John lay in bed, still clothed, staring at the ceiling. Anna was sitting beside him, her legs curled under her buttocks. The long hair fell down across one shoulder and over the breast. Leaning on one hand, she gently stroked his stomach. John frowned out of frustration of not knowing where to begin, and feeling the fool for ever considering any aspect of all this. He finally looked over, feeling even more foolish for her sympathetic smile.
“You must think I’m losing my mind,” he said.
“I think maybe we should call someone.”
“Whom?”
“Someone who can better care for Louis,” she replied. “It’s all too much for us, with your hand, and God forbid he hurts himself or someone else.”
John’s brow furled in thought. He took a deep breath and looked to the ceiling again. He was quiet, struggling with a thought, and then struggling with the words.
“If,” he paused again, “if something happened to me, what would you…”
She cut him off quickly, quite upset at even the suggestion.. “John, I won’t hear another word.”
John’s eyes moved wildly, searching the air, fighting thoughts and emotions not easily framed by mere words. He tried to think of Anna without him, and he tried not to think of such things. Both threatened to tear the heart from his chest. His mouth fell open in a silent lament. He took a deep breath and forced tears back, then looked to Anna again.
“I would want you to be happy if…”
“John, where is all this coming from?” She stroked his chest reassuringly. It tortured her to see him this way. “John, I intend to grow very old with you, whether you like it or not. We can’t predict what will happen today or tomorrow or five years from now, but I love you and while we are together on this earth that isn’t going to change.”
He nodded, though hardly satisfied with the answer. John chose not to press it any further. It only made him feel more foolish at believing any of this. As Anna laid her head upon his chest a single tear escaped. It ran from the corner of one eye, cool and slick, and into his hair. John closed his eyes tight, glad she couldn’t see any of this. He stroked her back and shoulders and gave a long deep sigh that drained away his heartache. Anna was already asleep against him. John held her close and kissed her hair, breathing her in as if his very life depended upon it.
Saturday, February 20, 2010
Wednesday, February 17, 2010
Emmetsburg: Forty
“Jesus!” John exclaimed. Anna recoiled, finding, for just a moment, the strangest expression she'd ever seen in John. It was the way he looked at her, as though he hardly recognized her. Believing she had imagined the whole thing Anna reach to him again, but John threw up a hand, as if protecting himself.
“John?” she said. He seemed to snap out of the moment. Instead of coming to her he sat in the grass, washing a hand through his hair.
“I'm sorry,” she shook his head. His thoughts spun wildly. He recalled Louis' words, that Anna would get along without him, that she would find another love and marry again. John knew it was all foolish, but couldn't help himself.
“John, are you...?”
“I'm...its just...” he looked up at her, almost in judgment. Suddenly he felt so foolish and ashamed for it. “You'll help me get Louis back to bed?”
“John, what's going on. I'm getting scared?” she fell to his side, stroking his hair.
He searched her eyes, finding the world and eternity in them. More than that he found truth and love. He reached for her cheek feeling like a child before her decency and beauty. He supreme commodity of that moment, that simple touch rushed through him like warm electricity. The precious nature of that moment, one that would not again be repeated in all eternity filled him with a sudden sense of light and loss all at once.
“I'll explain everything inside,” he said. He could not keep any of this to himself any longer, yet he had no clue to what he might say to Anna.
Anna lifted Louis to a sitting position. He was limp and peaceful, as though he was in a very deep sleep. John knelt beside him and stretched one of Louis’ arms across his shoulders. With a slight groan John hauled the man across his back and stood. They went into the house and up the stairs. The crickets returned in their wake, filling the noght with their eternal song of summer.
“John?” she said. He seemed to snap out of the moment. Instead of coming to her he sat in the grass, washing a hand through his hair.
“I'm sorry,” she shook his head. His thoughts spun wildly. He recalled Louis' words, that Anna would get along without him, that she would find another love and marry again. John knew it was all foolish, but couldn't help himself.
“John, are you...?”
“I'm...its just...” he looked up at her, almost in judgment. Suddenly he felt so foolish and ashamed for it. “You'll help me get Louis back to bed?”
“John, what's going on. I'm getting scared?” she fell to his side, stroking his hair.
He searched her eyes, finding the world and eternity in them. More than that he found truth and love. He reached for her cheek feeling like a child before her decency and beauty. He supreme commodity of that moment, that simple touch rushed through him like warm electricity. The precious nature of that moment, one that would not again be repeated in all eternity filled him with a sudden sense of light and loss all at once.
“I'll explain everything inside,” he said. He could not keep any of this to himself any longer, yet he had no clue to what he might say to Anna.
Anna lifted Louis to a sitting position. He was limp and peaceful, as though he was in a very deep sleep. John knelt beside him and stretched one of Louis’ arms across his shoulders. With a slight groan John hauled the man across his back and stood. They went into the house and up the stairs. The crickets returned in their wake, filling the noght with their eternal song of summer.
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
Emmetsburg: Thirty-nine
John knelt in the damp cool grass, With his good hand he gripped Louis by the collar. Instantly Louis took hold of John’s arm, using it as leverage to pull himself close. Taken aback John tried to pull free, but again Louis and that impossible strength held him fast.
“Poor babies, John,” he sobbed in that far away voice, “All burned up. All burned up.”
“Who?, what are you talking about.”
“Them three pretty little girls up at Spirit Lake,” said Louis. “Nothing to be done, John. Nothing to be done. All burned up...” his words trailed away.
John shook him hard, feeling himself at the end of his patience. He growled, fighting emotion and not wanting to worry Anna, still standing in the door. “What the hell are you?”
“You'll be next, John. Go to meet your maker. Anna will get on. Be all right. All for the good.”
“What's for the good? I don't understand.”
“World goes on without us John,” said Louis. “Fills in the gaps. Sun rises and the sun sets. A new day comes. The dead are forgotten, but their actions and deeds live on in all the rest.”
John shook Louis again. He felt pushed to the edge. The blood charged madly through his veins, exploding in his temples.
“What if I break your neck?”
“You'll go, John Perkins.”
“Go where?”
“You'll go to save that boy. You'll go for Anna. You'll go.”
“To die?”
“Of course, John!”
“When? How?”
“One week's time, no more. You'll go, John Perkins, shot by your own hand.”
Louis released him and went limp, as if someone had simply flipped a switch. John pushed away, coming to his feet and backing away to regard Louis Stanton from a distance. He was sleeping, though John might have wished far worse for the man at that moment.
This was all so absurd, he thought. Either he was had or Louis was. Maybe both of them were mad. A shiver ran through him for just a moment as he entertained the thought that all this was true. He shook the thought away instantly. John was still languishing in the aftermath of that dark thought when a hand upon his shoulder startled him.
“Poor babies, John,” he sobbed in that far away voice, “All burned up. All burned up.”
“Who?, what are you talking about.”
“Them three pretty little girls up at Spirit Lake,” said Louis. “Nothing to be done, John. Nothing to be done. All burned up...” his words trailed away.
John shook him hard, feeling himself at the end of his patience. He growled, fighting emotion and not wanting to worry Anna, still standing in the door. “What the hell are you?”
“You'll be next, John. Go to meet your maker. Anna will get on. Be all right. All for the good.”
“What's for the good? I don't understand.”
“World goes on without us John,” said Louis. “Fills in the gaps. Sun rises and the sun sets. A new day comes. The dead are forgotten, but their actions and deeds live on in all the rest.”
John shook Louis again. He felt pushed to the edge. The blood charged madly through his veins, exploding in his temples.
“What if I break your neck?”
“You'll go, John Perkins.”
“Go where?”
“You'll go to save that boy. You'll go for Anna. You'll go.”
“To die?”
“Of course, John!”
“When? How?”
“One week's time, no more. You'll go, John Perkins, shot by your own hand.”
Louis released him and went limp, as if someone had simply flipped a switch. John pushed away, coming to his feet and backing away to regard Louis Stanton from a distance. He was sleeping, though John might have wished far worse for the man at that moment.
This was all so absurd, he thought. Either he was had or Louis was. Maybe both of them were mad. A shiver ran through him for just a moment as he entertained the thought that all this was true. He shook the thought away instantly. John was still languishing in the aftermath of that dark thought when a hand upon his shoulder startled him.
Monday, February 15, 2010
Emmetsburg: Thirty-eight
Green. Sins. These sins that echo constantly in the soul, like a whisper in the night. How many lifetimes would it take to outlast those echoes? Are they a fair burden, the price exacted for pain and treachery inflicted upon others? They accumulate like locusts on the wind, eventually devouring everything good and redeemable. These sins, small and large, the negotiations with ravenous egos piloting the soul to ruin.
And is religion and the permutations of fleeting morality, bled through the prism of ramshackle ethics, the means of escaping these sins? Not as an absolution by God, but as merely a cloak spread upon that blighted ground. The ground beneath remains ravaged and blighted, but must it remain that way forever? Is there any redemption, any return to the beauty and purity (if it was ever pure) of that original heart? Was God the redeemer, was choice, or is it death(or insanity)?
John weighed that question as he stood at the top of the trench, hidden from snipers by the glare of the setting sun. He looked back across the no man's land. He wasn't sick or exhausted or in pain any more. He was numb and empty. His brow was a ragged line, his eyes fixed upon movement in the distance, a figure moving near the German lines. The German stumbled towards his trench cradling that injured arm. At the edge he turned and looked back for John before disappeared forever.
Were sins something that could be weighed in the balance? For instance, what was a life worth? He hadn't killed the German, though it would have been an easy thing to do. No man would have judged him. War erases all pretentions of humanity and crumbles any construction of civilization. But a man's life was not his to take. It wasn't anyone's to take, which perhaps defined murder as a sin. In that regard, no sin could be undone. The only thing remaining was atonement. As John climbed back into the trench there was much he needed to atone for.
And is religion and the permutations of fleeting morality, bled through the prism of ramshackle ethics, the means of escaping these sins? Not as an absolution by God, but as merely a cloak spread upon that blighted ground. The ground beneath remains ravaged and blighted, but must it remain that way forever? Is there any redemption, any return to the beauty and purity (if it was ever pure) of that original heart? Was God the redeemer, was choice, or is it death(or insanity)?
John weighed that question as he stood at the top of the trench, hidden from snipers by the glare of the setting sun. He looked back across the no man's land. He wasn't sick or exhausted or in pain any more. He was numb and empty. His brow was a ragged line, his eyes fixed upon movement in the distance, a figure moving near the German lines. The German stumbled towards his trench cradling that injured arm. At the edge he turned and looked back for John before disappeared forever.
Were sins something that could be weighed in the balance? For instance, what was a life worth? He hadn't killed the German, though it would have been an easy thing to do. No man would have judged him. War erases all pretentions of humanity and crumbles any construction of civilization. But a man's life was not his to take. It wasn't anyone's to take, which perhaps defined murder as a sin. In that regard, no sin could be undone. The only thing remaining was atonement. As John climbed back into the trench there was much he needed to atone for.
Emmetsburg: Thirty-seven
A moan awakened him. It was long and low, trailing to a pathetic whimper, not unlike that of a small child. John awake3ned with a start, believing for a moment that it had come from him. His body was a conspiracy of knots and bruises, his painfully empty stomach twisting with dysentery. Mud had hardened on his face and hands, tightening the flesh there. He sweltered, dripping with sweat as the caked earth and heavy wool uniform became an oven beneath the afternoon sun.
John's mind spun, fighting to grasp hold of the world once more. Had John fallen asleep, or had he slipped into unconsciousness. It seemed a subtle distinction, and one that John wasn't sure he could answer.
The crater was drenched in deep shadow, mostly. The white gold disk of the sun fell oblique across the shoulder of the crater, carving the far rim in bright day light. That light retreated steadily as the sun teased the crater's edge. Something in that disk drew John's attention. He squinted into it, struggling to make out something moving it its light. Undefined and barely discernable it fluttered and moved excitedly, hovering in that light like an angel. John's mouth opened partly in disbelief and partly that he felt compelled to say something. The angel grew and came nearer until he could make out the blurred and still undefined motion of the wings. His heart rose to meet it, as though it was being rescued from the misery of the crater and the war. When it set down upon the rim of the crater as a small sparrow it was almost too much for John to take.
Each man has his limit and his precipice. Each man has a load beyond which he cannot bear. It is a crushing moment when that limit has been reached, for nothing so defines the soul as that limit. Indeed, nothing defines a soul as much as the way a man comes to that limit. The catalyst plunging a man over the edge may be miniscule or profound. The supreme disappointment that the bird was not an angel come to same him drove Kohn to the very edge of sanity.
The moan returned, this time louder and more sustained. It was all John could do to lift his head to discover the origin. The muscles of his neck had grown stiff, pulling at the back of his skull and sending burning tides of pain through his head. Behind the muddy little wall John had constructed, Roddy writhed and dug at the mud with his fingers, as though that might divert or stem the terrible pain from which he prayed to almighty God for relief or for death. Roddy’s moan evolved into a cry that John knew for certain would bring the Germans down upon them. John pushed himself to a kneeling position, still leaning on his arms and mustered the strength to reach Roddy.
Suddenly the man arched his head skyward and gave the most unholy and painful cry John had ever heard. Roddy's eyes rolled back in his head and his body shuddered unnaturally. With that he began to thrash and sob, repeating again and again, “Kill me!”
John fell upon him, turning him over and clamping a hand across the man's mouth. But Roddy twisted and convulsed so hard, biting down hard enough on John's hand to draw blood, that it became impossible. Frantic and terrified, fully expecting German soldiers to appear at any second, John drew a rag from his pocket and quickly stuffed into Roddy's mouth to quiet him.
There was no doubt the German's had heard Roddy's wailing. The air had stilled. The sound would carry to both lines. John drew back the hammer on the revolver with one hand, and with the other covered Roddy's nose and mouth. John leaned over the suffering man, pressing down with his entire weight.
A German soldier appeared at the lip of the crater. John leveled the revolver and put a bullet neatly through the man's neck, killing him instantly. Another appeared, and John shot him too. A third appeared. John fired again, but the German, a towering powerhouse of a man rolled under it, coming up again with his rifle and bayonet within thrusting distance.
John was ready, and parried away the bayonet with the pistol. In the mud and slope of the crater wall both men lost their balance, abandoning their weapons and ending up in a heap on the far side of the pit. They were instantly teasing and slugging at one another.
John was clearly outclassed against the German. He was nimble and quick despite his size. John was stunned by the man's strength, and the man seemed almost to delight in even the best placed of John's punches. For a minute, as they grappled half submerged in the pool at the bottom of the crater, John almost thought the guy was toying with him. As if to make that point, he turned john around and hook an arm around his neck to strangle him. The fight was running away from him. John had reached his precipice. He'd gone over the edge, clinging to the world by a tenuous hand hold.
John dropped his chin as the German hooked the arm around his neck and bit down. The man's flesh stretched under his bite, then broke gushing warm into his mouth. The man screamed and clawed at Johns eyes, the ragged finger nails drawing deep troughs across John's cheeks and forehead. Finding bone john twisted until part of the man's arm came loose in his mouth.
With that the German pulled away stumbling backwards and falling over Roddy, now still and lifeless. The man froze, a horrified expression coming to him as John rose over him and spit out a piece of the man's arm, blood dripping from his lips. It wasn't fear of death, but more that John had crossed some threshold. It was as though john had uttered some forbidden obscenity beyond what the so-called civilized conventions of warfare allowed. John had become a demon, and that was fully reflected in the German soldier's expression. For him that was the precipice; that was the limit. As John picked up the trench knife the man shook his head once, as if asking the demon to reconsider. John fell to his knees straddling the man's legs and grabbed him hard by the collar. The man closed his eyes and turned his head aside.
John's mind spun, fighting to grasp hold of the world once more. Had John fallen asleep, or had he slipped into unconsciousness. It seemed a subtle distinction, and one that John wasn't sure he could answer.
The crater was drenched in deep shadow, mostly. The white gold disk of the sun fell oblique across the shoulder of the crater, carving the far rim in bright day light. That light retreated steadily as the sun teased the crater's edge. Something in that disk drew John's attention. He squinted into it, struggling to make out something moving it its light. Undefined and barely discernable it fluttered and moved excitedly, hovering in that light like an angel. John's mouth opened partly in disbelief and partly that he felt compelled to say something. The angel grew and came nearer until he could make out the blurred and still undefined motion of the wings. His heart rose to meet it, as though it was being rescued from the misery of the crater and the war. When it set down upon the rim of the crater as a small sparrow it was almost too much for John to take.
Each man has his limit and his precipice. Each man has a load beyond which he cannot bear. It is a crushing moment when that limit has been reached, for nothing so defines the soul as that limit. Indeed, nothing defines a soul as much as the way a man comes to that limit. The catalyst plunging a man over the edge may be miniscule or profound. The supreme disappointment that the bird was not an angel come to same him drove Kohn to the very edge of sanity.
The moan returned, this time louder and more sustained. It was all John could do to lift his head to discover the origin. The muscles of his neck had grown stiff, pulling at the back of his skull and sending burning tides of pain through his head. Behind the muddy little wall John had constructed, Roddy writhed and dug at the mud with his fingers, as though that might divert or stem the terrible pain from which he prayed to almighty God for relief or for death. Roddy’s moan evolved into a cry that John knew for certain would bring the Germans down upon them. John pushed himself to a kneeling position, still leaning on his arms and mustered the strength to reach Roddy.
Suddenly the man arched his head skyward and gave the most unholy and painful cry John had ever heard. Roddy's eyes rolled back in his head and his body shuddered unnaturally. With that he began to thrash and sob, repeating again and again, “Kill me!”
John fell upon him, turning him over and clamping a hand across the man's mouth. But Roddy twisted and convulsed so hard, biting down hard enough on John's hand to draw blood, that it became impossible. Frantic and terrified, fully expecting German soldiers to appear at any second, John drew a rag from his pocket and quickly stuffed into Roddy's mouth to quiet him.
There was no doubt the German's had heard Roddy's wailing. The air had stilled. The sound would carry to both lines. John drew back the hammer on the revolver with one hand, and with the other covered Roddy's nose and mouth. John leaned over the suffering man, pressing down with his entire weight.
A German soldier appeared at the lip of the crater. John leveled the revolver and put a bullet neatly through the man's neck, killing him instantly. Another appeared, and John shot him too. A third appeared. John fired again, but the German, a towering powerhouse of a man rolled under it, coming up again with his rifle and bayonet within thrusting distance.
John was ready, and parried away the bayonet with the pistol. In the mud and slope of the crater wall both men lost their balance, abandoning their weapons and ending up in a heap on the far side of the pit. They were instantly teasing and slugging at one another.
John was clearly outclassed against the German. He was nimble and quick despite his size. John was stunned by the man's strength, and the man seemed almost to delight in even the best placed of John's punches. For a minute, as they grappled half submerged in the pool at the bottom of the crater, John almost thought the guy was toying with him. As if to make that point, he turned john around and hook an arm around his neck to strangle him. The fight was running away from him. John had reached his precipice. He'd gone over the edge, clinging to the world by a tenuous hand hold.
John dropped his chin as the German hooked the arm around his neck and bit down. The man's flesh stretched under his bite, then broke gushing warm into his mouth. The man screamed and clawed at Johns eyes, the ragged finger nails drawing deep troughs across John's cheeks and forehead. Finding bone john twisted until part of the man's arm came loose in his mouth.
With that the German pulled away stumbling backwards and falling over Roddy, now still and lifeless. The man froze, a horrified expression coming to him as John rose over him and spit out a piece of the man's arm, blood dripping from his lips. It wasn't fear of death, but more that John had crossed some threshold. It was as though john had uttered some forbidden obscenity beyond what the so-called civilized conventions of warfare allowed. John had become a demon, and that was fully reflected in the German soldier's expression. For him that was the precipice; that was the limit. As John picked up the trench knife the man shook his head once, as if asking the demon to reconsider. John fell to his knees straddling the man's legs and grabbed him hard by the collar. The man closed his eyes and turned his head aside.
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