“Indeedy,” said the small white thing, extremely politely. Then, with one weasely movement, it twisted and sank its sharp little teeth into Tiger’s paw. Tiger bellowed in pain, whipped the paw back, sending the little animal flying through the air. It struck the rock ceiling, bounced over to a ledge, and from there it darted, like a dirty white streak, to the very back of the cave, where the ceiling got low and close to the floor, and where there were many hiding places for a small animal, places a larger animal could not go.
Tiger padded as far back into the cave as it could easily walk. “You think I can’t wait?” he asked. “You have to come out sooner or later. I’m not going anywhere.” Tiger lay down. He closed his eyes and soon began to make fairly convincing snoring noises.
After about half an hour of snoring from Tiger, the pale animal crept out from the rocks and slipped from shadow to shadow, making for a large bone that still had plenty of good meat on it, if you didn’t mind a certain rankness, and it didn’t. Still, to get to the bone, it would have to pass the great beast. It lurked in the shadows, then it ventured out on little silent feet.
As it passed the sleeping Tiger, a forepaw shot out, and a claw slammed down on the creature’s tail, pinning it down. Another paw held the little creature behind the neck. The great cat opened its eyes. “Frankly,” it said, “we appear to be stuck with each other. So all I’m asking is that you make an effort. We can both make an effort. I rather doubt that we’ll ever be friends, but perhaps we could learn to tolerate each other.”
“I take your point,” said the small ferretty thing. “Needs must, as they say, when the Devil drives.”
“That’s an example of what I’m saying,” said Tiger. “You just have to learn when to keep your mouth shut.”
“It’s an ill wind,” said the little animal, “that blows nobody any good.”
“Now you’re irritating me again,” said Tiger. “I’m trying to tell you. Don’t irritate me, and I won’t bite off your head.”
“You keep using the phrase ‘bite my head off.’ Now when you say ‘bite my head off,’ I take it I can assume that this is actually some kind of metaphorical statement, implying that you’ll shout at me, perhaps rather angrily?”
“Bite your head off. Then crunch it. Then chew it. Then swallow it,” said Tiger. “Neither of us can leave until Anansi’s child forgets we’re here. The way that bastard seems to have arranged things, even if I kill you in the morning you’ll be reincarnated back in this blasted cave by the end of the afternoon. So don’t irritate me.”
The small white animal said, “Ah well. Another day—”
“If you say ‘another dollar,’” said Tiger, “I will be irritated, and there will be serious consequences. Don’t. Say anything. Irritating. Do you understand?”
There was a brief silence in the cave at the end of the world. It was broken by a small, weasely voice saying, “Absatively.”
It started to say, “Oww!” but the noise was suddenly and effectively silenced.
And then there was nothing in that place but the sound of crunching.
THE THING THEY DON’T TELL YOU ABOUT COFFINS IN THE LITERATURE, because frankly it’s not much of a selling point to the people who are buying them, is just how comfortable they are.
Mr. Nancy was extremely satisfied with his coffin. Now that all the excitement was over, he’d gone back to his coffin and was comfortably dozing. Every once in a while he would wake and remember where he was, then he’d roll over and go back to sleep.
The grave, as has been pointed out, is a fine place, not to mention a private one, and is thus an excellent place to get a little downtime. Six feet down, best kind there is. Another twenty years or so, he thought, and he would have to think about getting up.
He opened one eye when the funeral started.
He could hear them up above him: Callyanne Higgler and the Bustamonte woman and the other one, the thin one, not to mention a small horde of grandchildren, great-grandchildren, and great-great grandchildren, all of them sighing and wailing and crying their eyes out for the late Mrs. Dunwiddy.
Mr. Nancy thought about pushing one hand up through the turf and grabbing Callyanne Higgler’s ankle. It was something he’d wanted to do ever since he saw Carrie at a drive-in, thirty years earlier, but now that the opportunity presented itself, he found himself able to resist the temptation. Honestly, he couldn’t be bothered. She’d only scream and have a heart attack and die, and then the damn Garden of Rest would get even more crowded than it already was.
Too much like hard work, anyway. There were good dreams to be dreamed in the world beneath the soil. Twenty years, he thought. Maybe twenty-five. By that time, he might even have grandchildren. It’s always interesting to see how the grandchildren turn out.
He could hear Callyanne Higgler wailing and carrying on up above him. Then she stopped her sobbing long enough to announce, “Still. It’s not as if she don’t have a good life and a long one. That woman’s a hundred and three years old when she passes from us.”
“Hunnert and four!” said an irritated voice from under the ground beside him.
Mr. Nancy reached one insubstantial arm out and tapped the new coffin sharply on the side. “Keep it down, there, woman,” he barked. “Some of us is tryin‘ to sleep.”