The following is a scrap of text claimed to be from Trillim herself1. It was found written in the back of a paperback book, Glynda by Susannah Leigh, at the Dusit Hotel where they kept a shelf of books for the guests to take or leave. The provenance is suspect: Trillim scholar Anthony Donatello claims to have found it shortly after her death, however, no researcher has been as lucky as Donatello at finding these sorts of treasures and some have suspected that his luck is just too good. He insists that it is a matter of his doggedness rather than fraud that accounts for his success and some of his finds are above suspicion. Handwriting analysis supports the claim of authenticity. However, detractors, mostly of the naturalistic camp, want it to be a fake as it does not fit their understanding and the fragment plays into the framework of those who take Gilda at her word, perhaps a little too readily. Here is the fragment:
It has all come together. Babs is here. And the descendants of my beloved friends have gathered to sing to me and to offer up sweet remembrances. Last night upon my arrival the singers in fur of rich browns and golds took up their positions along the wall and I led them as I have so many times. Their song was of that same beauty I remember. But these cannot be the same rats I knew. No. They must be 60 or 70 generations removed, maybe much more, yet they took my direction for the song when I gestured to them from some instinctual memory as willingly as did their progenitors. Or have they practiced deep within the forest for many rat years the tones and songs learned so long ago? Most glorious of all, something of my mother was present whether brought out from my memories or from something eternal I cannot say, but she was there. After the song, I laid down and stretched forth my arms and again the rats received my blessing after licking my stump. Over the years I had begun to doubt. No more. No more. We are objects in relation, and relations of relations. Objects of processes and processes of objects. We are both one and many. Many and one. I stand in an infinity of connections to things that define and are defined by me. Oh rats. My lovely fellow beasty objects. How love structures and frames everything.