/lit/ - Literature

"Is this the sort of branch,” asked the small boy to the large one.
He came out of the trees, dragging it like a tail behind him. The grass crunched with frost.
“No, too big.”
The small boy huffed, his breath visible. “We could break it up.”
“No.”
“Why not.”
“Why not. Because.” The large boy was twisting a sapling at its base, a mash of wet fibers. “Hand me that hatchet now.”
The small boy sat down ignoring him, felt the dampness of the ground.
“Hey,” said the large boy.
“Hey,” said the small one.
In silence, they surveyed their handwork: a crude wetu or domed hut, made of arched sticks and poles. The Wampanoag had built wetu for shelter and for ceremony, impermanent structures of great significance.
***
Far off across the long low field, smoke rose from the chimneys of the new houses.
There would be more houses in the field soon, parceled out in grids. Slabs and materials. Hammers clattering off flat surface out into open space.
“Hey,” said the small boy pointing.
A figure was making its uneven way through the grass toward them, disrupting birds.
The large boy squinted, went severely back to work.
He had seen a sketch of the wetu in a book. It seemed achievable. It was something to make, something to get up early for on a Saturday morning. Simple tools would suffice: a hatchet and some twine. This was how the Indians had probably done it, probably in this spot or general area.
There were footsteps approaching. It was a girl, bundled-up and sniffling.
“Get lost” scowled the large boy. The small boy echoed him, quietly: “get lost.”
She stopped and stared. “Why.”
“Get lost, that’s why.”
“What is it” she asked.
“What’s what."
She stared vacantly, wiped her raw, dripping nose.
“What’s what” he repeated.
She nodded at the structure.
“We’re trying to build,” the large boy explained.
“I can help you build.”
“We don’t want you to.”
“I can bring blankets for the inside. For warmth.”
“We don’t want that.”
They looked at each other, the boy and the girl.
Far off, a truck in reverse. The builders had arrived at the site, with supplies and cigarettes behind their ears. They would be climbing up ladders and nailing down boards.
The large boy tugged suddenly, savagely at the sapling, lost his balance. The girl laughed.
“Get lost, get lost,” he shouted.
The girl backed away, dodging a clod of dirt. She laughed again. “I’m going to get blankets for you.”
“Fuck you” said the large boy, looking around for something else to throw. “Hand me that hatchet.”
The small boy sat there mute, transfixed, watching the girl recede. The rising sun was a disc around her head.
“Fuck you.” muttered the large boy. He kicked the small boy hard in the stomach, watched him gasp on the sharp wet earth.