They sat and ate, only the sound of knife and fork. Mary stared into her plate, movements slow, measured, without expression. Kathrin silently watched the clocklike motion.If you want to talk--
Thanks.
Kathrin lifted kettle.
No.
Mary--
I said no. (Mary pushes her chair back and stands)
I'm not your enemy.
And your son? Would he have put a bullet in me, in Virgil?
That's not fair and you know it.
I don't know it.
What does that mean?
Nathan is dead.
Mein Gott, Mädchen. (Kathrin takes Mary into hug. Mary's arms remain limp)
Let me go.
Let it out.
I can't do this.
I got you. Let it out.
They stand like this, Mary tucked into Kathrin's wet shoulder, a wet trembling.
++++++
What did he say? asked Kathrin.
You're just a nobody girl.
He was on morphine.
I raised my hand. And he laughed.
(Kathrin pulls her tight. They sit before the crackling fireplace)
He said go ahead. Won't bring Virgil back. That's when I reached in my pocket and gave him what he wanted. When I returned, he was dead.
(Kathrin says nothing. Just the sound of the fire is heard.)
His eyes were still open. The syrettes unopened.
++++++
It's okay.
No. It's not.
Okay.
Kathrin, it's not the result. Never the result.
(Kathrin just stares at her.)
Don't you see. With everything, intent. Intent.
(Both sit for awhile in silence.)
I'm turning in my resignation.
Can you do that?
No. Not really.
I don't understand.
How can I go back?
Because you have a duty.
Duty?
Yes, duty.
What did duty get Walter? Erich? But you are right. I do have a duty. A duty to know when I'm done. Done with this war, done with this place.
Mary--
I've leaving in the morning.
Where? You have no place to go.
Don't care. Don't matter.
++++++
Mary is walking on the side of the road when a jeep pulls up. She continues walking, the jeep rolling along:
Lieutenant Browning?
Yes.
Mary Browning?
Yeah.
Get in the jeep please.
No.
Damn it.
Don't cuss.
Where do you think you're going?
Don't know.
You don't have to go back.
Then why are you here?
We know you're pregnant.
How?
Don't matter. You got a ticket home.
(Mary laughs) What makes you think I want to go home?
I'm not a fan of posting and then taking the post down. I apologize for my own behavior. Here is the post removed:
ReplyDeletesword down (KKB-21)
he stood as oak
shield held
sword down
on gallop
I came
upon his frame
rose my steel
with muscle
charged
from a sky blue
a silver bloom
burning venom
did I strike
of splinter
and knee
did both fall
his sword
impaled of earth
his head held
high
arm nude
lowered
this is how
I came
this is how
he
fell
jets of life
that red fountain
flowed
where did stand
now
the boy
his hands
shinning
wet
of mud
and
blood
just standing
life painted
cheeks
his eyes
blue
steel
the wail
of woman
heard
of mother
come
running
my back
arrowed
of stare
Both of your offerings are very beautiful today.
ReplyDeleteSometimes it is hard to take ownership of what we do with our own hands, what comes from our own hearts. My imperfect writing is, if nothing else, mine.
ReplyDeleteThanks Limes. Hope you have a wonderful weekend. Take care.
You don't have to be perfect, Tree. You're all sparkly, shiny, beautiful, deep, even if not perfect. You give deep pleasure to many. You may be the most perfect example of the tortured artist I've ever known of. My heart is very full and heavy thinking of what you must do to yourself.
ReplyDeleteI'd like to be a little less tortured. I'd like to have more courage to go into the rain rather than sitting under the eaves waiting for it to stop.
ReplyDeleteI know. You're talking to one. It will get better. You will find your way. Others will help you.
ReplyDeleteGo to the desert. Camp. Bring your notebook. Record everything. Every drop of peace. Then write about it. Can you do that for me?
ReplyDeleteUh-oh. Tears. Yes. I'm hoping we'll set a date tomorrow. Yes, I will. With photos and anecdotes. For, you see, I can be very, very serious, but I have to toss in a little "goon", too.
ReplyDeleteThanks Limes. You are a good woman.
ReplyDeleteBe well, Tree. You be at peace, too. Please.
ReplyDeleteOh Trée. Thank you for sword down.
ReplyDeleteI do not see anyone under the eves, exactly the opposite, under the bloody rain with more courage
than anything. Plus, living it out loud here.
I cannot write feelings, but can feel.
Constance, nice to have you along for the ride.
ReplyDelete