[John Riley]

Keep Chopping

“Try it,” she said.

I looked from her greasy eyes to the ax in my hand. She shouldn't have looked so scary, standing there with one good leg and me holding an ax. But we both knew I wouldn't move on her. I just didn't have it in me.

The mountain slope behind Bessie, down to the silver string of river, was covered with downed trees, the dying ones turning from green to yellow, the ones finished dying turned yellow all over.

I tried begging a little, hoping some mercy had sprung up inside her. “I'm tired, Bessie. Can't a man take time to gather his thoughts?”

“Chop,” she said.

I chopped. You would too. Bessie Bighead is really good at being crazy. It's all the experience she's had. She's been crazy for years, ever since Emperor took her leg.

It was on the first day we were here, right before sundown, when Emperor stood up on his perfectly good legs and said, “I need one of you fine people to give me a leg.”

Naturally, it took us all a second to figure out he was serious. That he wanted one of us to cut off a leg and give it to him.

There weren't many volunteers at first. But before long you could feel everyone start to soften up a little. Truth is, I even thought about it. It might have been smart to get on Emperor's good side. But I don't have any ambition, never have.

Then Bessie stood up and said, “Please take mine! O' Lordy Lordy, take mine.”

What Emperor did with Bessie's leg nobody knows. Some say he ate it, but you won't hear me say that.

Bessie was proud as a rooster for a few days. Emperor had her a shiny wooden leg made and called her his girl. She even smiled once or twice. Then she went to study what she'd done and got quieter than a gator. Soon she turned to moaning, moaning day and night, wanting her leg back.

Finally, Emperor got tired of listening to her and said, pointing at me, “Take him, Bessie. And go out in the mountains. You got free run of everything you see. Cut down as many trees as you want until you get the perfect wood to make you the perfect leg. One even better than that fine one I already made you. Then,” he smiled his private little smile, “bring it to me and I'll make you two.”

Now we're chopping on our third mountain and there's no end to mountains around here. We're never going to find a perfect tree. Bessie Bighead is no fool, just crazy. She ain't got no choice but to keep looking for the perfect tree, and I ain't got no choice but to keep chopping.

[Richard G]

Hi John,
I was enjoying this (pre-twentieth century America /post-Apocalypse) tale until here

Then Bessie stood up and said, “Please take mine! O' Lordy Lordy, take mine.”

That 'Lordy Lordy' sent me straight to the housekeeper in Tom & Jerry (and after that to wondering if the search for the right wood is a pigment issue.) Is she looking for a black wood rather than a white whale? (I don't think she is, but ... once the thought arose it became difficult to ignore.)

What Emperor did with Bessie's leg nobody knows. Some say he ate it, but you won't hear me say that.
I think you can cut this, it feels stronger without the (empty-ish) speculation.

Bessie was proud as a rooster for a few days. Emperor had her a shiny wooden leg made and called her his girl. She even smiled once or twice.
Is this 'smiled' suggesting she was crazy before the leg?
Then she went to study what she'd done and got quieter than a gator. Soon she turned to moaning, moaning day and night, wanting her leg back.
Like 'quieter than a gator', just wondered about the chances of surviving an amputation of that order in ... whenever this is set. Feels like you gloss over that element. The 'moaning' suggests some sort of fever/infection.

Then,” he smiled his private little smile, “bring it to me and I'll make you two.”
The implication seems to be that if she finds the right wood he'll cut of her other leg (so two wooden legs, or three if you count the one she currently has.)

Now we're chopping on our third mountain and there's no end to mountains around here. We're never going to find a perfect tree.
I don't understand what 'perfect tree' means in this context. What is she looking for? And is this supposed to explain 'crazy', because I'm not sure it does. Has she just been objecting to the aesthetics of the prosthetic all along?

Bessie Bighead is no fool, just crazy. She ain't got no choice but to keep looking for the perfect tree, and I ain't got no choice but to keep chopping.
But why? What stops them simply walking away?


RG.

[John Riley]

Thanks, Richard. I may remove “Lordy” because I’m not interested in it being Appalachian. Why Bessie doesn’t just walk away is the point to a great extent. The group and its leader has a hold. Why don’t people leave cults?

Your notes point out where I should focus. Thanks.