Summer. Living on the edges of the day. We circle the sun, keeping to the shadows. Bow to its life-giving energy, but curse its heat when it turns its back. That which nourishes can also kill. It isn’t a tough switch to flip.
This particular morning I was in the garden, working and watching the golden lining to the gloaming spread from a thin thread to a wide tear. A gash dripping molten time. The garden, waking to drink in the photons, was growing well. I had collected a jar of slugs as I had dreamt of watching an absurdly large snail lift its… monopod thing and pee like a dog. Admittedly weird, so I assumed they’d be important at some point in the near future. Generally I’d leave them out for the raccoons, specifically Bob, he loves a juicy slug, he’s kind of a gross little guy… anyway, when dreams speak, we listen.
I never use slugs. I find land mollusks off-putting. Well all mollusks really. What business does any creature have being so mucilaginous? I held the glistening, jarred black mass up to the light. Their slime bubbled as they writhed. Gross. I pitied whoever they were meant for. There was once a cure for kidney stones using slugs… or snails? Perhaps that’s what the slug urine was about? Then again, kidney stones were not exactly my purview.
The mystery of the sentient snot. Lovely.
As I walked back to the cabin a piercing shriek filled the air. Birds in the forest took flight en mass and the dogs came bounding in from the tree line to stand near me. Another scream brought an answering howl from deep in the woods. Whoever was screaming would either need to stop or get up to the cabin quickly, that howl belong to an eight-foot tall daywolf. I told the dogs to go find the screamer and chase them up to me.
Inside I poured myself some coffee and, perhaps cruelly, put the slug jar in a sunny spot on the table. In the obsidian ball I saw the dogs harrying a man up the mountain. He clutched his side and sobbed as he scrambled along ahead of them. I was absolutely going to torture him unnecessarily if he had come all this way for a kidney stone. Common medical ailments are so dull. Before long he stood at my door, sweaty and pale, shaking with pain.
I ushered him inside. He sat, then stood, then sat again, all while grimacing and grunting.
“Everything ok?”
“No. No everything is not ok. I have something growing inside me and I can’t-” He leaned over the table and looked around, “I can’t piss. Not much anyway.”
I sighed loudly, “Did you see a doctor?”
“No. This isn’t a stone, it’s not a tumor. It’s alive.”
I wondered briefly if tumors were considered alive, but a spasm of pain sent his head into the table with a thud and brought me back to the moment.
“How do you know it’s alive?”
“It speaks to me,” his voice was muffled. He tried to sit up straight, but couldn’t.
“Finally, something interesting. What does it sound like?”
“What do you mean?”
“I mean does it sound like one of your parents, an old friend or mentor, do you get the impression that it’s a god or a demon?”
“It sounds like, like, I don’t know.” He crawl/fell to the floor, doubled over in pain. I went to my cabinet and took a selenite crystal from its bowl.
“Which side hurts?”
He grimaced and pointed to the right. I lifted his shirt, a bruised mass trembled under his skin. I held the selenite against it and felt vibrations shiver up through my hand and into my arm. My teeth hurt as they passed through my jaw and found their way into my skull.
I am he who examines the kidneys and the heart.
I pulled the selenite away.
“It says it’s God.”
“No it doesn’t, it says it inspects my kidneys and heart.”
“Yeah, that’s one way God is defined in ancient texts.”
He groaned.
“My thoughts exactly. When did this start?” I went to the kitchen and got vial of my best pain reliever. No sense in torturing him, even though I kind of wanted to.
“About a month ago, just a little twinge at first. I don’t know, I thought I pulled a muscle.”
“Drink this.”
He didn’t even give me the suspicious look clients usually give me, he just tipped it into his mouth.
“What was happening around that time?”
“I switched teams.”
“Sorry?”
“I’m a scientist. All of my professional career I’ve studied the ecology of ants. And then I just, lost interest. I read a paper on slugs and I couldn’t get it out of my head. They’re so different. With ants it’s all about the good of the colony, nothing is done for the individual. But slugs are all about themselves. They’ll even eat their own kind. It’s- it’s- well it’s more like me. I’d eat my own kind if I had to. I’ve definitely thrown colleagues under the bus to get ahead. I just, I want to study slugs.” He was sitting up now, the pain having subsided. And I had the slugs explained at least. I looked at their jar, they had separated and were moving around, stuck to the sides, shimmery snot trails crisscrossed the condensation frosted glass. He had followed my gaze.
“You like them too?”
“Oh-ho. No. Those are for you.”
He jumped from the floor and went for the jar. Then screamed and fell back to the floor.
“But you gave me- I felt so good.”
“Just as I thought. You pissed it off.”
“Pissed off the thing in my kidney?”
“Yes. Your kidney spirit doesn’t like slugs. Or, it doesn’t like your attitude in relations to them. Did you know your kidneys filter waste from the body, but they also filter your desires? Little known fact. What many people don’t realize is that they have a little kidney spirit in one of their kidneys that tries to guide them away from passing whims and into passions they think will be beneficial. Now, a kidney can only filter the blood you give it, right? If you’ve never had a gimlet, your kidneys can’t filter out the gin. Kidney spirits work similarly, they can only filter what they’re exposed to. Most people don’t do much, they just kind of exist, so their kidneys only have physical filtering to do, nothing metaphysical or spiritual. Nothing of epistemic weight passes through the kidney spirit, so it atrophies.”
“I’m sorry, you’re saying everyone has a spirit living in their kidneys?”
“Yep. In ancient times kidneys were often preferred for sacrifice over the other organs for this reason. We’re talking about animals, of course, but symbolically they were human kidneys. Kidneys hold the vital animating force of all humans. Most just don’t bother finding out what really makes their kidney spirit happy. In that case the little guy will just go dormant. But you made yours happy with the ants, so it grew and was healthy, but then you went and ‘switched teams’. That’s where the trouble lies. You have a healthy, active spirit. It’s mad and fucking up your kidneys.”
He was curled up on the ground again. Shaking.
“Can I have another vial?”
“No. We’re going to have to get rid of your kidney spirit if you want to study, slugs.”
“But then what happens to me?”
“You might lose your desire for everything. You might still want to study slugs, but then you might not be good at it. It’s tough to say.”
“But I have two kidneys?”
“Only one spirit though, to keep things from getting complicated.”
“So we kill it?”
“Or go back to studying ants. It doesn’t have to be a whole thing.”
“No. I want to study slugs. I don’t know where that passion is coming from, but it’s a passion.”
“If it doesn’t come from your kidneys, it’s a whim not a passion. I never asked your name, by the way.”
He frowned, “Stanley.”
“Ok, Stanley, it’s decision time. Do I rip that sucker out of you, or do you go back to your passion?”
A fresh wave of pain hit him and he screamed again. Both the dogs groaned, but I was getting excited. I hadn’t excised a kidney spirit in at least two hundred years. My kidney spirit was exactly where it wanted to be right now, waiting for a creepy little guy to crawl out of a big annoying guy.
Stanley screamed, the little mass on his back pressed against his flesh.
“Get it out!”
I’m embarrassed to admit I did a little hop of glee before I went back to my cabinet. I needed maidenhair fern, it could chase anything from the kidneys. I mixed a bit up in a vial with bull urine, for a little kick.
“My man, Stanley, drink this.” I handed him the vial, barely able to contain my anticipation. He took it and drank, I heard him sputtering and gagging as I searched for my long tongs. From the jar, I pulled out the biggest, fattest slug. Watching it squirm, I pinched it between the metal skewers and held it up to Stanley’s face.
“I’m not eating that.”
“You don’t have to.”
He furrowed his brow, confused. And then his eyes opened wide. His mouth opened in a silent scream as he reached his hands behind him, scratching at his back. He began to shake his head, a sound like “uh-uh uh-uh uh-uh” croaked from between his lips. I instructed my cats to catch and hold, but not harm the spirit. That little bugger was coming up and I was dangling the object of its current rage right at the end of the tunnel.
Tears streamed from Stanley’s eyes as they bulged with the pain and fear. There are two ways to get from the kidneys to the mouth. Going backwards, roughly, the little guy could to travel out of the kidney, up the renal artery to the heart and into the lungs in order to get to the trachea and out the mouth. Or, there’s always a straight line. I was ambivalent really. I would end up with a kidney spirit whether Stanley died or not.
I guess I’m also a little slug-like.
Stanley started to cry.
“You wanted this,” I reminded him. Kneeling on the floor now he rocked back and forth, moaning a deep guttural wail, drool streaming from his mouth. I wiggled the little slug in front of his gaping maw. Veins popped out on his red face. And then I heard it. A voice not his own coming from inside his throat.
I hold the reins! I hold the reins! I hold the reins!
“Reins is an old word for kidneys, it’s related to Latin renes, in case you were wondering.”
Stanley clawed at his throat. He really looked like he might suffocate. I’d have to throw his body out in the woods… after I harvested a few things. Corpses are hard to come by these days. I patted his head.
“Try to breathe through your nose.”
He just made dry heaving sounds, which at lest meant there was some airflow.
A little hooked claw appeared at the back of his throat.
“Oh! It’s almost here. I know it sucks for you, but I’m very excited about this. Besides I’ve given birth through my mouth many times. It’s a quick recovery.”
I am HE. I am HE. The little spirit called from inside Stanley. Such a cute little voice.
I wiggled the slug closer to Stanley’s mouth. A creature appeared, a little bigger than a golf ball and covered in spikes, like a Sweetgum pod, but less sharp. It was tan in color and had a little mouth, but no other facial features. It shrieked as it heaved itself onto Stanley’s tongue. Then it launched itself at the slug, the object of its anti-passion. Slug and spirit went rolling to the ground, the cats pounced immediately and held it still while I used the tongs to pick it up and dump it in the slug jar. The little guy went mad ripping the slugs apart. Poor thing. So upset.
I turned back to Stanley. He lay in a heap on the floor, blood dripping from his mouth.
“Get up.”
“Uh?”
“Come on, my work here is done. Time for you to go.” I nudged him with my foot.
“Lady I just- I just-“ He panted, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.
“You just took up most of my morning. Off you go, now.” The dogs began to snarl and he scrambled to his feet. He was out the door in seconds. I didn’t ask for payment, because I now had a little kidney spirit to experiment with. Honestly that’s priceless.