roger bevins iii
These were, it must be conceded, in the majority, outnumbering our ilk by perhaps an order of magnitude.
hans vollman
Topenbdale, Haggerdown, Messerschmidt, Brown.
roger bevins iii
Underscoring the exceptional qualities of those of us who soldiered on.
hans vollman
Coe, Mumford, Risely, Rowe.
Their places were so quiet, and from these, at dusk, as we whirled out of our respective home-places, nothing whirled out whatsoever, and the contents of their— roger bevins iii
Sick-boxes.
hans vollman
Lay down there inert, discarded, neglected.
roger bevins iii
Regrettable.
hans vollman
Like discarded horses waiting in vain for beloved riders to return.
roger bevins iii
Edgmont, Tody, Blasingame, Free.
hans vollman
Haberknott, Bewler, Darby, Kerr.
roger bevins iii
These were a chirpy, tepid, desireless sort, generally, and had lingered, if at all, for only the briefest of moments, so completely satisfactory had they found their tenure in that previous place.
hans vollman
Smiling, grateful, gazing about themselves in wonder, favoring us with a last fond look as they— roger bevins iii
Surrendered.
hans vollman
Succumbed.
roger bevins iii
Capitulated.
hans vollman
XLIII.
We found the gentleman as had been described to us, near Bellingwether, Husband, Father, Shipwright.
hans vollman Sitting cross-legged and defeated in a patch of tall grass.
roger bevins iii As we approached, he lifted head from hands and heaved a great sigh. He might have been, in that moment, a sculpture on the theme of Loss.
hans vollman Shall we? Mr. Vollman said.
I hesitated.
The Reverend would not approve, I said.
The Reverend is not here, he said.
roger bevins iii
XLIV.
In order to occupy the greatest percentage of the gentleman’s volume, I lowered myself into his lap and sat cross-legged, just as he was sitting.
hans vollman The two now comprised one sitting man, Mr. Vollman’s greater girth somewhat overflowing the gentleman, his massive member existing wholly outside the gentleman, pointing up at the moon.
roger bevins iii It was quite something.
Quite something in there.
Bevins, come in! I called out. This is not to be missed.
hans vollman I went in, assuming the same cross-legged posture.
roger bevins iii And the three of us were one.
hans vollman So to speak.
roger bevins iii
XLV.
There was a touch of prairie about the fellow.
hans vollman Yes.
roger bevins iii Like stepping into a summer barn late at night.
hans vollman Or a musty plains office, where some bright candle still burns.
roger bevins iii Vast. Windswept. New. Sad.
hans vollman Spacious. Curious. Doom-minded. Ambitious.
roger bevins iii Back slightly out.
hans vollman Right boot chafing.
roger bevins iii The recent entry of the (youthful) Mr. Bevins now caused the gentleman a mild thought-swerve back to a scene from his own (wild) youth: a soft-spoken but retrograde (dirty cheeks, kind eyes) lass leading him shyly down a muddy path, nettles accruing on her swaying green skirt as, in his mind, at the time, a touch of shame rose up, having to do with his sense that this girl was not really fair game, i.e., was more beast than lady, i.e., did not even know how to read.
hans vollman Becoming aware of that which he was remembering, the man’s face reddened (we could feel it reddening) at the thought that he was (in the midst of this tragic circumstance) remembering such a sordid incident.
roger bevins iii And he hurriedly directed his (our) mind elsewhere, so as to leave this inappropriate thought behind.
hans vollman
XLVI.
Tried to “see” his boy’s face.
roger bevins iii
Couldn’t.
hans vollman
Tried to “hear” the boy’s laugh.
roger bevins iii
Couldn’t.
hans vollman
Attempted to recall some particular incident involving the boy, in hope this might— roger bevins iii
First time we fitted him for a suit.
Thus thought the gentleman.
(This did the trick.) First time we fitted him for a suit, he looked down at the trousers and then up at me, amazed, as if to say: Father, I am wearing grown-up pants.
Shirtless, barefoot, pale round belly like an old man’s. Then the little cuffed shirt and buttoning it up.
Goodbye, little belly, we are enshirting you now.
Enshirting? I do not believe that is even a word, Father.
I tied the little tie. Spun him around for a look.
We have dressed up a wild savage, looks like, I said.
He made the growling face. His hair stuck straight up, his cheeks were red. (Racing around that store just previous, he had knocked over a rack of socks.) The tailor, complicit, brought out the little jacket with much pomp.
Then the shy boyish smile as I slid the jacket on him.
Say, he said, don’t I look fine, Father?
Then no thought at all for a while, and we just looked about us: bare trees black against the dark-blue sky.