from THE SHUFFLER
                                                                            by Miranda Mellis

While they walked, the shuffler kept a distance beside and behind her charge, just close enough to watch, but also keeping distance, a respectful ritual distance which she sometimes unthinkingly closed, and then the shuffler was sharply directed by the handlers to fall back so the shuffler shrugged and fell back. 

It was easy to keep distance just now, though no handlers were present to remind her (the shuffler and her charge were alone) for the huge, ancient frame she carried was too big really, too heavy for the shuffler, about one hundred pounds. No thought had gone into that, the why, the how. But then she was used to it. She carried it as best she could. What else was there to do? Who else was there to do it? That’s what shufflers were for. 

So along the mountain-side they went, the shuffler carrying the heavy frame along the road while keeping an eye on the movements of her charge who was dancing along uncomfortably near the edge of the paved, curling cliff. While respecting ritual distance, the shuffler was close enough to cover him in the unlikely event of a rockslide descending from above or should a strong wind threaten to blow her spindly charge off the edge. 

Ah, he said to himself, ah, ah ah. That was the sound her charge made. That’s the sound I’ll be hearing until the end she sighed. His talk did not add up to a hill of beans. Ah, ah ah ah, she sometimes mimicked under breath.