|
|
Friday, July 1st, 2011
| |
2:52 am - Don't Dump
|
|
| Wednesday, December 31st, 2003
| |
12:38 pm - Title Page
|
|
| |
10:43 am - Table of Contents -- In the Desert (WC 116)
|
http://despinadesert.livejournal.com/21884.html
Table of Contents -- In the Desert
1. The Birth
2. The Visit
3. Tripping
4. Hard Traveling
5. The Visit, Revisited
6. It's a Wonderful Place
7. A Helping Hand
8. The Escape!
9. Hot Water
10. Frying Pan
11. Recognized
12. Salvation?
13. The Tent
14. The Prince's Return
15. Alone at Last
16. The Interview
17. Morning Has Broken
18. Oceans of Sand
19. Captured
20. Fought the Good Fight
21. Despina as Sheherazade
22. Ethnic Cleansing
23. Not To Be
24. Miracle
25. Best Laid Plans...
26. From the Top
27. Radio Contact
28. Planning a Break
29. Breaking Loose
30. Where Do We Go From Here? or All's Well that Ends Well
Word Count: 116
current mood:  accomplished
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, December 30th, 2003
| |
6:36 pm - The Birth (ITD: WC 1981)
|
http://despinadesert.livejournal.com/13680
The Birth
School's out! What a glorious feeling! Every year, I feel this huge sense of liberation, of infinite stretches of time before me, just waiting for an adventure or task to come fill it.
The ring of a telephone interrupts Despina's musings. I can't imagine who would be calling so early! It must be someone who knows I'm not still in school. Otherwise, I'd be dashing to and fro trying to get ready on time. No way could I stop to chat then...
As Despina reaches for the phone, the ringing stops. With a touch of irritation, she turns back outside into the glorious morning. Pausing on the steps, she checks the whereabouts of her various animal companions.
Debut's head pokes over the nearest fence, and she saunters idly over and pets him while checking on the rest of the herd. Carefully counting the mares in the field at the bottom of the hill, she can see all but one.
Out of sight, or wandering free? she wonders. Returning to the house, she reaches inside the front door for a slender brown plastic jar, stuffing it easily into the upper left-hand pocket of her jeans. Reaching the gate, she opens, then re-latches it soundly and starts down the hill. Before she is quite to the bottom, the outside bell sounds again.
Undecided if she should make a run for it, or assume they will either hang up before she can reach the phone, or leave a message like a sensible person, she pauses.
Sprinting back to the top of the hill, she thinks, Even if I make it in time, I'll be too out of breath to be able to talk.
As she closes the gate, the ringing stops abruptly. She continues inside until she can see if the tell tale red light is blinking. Exasperated, she picks up the phone and pockets it.
Even though the antenna won't reach where I probably need to go, I can try to run back to where it will pick up before they hang up.
The bulk of the slim phone makes a tight bulge in her pocket, slightly uncomfortable, but bearable. Despina exits the stud pen by the creek, crosses the dry bed, shaking her head sadly at the lack of moisture in the soil again this year, and checks carefully under the oaks at the bottom of the hill for the missing mare. Nothing.
Trailed by a string of hungry cats, irate that the routine that put them at the top of the line for feeding has been interrupted, Despina quickly crosses the front field. She treads alternately on patches of delicious tasting areas of golf-course-height grass and wades through calf deep areas of coarser blades, generally surrounding a pile, until she again crosses the creek and climbs into the lightly wooded area behind the north pond.
Empty! No, there's a flash of white. Which mare is missing? I thought it was Coqet... There'd be no white showing then, unless she's had a Pinto! Excited at the prospect, Despina begins to run. One leg will not lift as high as the other, due to the tight jeans caused by the lump of the phone.
There! Coqet, with her head down behind a screen of lambs' quarter. Drat the weeds, anyway! From her new angle, the bit of white is invisible. Anxiously crossing the pond's dike, she emerges in a slight hollow designed to allow overflow water to cascade away from an overly-full pond.
"Well, Ketty, if we were having a wet year, this wouldn't be the best place to plunk your kid down," comments Despina as a way of letting the mare know she is there.
At the sound of Despina's voice, Coqet's head pops up as if on a giraffe's neck. She relaxes a bit as she recognizes her mistress, then gives a soft snort at the sight of Mellow Yellow and Twist a Trill trailing behind.
"Oh, for Pete's sake, calm down. Those 3/4 grown kittens are no danger to your new colt! You've seen them every day since they got old enough to totter around."
Suddenly, Despina's heartbeat increases as she spies the head and long, trim neck of an obviously Pinto foal curled at Coqet's feet. The mare goes back to licking its still wet body industriously.
A wide blaze extends from mid-forehead between the wide-set eyes, trailing over delicate nostrils into the chin area. A huge dish in the face brings a big smile to Despina's face. Ah, a super head and neck!
Reaching the top of the dike, she can see the entire foal. About 75% dark, with four high white legs. I know every foal has LONG legs, but this little one seems gigantic!
Approaching the nervous mare without taking her eyes off the colt, Despina strokes her neck soothingly, murmuring praise for producing such a gorgeous Pinto foal. Gradually, she shifts her weight to the foot closest to the colt, picking up the tail. A male! I'd been hoping for a filly! But look how good that top line is, and how high the tail is set! He's sure going to be a looker!
Giving another nervous little snort, Coqet bumps Mellow away where he's rubbing against Despina's leg. Unperturbed, he saunters over and sniffs the colt on the far side of Despina, where her body protects him from the mare's attentions. Trill begins to sniff one stretched out back leg's hoof, then begins to lick.
Laughing delightedly, Despina says, "I can sure tell which of you two is the female, as if the calico coat didn't give it away," running one hand from the colt to the cat in one long, smooth touch. Trill's back automatically humps into Despina's hand in enjoyment. She's purring as if she were pacifying a passel of kittens.
The colt's head is bobbing in rhythm with the mare's licking. Soon one front foot strikes out before his body, but the other is tangled underneath him. Despina reaches out, straightening the leg so if he decides to rise, he'll have a better chance of success. Coqet tries to put her body between Despina and her son, nonchalantly moving as if it were an accidental shift, but Despina, wise in the ways of mares with their newborns, says, "Okay, Ketty, we'll let you bond with your son a bit while he gets on his feet as soon as I get the iodine on the navel and see the color pattern on the other side."
The colt stretches flat on his side again, still curved as if he were in the sack. Grabbing the top hind leg firmly, Despina lifts it up, retrieves the bottle from her pocket, unscrews the cap, and carefully sets the dauber aside, then inserts the entire stem and navel in the top of the bottle until it is snugly blocked, then inverts the bottle, soaking the navel and cord remnant with iodine. Stepping back and collecting all four feet, Despina easily rolls him over to the other side, noting the symmetry of his markings with satisfaction. Again petting Coqet reassuringly, she stands, watching as the colt's eyelids droop closed.
The phone rings again as Despina reaches the crest of the hill straight across the pasture from the back end of her dwelling where the outside bell hangs.
This time, I ought to be able to get it. Straight line of sight should allow me to hear, as long as the distance isn't too great.
She stops while she fishes the phone free, then thumbs it on. Reception is scratchy, more like a cell phone than the quality she is used to, but she suddenly finds herself talking with a former teacher and fellow horse lover.
"Hi, RoseMarie! I should have KNOWN you'd remember when summer vacation started. Why didn't you stay on the line?"
..."Well, I'd rather talk to you, personally, too, than an answering machine, but I nearly DIED of curiosity before I found out who was calling!"
..."Who could possibly stay indoors on such a glorious morning? I wake with the birds and the sun, and, checking the horses is the first thing on my mind. It sure was worth it this morning, too. Coqet finally foaled -- a huge chestnut tobiano stud colt!"
..."Yes, she's over three weeks late, but that way, I got to see it before it was even dry. I'm just on my way to put away the iodine bottle. I want to get back with a camera before he's found his feet -- if she gets shy with him, I'll never catch him today. I want to hold him and hug him and teach him that people won't hurt him. They never forget it when it is part of their introduction to the big new world."
..."You already know his name: Last Lye, just like I'd planned. He's sort of a companion colt to Omega's last son, Parting Shot. He's the only ungelded son of Lyre, but he's going to be a LOT taller, though, more like Coqet's height. He's destined to carry on now that Lyre's gelded and gone."
..."Out east somewhere. I'm not sure, and he went without his papers, so unless the folks who got him happen to recognize him from photos still up on the web site..."
..."'Unlikely' is right! But it sure was an improvement over possibly seeing him go to an auction. If I kept allowing the situation to continue, it was just a matter of time before he MET a person on the bridge at dawn and caused their demise. You can't let them wander around loose just because they're too bright to stay home without major fence renovation, which I couldn't afford to do fast enough to keep him from finding new holes."
..."I've always said any of them could leave any time they felt like it. They just didn't FEEL like it!"
"Just a minute. I need to set the phone down to operate this gate without losing Debut." Despina scratches his head a bit before pushing the big lug away and undoing the chain, which in her haste, had been pulled a bit too tight to reach easily from the "wrong" side of the fence.
..."Well, I guess I DO owe you a visit."
..."No, they're all on the ground for the year, now. I just hate to leave them. You know how you always plan it so you are back before the evening feed. When you were in Illinois, that was possible, but now that you're in Virginia, there's ..."
..."You remember when I came back from delivering Raven out west to find all my mares and foals crammed in the back stall, with the empty water trough pulled into the middle of the stud pen..."
..."Well, yes, she IS a decent person, and she DOES work hard, but I'm also always around to solve any really BIG problems and line stuff up. These are my children, as you well know."
..."Okay, I'll talk to her, but don't hold your breath. It would only be for a week, at most. I just can't be gone longer very readily. Those extended stays like happened the last two years..."
..."Right. Pure havoc. But you know I had lots of the mares leased out those two summers, and the first year, when I went to Arizona, I took some of the horses back with me in the middle of the summer. Lyre, for one."
..."No, I never have gone into New York City. You're right, it would be a good trip. I'm surprised as close as you are, you haven't gotten around to doing it."
..."Yes. Good company DOES make a big difference! I've also only done the belt line around the nation's capital at 3 a.m. with a horse trailer full of stock."
Word Count: 1981
current mood: raw beginning
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Monday, December 29th, 2003
| |
6:45 pm - The Visit (ITD: 8/14/08; WC 2233 )
|
http://despinadesert.livejournal.com/13833.html
The Visit
"Why do I let myself be talked into doing these things? I KNOW I need to be home, halter breaking Last Lye, fixing fence... pulling the wild parsnip BEFORE it all heads out. If it rains, those huge yellow tops will be head high when I get back, and I won't even be able to cross the creek without getting in the pollen, which will leave a huge poison-ivy-type of rash all over me. I'll have to hire someone to mow the field again... The only place relatively free of it is all up and down the house driveway, where I pulled the just-beginning-to-flower plants out by the roots before the pollen came out three summers ago when we had flood conditions, and the ground was wet a foot down. Amazing how LONG and DEEP those roots got!"
Despina gradually un-tenses her muscles as she motors east. Best put the best face on it, or I won't enjoy what I'm doing while I'm doing it. My chore person will call if anything goes wrong, and my friends will help her out if she needs something fast...
Two hours of small, sickly-looking corn plants later, Despina crosses the Mississippi River at Burlington, gassing her diesel BMW there, since she is not sure it would be readily available before she joins I-74 at Galesburg.
I'll have to think like a trucker on this trip. I'm not used to traveling long ways without the horse trailer to double as a rest stop whenever I need one. Facilities ought to become more prevalent heading East, though. The East Coast seems as if it has a gas station on every corner and is all one big town the last time I went to New Jersey, and it sure isn't likely to have gone back to farmland since then. I'll probably be so sick of interstate scenery, I'll wish I'd gone through all the state parks along the Ohio River like we did then.
Despina shifts in her seat, loosening and tightening her muscles. But, the roads weren't as nice. That is only a fond memory because we took riding horses and never drove more than three hours a day before we just HAD to unload and mount up. I guess I'll just have to invent reasons to get out of the car and walk around a bit on this trip.
"I really wish I'd gotten the cruise control fixed before I left. But I guess it is better to have a bit of a financial cushion in case I hit any unexpected situations." She takes a sip of her now-tepid tankard of ice water. "Must stop at the next fast food joint for an ice fix. Maybe I can luck into one before I hit the interstate."
"Just think. At this time last summer, I was heading off to Oslo. And Ragnar, but I didn't know that then. I don't blame him for not wanting to play second fiddle in my affections to Cu for the rest of his life. I sure seem to have a way of losing the men who matter the most. At least this time he didn't get shot right in front of me."
I'd better quit talking aloud or my throat will get really dry no matter how much ice water I drink. It must be something about the air conditioning blowing right in my face.
Discovering Cu alive was so marvelous. Getting to have a bit of a real marriage. Despina sighs, shifting again. "Well, I shouldn't have any men trouble THIS summer." Didn't I think that last summer before I got to Oslo?
Passing a White Castle Ice Cream Palace, Despina thinks, That sure is shaped nothing like a REAL castle. The Palace in Oslo looked more like a Parliament building. She giggles. That glum little protocol officer would have just LOVED to keep me from going with Cu to the Queen's banquet. Boy, did separating us ever backfire on him! When Cu got in trouble with the predatory, dissatisfied noble's wife, of course he looked to me for help. I was too far away to intervene seamlessly. Really, it would have been much less of a spectacle had I NOT had to remove my over-skirt and crawl half of the length of the banquet table, dodging feet and dropped food, to reach him.
It was naughty of the Prince to suggest it, but he WAS feeling a bit bored. I'll never forget his opening line, "Ragnar said if I sat near you, I would have a good time, as you were sure to do something unusual. What do you plan to do?"
Oh, I was so snide when I told him I planned to eat my food without spilling any of it on me or anyone else. The long spaghetti noodles dripping in colorful sauce were just begging for a home on my exquisite dress! But I outfoxed them! I took my knife in the wrong hand like they do in Europe and cut the silly things into little bitty pieces, then used a spoon to convey them all safely to my mouth. But, even so, I was MAD that Ragnar had told this twerp something so outrageous!
And then didn't he just HAVE to make a snide remark about the way I'd handled the problem. I got even with him, however. I told him, "My compliments to your chef on her pasta; not only did it pile most pleasingly on the platter, but it also provoked paroxysms of pleasure on the palate."
"But you cut it up into itty bitty pieces and ate it with a spoon!"
"Judging by its aroma alone, I was SURE I'd look and feel better eating it as opposed to wearing it!"
At that point, he accidentally slops some very visibly on his white shirt front.
Raising an eyebrow and giving a near-Gallic shrug, I said, "There but for the grace of God, and the prestidigitation of this good knife, go I."
I guess I did ask for it when I asked him what was the most inconspicuous way to reach Cu... He played right along, crawling behind me, holding the other half of the skirt up, then helping me fasten it when I got to Cu.
That little slut had kicked her shoes off and was rubbing her feet clear up to his crotch!
When he passed me his wineglass, the Prince asked for hers. Now, that was a piece of quick thinking. By dumping his wine into her glass, then passing it to me to pour down her dress, it made it look as if SHE'd spilled her own wine on herself. And the artful way he lay the glass on the other side of her from Cu. He's a natural instigator!
I never thought to ask him HOW OLD he was the last time he crawled the length of the banquet table at one of his mother's state dinners! He was probably four or something.
When someone whose title I've forgotten inquired about my ancestry, I said, "As you probably have figured out from my feeble performance in the spaghetti-eating department, I'm not Italian." Everyone laughed, willing to poke fun at the Ugly American, But, I did get in a bit of trouble a little later when I used an English word the Queen had never heard, and she asked for its meaning in a rather sly fashion. Now, Mr. Protocol Officer, when one finds oneself drawing the attention of Royalty, is it politic to explain the offending word, or does that just exacerbate the problem? Everyone else seemed to enjoy the revised seating arrangements and the clever way they were initiated.
"Well, this is all new. When did Monmouth get big enough to warrant a belt line? I’d better get into the main part of town if I want to find some ice."
Staring out the windshield on the far side of town, Despina lets her mind free wheel again. "Ten days escalated into months pretty fast last year. I didn't get back to the US until second semester. It was decent of Ragnar to find and send a replacement teacher for me to hold my position. I imagine small town Iowa was quite a shock to his system. I wonder if Alberto and Sarita are still equally fascinated with the Norwegian court life? The Queen sure took to Cu's children, bringing them to Norway the instant she found out they existed."
I don't know why losing him to a disease is less upsetting than to a gun shot. He's equally gone either way, yet I'm not in as black a depression as I was at the end of that summer. Death will never be easy for me to handle... I need to quit being so morbid or I'll spend this entire time moping.
Despina tries singing. Since she's alone, nobody cringes when she's off key.
My white knight
Not a Lancelot
Nor an angel with wings
Just someone to love me
Whose not afraid of a few nice things.
Well, that doesn't fit real well. But "My Indian warrior" wouldn't be under consideration for "a Lancelot" nor "an angel". I guess "nice things" is a pretty relative term, too. Nothing about my hovel on the Stone Circles Reservation in Arizona would have been considered "nice" in the eyes of Marion, the librarian... but I was wildly happy that summer. Generally dirty, underpaid, and overheated, but happy. Well, until the end, anyway.
After tearing the ideas apart, she sings it with even more gusto. When she can't remember the words, she changes songs. Soon she reaches interstate, but is not to the I-74 exchange yet. Boy, this part of the country has sure changed since the last time I passed by. Soon Illinois won't be known for farm land at all. We'll no longer be the Mid-West, breadbasket of the nation. We'll be wall-to-wall bedroom communities for the bigger cities.
Pulling off in Galesburg, she finds a grocery store and buys a sack of ice, placing it in the cooler, then gets some Thompson seedless grapes and some bing cherries to snack on. Putting some ice in a plastic bowl, she sets the cherries and grapes in it to keep them somewhat chilled, like she prefers them. I'd better be careful with this much fruit, or I won't make very good time for all the bathroom stops.
She never does stop and walk around, so as the daylight flees, she emerges stiff and partially immobilized at first. Setting up a pup tent, she positions her sleeping bag on a chaise lounge she's unfolded from the back seat. If I have to camp, I may as well be comfy. Firing up the Coleman stove, she heats a can of cream of broccoli soup. I'm really not very hungry. Must be the heat. I can remember not feeling like eating on the res. the first few weeks until my body got acclimated to the climate. This is a more humid heat, even though the temperatures are much lower, so it seems equally draining.
When dusk comes, the mosquitoes bite her right through the sheet, even though she's sprayed Off! all over it. I guess I'm out of practice communing with nature. I feel like I've been slapping for hours. If the car were a bit wider, I think I'd move inside.
"Honey, why don't you invite her to use the cab of the truck. She's not going to get any sleep at the rate she's swatting."
"Now, Mable, don't let your busybody ways take over out here. We don't know a thing about the other people who are camping out here with us."
"But she's a woman alone. She's not likely to be a mass murderer. Besides, we'll be in the camper. Just go over and talk to her."
Despina suddenly becomes aware that SHE is the topic of their discussion when the southern voice says, "Miss, would you consider it improper to use the cab of the truck? My wife is worried about you."
Getting up, she moves over to their campfire, exchanging a brief version of her life history. "I'm a teacher at Podunk, Iowa, on my way East to visit a fellow teacher who used to live in Illinois. I grew up in the Chicago area, but moved to Iowa for college, and somehow just never got out of the state afterward. Now I've lived more of my life there than anyplace else in the world, but I still don't feel like a native."
"Mable and I are retired from the hardware business. I did the stocking while she manned the counter. We made quite a team, but when Hardware Hank came to town, they could sell so much cheaper that I decided to sell out and go on the road. We never did get a proper vacation the entire time we ran that business. Now, we're touring the US to see what we missed."
When the yawns begin, she excuses herself and props up the head of the sleeping bag with clothes and her pillow so she will fit crosswise in the cab. He's right -- this definitely beats slapping my way through the night, Despina thinks as she drops off.
Last updated 8/14/08 - Changed the comma after pasta; moved what was; changed let to lets; and bit to bite; corrected prestidigitations to prestidigitation (12/14/2006. Changed cleaver to clever in body and footnote. 8/19/06 (1) Oh, I was so snide when I told him I planned to eat my food without spilling any of it on me or anyone else. The long spaghetti noodles dripping in colorful sauce were just begging for a home on my exquisite dress! But I outfoxed them! I took my knife in the wrong hand like they do in Europe and cut the silly things into little bitty pieces, then used a spoon to convey them all safely to my mouth. But, even so, I was MAD that Ragnar had told this twerp something so outrageous!
And then didn't he just HAVE to make a snide remark about the way I'd handled the problem. I got even with him, however. I told him, "My compliments to your chef on her pasta, not only did it pile most pleasingly on the platter, but it also provoked paroxysms of pleasure on the palate."
"But you cut it up into itty bitty pieces and ate it with a spoon!"
"Judging by its aroma alone, I was SURE I'd look and feel better eating it as opposed to wearing it!"
At that point, he accidentally slops some very visibly on his white shirt front.
Raising an eyebrow and giving a near-Gallic shrug, I said, "There but for the grace of God, and the prestidigitations of this good knife, go I."
2 When someone whose title I've forgotten inquired about my ancestry, I said, "As you probably have figured out from my feeble performance in the spaghetti-eating department, I'm not Italian." Everyone laughed, willing to poke fun at the Ugly American, But, I did get in a bit of trouble a little later when I used an English word the Queen had never heard, and she asked for its meaning in a rather sly fashion. Now, Mr. Protocol Officer, when one finds oneself drawing the attention of Royalty, is it politic to explain the offending word, or does that just exacerbate the problem? Everyone else seemed to enjoy the revised seating arrangements and the clever way they were initiated.</i>
Word Count: 2233
current mood:  amused
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Sunday, December 28th, 2003
| |
6:48 pm - Tripping (ITD: WC 2551)
|
http://despinadesert.livejournal.com/14301
Tripping
Despina awakes at dawn to bird song, but some of the voices are unfamiliar. I wonder what type of bird makes that song? Wish I had one of Cu's relatives handy. That was one nice thing on the reservation. I could just ask, and someone standing nearby would be able to tell me, and half of the time, point out where the songster was hiding. Of course, the NAMES weren't in English... but once I saw the bird, I could generally put the proper name to it without a bird book.
Sitting up carefully around the steering wheel, Despina stretches luxuriously, then gathers her bedding and returns to the BMW. Repacking, she contemplates the etiquette of the situation. So, do I leave a 'Thank you' note? or what? Giggling, she squashes the thought of knocking on the camper door to deliver a personal thank you. Think a dawn thanks might bring sorrow for making the offer rather than pleasure for a kind deed well done. She settles for a quick note on the steering wheel, where she knows they’ll see it.
A quick shower, and Despina is once again on her way. Bringing a friend along would have eliminated "interstate boredom". We'd have been chatting and not even noticed the areas we were moving through.
Winding past local traffic, she tops her tank before getting close enough to the interstate to experience the rise in prices she'd noted on her way to the campgrounds the night before. What a difference a few miles seem to make. If you're native, you'd NEVER hit the strip businesses that are there for the interstate trade. Best food -- further into the city. Cheaper prices -- further into the city. It is almost as if the transient nature of the interstate business crowd is a license to provide overpriced, shoddy goods, services, and food. Bob, my long-term over-the-road trucker friend, said to look for the places where tons of big rigs were, as that would be the best food en route.
Driving into the rising sun, Despina puts one hand over her eyes, but about five inches from her face to provide good vision. Maybe I should have eaten while it got high enough not to be in my eyes as I head due east.
As the miles click by, Despina's mind wanders. Once when my sister and I were traveling unencumbered by horses to reach a friend's wedding in Montana, I was advised to plan on being able to drive 350 miles a day for a sustainable rate. We traded drivers and stopped when we were tired, eating when we could agree that we were both really hungry, not bored, and arrived on Thursday for a Saturday wedding. With no funds for staying over, we blithely went on to Seattle to see relatives, who had NO IDEA we were en route, charging the gas... Funny.
We took the northern route, the then brand new I-90. Parts of it in the mountains were officially closed, but when we got there, people had moved the barriers back enough for someone small like our VW to go around. Ahead of us was a white VW with only one person in it. So, we followed. Soon we were pretty much alone on a freshly paved and painted four-lane route coming down from the heights of the Rocky Mountains.
We'd start around a switchback in the far lane, then at the height of the curve, would be against the rock of the mountain. As we hit curve after curve, I grew more confident, and finally let it go flat out. We buried the needle, 90 mph, coming down. Legalized go carting! Absolutely exhilarating!
On the level, the top speed I'd ever gotten out of that car was 65. It was good enough for a ticket -- at dawn, on a deserted four lane in Mississippi. The evening speed limit was still in force. I told that officer that it was impossible to speed in a VW! It only had a 56 horse engine!
We connected with the relatives, who replenished our supply of canned goods, went over to Vancouver Island on the ferry to visit the "mother" of my head stallion, putting a quilt over the entire roof of the VW to keep the lights in the parking area out of our eyes, which caused me to get sea sick, missed the gal, but met her dad, who took us on a tour of the BC school system when he found out I was a teacher, nearly bought a stallion, figuring he could ride home on roller skates by holding the lead rope in his teeth, got stuck waiting for the sea sickness tablets to wear off before I could operate a motor vehicle again (they DID let me drive it off the ferry) and ended up missing the wedding, too. Bad planning, but a lot of fun, the last great escapade with my sister before she settled down and began producing children.
To this day, I don't know how to figure out realistically what my capacity for daily amounts of driving over a sustained period is... Take yesterday, for instance. I woke up with the birds, shortly after 5 a.m. in my part of the country on the 7th of June, and was basically packed up and ready to leave after checking on the herd and eating breakfast, pulling out of the drive by 6:30. So, I got a good start. I stopped at sunset, about 8:30. Since I pulled through a Hardee's and got a Mushroom and Swiss, which I ate as I drove for lunch, and was in a supermarket about 15 minutes buying the fruit and ice, and gassed up twice, most of that was pure driving time.
I said I'd stop and walk around, but I guess I was just lying to myself. I want to get there, but I also want to be in good enough shape to enjoy my visit, not sleep through the first day! Logically, I should be able to come up with a plan as though driving were my job, and leave me a life outside of driving that is still satisfying. If I pretend that my normal grade-the-papers, watch-TV, play-with-the-animals time is all now available for driving, I should have a sustainable amount of time available for driving... I just have to convince my mind that DRIVING is as enjoyable as those other activities I would normally be doing.
Despina notes wryly, "Trying to time things while driving, I have to keep repeating things to myself." She painstakingly works out that she should have gotten about 700 miles yesterday had she been able to average 50 miles an hour.
Now all I have to do is figure out how far the town I REALLY got to is from that ideal. I wonder if I can plot mileage in my head while driving and total them up? That probably is not the safest thing to be doing in heavy going like this. Must be rush hour. Sure wish I could have gotten this little wiring snafu worked on and repaired before I got started. Nobody wants to work on a foreign car, though, even though I have the entire 20 lb. manual in the trunk.
So much for good intentions. Let's see. Okay, that first mileage is 4 miles, then, uh, 39, and hum, 19... that's 52. Try it again to be sure... no 62. Okay, now which? Third time's a charm... and the winner is, 62!
Now, from there to the river is a straight shot. Nothing tricky. Uh, looks like 79. Okay, now, 79 and, what was it? 52? No, 62, I remember... the high score won. So I need to add 62 and 79. 2 and 9 are 11, so 141. From home to the Mississippi River is 141 miles. I didn't make very good time there, though, as Highway 34 was full of gawkers. With as sickly as the corn was, I can't imagine what they were gawking at!
She passes a bunch of campers, pulling in well ahead of the first one so she is not likely to get rear-ended. Relative clear spot ahead of me, so let's see what is next. Okay, the mileage for that scenic drive from the river to I-74... uh, 25 and, um, 17. Okay, that's 42. With the piece in Iowa at 141, that's pretty easy to figure -- 183 miles. Call it 50 mph, probably HIGH, but...
Okay, I know how to figure out my rate for the Iowa small town driving roads... the trip to Sue's farm. I've done it with a trailer and in a car, and no matter what, it always takes two hours... So, what is that mileage? Let's see -- um, 84 miles. Okay, so I get 42 miles per hour on Iowa two lane roads in the daytime.
A sudden honk brings Despina back from her calculations. "Oops... I'm drifting over the lane line."
More carefully, she resumes her calculations. So, I should have reached I-74 slightly after 11, but I got there around noon, as I ate before entering. So, chalk the loss of an hour down to the shopping and gas...
"Well, this isn't a marathon. There's no prize for speed. I shouldn't let my mood go black just because I reached the Interstate an hour later than I figure I should..."
Now, from Galesburg to Peoria looks like 49 miles. If I pretend to average 50 mph. on the interstate, in this type of heavy summer traffic with drivers cutting each off in a cutthroat fashion, we'll call that an hour. And it looks like 90 miles down to the Champaign-Urbana area, and another 34 to the Indiana boarder at Danville, where I gassed up again. What time was that? 4 pm? And Indianapolis by 6:30, where I nearly got goofed up because I forgot I had to get off I-74 and get onto I-70 for Columbus. So I got to the border with Ohio at Richmond and knew it was getting close to time to stop, even though it is only another 73 miles on in to Columbus, and just a 30 minute hop from there to some relatives... but I was winding down by then, and just not at my sharpest...
"Yes, it would have been great to spend the night outside Columbus with relatives, but I just couldn't get that far in one day, traveling alone. From my Uncle's to home is about 750 miles, and just out of my range..."
So, I made it to some nameless exit with a campground somewhere on the Ohio border, and that will have to be good enough. I can't regret sleeping there -- even though I wasn't staying with relatives, I met some nice people. I wasn't in "social" mode, but it all worked out.
"And now I'm really to Columbus, so I will give a figurative wave to the relatives and hope I hit at a different time of the day next time on the way back..."
And all this stuff with the mileage kept you from thinking overly much about Cu and Ragnar and that whole can of worms. Imagine thinking you could change a whole way of being just by falling in love. Just be glad for that one idyllic summer you did have together. You're only 30, that's not too late to start over.
Are you sad you turned Ragnar down at the end?
Despina stared moodily out the windshield, watching the rear ends of cars, campers, trucks, busses, and the endless variety of campers. You always pride yourself on your self-honesty. Even if you fool others, you play fair with yourself, recognizing your own motives inside your own head, even if you never give them the light of day elsewhere. So, okay, what WAS wrong with Ragnar? Too much sex? TOO MUCH SEX? Get real. It made you uncomfortable, even when you thought Cu was dead...
"I can't even THINK about it in first person. I have to push it away from myself by 'talking' to someone else, as if it happened to them, not me."
You're weird, Pina, weird. Most people raised in America would think having sex every night with someone like Ragnar was quite a coup. A feather in your cap, yet here you are asking yourself, "How DID he manage to get you into bed with him EVERY night until you found out Cu was alive?" Even when you promised yourself that you would NOT give in to him again. Even before the group found out you were a twosome and began to tease you. Admit it, you were uncomfortable even BEFORE anyone knew anything was going on.
"So, did you ENJOY the sex?" Okay, so it made me feel guilty, having sex with him every night when we weren't openly married. Have I got a thing for guys who do these weird wedding ceremonies by ancient rituals that I don't recognize, and then I don't feel truly MARRIED afterward? When that old Viking priest said his words of power, I believed then. When did I decide it wasn't real? I was still buying into it when I found out Cu was alive. Ragnar respected that, and didn't touch me afterward. He was attentive; it wasn't as if I were a hot potato he just dropped... And when Cu arrived, I couldn't keep my hands off him, nor he me. We certainly made up for lost time. I didn't feel guilty about THAT.
Despina giggles. "That reporter. Poor fellow."
"How does it feel to be married? Pretty great, huh?"
What on earth did he expect me to say to that? What he didn't expect was for me to say, "No," the way I did, so deadpan and all.
He was supposed to go on and say something like, "Why?", and I would have cheerfully explained that everything about my husband was 100% better than "great", infinitesimally so much better than "great" that words failed to express it.
He should NOT have run headlines about "Lost Man's Bride Disappointed" without following up on what I was going to say. That was such a huge blunder that when good old Brandon Gannon showed up, I didn't even mind giving him the scoop he so badly wanted, even when he was nasty enough to say that he "expected an explanation, and it had better be good."
Yes, I do have to give him credit for being right about how I felt about Cu, and knowing instinctively that finding out unexpectedly that he was alive after seeing him shot and go over the cliff right in front of me would NOT lead to me being disappointed with him! Even if he was technically the worst lover in the world, which, of course, thanks to all the tribal practice he got growing up, he most certainly could NOT be! Even if my limited experience were all anyone had to go on. The spark that was there with Ragnar was just so much LESS.
How can one spark be more than another? I guess I'm still confused.
Word Count: 2551
current mood: awake
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Saturday, December 27th, 2003
| |
7:09 pm - Hard Traveling (ITD WC 544)
|
http://despinadesert.livejournal.com/14378
Hard Traveling
"Humm... somewhere along here, I'm supposed to either turn south and go through the mountains in West Virginia, or go on across Pennsylvania and around the D.C. belt loop, then down through Richmond."
I bet that way has more traffic. West Virginia is a few fewer miles, too. But maybe the mountains are more steep and will make up for the difference. I remember the first time I ever came East, I rented a man's farm truck to haul a gelding I'd sold to a young girl in New York. She came to live with me for the summer while we both broke him to ride and taught her how to ride well enough to get along with a green broke horse. Between her relatives and mine and our friends and their friends, we had overnights and meals with known people all the way out and back.
At the last minute, my dad couldn't stand to see two young girls go gallivanting across country alone, so he took vacation time off from IBM and came along. Mom told me he was horribly hurt that I had not asked him. Tactfully, I explained that I really thought we had it all covered, but weren't going to turn down a third driver. I pointed out that I was not looking forward to the return trip alone.
Third driver! What a laugh! He did nearly all the driving. When we got to New Jersey, we met the foster mom of my stallion (yes, the same one whose Mom in BC I'd missed with my sister). She came out and hugged me, then met the girl and my dad, and made a bee line for the horse.
Dad was totally startled. "She treats you like family."
"Dad, when you go to the fly-in at Rockford or Oshkosh, how do your friends treat you?"
He became very thoughtful. "All the airplane people are buddies."
"Forget the movie version of hard-drinking, hard-living cowboys. All the horse show people are buddies, too."
Satisfied that we girls were in good hands for the night, Dad asked the way to the nearest airport. He came back at dusk, full of tales of what he'd been invited to fly by his newest friends. After eating at a church supper and ice cream social, we went to bed, tired, but happy. To me, having him see the similarities of our disparate interests was the best part of the trip.
After we'd started home, we ran into bad weather. The truck was topless, so had the horse still been with us, he'd have been cold and uncomfortable, at the very least, even though it was summer. About four in the afternoon, driving down twisting highways, we pulled into a Denney's Restaurant and ate the first and only restaurant meal of our trip. We had a picnic supper in the cooler, but Dad needed the break. Looking back on it, I'm pretty sure the West Virginia route was what we had to have been on. The truck had loomed out over the sides of the hair pin turns. I would NOT have enjoyed living in that area in winter.
"I guess the I-70/270 exit it will be. Nostalgia wins."
Word Count: 544
current mood:  bored
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Friday, December 26th, 2003
| |
8:36 pm - The Visit, Revisited (ITD WC 5583)
|
http://despinadesert.livejournal.com/15046
The Visit, Revisited
"Finally! McKenney." Despina stretches, then goes into the convenience store to call her friend for exact directions to her house.
Ten minutes later, they are hugging in the driveway, then renewing old acquaintances with RoseMarie's four horses. "Which way did you end up coming?"
"The mountains. I figured we'd get enough of Washington's traffic when we go up to visit. How far is it to New York City? Have you given any thought to a two day jaunt up that way while I'm here?"
"Well, I thought I'd wait to see how much driving you'd be up for after getting here. It's 450 miles, all heavy traffic, 7-8 hours, I hear. And hotels on that end are exorbitant."
"Yikes! Still, while I'm this close, it would be a shame not to visit both cities. Maybe we can give ourselves a few days first." Despina stretches again.
After a leisurely stroll through the new house and barn, they settle into lawn chairs in the shade of the hip roof, facing the grazing horses, sipping lemonade and catching up on the years since RoseMarie left Illinois. An hour before sunset, they saddle up and go for a ride around the "block", a six-mile trip, done mostly at a trot. Supper is a light salad, after which Despina sinks willingly into the soft mattress in the spare bedroom.
Tours of local Arabian breeders alternate with pleasant conversation and riding every evening, once in a local forest preserve, but generally in the neighborhood. Singing cowboy songs off key seems quite natural as they walk stretches to give the horses a breather in the still, hot evenings. The clop of the horses’ hooves provides a rhythm section. Sometimes, others join their nightly forays. One night in particular sticks in Despina’s memory… the night the neighbors and some guests talked about where they were on 911.
Despina can't remember all the neighbor's names, so she nicknames them in her mind to keep them straight.
Kaleidoscopic, the outgoing one of the European group wearing a wild-patterned multicolored LOUD top, says, "I was coming home from the doctor's in my mum's car, listening to the radio. I thought it was a joke. That was about three p.m. in my time zone (GMT).
RoseMarie comments, "Ah, England? GMT = Europe and south... ? Shaky geography here without looking at a map."
"Britain, specifically, Northern Ireland for me."
RoseMarie replies, "Ah, yes. My bad. England being one of the pieces, not the whole. We tend to label it ALL England in our minds. I know better, of course."
Despina continues, "Just as we know better than to proclaim ourselves AMERICANS, meaning "from the USA", conveniently forgetting that our fellow Canadians, (like MY grandmother -- the other being WELSH) are also North AMERICANS, not to mention all the Central AMERICANS and South AMERICANS...
"I was thinking about the prime meridian going through Greenwich, England."
Illman, who looks permanently pale, gets the group back on track. "Mine was nothing really worth talking about: I was on a bus when a couple of people boarded at the stop after I got on. They were obviously shocked and upset about something. Somehow they got the driver to turn on the radio, and that's when I first heard about what had happened."
"Did anybody panic?” asks RoseMarie. “Having the bus driver turn on the radio is something I would not have thought of as being available on a bus."
Larinzia, who always speaks in a husky whisper, says, "I was waking up; I use a radio instead of an alarm, and spent fifteen minutes trying to figure out what was going on and thinking it was a dream. I ended up being half an hour late for work because I had to keep pulling over to blow my nose and wipe at my eyes."
"I certainly hope you have an Understanding Boss!" shouts Kaleidoscopic enthusiastically.
"My boss went out and bought Wal-Mart out of individual plastic bags of Kleenexes and placed them all over. He had three plastic SACKS full, but they didn't last out the day. People who acted so hard you would have thought they had a stone in their breasts..."
"Yes, I cried off and on all the time, too. I still do. Thanks for sharing. Sometimes the men in our society are afraid to be seen crying, even when the situation calls for it."
Rosemilk, with lovely pale skin and deep auburn hair, contributes next.
"It was 6 am and the alarm went off. A newscaster was blabbing about airplanes. It sounded like the usual stuff -- I wasn't really listening, but the announcers sound excited and plastic rather than traumatized.
"Looking back, I think they must have thought it was a joke.
"That morning I turned the alarm off and went to go wash my hair and scarf down a quick breakfast... a few slices of turkey bacon swiped from my mother's plate.
"It was a normal morning, right down to the fact that I was running late.
"I got into the carpool to go to school still trying to brush my hair. I wanted to talk about the report that was going to be due that day and find out what topics everyone had picked. Instead the girl in the front seat turned around and looked at me.
"'Have you heard what's happened?'
"Everyone seemed to think it was an accident. Over and over that day I said, 'TWO planes? I don't think even one could make such a huge mistake.' But at the time, I thought it was sabotage, rather than hijackers. That seemed too far-fetched.
"The next day everyone had seen the looping footage and heard the trickling reports of other planes that didn't quite make their targets, and then they knew that it was no accident.
"But I stayed home that day. I had come down with a cold.
"The thing I remember most about that morning is how cold it was, though, over everything else. I thought my wet hair was going to freeze into a helmet."
"Frozen hair in September? Wow!" comments Kaleidoscopic, her voice bouncing off the house wall and echoing back.
Miss Kaiberie says that she spent that day being... rushed to hospital... "I was very sick."
"From the news, or from other things? You look nearly DEAD. Flat Cat syndrome?"
Miss Kaiberie is lying flat on her back on the flagstone patio, arms and legs sprawled out, and is extremely pale. She also is, as one might suspect, model-thin.
She sure doesn't look very comfortable, but that was still almost an unkind remark. They appear to be close friends, however, so maybe that is just the way they are...
"Eh, from other things. I had my gallbladder removed the Sunday before, and they told me that I was just reacting to being operated on. Turned out, two days later, when my temperature had gone through the roof, that my body was shutting down, and I had pancraeatitis.
"It was a scary time all round. When I got home, I couldn't watch the footage. No, I'm just dead tired. The least little thing still wears me out."
The Toronto relative, Epi, contributes, "I was sitting at my desk at work. Because things were kind of slack at our company at the time, I was on IRC, chatting with a few friends. One of them lived somewhat local to the accidents and reported them to the channel first. Nobody believed him at first, but it soon became clear that he was telling the truth. We all thought it was a terrible accident. When he reported that a second plane had struck the towers, we all thought it was a joke in the worst possible taste and derided him quite a bit. (He often has an... unfortunate sense of humor.)
"For the rest of the morning, until our building set up a TV with updates in the lobby, his reports were invaluable, as I could talk to him over IRC just fine but getting through to any of the major news sites was impossible. Our business very nearly ceased work for the day, and we fielded hundreds of messages to the 'all users' list that we normally reserve only for major announcements -- requests for updates, bits that people had heard, etc."
Anne Cheyinka, a pert junior, says, "I hadn't yet left for my freshman year of college since the school I went to was on quarters, and I was still asleep because my time zone is two hours behind New York/DC/PA. Just after the second plane hit, my dad called from the flight service station in the town where he works.
"I said, 'Hello?'
"He said, 'Anne, turn on the television. Terrorists have attacked the World Trade Center.'
"He was evidently calling from the operations floor, since I could hear a lot of people talking, presumably to panicking pilots. Then he hung up."
"I watched more television that week than I usually do in two months. My dad stayed at work exceptionally late every day, because airplanes were grounded and pilots were trying to file flight plans, which is done through the FSS.
"Anyway, at one point on 9/11 itself, I had called my boyfriend, who lives in Virginia. My mom, who was trying to call me during that time, panicked that the line was busy, and drove home to be sure I was alive.
"I remember being ecstatic to hear airplanes again. We live in the flight path of a medium-small airport, and the silence while they were grounded was horrible.
Despina really reacts to that one. "My girlfriend, who was working as the manager of a small rural airport, was at my house, a 30-minute drive away, when we heard a plane engine. Outside we went, staring at it, mouths agape.
"Endless speculation about who/why someone in a small plane was flying, especially so low (below radar range?) followed.
"We'd had a scare the first time she'd visited when she needed a break from the tension of doing nothing for such a nerve-wracking reason. While she was taking some down time in the peaceful environment of my farm, she received a frantic call, as in an official call, from some government agency in Des Moines. "What's going on down there?" asked an excited male voice.
"'Uh, nothing that I know of. What's up?' she asked.
"'We're getting blips on the radar. They come up into commercial air space, then dip back down, then come up again. Check it out and get back to us! We're ready to scramble the jets on your word.'
“The local state capital's officials were going to scramble the jets to shoot down a light plane in her jurisdiction if she couldn't verify that it was not a threat and call them back in 30 minutes. We were dumbfounded. The idea was HUGE.
"It turned out to be totally unbelievable. A local trucker who owned a plane came out, stepped over the chain, unlocked his hangar door, rolled out his Cessna 180, gassed up, and took his nephew or grandson, or something, I can't remember which, flying over their farm to take pictures. They'd swoop around to the east for one angle, then come in from the west, etc., bobbing in and out of the radar. He'd been out on the truck all week, and had not heard about the light planes being grounded. He was just landing as she pulled in."
"He probably wouldn't have been on the right radio frequency to explain to them who he was and what he was doing. A Cessna is a nice propeller plane, but it certainly isn't going to take on a jet! It probably flies at 180-200 mph. Everyone was sure nervous back then."
"Imagine if one of our own jets had shot down a farmer and his young relative! Wouldn't THAT have been a can of worms!"
We contemplated communally what a scandal/tragedy it would have been had they been shot down while doing something so innocent just because they weren't abreast of the national news.
Bridge_of_sighs adds, "I was on my second week of my first year of high school. I was in the first period of double period Literary Genre when an announcement came over the PA requesting that all girls who had parents working in the World Trade Center and the surrounding area please come down to the theater. I wasn't sure if my mother was downtown that day, so I went down, more out of curiosity and support for a friend than real worry.
"On the stairs, we were speculating. 'Twin Towers? Maybe there was another bombing? Do you think?'
"We got downstairs and sat in the fifth row, and the guidance counselors, the principal and the deans were all there, and they told us, 'Two planes have just flown into the towers... Nobody knows what's happening just yet. If you need to, you can come upstairs to the guidance complex and try to contact your parents.'
"In the first few seconds, everyone broke into tears at once, and my friend was clutching my hand so hard that my knuckles were white; I couldn't move at all. We relocated, and my friend went into one office, while I went into another. Later, she told me she'd gotten to speak to her father after only half an hour. I was in there for a few hours, sobbing almost continuously. When I finally spoke to my dad in Brooklyn, and my mother in her office, where she was staying to be out of the way up in Midtown, I went down to the cafeteria.
"Everyone was talking about it, collections were already being made; I threw in twenty bucks for the first three days, and no one knew what had really happened. Since I had been allowed to listen to the radio upstairs, I was the one to tell about twenty girls, who then spread it around. I was going to an all-girls parochial school at the time."
"Powerful."
Despina adds, "I know how upset our students were, and we're in Iowa, but I can barely imagine what it must be like if every one of your students could have lost a parent. Thank you so much for responding."
Gen Kischuldich then says, "Bearing in mind that I live in different country, Britain... One of the shop assistants in the occult bookstore I was in at the time had printed it off the Internet, and was reading it aloud. All hell broke loose. People prophesying the end of the world, people claiming they'd foreseen it for days/weeks/month/years, people claiming it to be the Second Coming.
"The shop assistant was discussing conspiracy theories with anyone who'd listen. I wanted to ask if anyone was hurt, a ridiculous question in hindsight, yes, but I wasn't sure if he'd picked it off a reputable web site, and I assumed it was a stupid question since that wasn't being discussed, as in, avoided, so that probably wasn't the case.
"Eventually his manager came along and told him off for scaring the customers. Perhaps a bit unbelievable, but there it is."
Ten_in_one, nose in the air, adds, "It wasn't such a big deal in other parts of Britain. I was definitely sad for the people who died and their families, but the news is always full of big disasters overseas - if we went to pieces every time one happened, we'd always be in pieces.
"I said a quick prayer and got on with what I was doing, finishing off a Master's degree thesis. Some people in the college were glued to the television all day, but most weren't. Though everyone was shocked and felt sorry for the individuals affected, some anti-American feeling came to the fore."
Mr. Estepp, the husband in the lone West Coast family, reports, "I live in Portland, OR, and was on my way to work early on the MAX (Metropolitan Area Express, the light rail system here).
"Ironically, the Red Line that goes from downtown Portland to the airport had just opened on 9/10. Over the loudspeaker came an announcement that Tri-Met was stopping the Red Line for the time being, and my initial reaction was that there must be something wrong with the line. Maybe a busted overhead cable or something. Then, about 5 minutes later, there was an announcement that all planes in PDX have been grounded. As the driver was making that announcement, I thought it might have been an a crash at PDX instead and started to really worry.
"Pretty soon after than came the announcement about the two planes hitting the towers. At that time I worked in one of Portland's tallest buildings, laughably small compared to NYC, but we were all still pretty worried being up on the top floor. Every time a plane went overhead our hearts skipped a beat. From local reports, a jet had to be escorted by the Oregon Air Guard for some reason; and I remember thinking, 'Why would they want to attack Portland? To kill off the micro-brew industry?'"
Everyone really roared when he hit the part about Micro-Brew...
"We were allowed to leave early if we wanted. Me, I stayed glued to CNN.com, MSNBC.com, and SCMP.com."
"Is that transportation system above or underground? Somehow, I think if it is underground, I would have been more scared, even though from the 911 type of danger, it would have been safer... perhaps. Or perhaps not, with the entire building falling on top of one."
Rosemilk explains, "The MAX is an above ground light rail system."
Estepp agrees, "Yes, the transportation system is all above ground, with a large tunnel that separates Portland from Beaverton. Mainly the tunnel is because the bedrock was too hard to clear out completely."
I wonder if they are husband and wife? I forgot what RoseMarie said when she introduced this big gob of people.
Mrs. Mortaine interrupts Despina's interior thoughts with, "I was in bed, dreaming that I was inside of a high-rise building while it collapsed underneath me.
"My husband woke me up with the words that an airplane had crashed into one of the World Trade Center buildings, that a second one had also crashed into the other building, and that we were under attack.
"I am not the only one who had precognition dreams that night; one of my students also had them."
"Chilling!"
Despina shivers with her, then comments, "I've had weird things like that happen to me, not on THAT day... however."
"Oh, and I should probably mention that I don't believe in precognition, but that doesn't stop it from happening before the really bad days, the two worst days of my life had pre-dreams the night before."
Naziel, in a high-pitched voice, contributes, "I was in traffic outside of my school, waiting for the carpool line to move up so my dad could drop me off. We were listening to Neil Boortz on the radio and then it came on. I was kind of like, 'Huh?' and my dad laughed, saying that he was just WAITING for a plane to smack into the building, 'cause it was huge and everything. He laughed. I laughed.
"And then we stopped laughing.
"Oh, and it was 8:55 in the morning when it happened for me. Everyone in my middle school was saying how it was the end of the world, and the teachers REFUSED to let us watch the news to see what was happening. Some sixth graders said it was the end of the world, and this kid panicked to the point where he had to be rushed to the hospital."
Nanoparcae, speaking softly, "I was in school in Buffalo, NY, in second period math. Last year's science teacher walked in and told the math teacher that the pentagon had been hit and that the towers were falling; I didn't know what to make of it, and thought it was a joke. And then in fifth period my friend came up to me and asked me if I'd heard what happened, and then we got to watch the news because of what had happened: that was when I realized it was really real."
Jen Stewboyd says, "I was a receptionist at a somewhat posh 'country inn'-style hotel, owned by a hospitality school, where most of the staff are students in hospitality, culinary, marketing, and business management practicum programs. The school is also famous for its impressive international representation; there were days when I was the only American at the Front Desk.
"I took a call from a woman who asked to be put through to her husband, who was a banquet chef. But before I did, she told me what had happened; she called just after the second plane hit, and she was certain then that it was not an accident. At that moment, I was the only person in the hotel who knew. I called the Front Desk Manager over and spoke with her privately. She asked me to not say anything, then went upstairs to the administrative offices.
"The place has a very strict rule that no one may have their cell phone on while working, but this mostly applies to practicum students and professional staff working in public areas, or directly with students. But within about half an hour, word started getting around the housekeeping, custodial, stock, and maintenance staff. It was early enough that most guests still didn't know, and those who did assumed that we did, too, and were just being uncommonly professional. While word started getting around less prominent parts of the hotel, most of the Front Office still did not know.
"Part of my job involved arranging and confirming airport shuttles, and this involves calling airlines a lot. I was forced to break my instructions when I had to inform the staff (all students) that all shuttles were canceled, all guests scheduled to leave on shuttles would not be leaving, and all guests scheduled to arrive by plane that day would not be. This is a big logistical mess for a hotel, and to their credit, the staff flew into action, calling guests in their rooms, waking them if necessary, to explain.
"Shortly later, the manager came down and told everyone the buildings had collapsed. Every single one of these kids was under 23; most were not even drinking age. They were very professional and kept their calm. They knew their jobs, and they did them. We had it easy, though.
"The same school also owns a much bigger hotel, and it is directly across the street from an international airport. They called our shuttles out and made us take on as many of their in-house guests as we could. They not only had our problems on a geometric scale; they were also called into action by the feds themselves to provide extraordinary support for the airport itself.
"They lined the banquet halls with tables and set up buffets to feed hundreds of airport staff, including many flight personnel who weren't even supposed to get off their planes, and were now stranded indefinitely. At night, they converted those same halls into shelters filled with cots. Less than twelve hours had passed."
Saccarine Ayako says, "I was sleeping. I skipped my 9 a.m. class. I woke up with my roommate's boobs in my face. My bed was right under the window in the apartment that faced east/NE. She told me the Towers were hit. I sat up, sure enough, gray smoke out the window. I tried to call my mom; long distance was out.
"I jumped online, talked to my mom who then called my roommates' grandmother and parents for them. The only local network we got was CBS, which we watched on MTV.
"After a while, we went outside to the courtyard between the apartments and drank a little. Then, after a student was held up at knife-point, we spent the rest of the night locked in the apartment. The whole NYPD was on Manhattan, and the bridges were all closed, so there was no way for them to get back and secure things on Staten Island. It was scary, especially the next day when SI was locked down because of that white van."
Young Arnoudens ends with, "Actually I was playing Diablo II over the Internet with some dude. We were just trading stuff when he said, 'Damn, what was that?!' or something similar. Turns out he lived in NY and that the first one had just been hit by a plane.
"The next message was something in the likes of "DAMN! SOMETHING JUST CRASHED INTO THE WTC!"
"... The other people in the game went like 'Naah, you're kidding!' etcetera..
"He just said, 'Turn on CNN' and then he went offline.
"At first no one believed it, but when we turned on CNN and - very quickly - there was live coverage, we were stunned. As for where I live, I was in The Netherlands..
"Of course the Diablo II game didn't continue after that; we were stuck in front of the TV, watching the second plane hit the towers.
"I don't know the exact words anymore, but that is pretty close."
"The words you found are powerful enough... " says RoseMarie, her voice nearly a whisper. She spoke for all of us.
The morning of their trip to New York City quickly comes.
RoseMarie insists on doing the driving in HER car, as Despina will get ample practice on her return odyssey. Her son had gotten her a "new" car, a wrecked '98 wine Lumina, and rebuilt it.
"He did a pretty good job, overall. I saw photos on line of what it looked like when he started. Pretty scary. Notice how there is a slight lump to the steering wheel. It's out of round. The seat is a bit cockeyed, too. He matched the hood color and did lots of touch-up work. He's got just a few little things to fix the next time he comes."
Despina settles unsuspectingly into the passenger seat. As RoseMarie heads out of the driveway, she has to hit the brakes. The seat suddenly settles back a few notches.
"Oh, I forgot about that. The mechanism that holds the seat erect evidently isn't working right yet. He thought he got it fixed last time, but I guess not."
"Riding in a recliner is okay. If I nod off, just give me a friendly nudge," jokes Despina.
When she wants to see out, she leans forward and reaches back, pulling the seat upright, but the next time there's a bump or acceleration, back she goes, sometimes by degrees, sometimes pretty rapidly. It is good for a laugh each time, and the car is still comfy.
Despina is right; with company, the day flies by. They can talk each other's ears off in a car as well as in lawn chairs or saddles. Heading into Long Island, they turn serious, trading descriptions of where they were when they heard about the Twin Towers, since they’d mostly just listened the night before.
RoseMarie confides, "I was so thankful my daughter and her husband were home from Japan. They'd been over there teaching forever. I would have worried around the clock if she'd still been out of the country."
Despina shudders. "I'll never forget where I was and what I was doing. It is sort of like when Grandmother would talk about Pearl Harbor, or Mom start in on President Kennedy. I used to ENVY them those experiences that were so seared on their psyche that anyone the right age could tell you in minute detail exactly what they were doing at the time. Not any more!
"That's true in my family, too. At family gatherings, the folks would regale us with tales of where they were when the lights went out during a famous blackout, including which cousins were the result of that experience. So, now I'm really curious. I saw that shudder. Where were you?"
"Teaching, of course. I remember I was listening to WOI-fm, Ames/Des Moines that morning."
"But, that's the Iowa State University station you always listen to, right? Wouldn't that be just a part of the daily routine, like getting up and taking a shower, brushing your teeth, combing your hair? Why do you remember it so specifically for that day?"
"Yes, it would be. That's the station my alarm is set to. That particular morning, however, Don Forsling, the host of the "Morning Report" show..."
"You mean the guy you send material to that sometimes gets used on air?"
"Right, but this time, he didn't use one of my items. It was almost as if he were psychic. Rosemary Clooney aired, singing "Just in Time", then Don said, 'Philosophers have long debated whether or not there is a Hell.
'But, is there a Heck?
'Sure", says one prominent theologian and wag. 'It's for people who don't believe in Gosh.'
"Less than an hour and a half later, the first plane struck. Had Don's show still been on the air, I can feature him saying something like, 'And for those who believe in Hell, thanks for sharing it with the rest of us, Bub!'"
"Oh, Pina, that's terrible! He wouldn't really, would he?"
"Don cherishes his reputation as being the 'naughty' PRB guy. Everyone is so calm and cultured... he's their counter-cultural element, but still definitely fitting in as a Public Radio broadcaster."
"So, if you were teaching that day, how did you hear?"
"I was teaching Spanish I first hour when the school librarian came in and interrupted. She NEVER does that!
"'Have you heard?' she asked.
"Now, that is a VERY strange question. If you've 'heard', you understand, but if you haven't, it gives you NO CLUE as to what is coming. It is somehow very ominous, especially said in a low, calm tone, but full of potential menace.
"I said, 'What?' or something equally intelligent.
"She moved to the TV, putting it on Fox News, which I didn't even know the school got. 'One of the Twin Towers got hit. I think this is the best coverage.'
"Well, as insular Midwesterners, I'm not sure we were really cognizant of what the Twin Towers were. I knew they'd been bombed once before, unsuccessfully. We all spent the rest of the day glued to the gruesome stuff, talking to the students. Talking and talking.
"When the seventh graders came in at the end of the day, one girl asked, 'Why should WE care?' I wasn't sure I was going to be able to keep her from being eaten alive.
"We started a board for where people we knew were, and whose relatives were close. It made them feel less isolated. The list got quite long. I wish I'd copied it down. Even the janitor added to it while doing the floor."
"Like that story you told yesterday about the fellow in the light plane.”
"Definitely 'seared on the psyche' events."
Both grow quiet for a minute.
"I remember hearing a piece on Garrison Keillor's MPR show The Writer's Almanac about an author who lived through Pearl Harbor. He wrote a book about it called From Here to Eternity, which became the movie with that famous scene of some famous old movie actor, Bert Lancaster, lying half in, half out of the water, kissing some famous old movie actress, Deborah, Kerr, I think. It was so sensual; viewers would get wet just watching them kiss as the waves roll up on them. Brilliant."
Garrison Keillor's piece from Wednesday, November 5. 2003, about a novelist's adaptation of his PEARL HARBOR journal, which turned into From Here to Eternity:
It's the birthday of novelist James Jones, born in Robinson, Illinois (1921). He's best known as the author of the military novel From Here to Eternity (1951). At the urging of his father, he enlisted in the U.S. Army Air Corps in 1939. He was stationed in Hawaii on December 7, 1941, when the Japanese bombed Pearl Harbor. He went on to fight in the battle of Guadalcanal, where he was wounded, earning the Purple Heart and the Bronze Star. He kept a journal while he was in the army, and when he got home from the war, he wrote a novel about the experience of disillusioned veterans.
It was rejected by all the major publishing houses, but the editor Maxwell Perkins liked a particular scene from the novel and told him to expand it. He spent five years expanding that scene, and it became the novel From Here to Eternity (1951), the story of a soldier's life in the years leading up to the bombing of Pearl Harbor. The novel was a huge international bestseller, in part because Jones tried to portray military life as realistically as possible, using dirty language in the dialogue and describing soldiers' reckless sex lives. Jones used much of the money he made from the book to start a writing colony, and he bought a mobile home to travel around the country. He went on to write many more novels, including The Thin Red Line (1962) about the Battle of Guadalcanal.
Word Count: 5583
current mood: choppy
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Thursday, December 25th, 2003
| |
9:45 pm - It's a Wonderful Place (ITD WC 1907)
|
http://despinadesert.livejournal.com/15433
It's a Wonderful Place
"I guess we'd better decide exactly where we want to go."
"One of my friends suggested we start at Sac's 5th Avenue. She said that was the only shop she went to many times."
Despina looks carefully at RoseMarie to see if she is serious. "That's for clothing, isn't it? Do you want to shop for clothes?" She is ludicrous, but not wanting to put her friend down.
"I won't buy anything there. I don't need anything to show off my fantastic salary so everyone will know how up scale I am. But, she convinced me that if you were coming that far, and made a point of suggesting New York City, that HAD to be one of the stops."
Rolling her eyes, Despina sputters, then bursts out laughing. "And where, in lovely downtown Podunk, with its population of 700+, would I find someone who knew the difference? Or cared?"
RoseMarie's laugh mirrors her own. "So, no Sac's for us. Where did you particularly want to go?"
"Museums are good. And I researched bookstores. I sat in the "trucker's section" of a restaurant at a truck stop, where I logged on and…"
"Bookstores? Oh, I bet there are a dozen of them!"
"I stopped there over an hour just researching New York City Bookstores. I could have stayed longer, but the waitress was starting to make nervous eyes at me. One web site listed nearly 200 of them in Manhattan alone. I had fun... and it was a nice change from driving."
"Oh, specialty book stores. Book stores! I didn't think of bookstores. Perfect. And you found them on the web? I just can't get used to that! It seems like magic."
As befitting two teachers, one of the "wonders" of New York is the bookstores -- not chain bookstores like are available everywhere, but little hole in the wall and big, "If It's In Print, We Have It" bookstores. Reaching into the back seat, after a bit of rustling around, Despina brings up a 12" rectangle one inch thick.
Eying it at a stop sign, RoseMarie asks, "What's that?"
"My friend's i-Book, on loan for the trip so I can update my journal and keep my story going. She's addicted, and will be home where she can use the main computer. I promised her I'd write at least once a day..."
"What's an EYEBOOK? Aren't all books for eyes?" The light changed, so they moved on, part of a broad stream of fellow traffic.
Popping it open, Despina explains, "I’ll pull up Safari, a browser that lets me find places on the web, then type in "New York Bookstores" in a search box. From a scrolling list, I’ll select
http://www.geocities.com/Athens/4824/na-nyc.htm
"Then, in the restaurant, I chose a few that I thought we'd like and stored them in a file. Here's what I came up with:"
Despina reads listings, phone numbers, addresses, and descriptions from her screen.
"National Museum of the American Indian Shop (3753 Broadway at 156th, (212-283-2420)
Part of the Smithsonian.
"http://www.labyrinthbooks.com/StoreFrame.htm
"Labyrinth Books in Manhattan is the largest bookstore devoted to scholarly and academic books. With more than 125,000 titles in philosophy, history, and the social and natural sciences, Labyrinth offers the most comprehensive selection of new releases and back list titles.
"Just as our selection of titles and subject areas reflect the struggles over the structure and aims of knowledge in universities today, our discount policy reflects recent transformations in publishing and book selling. At Labyrinth you will find more scholarly and academic books discounted than anywhere else. A large portion of our titles are 25 % off and in our special sale areas, we have thousands of titles from the best presses at 50-90% off the regular retail price.
"Professors from all colleges and universities receive a 10% discount on most purchases.*
"* Since books in our catalog and on line are already discounted no further discounts apply.
"HOW TO FIND US
"Labyrinth Books is located at 536 West 112th Street, between Broadway and Amsterdam Avenue, just off the Columbia University campus.
"To get to us by subway, take the 1 or 9 IRT Line to 110th Street, or the B or C Line to 110th Street/Cathedral Parkway.
"To get to us by bus, take the M104 or M4 bus to Broadway and West 112th Street.
"Browse
AFRICAN HISTORY
AFRICAN-AMERICAN STUDIES
ANCIENT HISTORY
ANTHROPOLOGY & ARCHAEOLOGY
ARCHITECTURE
ART HISTORY
ART THEORY
ASIAN STUDIES
CHRISTIANITY
CLASSICS/GREEK AND LATIN LANGUAGES
COGNITIVE PSYCHOLOGY
CULTURAL STUDIES
E.EUROPE, RUSSIA, USSR STUDIES
EASTERN RELIGION & PHILOSOPHY
ECONOMICS
EDUCATION
EUROPEAN HISTORY-EARLY MODERN
EUROPEAN HISTORY-MEDIEVAL
EUROPEAN HISTORY-MODERN
FILM
FREUD STUDIES
GAY AND LESBIAN STUDIES
GENERAL & WORLD HISTORY
HISTORIOGRAPHY
INTERNATIONAL RELATIONS
ISLAMIC STUDIES
JEWISH STUDIES
LABOR HISTORY
LATIN AMERICAN & CARIBBEAN STUDIES
LAW & LEGAL STUDIES
LINGUISTICS
LITERARY CRITICISM AND THEORY
LITERATURE
LITERATURE ANTHOLOGIES
MARXISM
MATHEMATICS
MEDIA & JOURNALISM
MEDICAL & HEALTH STUDIES
MIDDLE EASTERN OTTOMAN STUDIES
MUSIC - HISTORY, THEORY & INSTRUCTION
MUSIC-JAZZ, BLUES, RAP, ROCK, POP
MYTHOLOGY & FOLKLORE
NATURE AND NATURAL HISTORY
NEW YORK CITY
PHILOSOPHY - WESTERN
PHOTOGRAPHY
POETRY
POETRY ANTHOLOGIES
POLITICAL PHILOSOPHY
POLITICAL SCIENCE
PSYCHOANALYSIS
PSYCHOLOGY
RELIGIOUS STUDIES
SCIENCE
SOCIOLOGY
SOUTH ASIAN STUDIES
THEOLOGY
U.S. HISTORY
URBAN STUDIES & GEOGRAPHY
WOMEN'S STUDIES
"Bank Street Bookstore Broadway & 112th Street New York, NY 10025
"Toll Free: 877-676-7830
"Lots of teacher resources.
"Crawford Doyle Booksellers (1082 Madison Ave, 212-288-6300). 'They specialize in literature, but offer a lot of everything else. The way a store should be. Check out the wonderful collection of first editions (from the likes of Nabokov).'
"Metropolitan Museum of Art Museum Store (5th Ave & 82nd, 212-570-3726) 'They have neat art books, posters, engagement calendars, videos, etc.'
"American Museum of Natural History Book Store (in the Museum; Central Park West at 79th, 212-769-5531) "No guarantees, but they used to have an interesting selection of books on nature and natural history. The Hayden Planetarium (adjacent to the Museum) has its own bookstore, specializing in space-type stuff.'
"Storyland (1369 3rd Ave at 78th, 212-517-6951) 'A comparatively well-stocked toddler's and children's bookstore. Notable for helpful staff, good young reference science, fiction, and classical books. It is quite clean.'
"Whitney Museum of American Art Bookstore (945 Madison Ave between 74th & 75th, 212-794-0611)
"Doubleday (724 5th Ave at 57th) 'They have access to everything, and order what's good, not just what sells. Good store, decent selection, often-good salespeople. One of the best mystery book selections in the city outside of the mystery specialty stores. Book-signings. At the front of the store is a bookcase of signed books at regular prices.' Mon-Sat 9:30AM-12M.
"Museum of Modern Art Bookstore (in the Museum, 11 W 53rd between 5th & 6th Aves, 212-708-9874) 'Good selection of books on art, and art books; great poster section; you *don't* have to pay admission to get in. At Christmas they expand across the street, or used to. More neat stuff.'
"Gotham Book Mart (41 W 47th between 5th & 6th Aves, 212-719-4448 New and used. Excellent poetry, literature, philosophy, etc. Established in 1928. Practically unique in the world. Arthur Miller once said, 'The Gotham Book Mart & Gallery is invaluable as a source of books for research of all kinds, and perhaps above all for literature that is more than a few months old. It is impossible to imagine New York City without it.' The major drawback is that it is closed on Sundays. It is also true that it has gone downhill somewhat since then, with less emphasis on the Beats and so on. As of 07/03, the building has been sold and the store is looking for a new location. [07/03]"
"And you found all that on the web? Amazing. I guess I just have been left behind by this computer revolution. I could never learn to use one."
"If we can teach children who can't read yet to navigate on a keyboard, you can, too. If you went to France, you'd be using one as part of your phone system."
"Well, I can't think of anything that can top that list. We're closest to Labyrinth Books, according to that sign."
"Sounds like as good a place as any to start."
RoseMarie and Despina roam for hours, senseless to the passing time. Showing each other treasures, reading selections to each other, sharing memories of beloved books, they are quite content. Finally, they wind down.
"This was a great suggestion. Every other time I've been here, we've dashed madly from the Statue of Liberty to the Twin Towers, to the Empire State Building. This is REALLY the way to see New York City. Dig in and go deep. Specialize. Appreciate."
"Where is that book with the Bacon quote? Oh, here it is. Just perfect... 'Some books are to be tasted, others to be swallowed, and some are to be chewed and digested.' -- Francis Bacon, "Essays" From The Quotable Book Lover (Lyons Press)."
RoseMarie's stomach growls. "That must be a tasty one, there..."
Their laughter makes people turn and stare as if they were in a library, not a bookstore.
"Are you getting that one?"
Reluctantly, Despina replaces it. "No. I'd better go outside while you total the damage. I have to keep the gas money home in one piece. Just tire kicking, I guess."
They have approached a checkout counter. "We ship, if you decide you'd like to invest later," supplied a helpful clerk.
Grinning, Despina says, "I book marked your web page. That's how we ended up here," as she leaves. Once outside, she draws a deep breath. Definitely NOT fresh country air.
Turning around, she looks up and down the street, then looks up at the tops of the buildings forming the canyon they are in. She looks at the passers-by. A tall, handsome man who seems more physically fit than those around him stands out. He pauses, holding up a watch to his ear. Looking up, he makes eye contact with her, and heads right over.
How odd. City people NEVER meet your eye.
She watches him come straight to her, feeling no sense of alarm, but a bit nonplused at his conduct. Stopping in front of her, he reaches into his pocket, removing a leather wallet. Holding out the opened middle, he shows her an official looking badge.
"Officer in need of assistance," he says. "Please come with me."
"Just a minute. I'll give my purse to my friend." Turning, Despina ducks back into The Labyrinth. Handing her purse to RoseMarie, she says, "I have to go help a policeman."
Before RoseMarie can object, Despina is out the door, where RoseMarie sees the dark haired man take her arm protectively and lead her off toward the subway.
"Can they DO that?" asks RoseMarie, turning back to the clerk.
"I've heard of it, but this is the first time I've ever seen it done."
Picking up her packages, RoseMarie rushes onto the street, trying to see where Despina has gone. The clerk follows her, looking down the street, too, handing RoseMarie Despina's purse.
"You'd better take this, too."
"Thanks. I can't see them anywhere. Do you have a phone I can use? I want to call the police."
"Yes. I think you'd better. I think your friend just got abducted. In broad daylight. I never!"
Word Count: 1907
current mood:  content
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, December 24th, 2003
| |
10:01 pm - A Helping Hand (ITD WC 2805)
|
http://despinadesert.livejournal.com/15843.html
A Helping Hand
Despina is forced to take huge strides, trying to keep up, as her arm tugs her body rapidly after. Weaving through the crowd, they hustle two blocks to 110th Street. At the entrance to the subway, she is temporarily blinded. Her feet stumble as she is carried relentlessly forward down a steep series of steps. Soon enough, they are going through a turnstile that lets them out in a broad, flat area covered with cigarette butts, bits of newspaper, miscellaneous wrappers, dirty bits of food, and a coating of filth.
Maybe not being able to see my surroundings was one of those 'blessing in disguise' things life keeps putting in my path.
Dropping two tokens into the style, they board a waiting subway train, passing through three cars before settling in the last seat of a fourth. She is tightly pressed against the window before her arm is released. Shouting to be heard over the roar, she asks, "What do you want me to DO?"
For the life of me, I can't remember what name was on that badge... How do I know this is a legitimate errand I really have to help with?
"I need protection."
Despina's eyes widen as she cuts him off. "You expect ME to protect you?"
"Shush. You need to stay in character."
"Stay in character? What character? I can no more protect you than I can sprout a third arm right out of my forehead!"
"You look harmless. You need to act in a harmless fashion."
"Harmless? What harm could I do to you? How can I possibly be of help in protecting you? I'm totally unarmed!"
"Exactly. You are NOT a street tough. You will keep anyone from suspecting that I am a policeman while I get to a house in a very dangerous part of the city."
"What? Are you daft? How can *I* protect YOU in a dangerous part of the city? And who will protect ME while we get there?"
"I will."
"If you can protect me, then why can't you protect yourself?"
"If I look like a policeman, I will be inviting hoods to kill me."
"And *I* am supposed to keep them from killing you, unarmed, just by looking harmless?"
"That's right."
"I want to go back. This is insane."
Despina stands up as she speaks, but he pulls her back down. "Stay in character. It's your only protection."
"You just said *YOU* would protect me!"
Just as she is ready to get up again, three tough looking characters enter the car. Her escort leans over her, cups her face to his, and delivers a very spectacular kiss. He holds it until the intruders exit the end of the car.
Speechless, Despina, eyes wide, stares at him. With a gulp, she recovers. In a near whisper, she asks, "Is that how you plan to pacify me?"
"No, that was to keep Roy the Blade from recognizing me as he passed by."
"Roy the Blade? Who's Roy the Blade?"
"An old rival's younger brother, and a member of one of the street gangs in the area."
His arm rests lightly along the back of the seat, his hand still entwined in her hair. "You have nice hair. How long is it?"
"What? You want to know the length of my hair? What has that to do with anything?"
"It might hide our faces if it is long enough."
"You're living in a dream world."
"Oh, it's real enough."
"How did you determine that *I* was the right one to protect *you*?"
"You were standing there, all innocent looking, gawking up and down the street."
"And for that sin I do apologize, but I want to go back. I can't possibly offer you any protection. I don't know how."
"No, you're selling yourself short. The very fact that those three thugs passed right by without thinking to look at us twice shows that you are perfect for the part."
"The part. The role. You act as if we are characters in some inner drama you're playing in your head. You seem seriously deranged. Who do I check your mission with? I find your 'Officer in need of assistance' a pretty flimsy pretense to grab me and hustle me away from my friend and out of the area I am familiar with."
"When we get to Mama B's house, you can call the station. They'll vouch for me."
"Who's Mama B?"
"The lady I have to visit."
"What does she do? Run a house of ill repute?"
She feels him stiffen against the back of her neck. "No, she's very upright."
"Then why does she live in such a dangerous part of the city?"
"She can't help it. She's poor."
"I can't help it, either, it appears, without getting into even more danger. I want to see that badge again. I couldn't really read it the first time."
"It's too dangerous right now. If you act the right part, there won't be any danger."
"If you tell me some number to call, what's to keep some of your 'friends' from just SAYING that wherever they are is the 'station' and that you work for them and are really on a dangerous mission?"
A smile lurks at the corners of his mouth. "I'm sure when you hear what a real big city police station sounds like in the background, you'll realize how impossible it would be to fake it. You've been watching too much television. You're letting your imagination run away with you."
"Quite the contrary. I don't have commercial television and haven't since I was a child. You'll have to come up with a new excuse for my imagination."
Despina leans forward, resting her forehead on the seat in front of her.
"Are you okay?" His hand caresses her hair.
"No, I'm not okay. I am lost, confused, and decidedly in over my head. What do you intend to do with me?"
"It's not as if you are a prisoner."
"Then I'll go."
"As soon as you've assisted me."
Despina feels little quiverings in her stomach and realizes that she is afraid. Looking around, she tries to think of a plan of escape.
"Just sit back and act as if you are enjoying my company."
"Right. I feel like a sacrificial lamb. I'm scared."
"Of me?"
"Partly. At least, of what you plan to do."
"Smile."
A look of horror covers her face. Swiftly, his head again descends on hers, his lips locking with hers. She hears footsteps race from one end of the car to the other, then a second bunch of two, maybe three. She begins to shake. He rubs her arm with his free hand. Marveling, she feels herself begin to respond.
I never thought of total terror as an aphrodisiac, before, but it seems as if it must be. I'm getting wet.
Whispering softly into her mouth, he says, "What can I say to convince you that the only safe thing to do now is to act the part of a loving girlfriend? I'm terribly sorry for the inconvenience, but for us to protect the public, sometimes we just have to have help. That's why the 'officer in need of assistance' statute was enacted."
Cautiously, he raises his head, looking into her eyes from an uncomfortably close distance.
"That's better. Now, just give me a bit more of a smile. Our stop is coming up, and it IS very important."
The subway train has been accelerating and decelerating for quite a while, now, but Despina has not been keeping track of the stops. Even if it reversed direction immediately, she realizes with a sinking feeling that she can't reverse her route and return to the bookstore.
What subway did that web site say to take? What street number was it?
"Don't worry. When this is over, I'll be sure you get back to your friend."
Rising, he again takes her arm and escorts her from the subway by a different door than the one that they had used when they entered. Quickly crossing the platform, they mount the steps on the far side, soon emerging into the bright sunlight, but in a far shabbier neighborhood than before.
Still walking briskly, they are about a block and a half from the subway station when a tall kid with dirty blond hair suddenly dashes across the street, reaching the curb two cars ahead of them, just at the far side of an alley. He turns menacingly toward them.
"Shit! I'm on the wrong side. I thought they'd come from a doorway or an alley. That's Lenny-O. He's a punk."
Despina looks him over. Well, I wouldn't have been able to guess his name, but the punk part is plain to see just by his stance. Armed, too, I'll bet.
Smiling reassuringly at the youth, Despina speaks just as he pulls out a wicked-looking knife. "You don't think I'd be dumb enough to bring my purse down here, do you? That's where I carry my checks, credit cards, and money."
The knife wavers a bit, then steadies, pointing straight at her.
"You look like a nice kid. You knife someone, you're momma is going to have some mourning to do. Now why would you want to go and do that to a fine lady like that? Doesn't she have enough troubles to deal with as it is?" Keeping eye contact with Lenny-O, Despina takes a small step forward. Her escort has stopped, letting go of her arm, watching the situation tensely, but with apparent ease to those who were not touching his body to feel the zinging tightness, the ready-for-action alertness there.
Holding out her hand expectantly, she says, "What kind of a knife have you got there? I don't think I've ever seen one quite like it before."
Lenny hesitates. Despina smiles into his eyes, exuding confidence, charm, concern for his well-being. "I'll bet you're quite a marksman with a knife like that. How far can you throw it?"
Crumbling before her gaze, he gives up the knife when she reaches him. Before she can breathe a sigh of relief, a scuffling in the alley causes both her and Lenny-O to turn. The three thugs from the subway are there, Roy the Blade in the middle. He has pulled a knife quite a bit like the deadly weapon Despina holds in her hand.
"Lenny-O, I thought I told you not to work these streets. You remember what I told you would happen if I caught you?"
With an evil smile, Roy the Blade pats his knife against his other hand in menacing anticipation, then lets it fly. Despina, with a cry of horror, watches Lenny-O slump to the ground, blood spurting from the wound in his chest.
Seeing how the two henchmen are slightly behind Roy the Blade, passing him another knife, presumably to deal with either her or her escort, Despina shouts, "Duck," and flings Lenny-O's knife at the leader's throwing arm. He is in the act of leaning forward, reaching for a weapon, as the knife hits, catching him in the throat instead of on the arm that was there when Despina started her throw. Despina's hand comes up to her mouth in horror, her eyes bugging out.
Catching sight of some more gang members crossing the street to come to Lenny-O's aid, the officer grabs Despina's arm and half drags her along toward the far corner, out from between the two rival groups.
"That was quick thinking. You're quite persuasive. Where'd you learn to throw a knife like that?"
"The movies," Despina says tightly, her face white. "Did I kill him?" Her walk is shaky; the officer half holding her up.
"I certainly hope so. It would be a blessing to the neighborhood if you did him in, with Lenny-O getting the 'credit'."
"Shouldn't you call it in, or something?"
"Oh, they'll be appraised of it soon enough. If I make or receive a call, our cover is blown."
"But killing a local gang leader doesn't blow my cover as a helpless innocent? I think I'm going to be sick."
"Not here; not now. Wait until we're safely at Momma B's."
"How much further is it?"
Instead of answering, he turns her into his chest, backs up against the building and loosens her hair, fluffing it out around their faces as he again plants his lips on hers.
"You could get into this a bit, you know," he says as he lifts her so that her face is level with his.
Despina stiffens, then puts her hands on his shoulders and wraps her legs around his waist. She is careful to keep her hair blocking their faces.
"How's that?" Despina asks with disgust.
By way of an answer, he delivers another spine-tingling kiss, holding it long enough for a long gray Caddie to pass slowly along the block.
"Local drug lord," he explains, setting her back on the ground. "Roy the Blade's big brother Carmine."
"Your former rival."
"Doesn't miss a trick, this one," the officer says, smiling at her. "Feeling better now?"
"I don't know. Things are moving a bit fast for me. I could use some water." Despina starts to turn her head back toward the two gangs.
He immediately blocks her. "Don't be nosy. You DO NOT want to know who does what down here."
Entering the next block, the officer indicates a set of steps midway down. "That's the entrance to Momma B's. That's where we're going."
A gray haired lady has come out on the stoop. She is looking down the block toward the fight.
"Won't she get in trouble for knowing what's going on?" Despina asks.
"She knows everything that happens in the area. Nobody messes with Momma B."
"Why is that? She doesn't look dangerous."
"She's not. She nurses/feeds/advises/protects all sides equally. Anybody with enough bad taste to hurt Momma B wouldn't last very long."
"That doesn't seem to be saying very much. I'm surprised they don't run out of bodies to bump off at the rate they're going."
"Say, Momma, can you spare a glass of water for this lady? She's had a rough three blocks."
"Did she really get him?"
"A knife in the throat makes it look pretty likely."
"Well, that much's a blessing, anyway."
"Where'd you find her?"
"On the streets."
"Good choice. She just may have what it takes to get you back out of here alive. CARMINE!"
The name shouted after the soft tones the conversation had been conducted in galvanizes Despina into action. Grabbing the railing of the stoop, she wraps her legs around the officer's waist and shoves him into the building, flipping her hair over their faces again. Pretending to kiss him, she reaches into his suit coat, feeling around until she comes up with his gun.
Carmine's car has stopped right across from them. Two armed men get out, one on each side of the pair pressed to the building. Despina's heart is working overtime as Momma B comes out, glass of water in her hand.
"Carmine, get these goons off the sidewalk." Her voice is strong and commanding. One of the men turns toward the back door of the car, opening it deferentially.
Despina has the gun free now, and removes the safety. Laying it alongside her neck, hidden in her hair, she asks, "Can you point it in a good direction?"
"No," he whispers. I can't see a thing."
"Mamma B., it would be a shame if you were to exceed your authority at your great age. I was always betting you were smart enough to steer clear of all the mayhem around here. Where's that no-account son of yours?"
"Is that Carmine talking?" Despina whispers.
She can feel the word "Yes" form against her cheek. Guided by the voice, she positions the gun, cocks it, then gently squeezes it, just as the second body guard cocks his.
The officer takes his gun from Despina and changes the angle so he is shooting right at the bodyguard. He fires before the bodyguard, then throws Despina and himself to the side, falling on the concrete sidewalk. Pushing her behind him, he nails the other bodyguard, who has stopped to stare at his boss's body. He has a bullet in his head. Cocking as he turns, he is ready to kill when the bullet slams into his heart.
Bending over, the officer helps Despina up.
"I guess I should have worn jeans and a scruffy shirt. I didn't know I was going to play in the muck this trip. May I have that water now? I think I'm going to vomit." says Despina shakily.
Word Count: 2805
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, December 23rd, 2003
| |
11:28 pm - The Escape! (ITD WC 1846)
|
http://despinadesert.livejournal.com/15938.html
The Escape!
"Get her inside, son. She's a marked woman, now. You'll both be lucky to get away. Killing Roy the Blade can be blamed on Lenny-O, but what happened here, now, marks her forever. Nobody else but you two were close enough to be blamed for this one."
"Her" officer takes her arm again. Despina moves along like an automaton.
"Have a little confidence. She talks all weak, but she's tougher than she sounds. When the chips are down, she's surprising."
"You two have been incredibly lucky so far. But once that fight breaks up, everyone will be looking for you, and you'd better both be gone with no tracks. Call in any favors you've got outstanding. You need a miracle."
"Momma, you worry too much."
"You're too old to still be believing you lead a charmed life. You'll be the death of me, yet."
He and Despina have reached what must be Momma's apartment, and he quickly shows her to the bathroom, a cramped little cubbyhole with no window.
I've come to value windows. I'm thinking of them as alternate escape routes. I wonder what floor we're on? We climbed forever.
Despina shamelessly eavesdrops on their conversation, clearly audible through the flimsy door.
"You knew if you came back here, one or the other of you would leave in a pine box. Whatever possessed you? Not that I'm not glad to see you, but at the price of nearly seeing your dead body three times in ten minutes?"
"I'm shipping out to the Middle East tonight. I will be posted to active duty behind enemy lines. I didn't want to leave without seeing you one last time."
"You should have sent word. I could have come out."
"My unit is under cover. Nobody is to know where or when."
"And here I dared hope, when she killed for you, that you'd brought a potential bride home to show me."
"I must be losing my charm. She's resistant to my advances."
"Like Hell. She's hooked. I saw the look on her face when she fired that gun. She was NOT doing it out of fear. She was a mother bear defending her cubs. She was a grim and determined young woman, and she'd have gone through or over anything in her way."
"No. It was all just an accident of time and place. She's got to be kept out of it."
"And now you seek to protect her, but tell me it's not love."
"Her being here at all is my fault. Really, mother. I saw her on the street less than an hour ago. I thought with someone who looked as innocent as she did, we might be able to get in and out without attracting attention. I only kissed her to hide our faces so we could come in quietly."
"Says you! If this is how you come quietly, my imagination boggles at what your idea of a grand entrance might be! How are you going to get back out?"
"She wants to see my badge again, and call in."
"You expect the police force to come down here and extract you after you were TOLD to keep off these streets?"
Moving decisively to the phone, he calls a number, gives a cryptic password, and his location. "Pick-up ASAP. GPS transponder activated."
"You can't stay here until someone comes. You won't be alive for them to retrieve."
Despina exits, standing in the shadow made by the opened door. She takes in the shabby apartment slowly, cataloging every detail. Going to the only window, she looks down into a cindered courtyard with a huge rectangular brick trash disposal area in it. A deserted apartment building appears to be opposite.
"What is it? Three floors down?" she asks, pointedly ignoring their previous conversation.
"Two and a half. There's a walk out partially enclosed 'basement' that isn't really a basement at all. What are you thinking?"
"I could overhear..."
"Of course. Even whispers are sometimes audible in this apartment. I notice you did not vomit." The old lady's face wrinkles in a smile of approval.
"Did that last bit you said mean they can track us wherever we go real time, or is there a delay?"
"Pretty much real time. Do you rappel?"
"Policeman’s version of "Do you dance"? I suppose if I object to descending that way, you’ll defenestrate me without feeling a bit of remorse…"
"I wouldn’t DREAM of throwing you out a third floor window with no fireman’s net below to catch you… Nice to see you're regaining a bit of your composure, though. But we're not out of the wood yet. I have to know, DO YOU RAPPEL?"
"You're SERIOUS? Well, I never have, but if they can teach it to squirrelly, unmotivated high school kids in a weekend, I ought to be able to master it in seconds, the way I'm motivated now. Just out of curiosity, what are we using for equipment?"
Opening a closet, he removes a thin wire and drops it out the window. "It is solidly anchored." Pulling out some gloves, he puts them on and goes to the window. "Let's pray the coast is still clear." He climbs over the sill and breaks his descent on his body, looking around carefully. When he dismounts, he pantomimes the technique, then hooks the gloves on and motions for her to pull it back up.
Momma B finds the hidden rewind in the closet, and by the time Despina has climbed part way out the window, the gloves are there for her. Carefully she positions the wire, then looks to the officer for his approval before she lets go. She thinks it takes forever, but she is soon on the ground, releasing the wire with the gloves attached the same way she'd found them.
"Interesting. I assume this is a well-known escape route for it to be a permanent installation."
"Not really. Only a select few are privileged to use it." Taking her arm again, they scurry across the open space to the vacant building, head through it and hit the street on the far side.
"With any luck, they'll lose time searching for us in Momma B's, then this house, thinking we'll try to hide out." Ducking down to be below the profile of the parked cars, they cross the street, take shelter in the shadow of the buildings along the far side until they reach the corner, then cross again into a park. Cutting diagonally through the sheltering trees, they hope to pose as lovers, not fugitives.
"Back into the subway?" queries Despina when she sees a subway entrance off to the left.
"No. I don't know how the transponder will do if we are underground, but the ones likely to be after us will think the subway a likely bolt hole, so might draw off more pursuit."
Exiting the park, they again hit the shadowed side of a street, not going more than one block before turning again. Suddenly, a beep disturbs the stillness Despina feels around them, even though in reality, they are in a sea of city noise.
"There they are! That black car. Head right for the back door as if it were open."
By the time she's there, it is, but a huge man blocks her entry. "Who's this?"
"Move it! Do you want to get us shot?"
Pushing Despina down to the floorboards, he slides sideways in the seat so he's not visible from the street, although someone in the cab of a semi would be able to spot him.
"You'd better have a good explanation for breaking cover in the presence of an outsider."
"Does saving my life three times in ten minutes count?"
"Her?"
"That's what Momma B said."
"Well, she's generally got a pretty reliable line on what's going down."
"She has no idea where we're going, and can't see anything from where she is, anyway. Relax."
"When we get our butts back where they belong."
The rest of the trip to wherever they are going is made in silence. The only way Despina knows it has ended is when they are again plunged into darkness. Soon the car mercifully stops, but Despina, mindful of the nervousness of the big man, does not attempt to arise.
Nobody else moves, either. Nobody speaks. Finally, Despina can stand it no longer. "Are we safe yet?"
"They're checking to be sure we weren't tailed. If we need to, we can exit on another street and repeat the maneuver."
Suddenly, a double rap sounds on the hood. "Okay, let's go. You can leave her here and let her find her own way back. That way, there'll be no ties to you."
"We're comrades in arms, now, and I'd no more abandon her on the field that I would you or Pete or Joey."
"Well, it's YOUR head when we meet up with Cap."
"I need to call in to finish off some department business."
"Ah, cut the crap! You know the deadlines."
"Well, since I know who killed both Roy the Blade and Carmine this afternoon, I think I'd better report before things get a bit carried away."
"No shit! Took them both out in the same afternoon, heh? Good work, old man. I guess you're not losing your touch."
"Not me, my man."
"The broad? No way."
Her officer does not answer, but helps Despina out of the car and again takes her arm.
Out of the frying pan; into the fire, it appears. I wonder if I'm now wanted for a double murder? Would a jury believe 'self defense'?
"Maybe I'd better go down to the police station. I could tell them what happened."
His grip on her arm tightens. "It isn't safe. We don't know who the stoolie is downtown. With Lenny O dead while you held his knife, the Razors might be after you for taking his weapon, then not defending him. Then, since you stuck it in Roy the Blade's throat, the RedBloods will definitely be after you for taking out their leader... Unless the two stooges were killed before they got to tell anyone that Lenny 'O didn't do it. And the drug cartel will be out for revenge on both of us for the two guards I got and that bullet in Carmine's head. They might even go after Momma B on that one, as she was a witness to it all."
Despina is amused at the mounting incredulity the giant expresses the longer her officer talks.
"Okay, you win. Call in. If half of that is true, she's dead meat if we let her go."
He's not quite ready to say he believes my officer isn't just spinning a tall one to keep a favored trollop with him a bit longer. Can't say I blame him when you hear it all spelled out that way. It IS pretty improbable, and I was there for it all. I wonder how long it will take to shift into the category of 'bad dream'?
Word Count: 1846
current mood: dangerous
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Monday, December 22nd, 2003
| |
11:32 pm - In the Desert -- Hot Water
|
"Boss wants to see you, Luchino. He's NOT happy."
"I don't see what I could have done differently. Once I'd picked her out for cover, there was no safe place to leave her, and no time to return her. Frankly, had I had anyone else with me, I'd probably be dead by now."
"She says she's not combat trained. She can't keep being lucky, you know. She said if we just put her out on the street, she'd be up against it, as she gave her purse to her friend. She doesn't have a dime on her. Maria searched. Thoroughly."
"How'd she take that?"
"She asked when she got to return the favor."
"What skills did she offer?"
"Ha! Get this: she can land a Piper Cub, pilot it across country using OMNI, but can't understand the radio chatter most of the time."
"But not take off? What good is that?"
"She offered to train our HORSES to ride, but claims she's no good at driving them or hitching them."
"Oh, and that shot she put in Carmine's head? She claims that is only the second time she's ever fired a gun."
"She said she learned how to throw a knife off TV. With the one she correctly stuck in Roy the Blade's throat still in sight."
"She also claims to speak SLOW, SCHOOLBOOK Spanish. NO street slang. She can read ancient Spanish literature in the original, but it takes a pretty BIG dictionary and a handy little book called a Verb Finder."
"Her finger prints came up clean. What's her name?"
"What'd she say when you asked her?"
"I'm asking YOU."
"This is sort of embarrassing to admit, since she's saved my life. I never asked her. There wasn't time, after it became obvious that it might be relevant. At first, I didn't think it would matter, as I'd not be around her very long."
"What an operator! What I can't figure out is why they are so LOYAL to you! Where'd you pick this one up?"
"Outside the Labyrinth."
"The Labyrinth? What's that?"
"A book store."
"A book store? We're recruiting at BOOK STORES now? What was she doing there?"
"Just coming out. She took her purse back in to her friend."
"Book store."
A man with Carlo Ricci stenciled on his coveralls entered. "Well, Edoardo says she comes. It's too dangerous to put her down anywhere.
"Street talk is crediting you with the hits on both Roy the Blade and Carmine. When we get back, you better get Momma B to move out. Talk about stirring up a hornet's nest."
"I'll take her over and get her an outfit. She can't wear what she's got on when we're out in the desert."
"Maria already did. Sullenly. She thinks she's your new paramour. Little Miss Bookworm denies it vehemently. That's a new twist."
A door opens and Rafe appears. He is no bigger than the giant who tried to block Despina from entering the car, but his aura of power makes him seem even more deadly.
"Luchino, what WERE you thinking of? You can't just one-handedly add personnel to our mission, especially untrained ones, no matter how good they are at killing."
Hanging his head, Luchino says, "Sorry, boss. May I plead mitigating circumstances?"
"On the flight over, familiarize her with an M-16. She won't be able to shoot it, but at least she can learn how to take it apart and clean it, then put it back together. Why did't you at least grab one who spoke the lingo?"
Last updated 8/19/06. (It's too dangerous [made contraction])
Word Count: 590
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Sunday, December 21st, 2003
| |
11:34 pm - In the Desert -- Frying Pan
|
Despina is cold. No matter how she tries to sit, she can't get comfortable. Her hands are freezing. She's taken the gun apart and put it back together so many times, she thinks she can do it in her sleep. The parachute makes a lump against her back, but they won't let her take it off and sit on it. She hates the feel of the grease that's smeared all over her face, but is told it will keep her from sun burning.
Right. At night in a plane, I just MIGHT sunburn.
Finally, she gets so tired that her head just sort of drops onto Luchino's shoulder and she is sleeping before she's given falling asleep any thought at all.
Reaching over, Luchino sets the rifle down and puts her gloves back on her hands.
Rafe looks up, nodding. "She learns quickly, and she doesn't complain, to give credit where credit is due. Frankly, I'm surprised she's even talking to you, the way she got shanghaied. 'Officer in need of Assistance'." His eyebrows go up and he favors Luchino with a quirky smile.
"Sir, you asked to be notified when we crossed into Saudi territory."
"Right. I'll come up."
Luchino looks around at his platoon mates. He can easily read the condemnation they hold for the way he "recruited" Despina.
Carlino asks, "Will you get booted off the force for going back to Momma B's after they'd told you to keep off that street?"
"Let's just say, they weren't overjoyed to have a gang war break out. But the Captain knows I was called up and had to leave the country for an undisclosed amount of time, on a dangerous special mission I might not return from. I'm not entirely sure that he's not hoping I do meet a gloriously noble end over here, where I won't be able to cause him any more headaches."
Having to shout to converse dries up the conversation, and one by one, the group falls asleep.
Suddenly, the sound of exploding ordinance blasts into the night. The plane shudders repeatedly.
Rafe reappears. "Okay, we're going down. Open the bay."
In an orderly line, body after body flings itself into the dark void.
"Go with her, Fontana. She's not briefed on the mission."
When the time comes, Despina, who had been afraid she would not jump, falls out holding tightly to Luchino's chute front, facing him. The jolt when he pulls their ripcords nearly knocks her out. Overhead, she can see equipment being shoved out.
I wonder how they get the chutes to deploy on them?
When they land, Luchino is knocked unconscious, leaving Despina with the problem Rafe had foreseen: she's on the ground in where? Saudi Arabia? without knowing the mission, their exact location, the location of any water, untrained in survival in the desert, unless one Arizona summer counts, and has an injured man on her hands.
She detaches the parachutes and flattens them, then rolls them up to make them more manageable. She has no idea what to do with them. Should I bury them? Is anyone likely to be looking for us? How do the members of the team contact each other? How long did we sleep before we were fired upon? Why would Saudis fire on Americans? Maybe we're now in Iraq? People there would fire on us.
When the sun comes up, it's likely to get really hot. The news says that the soldiers in Iraq were facing temperatures of 130 degrees in the daytime. We're not acclimated to that kind of heat, even if the humidity is low. I'd better rig a shelter of some kind.
Piling their things on one corner of the top parachute to anchor it, she props it open with their rifles, using the lower parachute as a "floor". The sides toward the front are open.
Probably won't be a breeze, anyway.
When dawn comes, Despina climbs to the top of a sand dune to see if she can spot any of the others. All she can see in any direction is more trackless sand.
As she heads back, she sees movement out of the corner of her eye. Turning, she watches incredulously as a horseman grows ever larger. He is armed, but the rifle is not pointing at her. She looks down at her uniform.
Not good, I’ll bet.
The rider is cantering effortlessly over the desert sand, heading right toward her.
Does he plan to run me down?
At the last instant, Despina steps aside and swings her body up onto the back of the horse, knocking the rider off. She’d caught him by surprise. He’d thought he had the upper hand. What kind of an American soldier could mount from the ground with just one hand on a running horse’s withers? She curves the horse back toward the makeshift tent.
Propping Luchino upright, she maneuvers him from a sandbank onto the horse, attaches his pack and rifle, retrieves hers, and remounts.
I hope he’s up to carrying double. If I give him his head, I imagine he will take us to wherever its home is.
“Where are we going?”
“Back to its home, I’d imagine. Any idea where that’s likely to be?”
Luchino shrugs.
“How’d you come up with a horse in the middle of a trackless desert?”
“I dumped his rider off and took off with him.”
“No, really.”
“How are you guys supposed to get in contact with each other?”
“We were supposed to be in sight of each other when we landed.”
“But, we weren’t.”
“No, the gap between when the others left and when we jumped was too long. We could be miles from the others at the speed the plane was likely to be going.”
“Oh, now that’s reassuring.”
“It just means that we have to act as if we are out here alone.”
“Act? Look around. See any sign of anyone else?”
“Where’s this horse’s owner?”
“Probably about five sand dunes back, by now. You want to go meet him? I didn’t get his gun when I stole his horse. He’s most likely NOT a happy camper.”
“How’d you end up with the horse?”
“Most horsemen hold a firm contempt for an infantryman. He tried to ride me down, so I unseated him and took his place.”
“Without firing your gun.”
“Right. It was propping up the tent.”
“Tent? What tent?”
“The one I stashed you in while I reconnoitered the area.”
“That you just happened upon deserted in the desert.”
“That I made out of parachutes, and packs, propped up with rifles.”
“DON’T ever tell Rafe THAT!”
Despina fell silent after that, smarting that her efforts were yet another affront.
Word Count: 1132 RL: 4.5
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Saturday, December 20th, 2003
| |
11:37 pm - In the Desert -- Recognized
|
As she balances Luchino in front of her, trying to keep her aching arms from shaking, Despina's ever active mind moves itself ahead to the end of the horse's journey.
He's going someplace where he'll be known. His owner will be known. We'll be recognized as Americans by our camo and our accents, if we can say anything over the big lumps of dried sand that have infiltrated our mouths by then. And we have guns, loaded guns. He can't fire in the shape he's in and I don't think I could point a GUN at a person I was facing.
"Odd. I still think of myself as a non-violent person. I know I have killed. I know I did it twice, without a moment's forethought. The situation called for it, and I did it. But to point a gun and INTEND to do it beforehand, now that I seriously doubt I can do. I can't script a situation where I would be mentally capable of it."
"Unnhuuuuuho."
"Luchino?" Great. Verbal, but delirious.
"Unhommmm."
"Luchino, talk to me! Where are we? How are we supposed to contact each other?"
"Unnhomommmmoiuuh."
"What was that? An Arabic place name? I don't know what you said."
Should I stop the horse and unload him? Would that make him more likely to talk to me coherently? Or would he still be inarticulate, and me physically too spent to be able to load him back onto the horse and balance him?
"I think, since I can't tell what you are saying, the best bet is still to let the horse take us to wherever it came from... even if that is unfriendly people. I'd rather be shot and die swiftly than die of thirst on the desert."
"Die?"
"Luchino, talk to me, man! Where are we? Which way to help/water/the others? How are we supposed to communicate with them?"
"Die in duh dehzuhrt?
"You're fine, Luchino. You aren't going to die in the desert. We are being taken to a place with water."
"Water."
Pulling back on the reins at a great cost in pain and suffering, Despina readjusts her burden so one hand can go for one of the canteens. Carefully taking one sip, she offers it to Luchino. He is clumsy, so she withdraws it, offering it again even more carefully.
"Not so fast there; you'll spill it, and I have no idea when we'll be able to replenish it."
After three good swallows, she stops him and recaps the canteen. The water tasted like swill she normally would never have been tempted to taste, much less drink with relish. I remember the main character in The Gulag Archipelago describing some people eating a long-frozen rare specimen of lizard "with relish", instead of saving him for scientific study as his discovery merited, and recognizing that the only people in the world who would knowingly sacrifice something so rare were political prisoners who were near starvation. Here we are drinking this brackish water "with relish". Ah, what a few hours at astronomical temperatures can do for one's sensibilities.
Luchino's head is again hanging off to one side. The horse has started up again of his own volition. His will and hers are kindred souls -- reach home. Hold up long enough for all of us to get to your home. I'll say a prayer to your master's Allah if it will aid you in your task. Get home. Preferably after dark, with no hullabaloo. But mostly, just get there.
Despina lets her head nod forward, closing her eyes. She has enough natural balance gained through all her years of riding experience to remain centered, but still, with the injured man in front of her, if she slides into sleep, they will probably both fall off. She jerks her head up, staring at the waved lines of the sand dunes ahead of her. I used to think wind-swept desert sand was beautiful. I used to find artistry in the wavy lines formed by the action of the wind. Now all I see is more desolation, and a sense of the barrenness of the land being equated to the unlikeliness of being rescued or running into friendlies out here.
Suddenly, Luchino begins to fight as if for his life. Despina can't begin to hold him. His body lurches sideways, falling into the hard-packed sand. Despina slowly slides off, carefully holding onto the horse, who does not know her, and might just decide to go home alone, given half a chance.
"Luchino, it's me, Despina."
Well, that's probably quite reassuring. How many HOURS has he known someone named Despina, and how traumatic have those hours been to the man's psyche? I know mine has been brutalized.
"Hey, bud, focus a minute. We've got a problem here, you know? I don't have any idea where we are, so no way to guide us to water, your friends, away from danger, etc. How are you supposed to contact your men?
She slaps his face quite briskly, as she's seen done on various TV shows. "If that's NOT reviving, I apologize. I realize I'm not basing it on the best medical information..."
Taking the end of her shirt, she wipes the accumulated sweat and sand from his face. She does not realize that she is crying. As she leans over him, tears drop onto his cheek. "Luchino, can't you at least open your eyes? I'm blocking the sun so you can do it safely."
His eyes flicker open. Slowly, he reaches a hand up to her face. "Tears?"
"No. Probably sweat. I'm sorry, but if I move the sunlight will hit you full in the face. I didn't save the parachutes to set up another tent with. Flappy things tend to spook even well-broke horses."
"Horse?"
"Yeah, we’ve gone over this before. He’s our vehicle for this part of the trip seems to be a stolen horse. I dumped his owner off back there somewhere alone in the desert with just his gun for comfort, unless he bumps into my parachute tent."
His eyes have drifted shut again.
"Luchino, where are we? Talk to me! You got me into this mess! Now the least you can do is tell me where we are!"
"Where?"
"Right. I DEMAND to know where we are."
Luchino's eyes open briefly. He says, "G... G...", then again blacks out.
"Great. What places in Saudi Arabia, Iran, Iraq, Egypt? do I know that start with G... Great Sandy Desert? Ground Zero? Get Lost? Get Help? I'm in character, but I don't think it's helping much..."
"Jokes?"
"Now, why, if you can only come up with one word, can't it be an answer to my better questions? NO Don't answer that! Where are we? How can we contact the others?"
"Signal."
"Signal. Right. From all this wood lying around, I'll build a huge bonfire and send up a smoke signal. Maybe I can lunge the horse and get him going fast enough to raise a dust cloud that will obviously be man-made, and bring help..."
"Dun.. laugh.. "
"Well, if you can't come up with any better ideas, let's get you back up on that horse and pray his home is nearby and friendly."
"Pack."
"Pack horse? No, he's a stallion. He's a riding horse, and a pretty decent one, to boot. The Bedouin on the desert who evolved this horse don't own them any more.They're all owned by the Saudi Royal Family members, if that’s where we are… I don't know anything about who owns them except in Saudi and Jordan. So, I probably left a pretty mad prince back there somewhere in the sand."
"Pack. Gib."
"Pack gerbils next time? Drat my overactive imagination. I can't seem to come up with anything serious."
"Signal ... pack."
"Duh! Okay." Despina carefully rolls his head away from the sun, then gets up. Bringing his pack back, she opens it in front of him, setting out each item in a line before him. When she sees what he is looking at, she picks it up.
"This thing? This is a signal? I think you needed to teach me more about what else was in the packs instead of making sure I could put a gun I'll never fire back together and clean it out."
She places a round can-shaped thing in his hand. He struggles with it a bit, then sets it down, almost as if he can't hold something that heavy any more.
"Not what you wanted? Do I need to do something with it? Should we try to get you back on the horse? I don't think this is a very auspicious stopping place."
Luchino reaches up a hand to her. When she takes it, he pulls her down beside him. The horse, whose rein is still in her hand, comes with her, standing with his feet nearly on top of Luchino's body.
He looks over his shoulder in apprehension.
"Don't worry. Horses don't like to step on people. They are bad footing, all squishy and such. Oh, I probably shouldn't have said that. That's probably not very reassuring."
Despina sees the stallion turn his head toward the north. He is uneasy, staring at something she can't see. Suddenly she hears a rumble. "What's that sound?"
"Blackhawk, hope."
"Who's Blackhawk? I don't think I met him. Rafe, Carlino... Oh, a helicopter. Why don't you ever say what you mean? It's always some hairy guessing game with words I have no way of knowing. Is Blackhawk on the war path, or is he friendly? Do we get out the guns, or wave a white flag?"
Luchino's head has dropped again. Despina gets up to reassure the horse. "Well, sir, if you are like my beasties, you're not going to like this big bird. He spits nasty things out in addition to the noise he makes." As she speaks, she moves away from Luchino so if the horse acts up, she won't need to fear the horse will trample on him in panic. As the stallion grows more resistive, she unpacks the rest of their things, just in case he breaks away from her.
Should I take the saddle off him? Should I take everything off and set him free? How far is his home likely to be? I've heard about the Arabs traveling five to seven days between water holes. If he's that far away, riding him double the way we did might have been signing his death warrant.
The helicopter sets down well off from the downed man, woman and horse, then shuts down its rotors.
They must feel pretty safe to shut off. Or maybe they have to conserve fuel... Get the gun, or play it straight? I hate these life and death decisions made with no facts in a game that makes no sense!
Word Count: 1830
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Friday, December 19th, 2003
| |
11:39 pm - In the Desert -- Salvation?
|
From a distance, Despina eyes the helicopter. Nothing moves inside it. She can see a pilot in the front seat, but can't tell if he is alone, held at gunpoint, hurt, or just disinterested.
Heading back to Luchino, she attaches the reins firmly to his belt in back. Sure hope this fellow is broke to ground tie, although why he would be, I have no idea. If he takes a wild hair to abscond with Luchino, he'll be anchored right at the stallion's feet. Geeze, I must be crazy.
Picking up one of the rifles, she holds it out of sight at her side, advancing sideways toward the back, blind end of the helicopter. When she can see in the front, she raises the gun and calls to the pilot.
"Hey, there!"
His eyes grow very, very wide as he turns his head and sees the rifle leveled at him.
Looking him over, Despina frowns. He’s obviously an Arab, but from where, attached to whom? And where did he get a Blackhawk? Were there any Arabs in Luchino's group? He seems dazed.
Slowly, he places his hands on his head. Despina frowns harder, but he starts to reverse his motions so she switches back. He settles his hands on his head.
Despina motions to the sand with the gun. He gets up in exaggerated slow motion, never taking his eyes off the rifle. Guiding him to the front of the chopper by pointing it where she wants him to go, she has him get face down, arms outspread, face into the sand.
Slowly, she approaches the belly of the helicopter, slanting her body so she can see inside without exposing much of her body. Glancing quickly back toward the pilot, she sees that he has not moved. Craning her head and neck inside, she sees that the bed is empty.
Now what? I seem to have captured a helicopter. I can't fly it, don't know how much fuel it has, and still don't know where I am, or where this guy came from. I won't be able to get Luchino to the chopper, much less inside it, alone, and although the inside is large enough for the horse, I doubt he'd be real happy in there... He probably couldn't keep his balance the way they swoop and drop.
Backing slowly toward Luchino, she speaks softly to the horse so she won't alarm it. Squatting down, she unties the horse and leads it awkwardly from the wrong side to leave her rifle hand free. Heading toward the back of one of the skids, she reties the reins there so the horse is somewhat shaded.
"Okay, you pilot, do you speak English?"
Her outburst is rewarded with a raising of his head as he turns to face her. Motioning him up, she guides him over toward Luchino.
I bet he recognizes the horse, thinks I killed the owner and Luchino. No wonder he's being so careful. I must NOT remind him of one of the vestal virgins Muslim men are promised upon their deaths.
When the Arab reaches Luchino's head, she motions for him to bend down and lift him. Taking his feet in one hand, keeping the gun handy in the other, they awkwardly head toward the chopper.
If I thought it was a strain to keep him upright on a horse, I just lacked imagination.
Even with her unknown Arab taking the lion's share of the injured man's weight, she can barely manage. Once part of him is inside, they slide the rest in. The Arab seems more at ease now that she's found something useful for him to do and realizes Luchino is alive, and she evidently plans to keep him that way. She swings into the chopper, sitting side-wise in the pilot's chair, checking out the gages, dials and levers.
Don't even think it, Pina. You haven't a prayer of getting anywhere trying to fly this bird. You've led horses out the window of a VW and a pick-up, once two stallions at the same time, but no way will studly calmly trot along behind that strut with sand blowing in his face at gale force!
Pantomiming talking, she cocks her head quizzically at the Arab.
He speaks, but as she feared, it is evidently in Farsi.
She pantomimes drinking, then makes a circle of the inside of the chopper with her hand and raises her eyebrows in inquiry.
More babble erupts from the Arab, with a negative shake of his head.
Not all cultures use that to mean "no". I wonder if his does?
Moving aside, she ushers him into the pilot seat, settling with her back against the glass, gun and eyes on him. She pantomimes turning things on, then talking.
Carefully, he turns a few switches. She is watching his every move. When he reaches for a microphone she had not noticed before, she stops him and motions him back to sit beside Luchino. Taking over, she experiments with the dial, trying to find a station with voices on it.
"Despina?"
Shutting down the power, Despina focuses on Luchino.
"Are you going to stay among us for a little while?"
"Where?"
"I don't think that Blackhawk really was a Blackhawk. See that Arab? He was piloting it. Do you know him? How's your Farsi?"
Luchino slowly rolls his eyes toward where she has indicated.
"No."
"No, you don't know him?"
Luchino gives no response.
"No, you don't speak Farsi?"
"Uh."
"I'll take that as a 'yes'. Do you know the frequency I should get on for Armed Forces Radio?"
"Radio?"
"Yes. This helicopter has a radio. I THINK the thing works. I don't want to call an Arab base. I want to hit one of ours, if possible. But I don't know the contact codes. I don't know which direction to direct this pilot to fly, or how to tell if he is taking us where I told him. No OMNI's here."
"Signal."
"You want your little can signal? You want to signal the others with the radio?"
Motioning again to the Arab, she makes him exit the chopper and move off to the nose again. Carefully following, she guides him over to the packs, has him replace the items in Luchino's pack, and carry it to the bay, then return for the equipment she stripped from the horse. When it is all aboard, she motions him in and to the back while she again sits in front.
Taking a canteen, she motions offering some to Luchino. The Arab shakes his head "no" again.
Putting the Arab back outside face down in front of the nose, she moves to Luchino's pack, again removing the can. She sets it carefully beside his limp hand.
Returning to the pilot's seat, she again fiddles with the power switch and the radio. Tuning around the dial, she hears nothing. Able to think of nothing else, she has the Arab board again and resume the pilot's chair. She has him use the radio, but he can not raise anyone, either, as far as she can tell.
Well, now we have more men and equipment than the horse can carry, the same amount of water, and another body to share it with us. Things are going SO well.
Making her decision, Despina picks up the saddle and her pack. Setting it outside, she quickly tacks up the stallion again.
Leaving Luchino may be foolhardy, but I can't think of any other solution. Carrying only one, the horse will get further, and still is the only one I can count on to go to water.
Once she is mounted, she rides over to the front of the Arab, gets his attention, and motions for him to raise the chopper. She knows no way to tell him where she needs to go, so she just turns the horse and again gives him his head. What if he pushes Luchino out after he gets airborne? ... No, stupid, he's got to stay at the controls. Just make sure he gets into the air.
Facing the chopper, she motions with the rifle for him to take it up. Soon, the engines grind, then the big rotor, then the other start to whirl. As the chopper lifts off, the horse becomes excited, so she lets him run. The chopper goes ahead, in the direction she's heading, but quite far up, so the backwash is not pelting them.
Accidental, or is he being considerate? That's the same thing I wondered when he set it down well away from us.
As the horse tires, she lets him fall into a swinging walk. Carefully keeping her mind blank, she studies the desert around her. It looks less and less lovely with each passing mile.
Word Count: 1466
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Thursday, December 18th, 2003
| |
11:51 pm - In the Desert -- The Tent
|
Long before sunset, Despina tops yet another sand dune and sees a black tent spread out over what surely must be an acre. Several trees are off to the north, near what looks as if it might be a small pond.
Apprehension fights with elation. Water! Danger! Capture! Boldly go...
The horse is not into stealth. He emits a high pitched whinny, confirming in Despina's mind that he is truly home. Still giving him his head, she allows him to curve down the steep part of the sand dune toward the spot she assumes to be the pond.
No motion is evident around the tent.
Surely someone must be around a tent of that size. His whistle should have traveled that far easily. Or maybe neighing horses are so commonplace that nobody paid any attention. A honking horn would excite no attention on most New York streets.
Despina is looking forward to being in the green area. Sheltered by a tree, maybe with a small breeze, she would be content for a while, sitting without thinking what fate she's destined for Luchino.
The stallion halts just inside the grassy area. Glancing up, Despina is surprised to see two well-armed figures mounted on fresh horses barring her way. With the sun slightly behind them, she can't see their facial expressions. She nudges the stallion forward. Their guns do not level at her, so she keeps going, right between them toward the pond.
I see you are the dominant horse here. Good for you. The men seem unsure of what to treat me as... an enemy soldier, or a link to your master.
Still ignoring the men, Despina dismounts, refills and slowly empties her canteen twice before her thirst is slaked. She notices that the stallion, also very thirsty, takes pauses in his drinking. Capping the canteen and returning it to her pack, she glances around to see where the horses are kept. Nothing is obvious, so she untacks him and allows him to go free.
One of the men behind her gasps.
He immediately begins to crop grass, heading slowly toward the shady spots. Still he ignores the other two horses, expecting them to move aside for him.
Skirting the pond, Despina heads toward the tent. She can see nothing inside, but her nose tells her that there is at least one cooking fire. Watching the ground for telltale signs as to where the entrance is, she lifts one end of the hide that probably once graced a goat and enters. All the soft chatter that she could hear as she approached stops abruptly. Standing quietly, she allows her eyes to adjust.
Soon she makes out shapes of women tending young children and smiles. Several of the younger faces smile in answer, but the older women maintain a stony silence.
"Does this branch of the Oasis Restaurant live up to its legendary service to all strangers when they request it?
An ancient Arab seated on cushions against a wall in a darkened corner of the room answers. "You are requesting hospitality?"
"Yes."
"You are an American soldier requesting Arab hospitality?"
"No. I am an American civilian in borrowed clothing and equipment who is lost in the desert requesting hospitality."
With a slight nod, he unfreezes the women, who bring her a bowl and a gourd. Knowing they don't drink in Muslim households, but also aware that mare milk can be fermented into a very strong beverage, Despina is undecided if she wouldn't be better off drinking from her canteen.
A ring of eyes, some curious, some hostile watch her every movement. Seating herself cross-legged on a pillow, she dips into the broth and slurps it off her fingers. I certainly hope Martha Stewart hasn't permeated the desert.
When the bowl is empty, she turns her attention to the gourd, carefully removing the peg in the end, and sipping cautiously, while trying to appear natural and at ease. After a few swallows, she recorks the gourd and produces her best belch.
I remember reading somewhere that Arabs offer food until the guest belches in satisfaction. I certainly hope this is one of the tribes that follow that custom. Otherwise, I've just been terribly rude.
The old man rises and moves to the opposite side of the fire. He addresses the two armed men at length, who answer him, then leave.
"You have traveled our deserts before?"
"No, not in this lifetime."
"Yet, you speak for hospitality and eat the Bedouin way, following our custom, rather than your own."
"I am in your tent, not my home. Insisting on my customary ways would be impolite."
"Somehow, you don't sound American. I studied as a young man in your Harvard, as has my son, and never did I encounter Americans who thought the world should do anything but learn how to be good Americans."
Yes, Americans know little of anywhere else in the world, even if they have traveled it extensively, and tend to be PROUD of that ignorance, but I don't care to acknowledge your insight, which means accepting your attitude.
"Is not every people proudest of their homeland and its ways, longing for its charms when they are away? When you lived in America, did you not eat with silverware, not your knife, seated at a table?"
Now it is his turn to change the subject rather than lose face. "My sons tell me you have returned my eldest's stallion to us. They say that you set him free here."
"Yes. Here is where so magnificent an animal belongs. Whoever bred him knew what they were doing. Such talent is not to be treated lightly, nor so valuable a bloodline lost without cause."
"Shukran!" the old patriarch intones, with a deep nod of his head. "Was he taken in war?"
Startled, Despina meets his eyes. "I guess you would have to say so."
"My son was ever a hothead. May I inquire as to his body?"
"I don't know where I was, where I am, or where I have been. I'm truly sorry I cannot direct you there accurately. If the wind were less active, it might be possible to backtrack the stallion."
Gazing into his eyes, Despina slowly realizes that he thinks his son is dead. "Uh, he was alive when I left the area."
The old man leaps up so rapidly that Despina draws back. "Alive, you say? You left an injured man on the desert?" His voice shakes with a cold fury.
"Of course not! I loaded him onto the horse first!"
"But... he is NOT with you now, and truly, I've seen NOBODY else but my son ride that stallion."
"He behaved like a perfect gentleman toward me."
"That does NOT sound like my son!" Giving her a crafty glance, he continues, "Tell me more."
Stuttering, Despina begins, "The horse!"
"Forget the horse! TELL ME OF MY SON."
"I don't know anything more about your son. After he attacked, I rode off on the horse and loaded up the injured man. Then I gave the horse his head."
"YOU took my son's horse away from him, not by stealth, but by besting him in an open attack, yet you say you are a citizen, not a soldier?" he continues, towering over Despina, his manner threatening.
"Well, yes, I guess so. He certainly had me convinced he was going to kill me."
"And you?"
"I don't know. I just did what seemed best at the time. I put one hand on the horse's neck, swung underneath with my feet going first up onto the horse's back, which knocked your son off, as he was leaning forward on the other side already, so I sort of took him off balance. Then I sat down in the saddle and got the reins. The horse never misbehaved at all. He just ran straight on until we were out of sight over a sand dune, then I slowed him and turned back to the tent, so I wouldn't get lost."
"Tent? What tent? There aren't any other tents out here. I'm the only royal who will put up with the heat outside of the city."
"I made one. Not a very good one. It probably isn't still standing."
"And you don't know where you were?"
"No."
"When you began at dawn, where was the sun in relationship to your body?"
As Despina carefully traces the shadows she protected her fair face from during the day, the old chieftain makes wavy lines in the sand. She dutifully tells him what gait the horse was using. She omits the helicopter incident nearly entirely, just saying that she left the man in the shade when it became impossible to take him any farther after he fell off the horse and she had no strength left to get him aboard again.
When she is done, he moves to the tent flap and shouts. Three people come running, including the helicopter pilot. Despina looks at him with incredulity.
"What did you do with Luchino?" she demands, starting toward him.
Pausing for a second in his discussion of the squiggles he'd made in the sand, he eyes an elderly woman and issues a command to her.
Despina looks at her solemnly when she feels an insistent tug on her shirtsleeve. Following the woman deeper into the tent, she is led past an area full of women and children into a tiny corner on the sunward side of the tent. No lamps light the area, but Despina can make out a pale face. She rushes to where Luchino is propped against some cushions, feeling for a pulse, ignoring his nakedness.
Suddenly the relative calm of the area is broken by the sound of the chopper.
"It must have been hidden under part of the tent!"
Spying a bowl of water and a damp rag, Despina wets it thoroughly and slaps it onto his chest, squeezing out the water and rubbing it all over.
Hearing a giggle, she looks around to see a shy-eyed dark slip of a girl. Making a covering motion with her hand, she tries to convince the girl to bring her something.
The flap she'd entered from on the opposite wall suddenly ripples, and the old man stands before her, eyes ablaze.
"Tannaz, get something to cover him! Your husband?"
"No, he's the man who was injured that I put on the horse."
"You look nothing alike apart from the uniform, so I doubt he's a brother."
"No."
"Then by your social rules and ours, you should not see him like this."
Picking her up by one arm with surprising strength, he leads her away from Luchino.
"How is he? Has he talked at all?"
"No. But Tannaz has nursed him most attentively. And now I will hear how you captured the helicopter and loaded this huge man, this not-husband, not-brother, into it."
"I... I'm not sure. He fell off the horse, and I couldn't get him back on; I just knew I couldn't. I leveled the gun at the pilot and made him get out, put the horse's gear in the belly of the chopper, then help me move Luchino and get him aboard. I almost didn't make it even with his help. I think he was relieved not to be shot. I'd never shot anyone before I met Luchino."
"And how many have you now totaled?"
"Just that first one, but it was in self-defense."
"As you stole the horse from my son in self-defense?"
"No. I felt no qualms taking the horse, as he'd tried to kill me while I was unarmed."
"You are not creating a very noble picture of my son."
"I can't change what he did, nor what I did. My gun was holding up one side of the tent. Luchino's was holding up the other side, and he was unconscious inside. I was looking the situation over when I saw your son on his horse. When he spotted me, he immediately charged. I'm not sure then that he knew I was a woman."
"I doubt he'd extend much courtesy to an infidel woman."
"What has made him so bitter?"
"He was an Arab youth, swarthy of skin, black haired, black eyed, at a time of national paranoia in your country... and was arrested and held without charges, without reason, preventing him from finishing his studies. He holds a hard grudge to be considered as a thug when he is of the royal family."
"Another victim of man's basic inhumanity toward man."
Further discussion is cut off by the return beating of a helicopter.
"May Allah grant that it heralds my son's safe return."
"And that his safe return begets ours."
"And where would you like to be returned to? When you don't know where you came from?"
"I began on a street in New York."
"And awoke in the desert?"
They have been moving through the cavernous tent as they talk, and now emerge at a spot just a goatskin away from the chopper.
I would forgo seeing his son up close again in a New York minute, thinks Despina as she steps outside.
Word Count: 2198
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Wednesday, December 17th, 2003
| |
11:57 pm - In the Desert -- The Prince's Return (6/30/11)
|
As Despina slips through the gap in the hides, she meets the haughty eyes of the eldest son.
"You!" he shouts in Arabic.
When the old man tells him to use English, a tirade bursts forth.
"You infidel! You left me for dead in the desert."
"If I truly wanted you dead in the desert, why did I direct the search of the chopper to retrieve you? It is not as if I initiated the attack! I merely thwarted your attempt to leave me dead in the desert."
Eyes flashing, he confers with his father in Arabic.
"I would speak with the wounded man, not this insolent chit."
All the men troop back inside, followed cautiously by Despina, not at all sure she should not make a try at flying the chopper after all.
When the group arrives in Luchino's corner of the tent, he is still uncovered, and the young girl is back, tenderly bathing his face.
At this sight, the angry prince bursts into another vehement barrage of Arabic.
"Daughter, I commanded you to cover him!" shouts the old man simultaneously.
The young girl scurries from the room, bowl and wash cloth in her hands.
Despina takes in the length of Luchino. I always seem to wind up with men who could pose for Michaelangelo's statue David. He is truly a magnificent-looking man. I wonder why he picked me to protect him? How long does this "officer in need of protection" thing last? He seems to be the type who will need protection for his entire life from one type of attack or another!
Another, older woman arrives and deftly wraps Luchino in a thawb, a long, flowing robe-like shirt worn by the men of the household. Although she rolls him around quite a bit getting it on him, he does not rouse.
When the prince approaches him and seems about to rough him up, Despina tackles him sideways, knocking him to the ground in a heap of pillows and rugs.
Exasperated, the prince addresses remarks at her, again reverting to Arabic. The twisted grimace on his face convinces Despina that they are NOT compliments.
Putting her hands on her hips, she says, "I'm supposed to protect him. From what all, I'm not sure, nor do I know for how long, but if you intend to abuse an unconscious man, you're going to have to kill me first to do it in my presence."
The old man stands watching the exchange with a quite bemused expression on his face. "I begin to see how she could have unhorsed you in the desert. She looks all soft and incompetent at arms, but when she explodes, she is like a lioness."
"You told him about that?" he shouts in English as he gets to his feet.
"How else could I explain having your horse? You certainly aren't the type to lend him to help someone else, from what I've seen. Had I told him I made an impassioned plea to your better nature, he'd have known it for a lie in a heartbeat."
"You shame me in front of my family."
"But it's not a shame to act that way when out of their sight, when you don't expect them to hear of it, when you are alone with your horse in the desert, facing an apparently unarmed woman?"
Luchino looks up at Despina. "Where?"
"Good! You're awake! We're somewhere that has Arabs and lots and lots of SAND. I think most likely Saudi Arabia, just because it has the greatest volume of space that would look like what I saw."
"Saudi?"
"Turkey, Iraq, Iran, Syria, Palestine, Jordan, Lebanon, Egypt... Somewhere else in the African Sahara... take your pick. My ear sure can't tell Farsi from Arabic, if there is even much difference. The horse is a purebred Arab of good quality and the father and eldest son have attended Harvard. The tent appears to be made of goatskins and sheepskins. The man returning to his home spent more time petting his dog than greeting any of the women who were excited to see him, but not given a word or glance. The father thanked me for turning the stallion free here and asked if he were a prize of war."
A bark from the father brought the young girl reluctantly back into the room. After an exchange, he announced, "The man has dog tags. Do you?"
"You still think I might not be a civilian?" Moving closer, Despina leans her head toward him, exposing her neck to him. She holds her body rigid as his hands encircle her neck, stroking down her back and shoulders to be sure there is no chain.
"No, Pina!"
"No, what? Don't let him touch me? Don't let him know I'm not a soldier? I'd rather let him touch to satisfy himself than be left lying around naked like they did with you."
The father moves into his line of vision. "She has requested hospitality of this house, and she also sent you to us when she returned the helicopter she'd captured. Do you also request hospitality?"
"Yes."
"She CAPTURED the helicopter? While on horseback? And attending a wounded man?" Sarcasm drips from the eldest son's words, in English, so she will be sure to understand his insult.
"No, I was dismounted at the time. I think the pilot was in shock. I think he thought you were dead when I had your horse. Even he seemed to realize that you would not give him up peacefully."
Glancing at his youngest brother, the prince could see she had told the story straight. "Did you not give a thought to trying to avenge me?"
"I had no weapon other than my knife. She seemed to know how to use the gun she held, and I thought she had. On YOU. All because you insist on preparing that ridiculous horse for a race alone, as though we were still tribesmen dependent on horses for our transportation. It is dangerous to live in the past, celebrating past glories."
"But you had a helicopter."
"Quit bullying him. HE did nothing dishonorable that I can see. Failure to kill a superiorly armed opponent when you are not expecting to be in battle is not a mortal crime. For all he knew, YOU were the man lying on the ground. He got you back safely, did he not? Nobody else could have before you suffered the effects of being alone on the desert without adequate water. I found your water bag attached to the saddle when I stripped the stallion.
"It seems to me that you are trying to blame HIM for your inadequacies. The only reason I had your horse was because you attacked me. It never would have occurred to me to steal your horse. However, when faced with the prospect of being run down by him, stealing him just seemed a natural consequence of the situation, brought on by your bad manners and belief that you were superior to a woman."
"Most people when chased by a man on horseback, will RUN."
"Why? A man cannot possibly hope to outrun a horse, but can do many things that change the balance of the situation once that horse gets close enough to touch. Suppose I had put a knife to his throat instead of capturing him? A sufficiently desperate person might do that. How did you know that I was a horse lover who would find it very hard to harm one, even when faced with self-preservation? It is far easier to kill one than capture it."
Despina's speech has had an effect on the prince. He has turned slightly pale. "All I wanted to do was get out of the desert."
Turning to his father, he says, "I will personally escort her and her comrade to the sook as soon as he is able to travel. I think she is very dangerous to have around."
"Definitely a blow to your ego," observes the old man, who has been resting comfortably on some cushions to one side, watching her tear into his son. It is a lesson he has felt needed for a long time, but was powerless to arrange to have delivered.
As they leave, Despina hears the father tell the son, "She has great heart. You could do much worse. Your horse already accepts her as master. I bet she could win over your hound and falcon, too, if she tried."
Word Count: 1416
Last updated 6/30/11, added and falcon; 8/19/06 (Changed on to one...entire life from one type of attack or another! --6/23/04.
current mood: amused
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Tuesday, December 16th, 2003
| |
12:00 am - In the Desert -- Alone at Last (6/23/04)
|
"Are you okay, Luchino?"
"Uh..."
"What's that supposed to mean?"
"You shouldn't have attacked him."
"I thought he was going to hit you."
"Can you try to be a little less provocative?"
"Like..."
"Not stealing stuff from them."
"Luchino, you'd still be out in the desert if I hadn't 'stolen' stuff. I didn't KEEP anything."
"Uh. And try not to bate the eldest son. You really went after him."
"HE tried to run me down with his horse. You slept through that little incident. I'm not allowed to fight back when attacked? That seems a bit unreasonable. If I have to meet some NYC rules of engagement for this 'officer in need of protection' gig, you'd probably better tell me now."
"We're a LONG way from New York City."
"I KNOW that! Where are we?"
"I don't know. Not where we're supposed to be, not any of us."
"Great. Is anyone looking for us?"
He shook his head. "Secret mission. We're on our own."
"Super great. Do you happen to know any Arabic or Farsi?"
"No. I wasn't the linguist of the group."
"That's one aspect of military training I'll never understand. If they insist on fighting wars on other people's soil, EVERY SOLDIER should be given at least a minimal working vocabulary to cover expected contact with non-combatants. It would do wonders for the way the world sees us, and we might not be such pariahs internationally. I'd settle for being able to ask someone OTHER than the father or his touchy eldest son 'where's the bathroom?'"
"Pina, I'll lay you odds there isn't one."
"They've got to have a latrine, at least. You can't mix your feces and your food and live a long life."
"Speaking of food, is there any to be had?"
"Well, if you're hungry, that's a good sign."
"Help me up."
Although Despina tries, he is not able to get up.
"I'll see if I can scare up something to eat. You work on the output problem."
Despina turns toward the side of the tent where she'd come in the first time, and soon is in a maze of passages. Using her nose as much as her memory, she finds her way back to the area where the cooking fires are. Once there, she pantomimes eating from a bowl, and pretends to be Luchino lying on the floor.
With a nod from one of the older women, the young girl who had been caring for Luchino collects a bowl and a bladder and flies out of the room.
Looking around a bit, Despina wonders what the sign language is for "I have to go potty." The old man and his eldest son are not there.
Despina tries pantomiming flushing a stool, squatting, pretending to dig a hole, and hits a stony wall of silence, although all eyes are on her. Soon she becomes aware that she has a wider audience.
"Charades? I believe the parlor game is called? I doubt they've ever seen anything like that."
Blowing a puff of air toward a piece of hair that has drooped into her face, Despina confides, "I don't know the Farsi for 'Where's the john?'"
Despite his desire to dislike Despina, a surprised burst of laughter greets this revelation.
"I'll escort you."
Taking her arm courteously, he guides her back into the maze of passages, ending on one side where a long trench has been dug.
“We are a very modern tribe. When we come to the desert, we bring all the comforts of home with us. Before, there would have been no sanitation. This is a recent innovation. The Bedouin traditionally…" he stops, lacking the vocabulary to be polite while discussing the former lack of sanitary arrangements.
“Luchino said there wouldn’t be.”
Carefully, he explains how the women of the tribe handle their sanitation, then discretely leaves.
Well, that was a total about face, disposition-wise. I wonder what the new game is? Maybe he's just cheerful because Luchino's awake and that probably means we can be disposed of in the 'sook' soon. Should I ask what 'sook' is? It can't be a river... although just leaving the bodies out here would be as good as dumping them in the river. It would be accidental if any of the group's bodies were found.
With few wrong turns, Despina returns to Luchino's quarters.
"Trench it is. A new addition, our host’s son explained. On the northwest wall."
Despina frowns at the young girl, who is fawning over Luchino. Pointing to the bowl, then to her lips, she says, "Soup."
She pantomimes sniffing it, scratches her head in puzzlement, then says, "What is that?"
A delightful smile lights the girl's face. "Shoubet sbaanegh," she beams, turning toward Luchino, scooping up some more and repeating, "Shoubet sbaanegh," as she puts it neatly into his open mouth.
"She certainly is attentive to you. Are all their women trained from birth to make over the men like that?"
Luchino's mouth is full of soup, but his eyes are eloquent. Swallowing, he says, "I think a guy could learn to get used to being treated like this."
"It seems to be a pretty primitive level of interaction, and very one-sided. If you wanted more from a relationship than sex, and matured to the point where you treasured your ability to feed yourself, where would you go for it? For that matter, what is offered to the women for intellectual stimulation?"
"Maybe our women are stimulated by things Western women find uninteresting."
Turning, Despina's eyes lock with the eldest son's. In his hands are two more bowls.
"Shoubet sbaanegh?" inquires Despina. "If I've pantomimed properly, that should be the name of the soup."
Seating herself cross-legged, Despina rummages in her pack for the silverware that goes with the meals ready to eat packages. Spooning up some, she tastes appreciatively, then says, "Celery, onion, rice, spinach? And mystery meat. Not the goats that were wearing those tent skins, I hope." Then she blushes, adding, "Not to give offense. It is delicious, no matter what is in it." Her eyes widen in horror. "The only livestock I've seen are horses. Please, have a kindness. If this is horse meat, lie to me."
"Arabs rarely eat their horses. They are far too valuable. Where did you get that idea?"
"I read a story about an Arab who had learned that his arch enemy had become Christian, and he decided to test his faith by asking for his famous horse, some long name that started with a B, I believe, but that I've forgotten over the years.
"Once I called him Bucephalus, but when I later looked that up, I discovered he was Alexander the Great's horse, and the legend was NOT about him.
"The Muslim rides fast and hard, catching up to the Christian chieftain way ahead of his servants and household, with just his faithful retainer there.
"Before they will talk of serious things, tradition says they must dine. The meal takes a long time being prepared, but is excellent when it comes. After finishing, the man makes his request and promptly gets turned down. Triumphantly, the visitor proclaims that the chieftain is therefore not a true Christian. But the great chief has the last word.
"'There were no animals up with the group at the front. I gave him to you before you did ask. We are eating him.'"
"I am speechless that an American school girl would have run into that legend. So THAT's why you belched. Father was astounded that you would know ancient Bedouin customs. He will find this story delicious. You must relate it to him just as you did here.
Noting the anxiety she still seems to possess, he adds, "Rest assured, we are eating lamb."
At his ease, laughing and chatting comfortably, the eldest son is devilishly handsome and seems to be determined to turn over a new leaf with Despina. While his youngest sister continues to feed Luchino, he begins to captivate the much more sophisticated Despina.
"Is your name likely to be pronounceable?"
"Omar Mu'tazz Bin Rashad." Arching an eyebrow, he challenges her to repeat it accurately.
"Omar is easy; we have the actor Omar Sharif. Omar means 'long life, first son, most high, the Prophet's follower,' I once read in a fan magazine when I was a more impressionable age. Sharif was rendered as 'honest, noble, distinguished', a suitable movie star sounding Arab name with pleasing meanings to match his pleasing looks.
"Bin I think is like the Ibn I know from the horse pedigrees as 'son of' and one good stallion from Colorado, I think, was named Three B Rashad or Rashid or Rashiek I can't remember which. But I don't know what Rashad means."
"You constantly astonish me. Rashad is 'integrity of conduct,' and Mu'tazz means 'proud, mighty'."
"Rashad then fits your father well, from what little I know of him. </i>Mu'tazz</i> seems most like the way you were on the desert. Where did the anger go?"
"I went out and checked Bahir over. He was not mistreated, and will still be able to go into the race. He said very pleasing things about you. His name means 'dazzling, brilliant'."
"It suits him and his brilliant chestnut coat. I'd give him a day off. Part of the way, he carried double, Luchino and me, until Luchino got to thrashing around, and I couldn't hold him on any longer."
Glancing up at his younger sister, Omar Mu'tazz directs a barrage of Arabic at her. Despina can catch only the first word, or what she thinks is the first word, and from the intonation and way the young girl turns to face Omar, decides it must be her name. She rises gracefully, collects all three bowls and disappears.
"Is Tannaz her given name then?"
"You have a good ear. Yes. Tannaz means 'coquettish'."
"Ah, another imminently suitable sobriquet. If she were an American girl, I'd think she has quite a crush on Luchino, but I don't know enough about your women to know if that is their natural way of treating men, her natural way, or if she really is smitten with him."
"You may be right. Our Tannaz is very inexperienced. And the dramatic way Luchino appeared in her life, when everyone expected Habib Halim to return with me, might make him more appealing, as well."
"Habib Halim would be the pilot? Another brother?"
"Yes, our youngest. Habib is 'beloved', and Halim means 'mild, gentle, patient'. I despair of ever making a decent fighting man of him."
"Ah, another name from the Arabian horse's pedigrees. I have a stallion sire by El Hilal, 'New Moon', whose sire was imported from Egypt and is Ansata Ibn Halima. The Ansata is the name of the American farm that did the importing, but the Ibn Halima was probably original authentic Arabic. As for your brother, there's more to life than enmity and fighting. Maybe his path lies in another direction. You were awfully harsh with him. Really, he had no chance to do anything but what he did once he'd made up his mind to come close to us. Would you really have had him recognize Bahir, but NOT check us out?"
Stiffening at the criticism in her last words, Omar stands, looking at Luchino, then says over his shoulder to her, "You may be more comfortable among the women."
"I recognize that tone of assumed dismissal, but since I’m not an Arab woman, I can’t speak a word to them, they don’t play Charades well, and I don’t trust you to question Luchino in a civilized manner, I think I’ll stay put, thank you."
Glaring at her, his nostrils flaring, he says nothing.
Word Count: 1929
Last updated 6/23/04.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Monday, December 15th, 2003
| |
12:05 am - In the Desert -- The Interview (6/28/04)
|
Pointedly ignoring Despina, Omar pierces Luchino with his flashing black eyes as though he could stab him with them. "What's your rank, soldier?"
"He's a sergeant with the New York Police force. He showed me his badge when he asked me to protect his back."
"Police? New York? Dressed like this? Here?"
"Speaking of that, just where is here? Neither one of us have any idea where we are."
"Does a true man hide behind a woman's skirts?"
"I don't wear skirts, and until he can at least stand and walk, I will continue to do my assigned job."
Bowing elaborately to her, he sneers, "Would you do me the honor of asking your sergeant his full name?"
"Draw in your horns, Pina. I'll talk to him a bit. I'm Daniele Luchino Fontana; as she says, a sergeant in the New York City Police. I am currently on detached police duty to Iraq, but if she's right, we're not even in Iraq. We never reached the base we're supposed to be based out of. She really is a civilian brought along because of some trouble I got her into in New York while she was protecting my back. There wasn't time to get her into a witness protection program. Having a gang track her to Iraq would have been quite preposterous, so I thought I was protecting HER by bringing her along."
Despina notes that Omar does NOT confirm the country they are in. "I only hired people to feed my horses for 10 days, and that is surely up by now. I've sort of lost track."
I really have far deeper problems than that. I have NOTHING to prove I am a US citizen. Giving my purse to RoseMarie means that I have nothing to prove who I am at all. Walking into a US consulate anywhere in the world and trying to explain to them how I got here without a passport, shots, visas, traveler's checks, airline tickets... Well, I wouldn't believe it, and I lived it.
"How many horses do you have, Despina?"
"Thirty-two, I think."
Both men stare at her in astonishment. Luchino is the braver of the two. "What on earth do you do with that many animals?"
"Well, prior to 911, I sold the youngsters across the US and occasionally into Canada. I have very good quality stock, that do well in the show ring, or in performance events. They have good dispositions, like your stallion does, and are very free-shouldered, moving well, so they are well-suited to whatever type of athletic contests their new owners dream up to put them in, or just to be companions to people who value intelligent animals."
"What will happen to them?"
"I don't know. I don't have enough hay on hand to feed them for more than a month, and I am not sure the neighbor will go ahead and cut and bale mine without me nagging him about it, especially if I don't show up, and word circulates that I have disappeared without a trace. If they think they'll get paid when I get back, things are more likely to flow along, but I don't know where I am, so I don't know how to get hold of anyone. I've been trying not to think about it too much."
"Who would you contact, if you could?" asks Luchino with concern.
"Well, my mother, first of all, but I don't have her phone number memorized. I THINK I can remember or figure out my step-father's email address, but even so, they are 1500 miles from where the horses are."
"How did you happen to end up around here?"
Without looking at Luchino, Despina says, "It was dark, and the engine began to run very roughly. We put on parachutes and jumped from the ailing airplane rather than crash with it. He held onto the straps of mine and pulled the ripcord so I'd land safely, as I'd never done it, or even been shown what to pull. With my luck, I'd have unbuckled the thing while trying to open it."
"How many people jumped?"
"I don't know. Would a pilot jump out of his plane and let it just fly as long as it could? Or is it like the captain of a ship going down with his vessel?"
"Can you prove any of that?" The chip is decidedly back on his shoulder. He obviously does not believe her story.
"Well, I made a sort of a tent out of our two parachutes near where you tried to run me down. I buried the edges of one of them in some of the sand, so maybe they'd still be there, and not blown away. I'd walked southeast from them to the ridge where I first saw you."
"There was nothing in writing in your kit when Saqr searched them."
"Who's Saqr?"
"Another brother, the next oldest after me. His name means 'falcon'."
Sometime while Despina is explaining their presence, Luchino's eyes close again. Glancing down, Omar notices, then looks expectantly at Despina.
"Where do you want to spend the night?"
"Uh, I hadn't given it a thought. If he awakes and calls out, would I be within hearing?"
Omar's expressive eyes widen. "If he calls out, EVERYONE will be within hearing. This is a tent. The walls do NOT muffle sound well."
"Then I'd rather sleep alone."
Luchino surprises both of them. "I'd feel better, since I can't seem to get up alone, if you were within sight. Not that I could do anything toward offering protection, in my condition."
Again, the raised eyebrow. A half smile flirts with Omar's lips.
He's really relishing my moral dilemma. Staying the night with Luchino alone would have been unthinkable before I married Cu. Now, I really don't feel bothered about it. It is just the appearance of it that is the problem.
"If you feel your virtue would be compromised, I can arrange for my mother to sleep here, too."
"Ah, yes. That would probably be best. His mind at ease, but the situation chaperoned, as well. Thank you for that thought. Oh, can you take him to the latrine, or is there a bed pan? I'd hate to have to try to do that in the dark with your mother."
Luchino shakes his head "no". "I don't think I can get up, Pina. Maybe an old fashioned slop jar would be the better course of valor." His face colors slightly as he speaks. "I'd rather have your help, Omar, than your mother's or Despina's, if you can condescend enough to do it."
Giving his noble half bow, Omar retires from the room. "So be it. I'll make the arrangements."
Soon, one of the gray-haired matrons Despina had seen around the cooking fires comes in, carrying a small, ornately decorated pottery jug. Setting it down beside Luchino wordlessly, she begins to rearrange the pillows. Watching her carefully, Despina does the same with the pillows on her side of the room. When Omar's mother is finished, she takes Despina's arm and leads her out. Soon the sound of water hitting the side of the jar is audible. Omar passes them in the hall, giving a nod to his mother. She then leads Despina over to her pile of pillows, picks up the jar and exits.
"That must have been rather unpleasant for you."
"I don't want to talk about it. I don't even want to think about it." Luchino's arm is covering his eyes.
Taking the hint, Despina turns away and lies down, squirming around to find a comfortable position on this rather odd bed. At least it is more comfortable than the sand was last night. I'm tired enough to sleep right straight through the sunrise. I'm sure my biorhythms are messed up enough that I won't wake up at dawn here, anyway. I think it is the bird song that gets me up, and I doubt there is a lot of that here. Just as her eyelids grow heavy, Despina hears the dull clunk of the pot being replaced beside Luchino.
Word Count: 1376
Last updated 6/28/04.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
| Sunday, December 14th, 2003
| |
12:09 am - In the Desert -- Morning Has Broken (6/30/04)
|
But it is not the birdsong, nor the dawn that rouses Despina the next morning. Before dawn, Omar's mother makes minuscule rustling noises as she gets up, so Despina joins her. Luchino appears to be sleeping soundly, so she feels free to check out the tent at rest. As she suspected, the tent appears to be divided into a men's side and a women's side.
Making a mental checklist in her head, Despina decides what she must do.
1) Contact someone from home.
2) Well, that really can't be first, as I don't know how to get in touch with anyone. Revised #1. Find phone/internet capable computer/radio.
1) Sneak into helicopter and make radio contact with a US base.
2) Get onto US territory, US Consulate, US military base.
3) Contact someone from home.
4) Get Luchino checked out by a competent doctor. Find out why he blacks out.
5) Try not to cause an international incident while doing 1-4.
6) Pick up more of the language so we're not so dependent on Arab translators, who may or may not have our best interests at heart.
7) Learn how to prepare native foods so if we strike out alone, at least I'll be better prepared to try to live off the land.
8) Figure out some way to get in touch with the rest of the group without letting anyone know there is a rest of the group.
9) Check into showers/laundry arrangements before my clothes walk away of their own volition.
10) Compose messages for various people/situations so if the opportunity presents itself, I can proceed without wasting a lot of time thinking about what to say.
Despina comes out of her daydream after she’s entered the latrine in the wake of Omar’s mother. Not knowing their feelings on privacy, she withdraws, then reenters when his mother leaves. A group of women head toward the oasis.
Despina tags along. Outside sounds begin to penetrate. I was wrong. There is birdsong. Horse sounds, too, when I start to listen for them. I wonder if Bahir is still running loose. I didn't check the sex of the other's mounts. If they are mares, he might have had quite a night of it. That would make US foals very late, giving them a hard winter to live through, but in a more forgiving climate, this might be the best time to breed, as the foals would be bigger when summer was at its worst.
When they reach the far edge, out of sight of the tent, they strip and wade in, laughing and splashing.
Hesitating briefly, Despina decides she is not QUITE that dirty, yet. She turns back.
After checking to be sure Luchino is still sound asleep, she heads toward what she thinks of as the kitchen area. There she sees Omar’s mother again, refreshed and clean, adding dung to the fire. Several other older women are seated around the fire, so Despina tries to inconspicuously join them.
All conversation ceases. Despina hides her head, then looks up and motions for them to continue talking. Moments pass, then Omar’s mother says something while still looking at her. When nobody else says anything, Despina tries to repeat what she has heard.
When she does nothing else, gradually the women loosen up and return to their conversations. With her head down, Despina lets the waves of sound wash over her, not trying to absorb any of it.
"You're up early. I thought as tired as you seemed last evening, you'd probably sleep in."
Despina stands to greet Rashad. She's not quite sure what is proper, but she doesn't wish to stay seated while he enters. She smiles widely and looks around to see what the other women are doing. "Are all of these your wives, or is that an impertinent question?"
"You are always delightfully impertinent. This is Ashraf, my head wife."
"Ah, yes, Omar's mother. I met her last night, but your son ignores women, so she was nameless, even though she stayed the night with us. Such a pretty name must have a neat meaning."
"Depending on the context, it can mean nobler or noblest."
"How fitting. When I came in and sat down, they stopped what they were doing, and Ashraf asked me something, or said something to me. Will you see if she can remember what it is? One of my greatest frustrations is not being able to communicate with the people around me."
After a brief conversation, he turns to her. "She is quite concerned that you should NOT leave your man alone. He seemed very uneasy without you yesterday, and calmed when you were in sight."
"I'll go check on him at once. Thank her for me. Is there any way to get him to a doctor to be checked out? I didn't experience blackouts after my drop in the parachute, so I can't imagine what could have been different for him. We landed near each other, and in that sand, there is nothing that would cause an injury."
"Maybe he landed on some part of his back or neck wrong?"
With an elaborate shrug, Despina heads out the flap that will lead to the passages that return to Luchino's room.
Well, that did nothing to decrease my "to do" list. It is nice to know the name of the mother. I wonder if Omar's manners are considered rude in the family, or if it just seems that way because I am from a different culture? A son would no more peremptorily order his mother onto night watch of a total stranger, and NOT tell anyone her name than the man in the moon.
As she enters, Luchino rolls and moans a bit. Despina rushes to his side, feeling his forehead for fever, but he seems a normal temperature. Well, maybe he was just legitimately cold last night because his thawb was so thin compared to my camo.
Tannaz enters with her customary bowl of water, but steam rises from it this time.
I didn't see her at the fire. I wonder where she got the hot water. Is there more than one fire in the tent? She'll burn him if she bathes him with water that hot.
Kneeling to one side of Luchino's body, she reveals a packet of powder that she adds slowly to the water, agitating it as she dribbles it in.
When Luchino opens his eyes, it is not to Despina's smiling face, but Tannaz's that he first turns. She holds the bowl under his nose, letting the steam waft upward.
After several deep breaths, Luchino meets Despina's eye.
"Nothing earth-shattering developed during the night. ¿Hablas español? by any chance? If so, we might be able to have a private conversation right in the middle of a tent that is not sound proof."
"What?"
"Well, I guess that ends that pipe dream. I tried to get the father to get you to a doctor because of the way you keep blacking out. He's not playing. Instead of applying himself to investigating solutions, he speculated on probable causes."
"Causes?"
"Say, are you tracking this morning, or are we back to firing on one cylinder?"
"Uh..."
"Luchino, if you can make a sentence in any topic, please do! I need some reassurance!"
"Good morning?"
"Good morning! I'll be back when you're less distracted!" Rolling her eyes, she whips open the flap they'd entered when they came from the helicopter and nearly runs straight into Omar's chest. "Oh!" Their eyes meet and hold endlessly. Flustered, she jerkily turns back into the room, thinking furiously. I finally seem to be falling for a guy short enough to slow dance comfortably with, and I'll just bet his religion doesn't allow it!
"Omar's here," she announces unnecessarily to cover the flush she can feel creeping up her face.
"Good morning," Luchino repeats more heartily, smiling first at Tannaz, then at her brother.
Omar moves to Luchino's other side as he says, "Would a morning constitutional suit?"
Despina moves over to Luchino's other shoulder, taking hold under his armpit. Between her and Omar, Luchino is propped erect and guided toward the latrine. Tannaz rushes to hold the flap open. "Saqr!" As they make their way through the passages, a full volume barrage of Arabic whooshes from Omar.
At the entry to the latrine, a man who is presumably Saqr moves up to take Despina's place. She is quite willing by then to let go, for Luchino's weight is highly difficult for her to handle. She heads back toward the "kitchen", smiling at the older ladies as she again seats herself among them.
This is pretty hopeless. I don't see a single item I recognize. I know they have rice, but I don't see any. I know what a date looks like, even in its husk, but see none. Maybe that meat is lamb, but I couldn't prove it without an English style supermarket label on it. The only thing I'm sure of is that there's no pork present.
Their nimble hands move effortlessly from task to task, chopping, shredding, tearing, separating, mixing, and moving a variety of objects Despina can't decide if are pottery or metal off the fire. Soon pungent aromas float around the area. A bowl of some thick pudding-like concoction is passed to Rashad, who ladles a yellowish sauce over it, sprinkles it with something from one of the bowls of chopped items, and settles back to eat. As bowls are filled, men miraculously arrive to claim them. Some do not douse their bowl with the yellow sauce, others add two or three different ingredients on top, then smother the entire thing, while still others ignore the sauce entirely. Not a single woman picks up even a tiny tidbit to nibble on until every man has eaten his fill. Male children eat next, then the most prominent wives. Despina does not reach for anything. Unsure of her position in such a caste-bound system, she is willing to wait until her hunger pangs are undeniable.
Word Count: 1636
Last updated 6/30/04.
|
|
(comment on this)
|
|
|
|
|
![[info]](http://l-stat.livejournal.com/img/userinfo.gif?v=92.2){kind=small}
despinadesert's journal