I thought I lived. But I must have already known how the rules were failing me, the ordered forms gone in the rip that began with the rupture of my marriage and proposed career (how silly that word sounds now). Or perhaps with the rupture of my mother’s maidenhead. Or, God knows, before. I hadn’t learned about poetry and war yet. I still believed in salvation — and here I was seeking order and saving grace as my castle tumbled into the rising seas, searching with that funny finger in that aged dike below, that rebel finger which below me lived, aye, and even enjoyed. I mated with dark flesh that night, and she bore me dreams, magic, and hope, storm-festered dreams, magical revenge, and hope, and I never kissed her wrinkled face again and again.
* * *
Cagle was drunk. He walked straight down the sidewalk, but he half-faced the street, drifting like a Piper Cub in a high wind. Morning was in a foul mood, sulking about the fourteen ladies’ drinks he had lost to Bubbles at the Hub. Three days in Town had flayed the skin from my body, and I was already making those familiar resolutions never to come back. We were walking up to the main street, looking for a jeepny to take us back to Base. As we passed the door of a foul den known as Mutt & Jeff’s, three airmen burst out the door. The first and largest one was talking to the two behind him, and humped into Cagle. Cagle rebounded two steps, then went forward again before the airman could move. He elbowed Cagle out of the way, and snorted something about “Lookin’ where the hell you’re walkin’ ” and started back down the street in the direction from which we had come.
Morning, without a word, ran back to them, grabbed the airman’s shoulders, spun him around and shoved him against his two buddies.
“You want to push somebody, mother-fucker, you push me,” Morning said, anger quivering like a wind-tossed flame in his voice. “Don’t push, man.”
The airman had been openly attacked, was slightly larger than Morning, and probably felt himself in the right. He and his two pals charged just as I ran back to make peace. I tried to say something about not needing to fight to the other two guys, but one was already throwing a roundhouse right at me. I covered up, ducked and pushed the first one back into the second. When he rushed again, I stepped back and kicked him in the chest. He staggered backwards into the street and sat down in a puddle to get his breath. I asked the other guy if he wanted any of me, and he agreed that he didn’t.
“Let’s break this up before the APs arrive.” He agreed again.
Morning, for all his anger, was boxing. He had the guy against the wall, stepping in and out, ringing the airman’s ears with combinations of body punches and open-handed slaps. Morning’s body was turned, his chin tucked and his right protecting his face in a nearly classic stance. The slaps smacked loud and arrogant. Morning played with the guy, nearly letting him out, then driving him against the wall with the blinding, deafening slaps, but without hurting him badly enough so he could quit with some semblance of honor.
I stepped between them, peeled them apart, and held them off. Morning’s chest was trembling so fast under my hand that I wondered if he was going to hit me. But the other guy did. It was only a blind slap from a dazed and confused kid trying to beat off a nest of hornets, but it glanced off my tender twice-broken nose. I shoved him against the wall, set him up with a poking jab to the head, layed two right hooks under his heart, then dropped him with a forearm slam to the face when he bounced off the wall. He slid to a squat at the base of the wall, head in hands. I whirled back — Morning was grinning. The airman who hadn’t gotten in the fray was looking after his buddy in the street who was walking and breathing again.
“Boy, you really broke up the fight,” he sneered at me. “A real fucking peace-maker.”
“I’m
* * *
Cagle was drunk. He walked straight down the sidewalk, but he half-faced the street, drifting like a Piper Cub in a high wind. Morning was in a foul mood, sulking about the fourteen ladies’ drinks he had lost to Bubbles at the Hub. Three days in Town had flayed the skin from my body, and I was already making those familiar resolutions never to come back. We were walking up to the main street, looking for a jeepny to take us back to Base. As we passed the door of a foul den known as Mutt & Jeff’s, three airmen burst out the door. The first and largest one was talking to the two behind him, and humped into Cagle. Cagle rebounded two steps, then went forward again before the airman could move. He elbowed Cagle out of the way, and snorted something about “Lookin’ where the hell you’re walkin’ ” and started back down the street in the direction from which we had come.
Morning, without a word, ran back to them, grabbed the airman’s shoulders, spun him around and shoved him against his two buddies.
“You want to push somebody, mother-fucker, you push me,” Morning said, anger quivering like a wind-tossed flame in his voice. “Don’t push, man.”
The airman had been openly attacked, was slightly larger than Morning, and probably felt himself in the right. He and his two pals charged just as I ran back to make peace. I tried to say something about not needing to fight to the other two guys, but one was already throwing a roundhouse right at me. I covered up, ducked and pushed the first one back into the second. When he rushed again, I stepped back and kicked him in the chest. He staggered backwards into the street and sat down in a puddle to get his breath. I asked the other guy if he wanted any of me, and he agreed that he didn’t.
“Let’s break this up before the APs arrive.” He agreed again.
Morning, for all his anger, was boxing. He had the guy against the wall, stepping in and out, ringing the airman’s ears with combinations of body punches and open-handed slaps. Morning’s body was turned, his chin tucked and his right protecting his face in a nearly classic stance. The slaps smacked loud and arrogant. Morning played with the guy, nearly letting him out, then driving him against the wall with the blinding, deafening slaps, but without hurting him badly enough so he could quit with some semblance of honor.
I stepped between them, peeled them apart, and held them off. Morning’s chest was trembling so fast under my hand that I wondered if he was going to hit me. But the other guy did. It was only a blind slap from a dazed and confused kid trying to beat off a nest of hornets, but it glanced off my tender twice-broken nose. I shoved him against the wall, set him up with a poking jab to the head, layed two right hooks under his heart, then dropped him with a forearm slam to the face when he bounced off the wall. He slid to a squat at the base of the wall, head in hands. I whirled back — Morning was grinning. The airman who hadn’t gotten in the fray was looking after his buddy in the street who was walking and breathing again.
“Boy, you really broke up the fight,” he sneered at me. “A real fucking peace-maker.”
“I’m
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