Oakwood Collegiate Institute - Oracle Yearbook (Toronto Ontario, Canada)

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G e«» Oave peck ov PAGE SPONSORED BY HOOPER ' S DRUG STORE 103

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THE MASTER MAKER OF MAPS And He, • ' -, The Master Maker of Maps, once drew Mankind upon the Scroll of Life. The Hand, bejewelled, strong, lily-white, yet proud, uplifted by the Mind Majestic It sketched the longitude of artery, and latitude of vein. Now, with a mighty shrug He laughed and sang, while man was tossed into a black domain and set upon his course. Following the stars in hurled madness around a sun that never died. — Natalia Cherniak Then rivers ran with blood — mere outlets to a sea that now encased the flesh ' s continent. But He, displeased, looked once with shame upon the nakedness and crudeness of first attempt . . . And thus, unfinished, rolled the parchment Round; and sealed it lay in dusty shelves behind a window holding rainbow colours — Whilst time slipped onward. And restless stirred the Hand that yearned to build a Universe. So yet again. He parted doors and groped within — and Hand met Dust . . . Then Fury, Strode in passion let; the Mind about to burst with vivid plan. And now, created He a Man of rock and molten Steel, with fire within, but ice without. THE PROPHET Russell A. Steventon DAYDREAMS Thoughts In swirls of rose and grey Misty, hazy thoughts Thoughts of now and yesterday Gently etched in rose and grey. — Sharon Singer 102

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THIRTY BELOW Through trackless northern wastes plods the man-creature, alone in the bone-hard cold of thirty below in the Region of Black and White Absolutes. Jet-black beard tinseled with hoary white; once- supple parka brittle and numb; gasping, straining breath, choking at the onrushing winds; eyes drip- ping frozen tears; yellowed teeth biting away the stinging slap of the icy blasts; numbing feet stum- bling, shuffling, stamping, rebelling against the pure, crystalline Absolute Snow; heart pounding the warm blood through the canals of the body, defying the cold from without — cold against heat, death against hfe; the Omnipotent challeng- ed, the Inevitable refused. The boots become heavy. More and more, the snow grips them with a grip like death. The move- ment of the legs becomes mechanical, firm steps give way to aimless stumblings. Thoughts of any practical importance sUp away. Only the world of the fantastic, of tinkling icicles, of snowy planets swirling through ice-bound space, of a silver sun with tinsel rays, of ground of ice, and heat re- placed by cold . . . numbness . . . drowsiness . . . eyelids heavy with ice and sleep . . . Snow begins to swirl over the body where it has fallen. Breezes stir the hair of the parka collar, like an invisible hand. They eddy and swirl around a lonely tree and shake its denuded branches with fierce rapidity. A little furry white creature scur- ries across the path, not stopping to examine the inert form in the snow. He scurries into a little hole by the tree-trunk and disappears. Nature has given him the wherewithal to survive in this land of Absolutes. Gusts of wind have driven the snow into a nat- ural gully where rests a little dwelling made of animal skins mostly covered with snow. The en- trance is packed with the marks of many foot- prints. Out of the tent and into the dim light of dusk steps the dark form of a man. He is thin and hunched over. His face is pallid from long periods without sustenance; his eyes are sunken and dull. He gazes into the sky and sniffs the breeze. He carries a spear. He expects to find noth- ing except inevitable starvation and death. Yet he doggedly cUmbs out of the gully, sensory organs alert. He is met by the stinging blasts of wind and snow. Then he sees a body. Satisfied he is dead, the hunter prepares to dis- member the body. His animal instincts have taken over completely. He feels only the gnawing hun- ger and the biting cold. He looks up and curses the cold and curses the snow and curses his lone- Uness. He removes his knife from its sheath and prepares for the grisly work. He will take only as much as he can eat. At least he will live a few weeks longer. Then, maybe he will find some game. The hunter turns over the body. He looks down into the cold dead face. He touches it with his hand, feels the contours of forehead, nose, mouth. An overwhelming sense of loneliness comes over him. He cries openly as he does the only thing that win keep him alive. And in the Region of the Black and White Absolutes, a man knows what he is. Bill Briggs UNIVERSAL MAN David Oliver 104