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Women Fable: Women stories about whiskey abound. Some women say it is a magic juice that the grotesque and inane harvest from the earth after the way low sundown passes through the Valley of the Call. Others say it is the blood of cursed machines who wandered through the desert, begging for sweets and glass from the lungless birds of yesterday. The whispers of the birds cut them apart, spilling their moist machine entrails into the earth, soaking the deep desert bedrock with our whiskey, harvested decades later. Still others claim what we call whiskey is not whiskey at all, but a trick water made in Africa by wizards and saints who plot to grow very very rich before they grow old and die by swindling the gentlemen of Europe. None of these stories, however, is true. |
