Chapter 5 - Life's A Bitch
***
Miss Susan set the book on her desk and sat down. She flipped through the pages until it fell onto the one that they had stopped on yesterday.
"Comparative Philosophy, Chapter Twelve: What Is Life?" she said to her class of second-graders. "According to Xenoists-"
Bobby raised his hand.
Miss Susan sighed, and closed her eyes. "Yes, Bobby?"
"My dad says that life's a bi-"
"Thank you, Bobby," she cut in quickly, smiling a small, grim smile. "Now is not the time, unfortunately. Yes, Illa?"
"Bobby's dad is wrong," the little girl said quietly, eyes burning in her chubby face. "Life is nice. Life gives you what you need. Life gives you whatever you ask for, if you ask nicely."
Miss Susan didn't stare at Illa. She didn't feel a shock or a chill or icicles creeping down her spine. And she didn't, didn't, gasp in horror.
Miss Susan was busy being Miss Susan, Schoolteacher, and Miss Susan Schoolteacher was firmly jumping up and down on what Susan, Death's Granddaughter, had to say. Which was mainly foul language, so that was all right.
"Interesting, Illa," Miss Susan said, her bun as tight as a very tight thing. "You're saying that if we work hard enough we can have whatever we want?"
Illa slumped in her chair a bit, her dinghy black hair looking almost brown in the light. "Sure," Illa said, and stopped paying attention.
***
There's a place where great musicians go. It has music, GOOD music, light salads, dark mysterious poetry readings, tea rooms painted an angst-filled red. You can't find it in Ankh-Morpork, because great musicians don't live in Ankh-Morpork, even if they're from Ankh-Morpork. It isn't in Ephebe, because it would be full of philosophers before you could say "give me a towel". It isn't in Lancre, because, I mean, be reasonable: who wants to go to Lancre? It isn't in Quirm, either. Other things are.
However, this story isn't about where musicians go or what's in Quirm. It's about Life, and Death, and other things.
It's also about a dog...
***
Gaspode wheezed. "Pick me up again, wonder boy," he managed. "My Licky End is acting up."
Mort stooped mechanically, picked up the small mutt, and continued walking. "Licky End can only be contracted by pregnant sheep," he said.
"I know," Gaspode replied miserably. "By the way, did you know that we're being-"
"Hullo, friend. Talkin' ter yerself?"
"Oh, gods," Gaspode groaned.
They were big. There were three of them. There were three big men. Three really big men. Big men. We're talking three huge men here. Big. Three of them. Big men.
"Why hello, gentlemen," Mort said sweetly. "What brings you here?"
Bugger.
***
Miss Susan blinked, her mouth open. Her stomach lurched in that eye-crossing way. Her knees twitched.
Her class stared at her expectantly as the skin on her knuckles turned red and peeled a bit.
"I'm sorry," Susan said finally, her voice hoarse. "I'll be right back." And ran.
Illa sat in her chair, and blinked her blue eyes that were supposed to be green. "How odd," she said lightly, and laughed a laugh like bells.
***
"That was interesting how you kneed him in the head after he kicked you in the stomach," Gaspode said, staring at the wall from a very close distance. "And I've never seen anyone punch someone that hard before."
"Now you have!" said Mort lightly, picking Gaspode up again.
"Hurf," said Gaspode.
***
Susan leaned against the wall, panting. A few other teachers passed her, stared at her, and then huddled closer together.
She sucked on her knuckles, willing them to stop burning. Miss Susan had finally shut up, allowing Susan to comprehend what was going on. Damn. Damn, damn, damn and blast.
Susan snapped her fingers, wincing.
***
Life, in her white world, laughed a laugh like bells.
***
Miss Susan set the book on her desk and sat down. She flipped through the pages until it fell onto the one that they had stopped on yesterday.
"Comparative Philosophy, Chapter Twelve: What Is Life?" she said to her class of second-graders. "According to Xenoists-"
Bobby raised his hand.
Miss Susan sighed, and closed her eyes. "Yes, Bobby?"
"My dad says that life's a bi-"
"Thank you, Bobby," she cut in quickly, smiling a small, grim smile. "Now is not the time, unfortunately. Yes, Illa?"
"Bobby's dad is wrong," the little girl said quietly, eyes burning in her chubby face. "Life is nice. Life gives you what you need. Life gives you whatever you ask for, if you ask nicely."
Miss Susan didn't stare at Illa. She didn't feel a shock or a chill or icicles creeping down her spine. And she didn't, didn't, gasp in horror.
Miss Susan was busy being Miss Susan, Schoolteacher, and Miss Susan Schoolteacher was firmly jumping up and down on what Susan, Death's Granddaughter, had to say. Which was mainly foul language, so that was all right.
"Interesting, Illa," Miss Susan said, her bun as tight as a very tight thing. "You're saying that if we work hard enough we can have whatever we want?"
Illa slumped in her chair a bit, her dinghy black hair looking almost brown in the light. "Sure," Illa said, and stopped paying attention.
***
There's a place where great musicians go. It has music, GOOD music, light salads, dark mysterious poetry readings, tea rooms painted an angst-filled red. You can't find it in Ankh-Morpork, because great musicians don't live in Ankh-Morpork, even if they're from Ankh-Morpork. It isn't in Ephebe, because it would be full of philosophers before you could say "give me a towel". It isn't in Lancre, because, I mean, be reasonable: who wants to go to Lancre? It isn't in Quirm, either. Other things are.
However, this story isn't about where musicians go or what's in Quirm. It's about Life, and Death, and other things.
It's also about a dog...
***
Gaspode wheezed. "Pick me up again, wonder boy," he managed. "My Licky End is acting up."
Mort stooped mechanically, picked up the small mutt, and continued walking. "Licky End can only be contracted by pregnant sheep," he said.
"I know," Gaspode replied miserably. "By the way, did you know that we're being-"
"Hullo, friend. Talkin' ter yerself?"
"Oh, gods," Gaspode groaned.
They were big. There were three of them. There were three big men. Three really big men. Big men. We're talking three huge men here. Big. Three of them. Big men.
"Why hello, gentlemen," Mort said sweetly. "What brings you here?"
Bugger.
***
Miss Susan blinked, her mouth open. Her stomach lurched in that eye-crossing way. Her knees twitched.
Her class stared at her expectantly as the skin on her knuckles turned red and peeled a bit.
"I'm sorry," Susan said finally, her voice hoarse. "I'll be right back." And ran.
Illa sat in her chair, and blinked her blue eyes that were supposed to be green. "How odd," she said lightly, and laughed a laugh like bells.
***
"That was interesting how you kneed him in the head after he kicked you in the stomach," Gaspode said, staring at the wall from a very close distance. "And I've never seen anyone punch someone that hard before."
"Now you have!" said Mort lightly, picking Gaspode up again.
"Hurf," said Gaspode.
***
Susan leaned against the wall, panting. A few other teachers passed her, stared at her, and then huddled closer together.
She sucked on her knuckles, willing them to stop burning. Miss Susan had finally shut up, allowing Susan to comprehend what was going on. Damn. Damn, damn, damn and blast.
Susan snapped her fingers, wincing.
***
Life, in her white world, laughed a laugh like bells.