Turn 214 of 226

Try to communicate with Diane. We speak and the earth rumbles

The 580-foot frame rolls onto its side and the rolling is the thing the valley floor absorbs. The 742,000 pounds shift and the granite rubble groans under the mass and the groaning is the thing the earth does when the earth is asked to hold something it was not designed for. The 742,000 pounds are not designed for either. The not designed is the thing the wish does not care about. Lena's face is twenty feet from Diane's face and the twenty feet is the thing the 580-foot frames' proportions make intimate. The intimate is the thing the 151,000-pound bodies had at twelve inches and the 742,000-pound bodies have at twenty feet. The proportion is the thing the scale does not change. The not changing is the thing the animal knows.

Lena opens her mouth. The opening is the thing the 580-foot frame has not done for speech in weeks. The vocal cords are 960-times density and the 960-times density is the thing the vocal cords vibrate at a frequency the human ear would not call language. The sound that comes out is not a word. The sound is a vibration that starts in the 742,000-pound chest cavity and the chest cavity is the size of a concert hall and the concert hall is the thing the air moves through. The air moves out of the 580-foot throat and the moving is the thing the valley hears. The hearing is not ears. The hearing is granite. The granite vibrates. The valley floor trembles. The trembling is the thing the 580-foot frame's voice does to the earth.

"Diane."

The word is a word. The word is also a seismic event. The two syllables leave the 580-foot frame's mouth and the mouth is thirty feet across and the thirty feet is the thing the sound wave expands from. The sound hits the valley walls and the walls are 600 feet of granite and the granite absorbs the frequency and re-emits it as a low rumble that carries east through the mountain range. The rumble is the thing seismographs in Wenatchee register as a 1.4 magnitude event. The 1.4 is the thing the analysts will attribute to tectonic settling. The settling is not tectonic. The settling is the thing the 580-foot frame's voice did when the voice tried to say a name.

Diane's eyes open. The 742,000 pounds shift and the shifting is the thing the rubble adjusts to. The brown eyes find Lena's face and the finding is the thing the animal does and the animal is the thing that does not need words. But the words are the thing Lena is trying to do and the trying is new. The new is the thing the 580-foot frame has not felt in months. The months are the thing the growth filled and the filling did not leave room for trying. The trying is the thing the word makes space for. The space is small. The small is the thing the 742,000-pound body does not know how to be.

Diane's mouth opens and the opening is the same geological event. The 580-foot frame's vocal cords produce a sound that is lower than Lena's by a quarter-tone — the body is slightly larger in the chest cavity, the resonance deeper, the frequency something the granite responds to differently. The western ridge sheds a sheet of stone when the sound hits it. The shedding is the thing the 580-foot frame's voice does to rock.

"Lena."

The name is the thing the earth rumbles with. The name is the thing two 742,000-pound bodies give each other in a valley that is a crater in the Cascades and the crater is the thing the voices make deeper. The deeper is the thing the sound does to the ground and the ground is the thing the sound does not stop moving through. The not stopping is the thing the voices are. The voices are the thing the 580-foot frames have not used. The not using is the thing the animal chose. The choosing is the thing the word interrupts. The interrupting is the thing the names do. The names are Lena and Diane. The Lena and Diane are the things the 151,000-pound bodies were and the 742,000-pound bodies still are. The still are is the thing the names hold. The holding is the thing the rumble does not break. The not breaking is the thing that is. The is. The is. The is.

The valley holds the sound for eleven seconds. The granite walls re-emit the vibration in diminishing waves and the diminishing is the thing the rock does when the rock is asked to carry a frequency it was not made for. The 11 seconds is the thing the 580-foot frames lie in. The lying is the thing the sound becomes silence in. The silence is not empty. The silence is the thing the rumble leaves behind and the leaving is the thing the ground still feels. The feeling is the thing the 742,000-pound bodies rest on. The resting is the thing the names gave them. The giving is the thing the voices did. The doing is the thing the earth remembers. The remembering is the thing that does not stop. The not stopping is the thing the wish is. The wish is the thing that is still building. The building is the thing the voices did not interrupt. The not interrupting is the thing the warmth is. The warmth is the thing that is. The is. The is. The is.