The Last Gasps of Indian Summer by Edward Drobinski - HTML preview

Part Two

The train makes a stop close to Strelnikov's armored train. Yuri gets out, is captured and taken to Strelnikov. Yuri recognizes Strelnikov as Pasha. Strelnikov mentions that Lara is living in Yuriatin, now occupied by the Whites. Strelnikov allows Zhivago to return to his train. They find the main house at Varykino seized and sealed up by the Bolsheviks. The family settles into a cottage next door. In Yuriatin, Yuri sees Lara, and they begin an affair. When Tonya is about to give birth to a second child, Yuri breaks off with Lara but is then abducted by Communist partisans and forced to join them.

Who'll Stop the Rain

Creedence Clearwater Revival

Long as I remember the rain been comin' down Clouds of mystery pourin' confusion on the ground Good men through the ages tryin' to find the sun And I wonder, still I wonder, who'll stop the rain?

I went down Virginia, seekin' shelter from the storm Caught up in the fable, I watched the tower grow

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Five Year Plans and New Deals, wrapped in golden chains And I wonder, still I wonder, who'll stop the rain?

Heard the singers playin', how we cheered for more The crowd had rushed together, tryin' to keep warm Still the rain kept pourin', fallin' on my ears And I wonder, still I wonder, who'll stop the rain?

Written by John Cameron Fogerty.

After two years, Yuri deserts and returns to Yuriatin. Lara says that Tonya contacted her while searching for Yuri. Leaving his belongings with Lara, she returned to Moscow. Tonya later sent Lara a sealed letter for Yuri. Tonya had given birth to a daughter, and she, her father, and her two children are living in Paris following deportation.

Yuri and Lara become lovers again but Komarovsky arrives. Cheka agents have been watching them due to Lara's marriage to Strelnikov. Komarovsky offers them help to leave Russia, but they refuse, instead going to Varykino, and hiding in the main house. Yuri begins the "Lara" poems, which will later bring him popular fame but government disapproval. Komarovsky arrives with troops. Recently appointed as an official in the Far Eastern Republic, he says that the Cheka only allowed Lara to remain in

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the area to lure Strelnikov. However, he had been captured five miles away, and committed suicide. They now intend to arrest Lara. Komarovsky's offer of safe passage is accepted, but once Lara is on her way, Yuri does not follow. On the train, Lara tells Komarovsky that she is pregnant with Yuri's child.

Years later, Yevgraf finds a Moscow medical job for his now frail half-brother. Yuri sees Lara in the street. He has a fatal heart attack before reaching her. At Yuri's funeral Lara asks Yevgraf for help to find her daughter by Yuri, who was lost during the civil war. Yevgraf helps her search the orphanages, in vain. Lara then disappears and Yevgraf believes she died in a labor camp.

Yevgraf believes that Tanya Komarova is Yuri and Lara's daughter. She remains unconvinced. After being asked how she came to be lost, Tanya finally answers that her "father," i.e.

Komarovsky, had let go of her hand when they were running from the chaos of war. Yevgraf responds that a real father would not have let go. Tanya promises to consider what Yevgraf says.

Tanya's husband arrives, and she leaves with him. Yevgraf notices Tanya is carrying a balalaika. He asks if she can play it, to which her husband responds that she can and "is an artist."

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190 - More – Cologne, West Germany

More

In West Germany in the late 1960s, Stefan has finished his mathematics studies and decides to experience life. Hitch hiking to Paris, he is befriended by a petty criminal called Charlie, who takes him to a party where he is fascinated by an American girl called Estelle. Though Charlie warns him that she is a drug user and dangerous, he goes to her hotel room, where she introduces him to marijuana and they make love.

She is leaving for Ibiza and invites Stefan to follow her there.

When he arrives, he finds she is involved with a wealthy ex-Nazi called Wolf. Stefan persuades her to join him in an isolated villa and she secretly brings both money and a huge quantity of heroin she has stolen from Wolf. After an idyllic time swimming, sunbathing and making love, she is itching for the heroin and introduces him to it as well.

Revolution

The Beatles

Aah

You say you want a revolution

Well, you know

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We all want to change the world

You tell me that it's evolution

Well, you know

We all want to change the world

But when you talk about destruction

Don't you know that you can count me out

Don't you know it's gonna be

Alright

Alright

Alright

You say you got a real solution

Well, you know

We'd all love to see the plan

You ask me for a contribution

Well, you know

We're all doing what we can

But if you want money for people

with minds that hate

All I can tell you is,

brother, you have to wait

Don't you know it's gonna be

Alright

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Alright

Alright

Al

You say you'll change the Constitution

Well, you know

We all want to change your head

You tell me it's the institution

Well, you know

You'd better free your mind instead

But if you go carrying pictures of Chairman Mao You ain't going to make it with anyone anyhow

Don't you know it's gonna be

Alright

Alright

Alright

Alright, alright

Alright, alright

Alright, alright

Alright, alright

Written by Paul McCartney and John Lennon.

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Soon the two are on a downward spiral of addiction. Wolf demands return of the rest of the heroin and money and, as payment for what they have used, Stefan has to work in his bar while Estelle has to share his bed. Charlie comes looking for Stefan and urges him to return to Paris. On the night he’s supposed to leave for Paris, Estelle reveals to Stefan that she’s been sleeping with Wolf the whole time. Stefan begs two packets of heroin from a dealer the following morning and overdoses as a suicide. He is buried in open country.

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191 - Aguirre, the Wrath of God – Rioja, Peru Aguirre, the Wrath of God

“Aguirre, the Wrath of God,” is a 1972 epic historical drama film produced, written and directed by Werner Herzog. Klaus Kinski stars in the title role of Spanish soldier Lope de Aguirre, who leads a group of conquistadores down the Amazon River in South America in search of the legendary city of gold, El Dorado. The accompanying soundtrack was composed and performed by kosmische band Popol Vuh. The film is an international co-production between West Germany and Mexico.

Using a minimalist approach to story and dialogue, the film creates a vision of madness and folly, counterpointed by the lush but unforgiving Amazonian jungle. Although loosely based on what is known of the historical figure of Aguirre, Herzog acknowledged years after the film's release that its storyline is a work of fiction. Some of the people and situations may have been inspired by Gaspar de Carvajal's account of an earlier Amazonian expedition, although Carvajal was not on the historical voyage represented in the film.

Aguirre was the first of five collaborations between Herzog and Kinski. They had differing views as to how the role should be played, and they clashed throughout filming. Kinski's rages

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terrorized both the crew and the locals who were assisting the production. Shooting was entirely on location, and was fraught with difficulties. Filming took place in the Peruvian rainforest on the Amazon River during an arduous five week period, shooting on tributaries of the Ucayali region. The cast and crew climbed mountains, cut through heavy vines to open routes to the various jungle locations, and rode treacherous river rapids on rafts built by local craft workers.

Aguirre opened to widespread critical acclaim, and quickly developed a large international cult film following. It was given an extensive arthouse theatrical release in the United States in 1977, and remains one of the director's best known films. Several critics have declared the film a masterpiece, and it has appeared on Time magazine's list of "All Time 100 Best Films."

Poverty Train

Laura Nyro

Last call for the poverty train

Last call for the poverty train, yeah

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It looks good and dirty

on shiny light strip

And if you don't get beat

you got yourself a trip

You can see the walls roar

see your brains on the floor

Become God, become crippled,

become funky and split

Why was I born

No, no, no, no

No, no, no, no

No, no, no, no

Oh baby, I just saw the devil

and he's smiling at me

I heard my bones cry

devil whys it got to be

Devil played with my brother,

devil drove my mother

Now all the tears in the gutter

are floodin' the sea

Why was I born

No, no, no, no

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No, no, no, no

No, no, no, no

Oh baby, it looks good and dirty

them shiny lights glow

A million night tramps tricks and tracks will come and go

You're starving today

but who care anyway

Baby it feels like I'm dyin

Now I swear there's something better than Gettin' off on sweet cocaine

It feels so good, it feels so good

Gettin' off the poverty train

Morning

Written by Laura Nyro.

On Christmas Day, 1560, several scores of Spanish conquistadors, and a hundred native slaves, march down from the newly conquered Inca Empire in the Andes mountains into the jungles to the east, in search of the fabled country of El Dorado. Under the command of Gonzalo Pizarro, the men, clad in half armor, pull cannons down narrow mountain paths and through dense, muddy jungle. On New Year's Eve, reaching the end of his supplies and unable to

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go on without more information, Pizarro orders a group of forty men to scout ahead by raft down river.

If they do not return to the main party within one week with news of what lies beyond, they will be considered lost. Pizarro chooses Don Pedro de Ursúa as the commander of the expedition, Don Lope de Aguirre as his second in command, fat nobleman Don Fernando de Guzmán to represent the Royal House of Spain, and Brother Gaspar de Carvajal to bring the word of God.

Accompanying the expedition, against Pizarro's better judgment, are Ursúa's mistress, Doña Inés, and Aguirre's teenage daughter, Flores.

Traveling through rapids, one of the four rafts gets caught in an eddy, and the others are unable to help free it. That night, gunfire erupts on the trapped raft. In the morning the men on board are found dead, with three missing. Ursúa wants the bodies to be brought back to camp for proper burial. Knowing this would slow down the expedition, Aguirre suggests that Perucho fire the cannon to clean the rust from it. He fires at the raft, destroying it and throws the bodies into the river.

During the night, the remaining rafts are swept away by the rising river. Time has run out for the scouting mission, and Ursúa decides to return to Pizarro's group despite the danger

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from hostile Indians. Aguirre leads a mutiny against Ursúa, telling the men that untold riches await them ahead, and reminding them that Hernán Cortés won an empire in Mexico by disobeying orders. Ursúa orders Aguirre arrested, but he and a soldier loyal to him are shot. Aguirre nominates Guzmán as the new leader of the expedition and rebels against the Spanish Crown, proclaiming Guzmán the emperor of El Dorado. A farcical trial of Ursúa results in his being sentenced to death, but Guzmán surprises Aguirre by granting Ursúa clemency.

Aguirre remains the true leader of the mutiny, so oppressive and terrifying that few protest his leadership. Only Inés has the courage to speak out against him. Knowing that some of the soldiers are still loyal to Ursúa, Aguirre simply ignores her.

The expedition continues on a single, newly built, large raft.

An indigenous couple approaching peacefully by canoe are captured by the explorers, and when the man expresses confusion when presented with a Bible, Brother Carvajal kills them for blasphemy. Guzmán dines on the low food supplies while the men starve, and has the expedition's only remaining horse pushed off the raft because it annoys him. Soon afterwards he is found dead near the raft's privy. After Guzmán's death, Aguirre proclaims himself leader. Ursúa is then taken ashore and hanged in the jungle. The group attacks an indigenous village, where several

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soldiers are killed by spears and arrows. The distraught Inés walks into the jungle and disappears.

On the raft again, the group of slowly starving, feverish men begin disbelieving everything they see, even when shot with arrows. The group stares in disbelief at a wooden ship perched in the highest branches of a tall tree, which Aguirre orders be brought down and refurbished, but Brother Carvajal refuses. In a series of final attacks by unseen assailants, the remaining survivors including Aguirre's daughter are killed by arrows.

Monkeys overrun the raft as Aguirre imagines conquering all of America and founding an incestuous dynasty to rule over it.

Jokerman

Bob Dylan

Standing on the water

casting your bread

While the eyes of the idol

with the iron head are glowing

Distant ships sailing into the mist

You were born with a snake

in both of your fists

While a hurricane was blowing

Freedom just around the corner for you

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But with truth so far off,

what good will it do?

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune

Bird fly high by the light of the moon

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman

So swiftly the sun sets in the sky

You rise up and say goodbye to no one

Fools rush in where angels fear to tread Both of their futures, so full of dread, you don't show one

Shedding off one more layer of skin

Keeping one step ahead of the persecutor within

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune

Bird fly high by the light of the moon

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman

You're a man of the mountains,

you can walk on the clouds

Manipulator of crowds,

you're a dream twister

You're going to Sodom and Gomorrah

But what do you care?

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Ain't nobody there would want to marry your sister Friend to the martyr,

a friend to the woman of shame

You look into the fiery furnace,

see the rich man without any name

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune

Bird fly high by the light of the moon

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman

Well, the Book of Leviticus and Deuteronomy The law of the jungle and the sea

are your only teachers

In the smoke of the twilight

on a milk-white steed

Michelangelo indeed could've carved

out your features

Resting in the fields,

far from the turbulent space

Half asleep near the stars

with a small dog licking your face

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune

Bird fly high by the light of the moon

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman

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Well, the rifleman's stalking

the sick and the lame

Preacher man seeks the same,

who'll get there first is uncertain

Nightsticks and water cannons,

tear gas, padlocks

Molotov's cocktails and rocks

behind every curtain

False-hearted judges dying

in the webs that they spin

Only a matter of time

'til night comes steppin' in

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune

Bird fly high by the light of the moon

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman

It's a shadowy world,

skies are slippery gray

A woman just gave birth to a prince today and dressed him in scarlet

He'll put the priest in his pocket,

put the blade to the heat

Take the motherless children off the street

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And place them at the feet of a harlot

Oh, Jokerman, you know what he wants

Oh, Jokerman, you don't show any response

Jokerman dance to the nightingale tune

Bird fly high by the light of the moon

Oh, oh, oh, Jokerman

Written by Bob Dylan.

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192 - Rollerball – Saint Louis, Missouri

Highway 61 Revisited

Bob Dylan

Oh, God said to Abraham, "Kill me a son"

Abe say, "Man, you must be puttin' me on"

God say, "No", Abe say, "What?"

God say, "You can do what you want Abe But the next time you see me comin', you better run"

Well, Abe said, "Where you want this killin' done?"

God said, "Out on Highway 61"

Well, Georgia Sam, he had a bloody nose Welfare Department, they wouldn't give him no clothes He asked poor Howard, "Where can I go?"

Howard said, "There's only one place I know"

Sam said, "Tell me quick, man, I got to run"

Old Howard just pointed with his gun

And said, "That way, down on Highway 61"

Well, Mack the Finger said to Louie the King

"I got forty red white and blue shoe strings And a thousand telephones that don't ring Do you know where I can get rid of these things?"

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And Louie the King said, "Let me think for a minute, son"

And he said, "Yes, I think it can be easily done Just take everything down to Highway 61"

Now, the fifth daughter on the twelfth night Told the first father that things weren't right

"My complexion", she says, "Is much too white"

He said, "Come here and step into the light"

He says, "Hmm, you're right"

"Let me tell the second mother, this has been done"

But the second mother was with the seventh son And they were both out on Highway 61

Now, the rovin' gambler, he was very bored Tryin' to create a next world war

He found a promoter who nearly fell off the floor He said, "I never engaged in this kind of thing before But yes, I think it can be very easily done"

"We'll just put some bleachers out in the sun And have it on Highway 61"

Written by Bob Dylan.

Rollerball

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Jonathan E. is the team captain and veteran star of the Houston Rollerball team. Mr. Bartholomew, chairman of the Energy Corporation; one of a series of corporations that now indirectly govern society through their purchased politicians, and team sponsor, offers Jonathan a lavish retirement package if Jonathan will announce his retirement during an upcoming television special detailing his career. Jonathan refuses, and requests to see his former wife Ella, who had been taken from him some years earlier by a corporate executive who wanted her for himself.

Jonathan goes to a library, where he finds that all books have been digitized and edited to suit the corporations, and are now stored on supercomputers at large protected corporate locations.

Jonathan's friend and former coach Cletus, now an Energy executive, warns him that the Executive Committee is afraid of him, though he cannot find out why.

Rollerball soon degrades into senseless violence as the rules are changed to force Jonathan out. The semi-final match between Houston and Tokyo is played with no penalties and limited substitutions in the hope Jonathan will be injured and forced out. The brutality of the match kills several players and leaves Jonathan's best friend and teammate Moonpie in a coma, though Houston wins the game.

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In a teleconference, the Executive Committee decides that the next game will be played with no penalties, no substitutions, and no time limit in the hope that Jonathan will be killed during the game. Jonathan's popularity and longevity as a player threaten the underlying agenda of Rollerball; to demonstrate the futility of individualism.

Jonathan makes his way to Geneva to access the world's repository of all human knowledge, a central supercomputer known as "Zero," only to find its memory corrupted. Afterwards, Jonathan receives a visit from his former wife Ella, who has been sent to convince him to retire and to make it clear that the coming game will be "to the death." Jonathan realizes his wife's visit was set up by the executives, and erases a long cherished movie of the two of them, stating; "I just wanted you on my side." Jonathan decides that despite the dangers, he will play in the championship game against New York.

The final match devolves into a brutal gladiatorial fight.

Jonathan is soon the only player left on the track for Houston, while a skater and a biker remain from New York. After a violent struggle in front of Mr. Bartholomew's box, Jonathan kills the skater and takes the ball. The biker charges, and Jonathan knocks him off the bike and pins the biker down. He raises the ball over his head, then pauses. Refusing to kill his fallen

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opponent, Jonathan gets to his feet and makes his way to the goal, slamming the ball home and scoring the game's only point.

Jonathan then takes a victory lap as the crowd chants his name, first softly, then slowly rising to a roar while Mr. Bartholomew hastily exits the stands.

The 59th Street Bridge Song (Feelin'

Groovy)

Simon and Garfunkel

Slow down, you move too fast

You got to make the morning last

Just kicking down the cobble stones

Looking for fun and feelin' groovy

Ba da, da, da, da, da, da

Feelin' groovy

Hello lamp-post, whatcha knowin'?

I've come to watch your flowers growin'

Ain't cha got no rhymes for me?

Doot-in' doo-doo, feelin' groovy

Ba da, da, da, da, da, da

Feelin' groovy

I've got no deeds to do, no promises to keep

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I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep Let the morning time drop all its petals on me Life, I love you, all is groovy

Ba da, da, da, da, da, da

Ba da, da, da, da, da, da

Ba da, da, da, da, da, da

Ba da, da, da, da, da, da

(Sound of silence, sound of silence)

Well you know what?

You know we wanted to have, err...

We wanted to have fireworks tonight

But they wouldn't let us have that

Well let's make our own fireworks

Here right now

Written by Paul Simon.

Mercy On Broadway

Laura Nyro

Madison smiled

and she hung with a band of strays

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The band was gone

Bringin' it on to the Broadway blaze

Once I lived under the city in my sweet July

July mercy on Broadway

Don't you believe it

You better know what I say

She'll make you pay

Down the alleyway, slippin' up a sidestreet

Shine everybody, shine everybody

Everybody, shine everybody

On Broadway, jive and pray

There ain't no mercy now on Broadway

People and the landlords shine

Down and gay wine

In the doom swept the band away

Baby on Broadway

Is she mild like mother and child?

Does she obey?

Once I lived under the city in my sweet July July mercy on Broadway

Don't you believe it

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You better know what I say

She'll make you pay

Black city fair

Ole road runner there

Shine everybody

(Everybody, everybody)

Shine everybody

There'll be no mercy on Broadway

(Incomprehensible)

Mercy on Broadway, mercy on Broadway

Shine!

Written by Laura Nyro.

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193 - Network - Great Neck, LI, New York Network

Howard Beale, the longtime anchor for the “UBS Evening News,”

learns from friend and news division President Max Schumacher that he has just two more weeks on the air because of declining ratings. The following night, Beale announces to his audience that he will commit suicide on next Tuesday's newscast. UBS

tries to immediately fire Beale, but Schumacher intervenes so that he can have a dignified farewell. Beale promises to apologize for his outburst, but once on the air, he launches into a rant about life being "bullshit." Beale's outburst causes ratings to spike, and much to Schumacher's dismay, UBS

executives decide to exploit the situation. When Beale's ratings soon top out, programming chief Diana Christensen reaches out to Schumacher with an offer to help "develop" Beale's show. He declines the professional proposal but accepts her more personal pitch. The two begin an affair.

When Schumacher decides to end Beale's "angry man" format, Christensen persuades her boss, Frank Hackett, to slot the evening news show under the entertainment division so she can develop it. Hackett bullies UBS executives to consent and fires Schumacher. In one impassioned diatribe, Beale galvanizes the

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nation, saying; “I don’t know what to do about the crime, the inflation, and the rest. ..... But I do know that the first thing you have to do is get mad,” persuading viewers to put their faces out the window and shout, "I'm as mad as hell, and I'm not going to take this anymore!" They do en masse.

He is soon hosting a new program called “The Howard Beale Show,”

top billed as "the mad prophet of the airwaves." The show becomes the most highly rated program on television, and Beale finds new celebrity preaching his angry populist message in front of a live studio audience that, on cue, chants his signature catchphrase; "We're as mad as hell, and we're not going to take this anymore!" Schumacher and Christensen's romance withers as the show flourishes, but in the flush of high ratings, the two ultimately find their way back together.

Schumacher separates from his wife of over 25 years for Christensen.

Seeking another hit, Christensen cuts a deal with a terrorist group called the Ecumenical Liberation Army (ELA) for a new docudrama series, “The Mao Tse-Tung Hour,” for which the ELA will provide exclusive footage of their activities. Meanwhile, Beale discovers that Communications Corporation of America (CCA), the parent company of UBS, will be bought out by a larger Saudi conglomerate. He urges his audience to pressure the White

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House to quash the deal. This panics UBS because the network's debt load has made the merger essential for its survival. CCA chairman Arthur Jensen arranges a meeting with Beale, describing the interrelatedness of the participants in the international economy and the illusory nature of nationality distinctions.

Jensen persuades Beale to abandon his message and preach his new

"evangel."

Christensen's fanatical devotion to her job and emotional emptiness ultimately drive Schumacher away, warning her that she will self-destruct if she continues on her current path.

Audiences find Beale's new sermons on the dehumanization of society depressing and ratings start to slip, yet Jensen refuses to fire him. Seeing its two-for-the-price-of-one value; solving the Beale problem while at the same time sparking a boost in season opener ratings. Christensen, Hackett and the other executives decide to hire the ELA to assassinate Beale on the air. The assassination succeeds, putting an end to “The Howard Beale Show” and kicking off the second season of “The Mao Tse-Tung Hour.” A voice over proclaims; "This was the story of Howard Beale: the first known instance of a man who was killed because he had lousy ratings."

My Dinner With Isaac – December 20, 2020

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In another part of town Mark Weston dawdled down shadowy Remsen Street in Brooklyn Heights, the only light emanating from some windows of the row houses. His loosely secured backpack provided the slightest thuds of discomfort at an increased gait, hill, or decline.

Despite having been energized by the sights and sounds of his bus-subway-another-subway-end-trip, he was in no rush, fearing a confrontation with a left-behind and now hidden-in-the-dark sidewalk denizen.

Mark was also mulling over the fact that he was for the second time in the process of destroying a portion of his Gonzaga University break through a “necessary” visit to this tiresomely opinionated man. “Fool me once shame on you, fool me twice shame on me” played havoc with his sidewalk concentration.

And this was the freshman’s first Spring break. His last visit was during the cold and snowy Christmas season. He tried to force his wandering thoughts of Florida, bikinis, and beaches out of his head.

This man was one who had sometimes laughingly characterized himself as one of eight trillion inconsequential Vice Presidents at JP Morgan Chase. The humor in those self-effacing observations was a redeeming factor, unless one considered it a

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cover for slothfulness. Just as in previous times, Mark expected a sizable “donation” at the conclusion of his brief stay with this Isaac Leibowitz, JP Morgan Chase Vice President.

His round trip ticket was $255, expensive for a college student, and not expensive at the same time, as his Mom grudgingly paid for it. Sea-Tac to LaGuardia, with a change in Burlington, NC

took seven hours, the bulk of it obligatorily conversing with a speed freak, running cheap store bought weed to where its illegality commanded a higher price. 440 excruciatingly long minutes later, Mark then had to endure a bus and a subway ride, which left him in no mood for nonsense, or maybe suggested the need for a nonsense rehabilitation, after the obligatories and some needed sleep.

Mark remembered the building from his last visit. It was hard to miss once you’d been there. Though the attached brick buildings were virtually identical at night, if not 90% so during the day too, his recollection of the winding, forged iron balustrade under the plain iron handrail at both sides of the steps set this one apart from the other functional, plain and less expensive, standardized, blackened, aluminum balusters and railings. The twisting configuration which produced a midway landing, prior to a second climb, was as unlike any others on the block as were the spindled balusters, a 17th century

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inspired style. Having been an aficionado of the decorative arts, Mark had been long aware that the axis of a spindle is straight; hence, for example, a spindle-legged chair is a straight-legged design, even though cylindrical symmetry allows decoration of elaborate notches or bulbs, so long as the cylindrical symmetry is preserved; hence, once more, sturdiness is not sacrificed.

Mark rang the entry buzzer, and was buzzed in by three respondents, hoping that at least one of them was the right one.

The odds seemed in his favor. He climbed the stairs, ignoring the two open doors on the first and second floors. He got to the landing of the third, and was relieved to see that 3C’s door was also open. In it stood a slightly graying man bedecked in a white long sleeved t-shirt with a sailboat image, and dark gray water resistant sailing trousers. A dark gray Stetson suede Cambridge cap topped things off, more or less inferring a balance.

Mark smiled from a distance and said; “Don’t tell me you’re ready to come back to Gig Harbor with me.”

The man said; “So what? You think we got no water here in Brooklyn, David? Come here and give your dad a big hug.”

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With his head to the floor, Mark took the few remaining steps, and cuddled his dad, thinking that dad might already be starting that old tired discussion.

“I won’t ask how your trip was, as I’m sure it was no fun. Tell me, how’s your mother and sister.”

“Can I go inside and sit first?”

“Sure, sure. My apologies. Come on in.”

Mark entered the 500 sq. ft. studio, threw off his backpack, and flopped against the right flank of the varicolored sectional couch; his dad taking the left as he removed his Stetson.

“Well, Abigail was supposed to come with me, but cancelled out saying that she had Dengue fever or West Nile virus. She doesn’t have anything, but a huge crush on a boy who wants to be on the swimming team.”

“Your mother seeing anyone?”

“She told me to say ‘no’ when you asked that.”

Isaac laughed mildly, and said; ‘Miriam ... “

Mark interrupted with a correction; “Chloe.”

“Either Chloe or you have developed a sense of humor.”

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“It was me. Mom is actually spending too much time with the handyman to do much else these days.”

“You’re on the borderline of jeopardy.”

“ ........ “

“ ........ “

“You know, this whole situation was started by you.”

“You’re starting to sound more and more like your name-changing mother.”

“Let’s get off this old story and just chill out.”

“Fine. So, how did you like your first year at university? What did you take? Anything of special interest?”

“The History of Khazaria 101.”

“Look who’s starting. I came out here to advance my career. In the entirety of Washington State there are no top notch financial jobs open to me, and I’m not going to try to compete with those techie Asians. No way. And no way am I going to stay a branch manager all my life, smiling and kissing the ass of any

‘big deal’ with more than $10,000 on deposit. Besides, New York City doesn’t have a problem with Jews, and you’d be just fine here.”

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“The name change has worked well so far. Look, I’m tired after that trip, and I’d really just like to get some sleep. Okay? We can argue tomorrow when I’m fresh.”

“Sure. Why does this always happen? Love ya, kid.”

“Love ya, dad. .... By the way, mom misses you and talks about you all the time, and she actually despises that useless, crooked handyman.”

“Go to sleep.”

The following day Mark earnestly said; “I’m only going to tell you this because I love you dad. You know that. Right? You don’t have to say anything, but I wish you’d take that apprehensive look off your face. It’s not all that bad, and I’m only saying it with the best of intentions. We internet inundated Millennials already know everything we want to know. In less than a half hour we can google it and get it from eight sources.

We’ll probably get to all of it at our own pace. So, the thing is dad, and have I recently said that I love you, is that it is no longer necessary to preach anything at us. We either know what you’re going to say already or don’t give a wet one about the subject. No, no. Don’t interrupt. I know what you’re going to say, and no matter how you slice it, you can’t force us to

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accept it, and we won’t until the day it gets our interest. So, all you can do is be annoying, and make us space out while we politely sit through the long diatribe. See, the cat is out of the bag, and he-she has no intention of going back in, and even if he-she did, nobody knows where the bag went. Yes, you know that and you’ve known that since before I was born dad, but you see, I know it too, and it’s as if ....... Let me put it a more concrete way. Remember when you were in college, and taking a required course that you really didn’t have any interest in? The prof was doing what they all do at age 50; trying to sound young and “with it” while their un-returned smiles and guffaws only painfully showed how “without it” they were. Sure, there were a few students, who either out of sympathy or a suck up for grades asked the right question to encourage Mr. Without It to continue on and feel that he was the modern day incarnation of ‘The Pied Piper of Hamelin,’ while he was being the modern day incarnation of ‘Aqualung.’

Don’t get me wrong, dad. We Millennials are not haters and we’ll even do damage of omission not to appear as such, and the generalities expressed here are not directed at you. Don’t look so bored with this. Those blank eyes and shrugs as if you’ve been through it all before are quite presumptuous in assuming that you know where I’m going with this, which you really don’t

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dad. It’s not as you think it is anymore. You can’t know where I’m going with this, as I’m kind of alternating between going backwards and sideways. ......... I know that you disapprove of me and are hurt because of that name change. But, you just make those little jokes whenever the subject comes up and that puts a damper on the whole thing, and the conversation now segues into that Khazar stuff which has nothing to do with anything, while your only son is standing there dying for an opportunity to set things right, because I love you dad, and need you to sincerely say that it’s all right. I mean you do, but at the same time you put this conversation ending sarcasm on it. No matter how much you hurt, I could then explain to you how I was hurting even more. I was all right with most everybody at school one on one.

Okay, the shiksas were hockin’ me in China over a little schtuppin’. But, whenever there was a group, I’d try to enter, and always always always got the cold shoulder. Things would suddenly get quiet and they’d all be looking at me, as if I was supposed to say or do something which would make them comfortable in their peer group, as if it was necessary to show in some way that none of them were close to me. I felt like

‘Nosferatu’ in that old movie. And I don’t even have a bald head or a tight fitting black dress. That was supposed to be funny, and you’re making no reaction. You’re just sitting there stoically staring at the floor to avoid any eye contact. At

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least say it was a lousy joke! Just wait until I get a real bald head and start prancing around here in a dress. Everybody’s doing it now. You should have seen the tsuris it caused with the prom committee. Oy vay, you should have seen old, effeminate Mr.

Rudolph and old, mannish Ms. Taylor try to come up with some sort of program without using some of the currently un-acceptable words, before finally coming up with the rule that if one wore a gown, the other would have to wear a tuxedo. And you know there were even some complaints about that, so wanting to avoid embarrassing publicity, Mr. Rudolph did not ‘man’ the gate prom night, claiming a serial diarrhea attack, and everybody came in just as they wanted. You might think that another attempt at humor, but it’s true. When I went in the Men’s Room I thought that I was sharing it with a waterlogged dead animal carcass giving its final reek and thoughts on the whole matter while in one of the stalls; ‘Bropopopopop, oh Jesus, brapoopa, bipbipbipbipbip, purazit, plop, plop, blam.’ The kids used the Ladies Room as Ms. Taylor didn’t show up, citing some difficulties she was having with her oscillator. Come on, dad.

Even the kids had something to say when I’d leave. They’d sort of take turns watching me retreat, as none wanted me to see them looking, and I know they’d be saying Jew, Jew, Jew. I could see and hear the tiny little snickers. And the girls were even worse. I mean, you know those kinds of girls who go with like

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anybody? That was rhetorical. Well, they wouldn’t go with me. Do you have any idea of how much loneliness that lack of STD

experience caused me? That was rhetorical too. But, I was culturally deprived. Mark Weston. David Leibowitz. They’re just names. Like Snoop Dog, Eminem, Fifty Cent. They’re street names.

We just be what we feel ......... as much as we’re allowed.

Better for the business too. Who’s going to pay any attention to a serious rapper named Melvin Plotzker? See, it’s just me and always will be. And you’re my dad, always will be, and I’m glad.

I love you; dad and I want you to seriously say that it’s all right. ... If it is. Or say it’s not all right and that you’ll hate me forever. Just to be clear, I’m not asking for permission to be a bald head in a tight dress. Marilyn Manson did that a decade before I was even paying any attention to outfits and head tops. You should see what they’ve graduated to now. The chazerei goyim got the chutzpah to schlep around in schmootzy schmattes and no one even bothers to kibbitz or kvetch. And I haven’t even told you the worst part yet. Whenever there were a few people standing around, one would say to me something like;

‘Jew see that’ or ‘Jew do the math homework.’ The chutzpah! I mean if it’s right in front of our faces I no doubt saw it and I always do the ferschlugginer math homework. Please excuse my use of the ‘F bomb’ word. I can’t even object, because then I’ll be accused of being paranoid or something, but there’s no confusing

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‘Did you’ with ‘Jew.’ There’s no ‘J’ in ‘did you.’ One has three letters, the other six. And even if the narish goyim can’t spell, they sound differently. One has two distinct syllables and the other one. And even the alter cocker female teachers did it. They’d point at me and say; ‘Jew know the answer.’ They didn’t even phrase it as a question, and it gets all the bimbo shiksas giggling. Of course I know the answer, but I’m not telling that klafte. Dad, I’m pouring out my broken heart. Say something already. ...... I’m not a Jew and everyone is laughing when they call me one. Dad, dad, I’m here feeling like a schmaltzy shlimazel trying to schmooze with you and getting bubkes. Dad! Dad! Can’t you understand? Dad? I love you dad.

Please tell me you do. It’s not a rejection of your name. I just don’t want to be incorrectly seen as Jewish in a world full of goyishe schlemiels. Nu? ...... Bubkes, again. It doesn’t even matter in a religious sense, as we were never that, and Jewish is a religion; not a race, I know, but the idiots ignore all the evidence to the contrary and treat it as such, the supposed ignorance a possible cover for anti-Semitism. And I don’t have to live that, and I haven’t had to since I became a Mark Weston.

You should be happy for me. ..... Ah, plotz. Just plotz on the whole magillah. I don’t need this agraveyshan. I got enough from the shiksas. No, I wasn’t referring to the STD’s. Now you got me talking to myself. Look, now you got me the agita, and I’m

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babbling like a schmuck. No, I didn’t mean that, dad. I love you and need your approval. Well, need isn’t exactly the right word.

It’s not as if I’m going to die over it or anything. It’s more like being stricken with debilitating tuchis impairment.”

Clumsily stumbling to the other side of the table where his dad sat, still with head down, Mark shook him and imploringly said;

“Dad, dad. Can’t you hear me? Please say that you’re not mad.”

Somewhat jolted, Isaac looked up and said; “Oh. Oh. Sorry, son.

I was just reading an interesting attachment to an e-mail which Joyce sent me about an excavation in Khazaria. ....... But, please continue on, David. That stuff about internetted Millennials had my interest. Really. Would you mind re-picking up from there? Don’t look at the floor, son. I love you.

Just joking again. Good gosh, golly, and smelly gefilte fish, my goyishe boy. I heard everything you said. I am capable of multi-tasking. But, first listen to this. It is so interesting. Atil, the capital city of the Khazar Empire from about 750 to 969, has been found. A Russian team has located the remnants of the lost city in the newly found 9th and 10th century layers at Samosdelka. They found the remains of an ancient brick fortress, which contained characteristic Khazar yurts, portable round tents of varying sizes. This is a hugely important discovery. We

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can now shed light on how the Khazars actually lived. We know very little about them; their traditions, their death rites, their culture. The city was bisected by dried up riverbeds with a central island citadel of fired brick located on an island in the center of the city, which confirms speculation. Traces of a widespread fire were found at Samosdelka in an Atil layer. The excavators have also found the remains of a large wooden ship.

Speculation about why it’s there ensues as Atil was believed to be then miles away from the nearest navigable water. Numerous medallions bearing a cross insignia were found in it. Wow! That sure puts a crimp in the traditional Judaic conversion theory.

And that ship might have meant that Atil was near water at the time and they intended to use it to sail away en masse because of the attacks, give or take a century or so. What do you think, David?”

“I don’t know. The thing I always wondered about was why those old towns got buried in the first place. I mean, like didn’t they ever sweep up the place?”

“Are you taking any archeology next year?”

“Wasn’t planning on it.”

“ .......................... “

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“You know; I’m not all that interested, and suspect that long term abandonment is the answer. But, it’s like those questions many sites on the net ask you. It’s something you never really thought about, but since they asked, you register an opinion.

Then somebody else says you’re wrong, and somebody else writes in a whole wiki history on the subject, and someone says get to the point, and yadda yadda. The site can now boast 4+ new hits, and 4+ ‘users’ time is used to promote the interest of whoever was responsible for asking the uninteresting question. It’s a good trap as it’s tempting when you’re bored or have a need to show how smart you are.”

“I’m getting hungry, kiddo. I’m going to heat up come nice gefilte fish. Want I should make some for you.”

“Only if they’re nice.”

Sounding impatient, Isaac adopted a desultory manner to say; “If you can get that woe down on paper while it’s still fresh in your mind, that is the number one popular genre in the lit world. It might be worth the effort to put it down, if you can figure out how to make these vultures pay for it.

On a more human level, let me guess. Your school project boss spent some cheap money and got some internet technology outdated by the year of the flood, and can now monitor what's on your

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screen and actually expects some work to be done for your stipend. Lot of damn fascists like that. When the revolution comes heads are gonna roll.

If it's something else take some solace in this. Enjoy today as it will be undoubtedly worse tomorrow. I mean that both literally and as a metaphor. In youth, you still expect that you can fix up things, though in actuality you never will, no matter how simple those things seem now. Time is on your side, as whatever it is, will be worse tomorrow, and then you get that re-thinking, mid-life crisis with the spiritual gurus who pass the hat at a drop of it, then comes the arthritis, osteoporosis and the heartbreak of psoriasis. And at that point you then fully realize that nothing ever got fixed, and the only change was that more s*** was added to the list, as well as the bulbous Depends Adult Undergarment you now need to wear, and it will continue to get worse until you die, which isn't very far off, and chances are it will be a protracted painful fadeout, during which you’ll have to lie as much as a US President, and say to all those who barge in on you any time convenient for them, without regard as to whether or not you’re puking from the chemo, that you liked them and will miss them, and allow their grinning, cold hand to touch yours, as if you don't they will continue to hover and linger, like a horsefly scouting for

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bulls***, and the healthcare ersatz ‘professionals’ are now cracking down on the OxyContin prescriptions they previously extolled and enabled.

You see, son, you are presenting me with a triple bind. I’ve been trying to avoid it as if I say that I don’t care that you changed your name you will only hear ‘I don’t care,’ and if I say that I disapprove you probably will make some sort of mental big s*** out of it, and hand your money over to the quacks this retarded government, which gives out money on a first a**h***

come basis won’t even reimburse. So, I laugh, allowing you to interpret that any way you deem fit, and you choose to interpret it as any way you deem unfit. Then you insist that I make some sort of statement. Okay. I’ll oblige. Here it is. Ready? If you decide to prance around with a shaved head and tight black dress, I’ll find that amusing if you don’t also shave your face and legs; but I won’t take any pictures in either case. Hope that helps. Enjoy today, and best wishes on the broadening of your 'cultural deprivation' as I sincerely wish you all the luck in picking up some of those shiksa STD’s tomorrow. If you have any difficulties, just put a potato in your pocket."

Trying to maintain dry eyes they embraced; and Mark whispered;

“Gee, Dad. You’re the greatest kalye aun farfaln mentsh of them all.”

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“Think that’s easy without being Jewish? Thank you son. I love you Mark. Don’t the Jewish girls of today get STD’s too?”

Astronomy

Blue Öyster Cult

Clock strikes twelve and moon drops burst Out at you from their hiding place

Like acid and oil on a madman's face

His reason tends to fly away

Like lesser birds on the four winds

Like silver scrapes in May

And now the sand's become a crust

Most of you have gone away

Come Susie, dear, let's take a walk

Just out there upon the beach

I know you'll soon be married

And you want to know where winds come from

Well, it's never said at all

On the map that Carrie reads

Behind the clock back there, you know

At the four winds bar

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Hey

Hey

Hey

Hey

Four winds at the four winds bar

Two doors locked and windows barred

One door to let, to take you in

The other one just mirrors it

Hey

Hey

Hey

Hey

Hellish glare and inference

The other one's a duplicate

The queenly flux, eternal light

Or the light that never warms

Yes, the light that never, never warms

Oh, the light that never

Never warms

Never warms

Never warms

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The clock strikes twelve, the moon drops burst Out at you from their hiding place

Miss Carrie nurse and Susie dear

Would find themselves at four winds bar

It's the nexus of the crisis

And the origin of storms

Just the place to hopelessly

Encounter time and then came me

Hey

Hey

Hey

Hey

Hey

Hey

Hey

Hey

Call me Desdinova

Eternal light

These gravely digs of mine

Will surely prove a sight

And don't forget my dog

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Fixed and consequent

Astronomy

A star

Astronomy

A star

Astronomy

A star

Astronomy

A star

Written by Albert Bouchard, Samuel Pearlman, and Joseph Bouchard.

Visions of Johanna

Bob Dylan

Ain't it just like the night to play tricks when you're tryin' to be so quiet?

We sit here stranded,

though we're all doing our best to deny it And Louise holds a handful of rain,

tempting you to defy it

Lights flicker from the opposite loft

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In this room the heat pipes just cough

The country music station plays soft

But there's nothing

really nothing to turn off

Just Louise and her lover so entwined

And these visions of Johanna

that conquer my mind.

In the empty lot where the ladies play

blind man's bluff with the key chain

And the all-night girls

they whisper of escapades out on the D-train We can hear the night watchman

click his flashlight

Ask himself if it's him or them

that's really insane

Louise she's all right she's just near

She's delicate and seems like the mirror But she just makes it all

too concise and too clear

That Johanna's not here

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The ghost of electricity howls

in the bones of her face

Where these visions of Johanna

have now taken my place.

Now, little boy lost,

he takes himself so seriously

He brags of his misery,

he likes to live dangerously

And when bringing her name up

He speaks of a farewell kiss to me

He's sure got a lotta gall

to be so useless and all

Muttering small talk at the wall

while I'm in the hall

Oh, how can I explain ?

It's so hard to get on

And these visions of Johanna

they kept me up past the dawn.

Inside the museums,

Infinity goes up on trial

Voices echo this is what

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salvation must be like after a while

But Mona Lisa musta had the highway blues You can tell by the way she smiles

See the primitive wallflower frieze

When the jelly-faced women all sneeze

Hear the one with the mustache say, "Jeeze I can't find my knees."

Oh, jewels and binoculars

hang from the head of the mule

But these visions of Johanna,

they make it all seem so cruel.

The peddler now speaks to the countess

who's pretending to care for him

Saying, "Name me someone that's not a parasite and I'll go out and say a prayer for him."

But like Louise always says

"Ya can't look at much, can ya man."

As she, herself prepares for him

And Madonna, she still has not showed

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We see this empty cage now corrode

Where her cape of the stage once had flowed The fiddler, he now steps to the road

He writes everything's been returned which was owed On the back of the fish truck that loads While my conscience explodes

The harmonicas play the skeleton keys and the rain And these visions of Johanna

are now all that remain.

Written by Bob Dylan.

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194 - Burn – Queimada, Nicaragua

Burn

In 1844, the British Admiralty sends Sir William Walker, an agent provocateur, to the island of Queimada; literally "Burned"

or "Burnt," a Portuguese colony in the Lesser Antilles. The British government seeks to open the island to economic exploitation by the Antilles Royal Sugar Company. Walker's task is to organize an uprising of enslaved Africans against the Portuguese regime, which the British government intend to replace with a government dominated by pliable white planters.

Fire

The Crazy World of Arthur Brown

I am the god of hellfire and I bring you

Fire, I'll take you to burn

Fire, I'll take you to learn

I'll see you burn

You fought hard and you saved and earned But all of it's going to burn

And your mind, your tiny mind

You know you've really been so blind

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Now's your time, burn your mind

You're falling far, too far behind

Oh no, oh no, oh no!

You're gonna burn

Fire, to destroy all you've done

Fire, to end all you've become

I'll feel you burn

You've been living like a little girl

In the middle of your little world

And your mind, your tiny mind

You know you've really been so blind

Now's your time, burn your mind

You're falling far, too far behind

Oooh

Fire, I'll take you to burn

Fire, I'll take you to learn

You're gonna burn

You're gonna burn

You're gonna burn, burn, burn, burn,

Burn, burn, burn, burn, burn, burn, burn

Fire, I'll take you to burn

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Fire, I'll take you to learn

Fire, I'll take you to bed

Fire, I'll take you, fire

Written by Joshua Jermaine Moreland, Christophe Heyerick, Vincent De Craene, and Andreas De Zutter.

When he arrives in Queimada, Walker befriends the charismatic José Dolores, whom he entices to lead the slave rebellion, and induces leading landowners to reject Portuguese rule. Dolores's rebellion is successful, and Walker arranges the assassination of the Portuguese governor in a nighttime coup. Walker establishes a puppet regime beholden to the Antilles Company, headed by the idealistic but ineffectual revolutionary Teddy Sanchez. Walker convinces Dolores to recognize the new regime and to surrender his arms, in exchange for the abolition of slavery. Having succeeded in his mission, he moves on to his next assignment in Indochina.

In 1848, Dolores, disgusted by the new regime's collaboration with the Antilles Company, leads a second uprising, aiming to expel British influence from Quiemada. After six years of the uprising, in 1854, the Company returns Walker; after finding him in Plymouth, England, to Queimada with the consent of the Admiralty, tasking him with suppressing the revolt and pacifying

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the island. Resentful of the company's exploitation of Queimada, President Sanchez is uncooperative. Sanchez is ousted and executed in a coup engineered by Walker, who establishes a regime wholly beholden to the company. British forces are invited to the island. Guided by Walker, they rapidly quell the rebellion and capture Dolores. Walker attempts to save Dolores's life due to their past comradery, but the rebel leader rejects his assistance, asserting that freedom is earned, not received.

The government executes Dolores by hanging. Soon after, Walker, guilt stricken, is accosted as he prepares to depart Queimada. A man greets him just as Dolores did when Walker first arrived on the island, and then stabs him to death. Before dying, Walker looks around and sees himself surrounded by accusatory or passive looks of the poor people in the port.

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195 - The Way We Were – Bar Harbor, Maine The Way We Were

The story is partially told in flashback. Katie Morosky and Hubbell Gardiner are immensely different. Katie is a staunch Marxist Jew with strong anti-war opinions, while Hubbell is a carefree WASP with no particular political bent. While attending college in 1937, Katie is attracted to Hubbell's good looks and admires his natural writing skill, which he seemingly excels at.

Hubbell is intrigued by Katie's ability to communicate and persuade others into supporting various social causes. Hubbell's snobbish college friends mock Katie and her passionate political stances. Neither Katie nor Hubbell act upon their mutual attraction, and they lose touch after graduation.

The Way We Were

Barbra Streisand

Memories

Light the corners of my mind

Misty watercolor memories

Of the way we were

Scattered pictures

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Of the smiles we left behind

Smiles we gave to one another

For the way we were

Can it be that it was all so simple then?

Or has time re-written every line?

If we had the chance to do it all again Tell me, would we?

Could we?

Memories

May be beautiful and yet

What's too painful to remember

We simply to choose to forget

So it's the laughter

We will remember

Whenever we remember

The way we were

The way we were

Written by Marvin Hamlisch, Marilyn Bergman, and Alan Bergman.

The two meet again towards the end of World War II. Katie works at a radio station, and Hubbell, having served as a naval

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officer in the South Pacific, is readjusting to civilian life.

They fall in love, despite their differences. When President Franklin D. Roosevelt dies, Katie is vocally incensed when Hubbell's friends make disparaging jokes. She rejects Hubbell's indifference towards their insensitivity and dismissive political engagement. Hubbell is uncomfortable with Katie's bluntness and strong opinions. Hubbell ends their relationship, but they eventually reconcile.

When Hubbell receives an offer to adapt his novel into a screenplay, Katie believes his talent will be wasted in Hollywood. Despite her frustration, they move to California where he becomes a successful screenwriter and the couple enjoy an affluent lifestyle. As the Hollywood blacklist grows and McCarthyism encroaches on their lives, Katie's political activism resurfaces, seemingly jeopardizing Hubbell's position and reputation. Eventually, Katie and other Hollywood liberals confront the government over their suppression of personal privacy and free speech.

Katie's involvement strains the marriage, and Hubbell becomes alienated and refuses to understand Katie's persistent political combativeness. Although Katie is now pregnant, Hubbell has an affair with Carol Ann, his college girlfriend. After their daughter's birth, Katie and Hubbell divorce. Katie realizes

The Last Gasps of Indian Summer Page 1294

Hubbell is not the man she idealized and that he will always choose the easiest path. Hubbell is emotionally exhausted and unable to live up to Katie's expectations of him.

Years later, Katie and Hubbell meet by chance in front of the Plaza Hotel in New York City where activist Katie is demonstrating to "Ban the Bomb." Hubbell, accompanied by a woman, now writes for a television show. After a brief, friendly reunion, they part ways, then Hubbell crosses the street to where she is protesting. He asks about their daughter, Rachel, and whether Katie's new husband is a good father to her. After a more tender and bittersweet goodbye, Hubbell goes to the waiting taxi.

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196 - Seven Samurai – Tokyo, Japan

Seven Samurai

In 1586, a bandit gang discusses raiding a mountain village, but their chief decides to wait until after the harvest. The villagers overhear this and turn to Gisaku, the village elder and miller, who declares that they should hire samurai to protect them. Since they have no money and can only offer food as payment, Gisaku advises them to find hungry samurai.

Box of Rain

Grateful Dead

Look out of any window

Any morning, any evening, any day

Maybe the sun is shining

Birds are winging or rain is falling from a heavy sky What do you want me to do

To do for you to see you through?

For this is all a dream we dreamed

One afternoon long ago

Walk out of any doorway

Feel your way, feel your way like the day before Maybe you'll find direction

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Around some corner where it's been waiting to meet you What do you want me to do

To watch for you while you're sleeping?

Then please don't be surprised

When you find me dreaming too

Look into any eyes you find by you

You can see clear through to another day Maybe it's been seen before through other eyes On other days while going home

What do you want me to do

To do for you to see you through?

It's all a dream we dreamed

One afternoon long ago

Walk into splintered sunlight

Inch your way through dead dreams to another land Maybe you're tired and broken

Your tongue is twisted with words half spoken And thoughts unclear

What do you want me to do

To do for you to see you through?

A box of rain will ease the pain

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And love will see you through

Just a box of rain, wind and water

Believe it if you need it

If you don't, just pass it on

Sun and shower, wind and rain

In and out the window

Like a moth before a flame

And it's just a box of rain

I don't know who put it there

Believe it if you need it

Or leave it if you dare

And it's just a box of rain

Or a ribbon for your hair

Such a long, long time to be gone

And a short time to be there

Written by Philip Lesh and Robert C. Hunter.

Several villagers go into town and eventually find Kambei, an aging but experienced rōnin, whom they see rescuing a young boy held hostage by a cornered thief. A young samurai named Katsushirō asks to become Kambei's disciple. The villagers ask for Kambei's help, and though initially reluctant, he agrees. He

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then recruits his old comrade in arms Shichirōji, along with Gorobei, Heihachi, and Kyūzō, a taciturn master swordsman whom Katsushirō regards with awe. Kikuchiyo, a wild and eccentric samurai poser, is eventually accepted as well after attempts to drive him away fail.

Arriving at the village, the samurai and farmers slowly begin to trust each other. Katsushirō meets Shino, a farmer's daughter disguised as a boy by her father, and sleeps with her despite knowing the difference in their social classes prohibits it.

Later, the samurai are angered when Kikuchiyo brings them armor and weapons, which the villagers acquired by killing other samurai injured or fleeing from battle. Kikuchiyo angrily retorts that samurai are responsible for much of the suffering farmers endure, revealing he is an orphaned farmer's son. The samurai's anger turns to shame.

Ripple

Grateful Dead

If my words did glow with the gold of sunshine And my tunes were played on the harp unstrung Would you hear my voice come through the music Would you hold it near as it were your own

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It's a hand-me-down, the thoughts are broken Perhaps they're better left unsung

I don't know, don't really care

Let there be songs to fill the air

Ripple in still water

When there is no pebble tossed

Nor wind to blow

Reach out your hand if your cup be empty If your cup is full may it be again

Let it be known there is a fountain

That was not made by the hands of men

There is a road, no simple highway

Between the dawn and the dark of night

And if you go no one may follow

That path is for your steps alone

Ripple in still water

When there is no pebble tossed

Nor wind to blow

You who choose to lead must follow

But if you fall, you fall alone

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If you should stand, then who's to guide you If I knew the way I would take you home

La da da da La da da da da

La da da La da La da da da

La da da da La da da da da

La da da da La da da da da

Written by Robert C. Hunter and Jerome J. Garcia.

Kambei arms the villagers with bamboo spears and organizes them into squads to prepare defenses and train. Three bandit scouts are spotted; two are killed, while the survivor reveals the location of their encampment before being slain by the villagers. The samurai burn down the camp in a pre-emptive strike. Rikichi, a troubled villager aiding the samurai, breaks down when he sees his wife, who was kidnapped and made a concubine during a previous raid. Upon seeing Rikichi, she runs back into a burning hut to her death. Heihachi is killed by a gunshot while stopping Rikichi from pursuing her. At Heihachi's funeral, the saddened villagers are inspired by Kikuchiyo, who raises a banner Heihachi made to represent the six samurai, Kikuchiyo, and the village.

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When the bandits finally arrive, they are confounded by the new fortifications, which include a moat and high wooden fences.

They burn the village's outlying houses, including Gisaku's mill. Gisaku's family tries to save him when he refuses to abandon it, but all perish except a baby rescued by Kikuchiyo.

The bandits then besiege the village, but many are killed as the defenders thwart every attack.

The bandits possess three matchlock muskets. Kyūzō ventures out alone and captures one. An envious Kikuchiyo abandons his squad to bring back another. However, his absence allows a handful of bandits to infiltrate his post and kill several farmers, and Gorobei is slain defending his position. That night, Kambei predicts that the bandits will make one final assault due to their dwindling numbers.

Meanwhile, Katsushirō and Shino's relationship is discovered by her father, who is enraged that her virginity has been taken and beats her. Kambei and the villagers intervene. Shichirōji reasons that such behavior is normal before battle and that they should be forgiven.

The next morning, the defenders allow the remaining bandits to enter the village and then ambush them. As the battle nears its end, the bandit chief hides in the women's hut and shoots Kyūzō

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dead with his musket. An enraged Kikuchiyo charges in and is shot as well, but kills the chief before dying. The remaining outlaws are slain.

Afterward, Kambei, Katsushirō and Shichirōji stand in front of the funeral mounds of their comrades, watching the joyful villagers sing while planting their crops. While it is timefor the samurai to leave, Katsushiro says he wants to stay in the village and be with Shino. An elder tells himthat he must leave, as the way he is, the way he even thinks, would upset the farming village.

Katsushirō and Shino meet one last time, but Shino walks past him after a moment to join in the planting indicating that their relationship has ended. Kambei says to Shichirōji that it is another pyrrhic victory for the samurai; "The victory belongs to those peasants. Not to us."

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Page 1303

197 - A Travelling Companion - Flagstaff, Arizona

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A Travelling Companion

Nowhere Man

The Beatles

He's a real nowhere man

Sitting in his nowhere land

Making all his nowhere plans for nobody Doesn't have a point of view

Knows not where he's going to

Isn't he a bit like you and me?

Nowhere man, please listen

You don't know what you're missing

Nowhere man

The world is at your command

He's as blind as he can be

Just sees what he wants to see

Nowhere man, can you see me at all?

Nowhere man, don't worry

Take your time, don't hurry

Leave it all

'Til somebody else lends you a hand

Doesn't have a point of view

Knows not where he's going to

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Isn't he a bit like you and me?

Nowhere man, please listen

You don't know what you're missing

Nowhere man

The world is at your command

He's a real nowhere man

Sitting in his nowhere land

Making all his nowhere plans for nobody Making all his nowhere plans for nobody Making all his nowhere plans for nobody

Written by Paul McCartney and John Lennon.

On his first day out he had named the place “Tranquility,” as he chose to put a positive name spin on the dry, barren territory, seemingly abandoned by anything capable of movement. He could see no obstructions ahead. Flat, off-white, sandy terrain extended as far as he could see in front of him. An undulation would have been a visual delicacy and a source of inspiration, but he was satisfied with what he could get. Sporadic big chief cactus was an excellent cup of hallucinatory water for his frequent thirst replenishments and presented no hazard, provided he didn’t fall into one while tippling. The light blue open sky stared at him from all directions. He was only aware of it

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whenever he managed to keep his head off the ground. The stationary sun generated its callous, persistent heat while positioned directly overhead, casting no shadows. He had just arisen and thought it strange that the same surroundings he encountered prior to rest were still those precisely in evidence now. He supposed that would be the most logical scenario, but thought that the desert’s quiet stillness and solitude defied reason, its irrationality the object of his desire. This was the third sleep break he had taken, so he presumed he was starting out the third day of his long awaited escape. He picked up his bag of secrets, slung it over his shoulder and walked what he thought was west, though he really had no way of being certain.

He was also under the gleeful impression that he was alone until he heard a mildly assertive, female voice not far behind him call out; “Hey, what are you doing here?”

He shuddered and visibly cringed. “Oh no,” he murmured as his shoulders dropped in resignation. He had been lucky enough to have three days, or periods between sleeping, to himself and now it was over. “I was looking forward to this all my lousy life, picked the most undesirable place in the world and someone had to follow me here. She probably is pushy and dumb enough to think I owe her something for gracing me with her unwanted presence. Three days. Three good days after a lifetime of boring

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stupid females asking why. And it’s over already. If there’s any god he’s cursed me, so I return the favor. Do your worst. You pathetic sadist; you already have. Here comes a stupid barrage of; “Why this? Why that? Don’t you think that blah, blah, blah and more blah have to be considered when blah, blah and more blah is the case?” He found bleak humor in his last few unplanned words; “Now that some person no one else wants has to park next to me, coincidentally of course she’ll say, more blah will certainly be the case.”

He heard a louder “Hey,” and for the eight millionth time learned that he could not wish away or ignore away unwanted people. He was stupid and desperate enough to be looking for miracles in a very un-miraculous and tedious world. Resigned to the lifelong inevitability of being pestered by stupid boring people, he reluctantly turned back to see a crazy lady, garbed in hobo clothes; a simple button-up, short-sleeved, red shirt, tattered blue jeans and sandals. Her secret bag appeared the same as his, perhaps a rip or two superior. It looked as if she was sleeping in the same clothing for some time. She was attired just as him if they changed shirts, his being a faded dark blue that because of age and use now appeared light. He thought further; “No, that wouldn’t work. Then I’d be red and she’d be either dark or light blue.” He realized that he had made his

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first incorrect thought of the day. Despite the stupid misinformation generated, for some unexplainable logic, he continued the process and thought what passed for pragmatism;

“Drat, but no drat. I came out here to be alone. I guess that’s ruined. I can’t believe anyone else would want to come to this bastion of nothingness. The Indians thought that the only true ownership of land was when no one else wanted it and look what happened to them. The best thing to do under the circumstances is to be cordial, but a bit pointed and hope she goes away. The most positive way I can view the intrusion is to be happy that it’s not an enterprising guy looking to take over by force or a

“friendly” guy looking for company. Small solace though it is; if I’ve got to get stuck with company best it is that of a crazy lady. They’re the most interesting.” He unemotionally and without inflection answered; “Hey yourself.” Getting no response and suspecting his first offering was too vague, he decided to answer her first question and hope it wasn’t the overture to a long shrill opera. He added; “Walking.” He extended his arm to the ground, nodded at it, as if to say; “Can’t you see?”

Her face softened the slightest bit by the time she caught up with him. She said; “Me, too. Where do you think you’re going?”

Another stupid question. He pointed ahead and quizzically said;

“There, painfully obviously.”

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She said; “I know it’s obvious, perhaps not of the painful variety, but I know what you mean. What I asked you was a little test. I wanted to see how much bulls*** came with the package.”

She ran her blue eyes up and down his torso.

He felt violated and that if anyone should be giving a test, it was rightfully him, as his 60 years exceeded her seemingly 55.

He said; “If bulls*** gives me a failing grade I’ll give you bulls*** if my big penalty is that you will leave. I do mean to sound antagonistic and I’m surprised that a test is required for me to be here, especially since I got here first. Will you be kind enough to tell me the parameters and purpose of your test?”

She decided to reserve commentary regarding longevity, raised her voice, though in a kind way and said; “No, I really can’t.”

He looked in her eyes, shrugged and dejectedly said; “Typical female. All questions. No answers, not even to the easy stuff.

All right. I’ll respect that since you can’t help it.” Fearing an impasse, while suddenly desirous of knowing something of her, after viewing her pleasant face, long wild hair, what was revealed by her shirt’s opened buttons and extremely tight pants, he asked; “Can you at least tell me if I passed?”

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She bobbed her head up and down and waved her hand as if to say;

”Silly boy.” She verbalized; ”Oh, sure,” but didn’t disclose that this was the easy part of her test.

He was annoyed with himself as he saw that in the space of two minutes he already had started to care what she thought of him.

In an effort not to be obvious about it and probably inducing the opposite effect, with possibly undetected sarcasm he said;

“What a relief. You wouldn’t want to venture a more precise grade, would you?”

She rattled her throat as a de-fanged one of the species might and laughed; “No .......... Not yet, anyway. Maybe later.”

He spit and muttered; “Typical.”

Despite his initial reticence he was already getting used to her and he was almost glad to hear that there would be a “later” if he could convince her to stop questioning him. He glanced at her slightly-larger-than-average breasts and was noticed prompting her to adopt an overly erect posture maximizing the twin peaks causing him to look away. He thought that meant, in real terms, he was doing okay, so far. He thought it also had a friendly connotation, so he thought he would say something intended to be friendly, but also right to the point and hope for a not-too-negative response; “Most of the time I haven’t got the faintest

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idea of where I’m going. But I figure that it couldn’t possibly be worse than the stuff I’m leaving behind.” He pointed back with his thumb, not turning his head.

She smiled and said; “I’m with you.”

You're Lookin' At Country

Loretta Lynn

Well, I like my lovin' done country style And this little girl would walk a country mile To find her a good old slow talkin' country boy I said a country boy

I'm about as old-fashioned as I can be

So I hope you're likin' what you see

If you're lookin' at me

You're lookin' at country

You don't see no city when you look at me

'Cause country's all I am

I love runnin' barefooted through the old cornfields And I love that country ham

Well, you say I'm made just to fit your plans But there's a barnyard shovel fit your hands

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If your eyes are on me

You're lookin' at country, oh Bobby

Well, at least your country is a little green But there's a whole lotta of country that you ain't seen I'll show you around if you'll show me a weddin' band I said a weddin' band

When it comes to love, well, I know about that Country folks all know where it's at

If you're lookin' at me

You're lookin' at country

You don't see no city when you look at me

'Cause country's all I am

I love runnin' barefooted through the old cornfields And I love that country ham

Well, you say I'm made just to fit your plans But there's a barnyard shovel fit your hands If your eyes are on me

You're lookin' at country

If your eyes are on me

You're lookin' at country

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Written by Loretta Lynn.

“I should have asked before, but, have you been through here before?”

She rolled her eyes and mock ominously said; “No. This is our adventure. Who knows, maybe we’ll find some witches out here.”

“I certainly hope not. I thought that I might have left them back there.”

She looked at him as if he had said the wrong thing and was silent. She continued keeping stride with him, but seemed to veer slightly leftward.

He realized that she had already succeeded in getting him to play her word games without even directly asking any stupid questions. He wanted to back off, but her jeans were so form-fitting he re-considered his initial response, intending to find common ground, without refuting his previous response. He glanced sideways at her and made an obvious glance into the three open top buttons of her shirt and said; “Well, I guess it’s all right if we meet the ones that are sexual demons.”

She snickered and thought; “Typical.” She assumed a professorial tone and informed him; “There are all kinds of witches. Your

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viewpoint is ridiculously simplistic. Everything comes in a package. A sexual demon type of witch, for instance and to use your parlance, will almost invariably be mixed with one of the brooding variety, at the very least.”

Pleased with her response, as he never minded being educated, he mimicked his first grade teacher and said; “Of course I was simplistic in the cause of simple conversation. I can kick it up a few notches when you’re ready.”

She looked at him admiringly, but displayed a discerning face, biting her lower lip and saying nothing.

He was not unaware of the probable meaning, but, to remain safe, he took the conversation in another direction and said; “I haven’t been able to see anything ahead, except some lunatic big chief cactus. Have you seen anything?”

She thought; “He’s shy. I like that......to a point.” She articulated; “Mmmmmmm. I haven’t really seen anything in the traditional sense. But, I have some ideas.” She knew he would follow her lead.

Without thinking about it, he did and, in a curious tone said;

“Like what?” proud to have taken the lead in the stupid question category.

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She intended to sound somewhat bored, which he interpreted as complacent and responded; “It’s more like what and what and what, on and on. I got a lot from books.”

Intending to sound equal, he said; “Oh, I know exactly what you mean. Me, too.” Upping the ante, he added; “I’m actually placing the highest probability on it being worse than what we left behind. Not 50%, mind you. The last piece of misery that got laid on me back there topped everything. I never would have imagined anything so diabolical. If he tops that one, I’ll have to admit that he is a god.”

She smiled, sadly and knowingly and said; “Yeah, tell me about it.”

Though he knew that she didn’t mean that literally, he proceeded to and said; “We had things going so well that it would take five oddball events to screw it up. It would take like everything to go wrong and ...”

She looked at the ground, shook her head in an affirmative fashion and interrupted him to say; “And everything did.”

He looked in her eyes and for the first time thought he detected real sadness and thought; “Oh, no. Not you too?”, but said; “We ought to form a union. You know, like the labor unions that started in the 20’s and 30’s. I mean, I understand that human

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beings need a good kick in the ass, but this is more like;

‘You’re still kickin’ and my ass ain’t there anymore. You’re hitting bloody bone, bastard.’”

She thought; ”No s***. What did you expect?”, but said; ”Big things always pick on small things.”

As she was tiny, he was again saddened. He thought; ”Where I grew up it was the exact opposite. But, I don’t want to yet say that. It could hurt her in some way.” So, he said nothing, his shrug and sigh, indicating pretty much, more or less, no contest and the like. He knew that in the part of the world where he worked and spent his adult life that big things do indeed pick on little things. In business, it seemed the littler the better.

What world was she in? She is watching out for witches and warning me about them, so that narrows things down a lot.” He looked directly at her and said; “Well, I don’t. What’s your name, anyway?”

“It’s Pearl. I never liked it.”

Mine’s Herman. Can you believe that a parent would actually do that to a child? The kids used to hum the theme song, call me Herman Munster and walk around like a stiff geek.”

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She laughed and said; “Okay, I’ll call you ‘Hermie,’ as long as you don’t tell me any funny jokes about pearls of the orient or lilies of the field.”

“I think I’d rather stick with ‘Herman,’ if you don’t mind. No offense. And, I don’t know any funny jokes about pearls of the orient or lilies of the field, anyway. Isn’t that the horse s***

about neither reaping nor sowing, that god will provide? That’s funny enough in and of itself.”

She wasn’t certain, but considered the possibility that he had just purposely done precisely what she explicitly asked him not to. She mumbled; “Yeah, something like that.”

He missed his cue and continued; “I hope the non-reapers and non-sowers are not holding their breath.”

Pearl nodded demurely, shook her head “Yes,” and looked at the sun shining off each grain of sand differently. She sternly said; “We may as well get something cleared up right now.” He looked at her with apprehension and realized that he should have shut the f*** up entirely about the lilies. She noticed his contriteness, was pleased by it, but in the interest of truth continued and said; “Back a few steps you said that you were here before me. No, you weren’t. I had my eye on you as soon as

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you entered the desert. I just held back to see if you were a homicidal maniac.”

“So, you think you got here before me?”

She made a brief smile and said; “It’s a close call. Let’s be magnanimous and say it was at the same time.”

“Fine with me. I don’t understand why it’s any big deal, though.”

She stared at him. She was both incredulous and annoyed. She finally said; “Herman. Some people, including you a few minutes ago, try to pull seniority and act like a ‘boss’ without the credentials and without admitting it.” She shook her head, looked away and veered a bit more to the left.

Herman was afraid that he had said something to sadden and anger her. He saw the truth of her observation and contritely said; “I promise that I won’t do that again. If I mess up you can punish me any way you desire. Let’s try to think and act positively for a while.”

Still cranky, she said; “I don’t think you can get here on that route. What path did you take?” She was sorry as soon as the words exited.

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He made a self-effacing grin and head bob. He shrugged his shoulders and softly said; “I don’t really know. I think I made a series of at least five major wrong turns and somehow that all added up to a correct destination. How’d you pull it off?”

She smiled and moved closer to him and responded in kind, saying; “I think I only made four wrong turns and then got a map for the rest.”

“More pessimistic than me?”

She sighed, not really wanting to respond, but was somehow compelled to and whispered; “Realist, mostly. The back nine are the worst.”

He moved in her direction and said; “You have my testimony on that one. In retrospect I should have gotten your map.” He paused a moment, as he sensed some kind of contradiction, though he couldn’t put his finger on it. Very unsurely he thought out loud and said; “But, I didn’t know that a map existed. I found that out from you. So, if I had obtained a map, from someone somewhere, I’d have gotten here years before you and I never would have met the person who told me about the map in the first place. I’m getting confused. Are all the maps the same?”

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Pearl liked his confusion and said; “Of course not. It depends on where you get it, who made it, how much they knew about the territory, whether or not it’s a fake. I could go on.”

“Where did you get yours?”

“That’s hard for me to say. Someone told me to keep a secret.”

Herman felt the tide turning in his favor and risked being considered too pushy and simply said; “Who?”

Pearl did think that he was being a bit too pushy, but liked his interest and decided to give him one more response in that direction and said with an air of indignation, in a raised tone;

“My mother.” She viewed him mock defiantly.

He pushed his luck and offhandedly said; “You always listen to your mother?”

She pushed him, but not too hard and raised her voice to say;

“What do you think? Did you always listen to yours?”

He decided he liked the trail and continued honestly, against his better judgment. He said; “I always listened to her. I just usually thought that the opposite of what she said was the right answer.”

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She saw and appreciated the sincerity. She also detected an opportunity to end this conversation, at least for the time being and sighed; “Case closed.” Her eyes panned the outdoor scene and were not fixed on anything, as there was nothing moving, not even a breeze, to command her attention. Big chief cactus, sand, stillness and a huge uniformly light blue sky. She thought; “There must be something alive out there. Maybe not.”

He touched the top button of his well-worn Levi’s and said;

“Well if we’re going to walk together, we’re going to have to establish some protocols.”

She came back to her current reality and with a trace of indignation said; “I beg your pardon.”

He understood her attitude, but felt a need to persist. He grimaced and said; “Like where does one go to have bathroom privacy? It’s kind of urgent.”

She felt like saying; “Believe it or not I’ve seen a few of those before,” but decided against it. Instead she offered;

“There’s no place to hide, so just turn your back to me.”

“I think you’re assuming it’s a number one.”

“I’m not assuming anything. Do whatever you have to do. We have no choice. I’ll try not to laugh at the funny part.”

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Herman gave her a dirty look, turned and number one nature took its course. As he re-zipped he thought he detected a giggle. He looked at her and she put her hand over her mouth and said;

“Little cough. It’s extremely dry. Haargh. Haargh. S***. Do you have any preferences as to how I do it?”

“Not really. I would like to see your face sometimes, though, if that’s all right.”

“No problem. ”They walked side by side and the baking sand gave off images that reminded them of water boiling. It came at them as if they were in an oven, but it was more akin to heat waves.

The source was not visible. They didn’t notice how weary they were until the steam entered their nostrils. They briefly sat on the torrid sand and were unable to find a comfortable seat, despite numerous position changes. They stood up, faced each other and brushed the sand from their bodies. Herman helped out with the sand Pearl missed and she returned the favor.

She said; “Want to keep traveling?”

Surprised she had to ask, he questioningly said; “Sure,” leaving off the “Why wouldn’t I?” part. After a few second lull, he added; “And you? Perhaps I should have said that quicker.”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Let’s find out if there’s anything further out.”

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“Curious?”

“Of course, aren’t you?”

“Very.”

She sounded a bit more subdued when she said; “I hope the hell it doesn’t think it’s some kind of god.”

“Doesn’t really matter what it thinks, if it does at all. We’re not obliged to agree. Are we?”

“That’s a close call.”

He mocked her and said; “Worried about blasphemy? You remember those old horror movies where some religious pretender in a hood and prominently displaying a cross, chases after the good guy, with the whole town watching, yelling ‘Blasphemy! Blasphemy!

Blasphemy!” I used to crack up.” He looked into her eyes and thought he saw unease. It bothered him, so he added; “Well, you know, that kind of stopped when I found out that this wasn’t only one demented film maker’s fantasy.”

Pearl made a noticeable, bent-at-the-stomach, genuine, uncontrolled laugh. She said; “You know the ones I like even better?” He mildly shook his head “No,” happy to hear her response. She said; “The ones with the zombie’s walking around the mall.”

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“Don’t you find that pretty close to reality?”

“Of course, idiot. That’s what makes it so funny to begin with.”

Herman saw, enjoyed, valued and appreciated her point, though he didn’t yet have complete agreement with it. He questioned;

“Think positive, speak positive, act positive, everything positive? Right?”

Pearl failed to see any contradiction in what she said. She didn’t note any meaningful difference from her sense of humor and his. She didn’t like his turn to seriousness after initiating the humor. Was he trying to be merely and stupidly judgmental? She refused to get defensive, took the initiative and drolly said; “Why not? You got a better idea?”

Herman pointed his right thumb over his shoulder and said; “I don’t have any ideas. All I know for sure is that I’m not going back there.”

“Then why question me?”

“Just testing to see if you thought it out well?”

“Did I pass?”

“Oh, sorry. Sure. I sometimes forget that when I think something is understood.”

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“May I know my precise grade, pray tell?”

“Oh, ummmm. I don’t know exactly.......I didn’t make deductions for anything. ...... So, I guess you got a perfect score.

....... Mind you. That doesn’t equate to ‘I agree fully.’”

She eyed him sideways, squinted a bit and said; “I think I understand.” With an air of sarcasm and confidence she added;

“Thanks. Personally, I didn’t think it was that great. I’ve got better.”

“I think that I, too understand and I wouldn’t doubt it.” He pointed ahead and excitedly said; “Hey. Did you see that?”

“What?”

“I thought I saw lightning.”

“Nah, that doesn’t happen here.”

“I thought you said that this was your first time here......Oh, right, a book told you that.”

“As a matter of fact....”

He noticed a quarrelsome tone, cut her off, ostensibly to assuage and said; “I’m not knocking it. I wish I read more myself. Maybe you could recommend one for me.”

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“Probably could, but it’s irrelevant, as there don’t seem to be any libraries out here.”

He glanced at the sack she carried over her shoulder and said;

“Didn’t bring any books with you?

“I don’t think any of the ones I have are for you.”

“I thought you might be holding a little one in your pocket.”

She giggled; “No.”

“How do you remember stuff, like the maps?”

“It’s hard to explain. I kind of memorize the stuff that’s essential and forget the rest.”

“Essence?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. It makes me laugh when someone writes a long-ass treatise on something. Invariably, they’re disagreeing with the learned of twenty years prior. And no doubt twenty years from now there will be another treatise that says this one is horses***. Using expert opinion, you can prove anything you want. They always leave that wiggle room. You would logically think they were written prior to Nostradamus’ masking.”

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“They won’t say horses***.”

“Small point conceded. But, they’ll say the proper equivalent.”

Pleased with the direction of things Pearl again returned to the elemental and said; “Isn’t it strange how everything is so still here.”

As if he had just become aware, which was not stretching the truth, he said; “Now that you mention it. Yeah. Is it peaceful or ominous?”

“Ultimate question. I’ll pass on that one. Is it the quiet desirable peace everyone says they want or is it a portent of an explosion soon to come.”

“I used to care about stuff like that back there, but out here I don’t give a s***.” Herman laughed, looked up, extended his arms like a prophet and said; “Do something, f*****. You’re supposed to spit out the tepid. Live by your own rules or resign your f****** job.”

“You get a kick out of Blasphemy. Blasphemy. Blasphemy. Don’t you?”

Before Herman could respond Pearl snickered and added; “Me, too.”

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****************************

He opened his eyes, seemingly wider than they had previously been and stared at her looking ahead. He wished that she didn’t notice. She gave off every appearance that she didn’t. He saw a small face; attractive and pensive, with a peculiar bend in her tiny nose, host to thin and almost undetectable wire-framed glasses. Her lips were left as nature would have them and were together, the lower twin somewhat extended beyond its higher counterpart. Her blue eyes showed nothing, but, oddly didn’t blink in the savage, perennial sunlight. Her hair was long, just the way he liked it and was now gray, with tiny traces of the original black. Short bangs reached her eyebrows, testifying to her minimal forehead. He wasn’t sure if her overall countenance was one of contentment or despondency. His gaze followed her sloping neck down. Her partially exposed breasts leaned against her red shirt as ice cream rests in its cup. Round was an ample word to describe her hips, tightly caged in her well-worn blue jeans. His eyes rested there for a long, but too short a time.

He worked his way to her small feet. He wondered how they were able to fully keep her on firm ground. They were supported only

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by the briefest of open-top, leather-thonged sandals, below the gently undulating ankles. She was curves, like a gracious Queen Anne piece of furniture. Herman’s daydream was rudely interrupted, when she looked at him and chuckled as she said;

“Like my feet?”

Herman was completely off guard and embarrassed. He blurted out;

“No. ... Yes. ... I mean no. ... Oh, damn it, I don’t know.” He saw her chuckle turn to a tight-lipped grin and was compelled to add; “You have nice feet.”

Pearl continued her Joker grin and said; “Are you one of those?”

Still not recovered from his initial trepidation, he supplied a duplicate line of brilliance and said; “No. ... Yes. ...Oh, damn it, I don’t know.”

Pearl smiled at him, put her left hand on his cheek and said; “I understand.”

Relieved, but not the least bit comfortable, Herman decided to change the subject and said; “What kind of things did you read back there?”

“Everything. Do you like the rest of me too?” She put one hand over the other at hip level, as a shy school girl, with a pouting face.

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“Yes, I like all of you. Like is too neutral a word. I love all of you.”

She took four quick steps back, looked at him seriously and as if she were disturbed. “She said; “Don’t ever use that word around me.”

Now he was confused and disturbed. He thought; “What’s wrong with love? Was I too hasty? If so, she didn’t have to make a big issue of it. Or, did she have to make a big issue of it for reasons I don’t know?” He settled on that thought, but didn’t want to see the images it might have implied. He tried to get those out of his head and continued to think. “The best thing to do is respect her wishes. This is the strongest wish I have yet heard. I’m sorry for a number of reasons.” He silently approached her, touched her arm and before he could say anything, she said; “David Foster Wallace?”

He squinted, showing surprise and said; “What?”

She calmly answered; “You asked me what I read back there.”

“Oh, oh, yeah.” He didn’t add; “About a million years ago.”

Her silence prompted him to say something else, so he asked; “Do you have any of his books in your bag?”

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“No. He may have technically been the best writer of all time, but he was for back there.”

“One of the real geniuses and he said the hell with the whole place. That’s pretty insightful and not very different than us.”

He stuck out his tongue and added; “Haven’t you yet noticed my genius. I have yours.”

“He should have tried it out here.”

“How do you know that he didn’t?” She said nothing and showed a smidgeon of anger on her expressive little face and adjusted the glasses that required none. He knew that he had asked her something unanswerable and that he was also extolling the virtues of someone not ever accused of being one who thought and acted positively.

Herman was stupidly drawn to saying the wrong thing and had to go on; “Nobody else could write like that, though. A camera’s precision with humor, some of which only he could see. The first time I read him, he found some absurdity in something I have looked at thousands of times, but didn’t see it until he pointed it out. Genius.”

“No argument. However, at some point it’s a matter of taste.

He’s in great company, with others I like. Most of them are dead, too, but as a result of natural causes.”

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Herman continued to desire to display his “genius,” or was too simple to shut up. He said; “Who says that it wasn’t a natural cause. Life is no doubt considered natural. Wouldn’t the ending of life be the flip side of the same coin? You know; like off and on, like male and female, like black and white, like yin and yang .... ”

Pearl interrupted him to say; “Your stated view on male and female is admirable.” He stuck out his tongue, as he disdained

“admirable” as condescending. She continued; “Of course you’ve heard of ‘Yin, Yang and Young,’ the law firm.

He considered a serious answer, but rejected it in the cause of frivolity, too often his weakest point. He said; “What type of law do they specialize in?”

She deadpanned; “The highest; Constitutional.” and laughed briefly at her quick comeback. He joined her out of politeness.

Settling down from the day’s guffaw, he said; “So, what authors are good for here?”

“I don’t know the place well enough to be sure.”

“Take a wild guess.”

“Probably a few. Depends on my mood.”

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Uncontrolled, questioning Herman wouldn’t quit and said; “Like?”

Exasperated Pearl retorted; “If I say one it will attach too much importance to that one at the expense of all the others.”

Her temperament improved to mild annoyance. She looked in his sincere face and recalled that guys could often be just plain dumb. She said; “Damn it. I know you’re thinking that I’m being evasive. So, one is Bunuel’s “That Obscure Object of Desire.”

“I don’t know that one.”

“Figures.”

Herman nodded, pointed his patented thumb to the rear and said;

“I wonder what the hell they’re doing back there now.”

“The monkeys are playing with microscopes and calculators.”

“At the zoo?”

“Pretty much.”“Did you ever wonder what the zoo animals think when we stare at them?”

“I don’t wonder anymore. They told me. They turn their backs and show us their ass, except at feeding time.”

Herman laughed and said; “That’s great. You just pulled a David Foster Wallace on me.”

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Pearl shook her head in a disparaging manner and said; “George Saunders.” She laughed and continued; “Animals are great. I’m going to miss them.”

“Maybe we’ll find some up ahead. It’s really weird without any birds or insects right here though.”

“Maybe they’re dead.”

“Maybe we are.”

She said; “Oooooh,” tickled him and he returned the favor.

************************

She said; “I might have seen that lightning you were talking about.”

“See, I am right sometimes.”

“Sometimes being the key word.”

“Definitely. Don’t be too hard on me, though. The job was defaulted to me. Either I had to do it or it wouldn’t get done.”

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“I could take that in at least two directions. I could say;

‘Long live anarchy,’ or I could say; ‘That’s not true anymore.’”

“Is that ‘A’ or ‘B’, or can you choose ‘All of the above?’”

Pearl was perplexed. She said; “I’ll have to think about that one.”

“I’m in the same boat. But, I can tell you this. I’m all in favor of letting the others run things back there. Or even here in this new land. They couldn’t possibly make it any worse.”

She hesitated, but was compelled to add; “I know them a little better than you and I think making things worse would well be within the realm of possibility.”

“Well, now I can give you two answers. One is that I’m willing to take the risk and, two is that we should unionize, overthrow the oppressor and all of that.”

“Who’s the oppressor?”

“God....Religion...Psychiatry, perhaps that’s redundant. ... The Grand Inquisitor. ... The Man in Charge.”

“How about the Woman in Charge?”

“No such thing. That’s the problem.”

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Pearl looked at him warmly and said; “You’re sweet.”

He hoped she didn’t see the pink hue he felt on both ears and said; “Thanks, but it’s also the truth. Hey, have you yet detected any of those witches that are supposed to be out here?”

“Not a one.”

They continued their side by side walk and the temperature seemed about 85 degrees, the cloudless sky remained a uniform light blue and the wind was non-existent. He took her right hand with his left and got no objection. She asked; “Were you married back there?”

“Yes. Blessed by the church and everything, for all the good it did.”

“Me, too. But not blessed by the church or state. Didn’t seem to make any difference.”

Herman wasn’t surprised to hear that and said; “Thirty years of scorching misery.”

“What did you expect?”

“Something other than what it turned out to be. ...... It’s hard to explain without telling the story of the two and then putting those two in context of a changing world. It would be like

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trying to write ‘War and Peace.’” He paused, laughed and said;

“Maybe I’ll try it someday. The second half of the book will be extremely short.”

“Because it’s hard to write about nothing, or because there was little peace?”

“Kind of the same thought, I guess.”

“Yeah, I guess. Same story here. I left one marriage for no real reason. After a while it was like he didn’t care one way or the other and neither did I. No animosity. That was the weird part.

One day I came home from work early and saw him naked in the bathtub while his mother gave him a bath. A 25 year old man. I said this is just too weird and left. I still wonder what that was all about.”

I’ve got a good guess; “Mommy was washing that dirty girl off her good little boy.”

Pearl wrinkled her brow at Herman, but made no response.

He felt a need to explain himself and said; “That was intended to be sarcasm directed at the attitudes of many. Personally, if I was fortunate enough to get a dirty girl all over me, I wouldn’t wash for a month.”

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Pearl was reticent to make any reply and searched for an alternative avenue of pursuit. Before she could come up with anything, Herman ventured; “You’re a dirty girl, aren’t you?”

She opened her mouth, but produced no words. He grinned at her and waited patiently for a response. He hoped it would not be evasive, but that most likely it would be that or an indignant no. She read his mind and decided to throw the ball back in his court and said; “I haven’t bathed yesterday or today. Do you consider that dirty?”

He surprised himself and quickly came up with a retort; “Depends on what you’ve been doing, I suppose.”

Triumphantly, she raised her voice and said; “I’ve been walking with you, stupid. Can I get dirty doing that?”

He smiled, shook his head and said; “No chance.”

Looking to make the game equal and more interesting, she asked;

“Are you a dirty boy?”

He thought; “I’m totally unprepared. I’ve never been asked that before and consequently didn’t expect it. Let’s see. Boys are supposed to be dirty, aren’t they? Snipes and snails and puppy dog tails and all of that. That’s really not what she’s asking me though and I wouldn’t be surprised if this wasn’t another

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test. I definitely want to pass. Even more I’d like to go to the head of the class, so I need a good answer; one that says what she wants to hear. I don’t have the slightest idea of what she wants to hear, so forget that.

She said; “Come on, come on. Time is running out.”

He decided to wing it and replied; “Boys are expected by boys and girls to be dirty and I’m not rebellious in that regard. I have to add, however, that whatever I do with you is not.”

“Didn’t you just contradict what you said before?”

“I don’t know. Are you writing all this s*** down?”

She said a loud “No,” and he feared failure. He said; “This can get complicated. Maybe before I was trying to be humorous.”

“I don’t recall laughing.”

“I could say that you have no sense of humor, but I won’t. One time I may have used the word “dirty” in the meaning that I think you ascribe to it. Another time I could use it in the sense that people back there have. Another time I might use it in my own sense.......”

She cut him off and said; “Which is?”

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He realized that she had gotten him back to square one. He further thought that this must be very important to her. He said; “Nothing is dirty in love.”

“I told you not to use that word.”

“Well, how can I answer difficult questions if you limit my vocabulary with forbidden words?”

She was as annoyed as him and said; “I give you one rule and you use it as some stupid excuse.”

He was very tired of the discussion, so he just said; “Yes. I’m a dirty boy, no matter how anyone defines it. How’s that?”

She laughed and said; “Just fine. You had me worried for a while.”

“Then I passed the stupid test?”

“Yes.”

“What grade?”

“To be finalized on a field trip.”

He finally lost his exasperation and smiled back at her.

She looked him over and saw a desperate old man. His face was not flawed in any outrageous way, but it showed that he had been

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over-tired for some time, the laugh lines more of the grimace variety. His long, messy gray hair was reminiscent of a better time, but also showed how long it had been gone. His thin body was not unpleasing and probably was not very different from its appearance when he was a teenager. She thought; ”If only I could cut off that head,” as she admired his form fitting jeans. She caught herself and thought that he should have segued long ago into something more appropriate. She quickly recognized that she could well say that to herself. She said; “When was your last bath?”

He utilized the lines on his face to scrunch up his mouth into a genuine, but also posed smile and said; “Just before I met you.”

Pearl looked up at the blue sky and lost interest in talk. He made a thorough investigation of the ground and thought he found its similarity to that above it. Almost imperceptibly, he mumbled, also not much for more conversation.

****************************

Herman woke up and he saw Pearl beside him, with one leg touching his, under the non-existent shade of a big chief

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cactus. Hallucination? Same sun. Same sky. Same wind; none. He said; “Did we sleep through the night?”

She rolled over, stretched and said; “Maybe. I didn’t see it either.”

He went into his bag, retrieved a hunting knife and easily removed it from its torn sheath. He plunged it into the cactus center and spread the slow stream onto his face. Pearl’s eyes widened in shock. She stood up, backed away carefully and said;

“What the hell is that?”

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Herman held the knife in front of him and incredulously said;

“It’s a knife. Haven’t you seen one before?”

Pearl continued to back up and said; “It’s a weapon.”

He almost laughed, but, as she seemed genuinely upset, he thought it not a good time to appear humorous. He said; “It’s no weapon. I use it to extract water and nourishment from the cactuses.” He again reached into his bag and she increased the distance between them, while watching him intently. He put the knife on the sand and pulled out a clear flask. He said; “How do you think I’ve been filling this? He offered it to her.

Her thirst overcame her fear. She took the flask and drank. She said; “Don’t scare me like that again. What else do you have in that bag anyway?”

He sighed, turned his head to one side and said; “Secrets.

Things I brought from the old world that I thought I might need here.”

“Like what?”

“Like secrets. My things.” He saw that she was not comfortable with that response, so he added; “What do you have in yours?”

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“None of your business.”

He laughed and said; “See. I’ll show you mine if you show me yours.”

She couldn’t help but make a smile she tried to convert to a grimace and said; “Okay, okay. I get the point.”

He said; “Take my word. There’s nothing in here that will hurt you. Can you say the same?”

She thought for a while and responded; “Not physically, anyway.”

“I stand corrected. I should have made the same distinction. I really don’t think there are any mental dangers to you, but I can’t be sure.”

“I can say the same.”

He picked up his bag and said; “How about we just dump everything on the ground and get it over with?”

“I don’t think so.”

“Glad you said that. I don’t think so either.”

He picked up his knife and put it back in its sheath, simultaneously saying; “Now, if we ran into some snakes....”