Great Lhankhor Mhy Library
Notchet
Reverend Father,
I must report that I have made little progress in my search for proof of
the
existence of the universal, ancestral human language known as
"Mantongue"
The priests here in the Pavis library are the biggest bunch of crackpot
yokels
ever to have disgraced the beards of Lhankhor Mhy. Their library is a
mess
and their catalogue incomprehensible. Having said that their collection
does
contain the most amazing bits of information. (The trick is finding
it). I found
the following fragment marking a page in the most profane and disgusting
piece of New Pelorian pornography I have ever seen. It, the fragment,
seems
to be a translation into Pavic from some other, unknown language. I am
unable to date the piece, nor do I have an author's name. An
interesting piece
anyway. I have translated it as literally as possible into Sartarite
and hope you
find it interesting.
- -.mad they all thought me mad! Those bearded s***-of-b***** thought me
mad!
They said Mantongue was a myth, a story. I set out to prove them wrong!
I
would learn to speak and read and write Mantongue and then who would be
laughing? I would be able to speak to anyone, read any thing! Oh, the
things
I would learn! I delved inward and outward, taking paths others had
forgotten
or were too afraid to tread! I caught the silver rabbit and rode the
fox to his
doom. I crossed the bridge of blades and went down the rapid of razors.
Finally I found the old b******! There he sat, huddled before a fire in
his rags,
Old Man Mortal. He would not even acknowledge me until I slew one of
the
quicksilver deer found in the woods around his fire and offered him the
heart's
blood. With blood on his lips and in his beard he asked me what I
wanted.
I told him I wanted to learn Mantongue and he said I must first wrestle
him.
We wrestled for what seemed to me seven days and seven nights. On the
eighth morning I finally pinned him and he agreed to teach me what I
wanted.
But first I would have to under go some change. I agreed and he
stretched
my tongue out on a rock and pounded on it with another until he seemed
pleased with the shape and I could no longer see for the pain. Seven
times
seven years I laboured to learn the grunts and clicks he used as speech
and
I threw away my false beard in favour of the real one I grew. At the
end of the 49
years he pronouced me an expert and I asked him to teach me how to read
and write his language. He laughed and said we must wrestle again.
Again
we wrestled for seven days and seven nights and on the eighth morning
despite my weakened state I once again pinned him. He again told me
that
a change had to be made. I agreed and with a sharp edged shell he cut
my
left arm open and removed the smaller of the two bones therein. He
sharpened
this as a stylus and showed me the chicken tracks he used as writing.
For seven
times seven years I laboured again and at the end of that period he
pronounced
me an expert. I thanked him and traveled back the way I came until I
reached
where I had come from. I discovered there that it was as if no time had
passed
for them but for me the full period I had experienced had passed to the
extent
that no one recognized me in my decrepit state. I finally managed to
persuade
them that I was who I was and they were horrified at the cost I had
paid. I tried
to use my new found skills on them but much to my horror I discovered
that
all I could do was read and speak my native tongue at levels of
erudition
heretofore unheard of. Tomorrow morning I will take the perscribed
sharpened
rock and travel once more inward and outward until I find the old man
and
kill him.
Fascinating don't you think? Unfortunately it proves nothing.
Your devoted nephew,
Lassiter
Oliver D. Bernuetz
bernuetz.oliver_at_cbsc.ic.gc.ca
www.geocities.com/TimesSquare/realm/5545