These dreams, these little torturers and redeemers, these liars and betrayers of the conscience. They are perversions and predictions, and so fully out of the soul’s feeble control. Where is the line crossed between temptation and imagination? That they reside within each soul, are they proof of ultimate corruption or reason for hope? And what of the pious man, tormented by demons he eschews by day? Is he then a hero or a hypocrite?
John woke with a start. His heart was racing. He had been dreaming something but he could not recall what it was. It was an odd thing. He always remembered his dreams. They escaped him now for some reason, which was just as well. His breaths upset the early morning still of the room. He glanced to Anna, certain it would disturb her sound sleep. She remained asleep, a deep and peaceful sleep. There was just the slightest furl to her brow. John touched her forehead gentle and it relaxed
.
There was a cob web hanging lazily from the ceiling above. It was fat and gray from dust. The creature that had created it had long ago passed from the world, or moved off to a better place. John watched it sway gently from a breeze somewhere. It almost lulled him back to sleep
Dreams stalked John. They had since the war, which had revisited him on nights too numerous to count. They were shocking, detestable images so real he would awaken believing he was still in some muddy, lice-filled, corpse ridden trench in France. That morning when he awoke those dreams had left him. More than that, John actually felt free of them, as if they had been a terrible fever that had suddenly and unexpectedly passed.
He slipped quietly from bed. The floor was cool against his bare feet. The floor boards were uneven. Not disjointed or separated in any way, but rather rose and fell like waves on the ocean. Anna was on her belly. The blanket was bunched at her waist. One leg was bent along side of her. The other stretched to the end of the small, high brass bed. Her bare foot dangled at the edge. The pre-dawn darkness softened the contours of her back, bare to her hips. John recalled their lovemaking during the night with a mix of joy and concern. He touched her bare ankle as he moved around the edge of the bed, where he scooped up his coveralls and went out into the kitchen.
Showing posts with label exclusively at Blogspot. Show all posts
Showing posts with label exclusively at Blogspot. Show all posts
Monday, December 21, 2009
Sunday, December 13, 2009
THE LAST MAN: Part Forty-two
I climb slowly to my feet. As I draw Desiree up, still shielding her with my body, it seems impossible we are still alive. Desiree is already pulling me towards the sewer, knowing full well this could be our last chance for escape. At the entrance to the alley I spot movement among the dead. I pull away from Desiree. Her fingers linger at the end of our touch. Her face fully reflects the urgency of this moment, but I have to go.
“Please, I beg you,” she pleads.
“One moment is all I ask.”
I take her in my arms and look purposefully into her tortured eyes. We both look to gunfire out in the street. The sound comes nearer with each passing heartbeat. Her fingers grip the sleeves of my tunic tightly, as if she might drag me away if all else fails.
“If something happens,” I tell her, “follow the sewer to the coast. You will find…”
“I won’t, not without you!”
“You must,” I say, pulling away. It takes every ounce of strength and courage I can muster her. We may only have this one chance, but I have to go.
I follow the wall to the top of the alley. In the street, a few yards away the Man from the Corporation lies bleeding. Bullets have pierced his body crossways from hip to shoulder. I am amazed he is still alive. Seeing me he musters the strength for an ironic smile. At the end of the street, in the direction of the Reclamation Center, Section Twenty-one troops loyal to him are fighting a losing battle against the Minister’s forces. Bullets rip at the air overhead and skip at the street close by.
Ignoring the fighting I kneel beside him. Gently I lay my hand upon his shoulder. It is cold to the touch. Already I can feel the life fleeing from his body.
“Seems as though I am the one eager to say goodbye now,” he says weakly.
A cross the street a man stumbles from the fight and collapses against the wall. The street battle reaches its climax. The man from the Corporation looks past me to the ultramarine sky, and the torn layers of smoke and dust.
“Does it hurt terribly?”
His eyes find mine. “I did not believe I would see you again. Don’t ascribe any purposefulness in saving you, if that is in fact what I’ve done.”
“Still, I owe you a debt, my friend.”
The word seems to catch him a moment. It seems to rescue him from the finality of the moment, more than he rescued Desiree and me from the Minister’s bullet.
“It is I who owe you a debt.” I said. “In the atrium you said something I did not understand. You said that a man alone is always defeated, but that a man alone has nothing to lose but his dignity, and that he will defend to the last.”
“I did.”
“But not all men. It takes an uncommon character.”
“Or a common man in an uncommon situation.”
“Perhaps if that were truer we would live in a very different world. I believe you are the last man…my friend”
Only a hand full of his loyal men remain now. They have retreated to doorways around us. At the top of the street, seeming to rise from the lingering smoke and haze from the Reclamation Center, an armored troop carrier creeps forward spitting fire around the street.
“Anything I can do for you?” I ask.
He looks to Desiree. There is a lonesome look to his eyes, as though he realizes something he has always missed but only now discovered. With his final breaths he reaches up and touches my face.
“She is waiting for you,” he says, breathing heavier and more erratic now. “See how she looks at you? That better world awaits if the two of you can find it.”
With that he is gone. As I close his eyes I know he meant less of the physical world than of something more. I am coming to a definition of love in Desiree. Implied in that word is the hope of a different world, if we can find it.
“Please, I beg you,” she pleads.
“One moment is all I ask.”
I take her in my arms and look purposefully into her tortured eyes. We both look to gunfire out in the street. The sound comes nearer with each passing heartbeat. Her fingers grip the sleeves of my tunic tightly, as if she might drag me away if all else fails.
“If something happens,” I tell her, “follow the sewer to the coast. You will find…”
“I won’t, not without you!”
“You must,” I say, pulling away. It takes every ounce of strength and courage I can muster her. We may only have this one chance, but I have to go.
I follow the wall to the top of the alley. In the street, a few yards away the Man from the Corporation lies bleeding. Bullets have pierced his body crossways from hip to shoulder. I am amazed he is still alive. Seeing me he musters the strength for an ironic smile. At the end of the street, in the direction of the Reclamation Center, Section Twenty-one troops loyal to him are fighting a losing battle against the Minister’s forces. Bullets rip at the air overhead and skip at the street close by.
Ignoring the fighting I kneel beside him. Gently I lay my hand upon his shoulder. It is cold to the touch. Already I can feel the life fleeing from his body.
“Seems as though I am the one eager to say goodbye now,” he says weakly.
A cross the street a man stumbles from the fight and collapses against the wall. The street battle reaches its climax. The man from the Corporation looks past me to the ultramarine sky, and the torn layers of smoke and dust.
“Does it hurt terribly?”
His eyes find mine. “I did not believe I would see you again. Don’t ascribe any purposefulness in saving you, if that is in fact what I’ve done.”
“Still, I owe you a debt, my friend.”
The word seems to catch him a moment. It seems to rescue him from the finality of the moment, more than he rescued Desiree and me from the Minister’s bullet.
“It is I who owe you a debt.” I said. “In the atrium you said something I did not understand. You said that a man alone is always defeated, but that a man alone has nothing to lose but his dignity, and that he will defend to the last.”
“I did.”
“But not all men. It takes an uncommon character.”
“Or a common man in an uncommon situation.”
“Perhaps if that were truer we would live in a very different world. I believe you are the last man…my friend”
Only a hand full of his loyal men remain now. They have retreated to doorways around us. At the top of the street, seeming to rise from the lingering smoke and haze from the Reclamation Center, an armored troop carrier creeps forward spitting fire around the street.
“Anything I can do for you?” I ask.
He looks to Desiree. There is a lonesome look to his eyes, as though he realizes something he has always missed but only now discovered. With his final breaths he reaches up and touches my face.
“She is waiting for you,” he says, breathing heavier and more erratic now. “See how she looks at you? That better world awaits if the two of you can find it.”
With that he is gone. As I close his eyes I know he meant less of the physical world than of something more. I am coming to a definition of love in Desiree. Implied in that word is the hope of a different world, if we can find it.
Wednesday, December 9, 2009
THE LAST MAN: Part Forty
“Is there any hope for us?” Desiree asks. How do I answer that question? Her eyes tear me to pieces. I would do anything to save her from all of this, but I am at the end of hope as well. Do I tell her what I honestly believe, that we will meet our end with a bullet? Do I implore her to go bravely with me to that end? Perhaps the illusion of hope is the best answer. In any case silence is the wrong answer, but the only one I can muster.
“During the attack I saw one of them,” she begins. “It was a young woman. She tackled a man almost twice her size and killed him with her bare hands not three feet away from me. When she had finished she sat astride his body and our eyes met…the, the…her eyes, they were so filled with life and power. I am sad I will not live a life like that.”
There is a sound at the door. It opens to the Minister from Police. Desiree stands as several of his men enter the room. The Minister enters, pacing back and forth a moment. He glances up at us from time to time. His expression is snug and self-satisfied. I hold Desiree’s arms. I fear it is more for my own faltering confidence than for her.
“You are a cleaver one,” says the Minister, still pacing. His hands are clasped behind his back. “I have seen many Associates resist Reclamation, but none so manipulative as you.”
“You can let us go,” I assert, feebly. “What are we to you?”
“What was it you said at your trial? Oh, yes, that no man can adequately proclaim his right to exist to another. You said it was a matter of perspective, and that perspectives are, by their nature, limited and biased. Isn’t that what you said?”
I do not answer. He continues.
“If that is truly how you believe, then you must concede that the argument falls both ways. Indeed, then you must accept that the perspective with the greatest power will carry the most weight. My perspective is to carry out the Reclamation Mandate for both of you without delay.”
“To what purpose?” asks Desiree. I can feel her trembling. There is a different quality to her voice, a stronger quality that sets my blood on fire. I cannot help but smile.
The Minister chafes at her perceived insolence. He is quiet a moment, as if the thought had not occurred to him before, at least not beyond the egotistical wish for revenge. His eyes rise accusingly to mine.
“Your presence is an infection that must be cut out of the body. Look at the effect you have had upon her.”
“We will leave the city, as I said, and never return,” I say.
He moves around behind me. I turn, straining to see him without letting go of Desiree. “Reclamation is the backbone of the Corporation. There is no better time to reassert that Mandate, and I can think of no one better to begin that process than you and your cohort.” He motions to the troopers. “Take them outside into the street.”
“During the attack I saw one of them,” she begins. “It was a young woman. She tackled a man almost twice her size and killed him with her bare hands not three feet away from me. When she had finished she sat astride his body and our eyes met…the, the…her eyes, they were so filled with life and power. I am sad I will not live a life like that.”
There is a sound at the door. It opens to the Minister from Police. Desiree stands as several of his men enter the room. The Minister enters, pacing back and forth a moment. He glances up at us from time to time. His expression is snug and self-satisfied. I hold Desiree’s arms. I fear it is more for my own faltering confidence than for her.
“You are a cleaver one,” says the Minister, still pacing. His hands are clasped behind his back. “I have seen many Associates resist Reclamation, but none so manipulative as you.”
“You can let us go,” I assert, feebly. “What are we to you?”
“What was it you said at your trial? Oh, yes, that no man can adequately proclaim his right to exist to another. You said it was a matter of perspective, and that perspectives are, by their nature, limited and biased. Isn’t that what you said?”
I do not answer. He continues.
“If that is truly how you believe, then you must concede that the argument falls both ways. Indeed, then you must accept that the perspective with the greatest power will carry the most weight. My perspective is to carry out the Reclamation Mandate for both of you without delay.”
“To what purpose?” asks Desiree. I can feel her trembling. There is a different quality to her voice, a stronger quality that sets my blood on fire. I cannot help but smile.
The Minister chafes at her perceived insolence. He is quiet a moment, as if the thought had not occurred to him before, at least not beyond the egotistical wish for revenge. His eyes rise accusingly to mine.
“Your presence is an infection that must be cut out of the body. Look at the effect you have had upon her.”
“We will leave the city, as I said, and never return,” I say.
He moves around behind me. I turn, straining to see him without letting go of Desiree. “Reclamation is the backbone of the Corporation. There is no better time to reassert that Mandate, and I can think of no one better to begin that process than you and your cohort.” He motions to the troopers. “Take them outside into the street.”
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
