I had to think."

"But you did know what it meant--you just didn't know how to put it in other words," she said.

He said nothing.

"Empiricists. They're mostly atheists. 'All knowledge comes from experience'; 'No one can convey the taste of a mango to one who hasn't tasted one'; all that nonsense. But if this is so, and there is no God--at least that we've experienced--how do we know what all these words mean: 'Divine' 'Holy' 'Sacred' 'Blessed'?"

"Where," said Joshua--"where does this blood lead? Who is bleeding? Who is dying?"

"You knew what 'Divine' meant," she went on--"it was clearer to you what it meant in itself than in terms of those other words that could define it. You had its meaning held in your mind, utterly clear; only you stammered at the task of putting it in other words. And what word is not defined by putting it into other words?"

"I . . . I don't believe you're a little girl at all. You're . . . you must be some nymph, some demon, elf."

"But you knew what 'Divine' meant--you held its meaning in your head, it was an absolute point--though you weren't sure what other words it could be put into. How is it we know what 'Divine' means in a world with nothing divine? How did we learn it? What experience gave rise to that knowledge?"

"I don't want to talk to you anymore," said Joshua. "I was disturbed at the blood--I was anguished by it--I didn't know why."

"It's just a forest enchanted with evil," said the little girl. She giggled innocently, her porcelain fingers held up to her lips; and then a monstrous voice, as if an echo of her giggling, thundered out: "God is a worm that lives on the flesh of things and the rot of things." Joshua wasn't sure if these words came from the girl, the earth or the sky.