One of the short stories by Doris Lessing. The title of this story corresponds with the plot chosen by the writer, for the location of the story is a veld: a pasture close by a kid's house. This kid is the central figure that leads the whole story from its beginning to its end. A wandering pulse, an active soul, and an in-charge of his own persona. We get the first glimpse of his confident character when he says: "Even my brain-even that! I can control every part of myself". What joy, what ecstasy, could one derive by such amiable ownership, a human knows it all well. We all know. I must say, the writer has chosen a wittier theme, the theme of ownership, ownership towards oneself. When life is a composition of set of amiable events, our esteem naturally boosts up, and favor our sentiments an air of felicity, our measurement an upgrade, and our courage and daring confidence ten-folds, thus fancy us a ripe feat over the label of life. Very much in a degree,..we call it eternity. Eternity, is basically a label for self-sustaining phenomenon, and all that is visible when falls to the principles of our status of boosters, we deem it eternal: for self-sustaining they are.
The story is brief and amusing. A boy in his fifteen, an early morning riser, strolls out to the woods half past four every morning, cautious of keeping his parents unaware. A gun aside, tip toed he goes to woods at such chilly hour. The neighboring dogs do howl at his cunning scheme, but by then he is already hundred yards away. Such a crafty lad. Ah! and one of his another self-owning ability. To justify such, he went straight three nights without sleep and still not giving any sign of feeling sore or fatigue. And on his morning strolls, he would say:" I could walk all day, and never tire". Seriously! what a confidence! Way to go, man...keep it up. On his visits to the pastures, he would enjoy the nature and absorb it in. Then he would play with it. In great leaping strides, like a duiker; yelling wild and breathing in the joy of living, and superfluity of youth, fancy he his courageous infinity. And so is gun aside, as if to hunt all wilderness and tame it. The writer intends to present a sheer picture of ultimate confidence. Says he: "There is nothing he couldn't do, nothing!"...
Tush! but how long could it last? Nature under the control of a mortal? Ay, nature's no slave. We may be gamblers, but nature's a sheer game. Its always one step ahead of us. How long could you mortify , rectify, petrify it under your crafty influence? All is but utter fancies; the mutual one held, get to be labeled a custom : a primary course to taste the fruit of possession, a success...casually trimmed with art of joy: an element of courage.
Sooner, very soon, patches of dismay were to hold his expressions, and to have him taste mortality of all that is. Out of all amiable sounds, a scream was heard. What an unnerving guise he beheld! On approaching, convulsively jerking motion was observed at distance...what was it? An animal? Yes, a buck it was. A swelling feeling of rage, misery, and protest overwhelmed him; and beheld him a little defiant in his introspection. A blend of rage, misery, and protest, eh? Such is, when a range of insanity plunges in! A miserable state, a rejection taking form to anguish, a despair posing threat..thus a misery, and to defy and protest by whatever means, against what is to overwhelm....all the way, psychologically it defines a course to insanity, rejection to what comes out of custom, out of nature's play. But should i add.... "sane is no wisdom, my friend". So, he ventured out beguiled to feel customary to the thought. Says he: "why should i interfere? All over the bush things like this happen; they happen all the time; this is how life goes on, by living things dying in anguish." Down to earth, sanity it is! Followed by another dismal expression, he says: "I can't stop it. I can't stop it. There is nothing i can do."...An approval it is, of how much is in our hands, what is in our hands!
A buck infront of his very eyes, died. It pulled him into a heavy sensation, a sensation of degree of liability to be bothered about. And so does the degree of liberty needs to be redefined.
Feeling offended by his lately fabricated stance, and feeling heavy with such sensations, he headed back home. But to put up till tomorrow, something worth muse. May be, he learned something new!
