Tree of Smoke

by Denis Johnson

At this hour the land seemed to lie open, ready to give up its secret.

couldn’t help returning to its spiritual pornography like a dog to its vomit.

budging forward by some supernatural force, drifting hugely out of town, like a greasy, sweaty, iceberg—of what use brakes against such inexorableness?

really think we have to be one or the other. We’re either the betrayer, or we’re the thief.

Don’t make me fuss

It’s a war, Skip. Vanquish fear.

Once upon a time there was a war; a soldier left his wife and baby son behind and went off in defense of the country. The young wife looked after their house and their garden and their child. Each evening at sunset she stood by the river behind their home and looked for her beloved husband to come sailing on it back into their lives … One night a storm burst over their little home and snatched at the roof and battered the walls. It blew out the lamp, and the little

boy wept in terror. The mother held him close and relit the lantern. As she did so, her shadow leapt up on the wall by the doorway, and she comforted her son by pointing at it and saying, “We have nothing to fear tonight—see? Daddy stands by the door.” Immediately the child was comforted by the shadow. Every evening after that, when she came back into the house after standing by the river and longing for her husband to return out of the last rays of the sun, her little boy called for his daddy, and she lit the lamp, and every evening he bowed to the shadow on the wall and said, “Goodnight, Daddy!” and slept in peace. When the soldier returned to his little family, his wife’s heart nearly burst with joy, and she wept. “We must give thanks to our ancestors,” she said to him. “Please prepare the altar and look after your son,” she said, “while I get food for a thanksgiving meal.” Alone with his child, the man said, “Come to me, I am your father.” But the child said, “Daddy’s not here now. Every night I say goodnight to Daddy. You’re not Daddy.” As he heard these words, the soldier’s love perished in his heart. When his wife returned from the market, she felt a cloud of death in their home. Her husband refused to give her even a word. He folded up the prayer mat and refused her the use of it. He knelt in silence before the meal she prepared, and when the food was cold and no longer worth eating, he walked from the house. His wife waited many days for his return, standing by th...

Word of her death reached her husband in a village down the river. The shock broke the ice in his heart. He returned home to look after his son. One evening, as he sat beside his son’s pallet and lit the oil lamp, his shadow leapt up on the wall beside the door. His son clapped his small hands together, bowed to the shadow, and said, “Goodnight, Daddy!” At once he realized what he’d done. That night as his child slept he built an altar by the river and knelt by it for hours, making it known to his ancestors how deeply he regretted his ...

The abyss is full of reality, the abyss experiences itself, the abyss is alive