23
got up blowing smoke from his gun barrel
body covered with red welts. In a burst of
speed his feet reached the bodies. I had fired
twice. He had fired four times. Every bullet
had found a vital spot.
One soldier lay on his back, legs twisted
under him, a hole in the middle of his fore-
head. Another was still alive, twitching con-
vulsively as blood spurted from a neck
wound. The third had been shot three times
in the stomach. He lay face down hands
clasped over his stomach, his machine gun
still smoking three yards away, white smoke
curling up from the grass. It was a subdivi-
sion street, lawns, palm trees, bungalows
built along one side, vacant lot opposite,
could have been Palm Beach, Florida, empty
ten years, weeds, palm branches in the drive-
ways, windows broken, no sign of life.
The boy went through pockets with expert
fingers: a knife, identification papers, cigar-
ettes, a packet of kif. Two of the soldiers had
1292/1780
23
been carrying carbines, the third a subma-
chine gun. “No good Czech grease gun” the
boy said, and kicked it aside after unclipping
the magazine. The carbines he propped
against a palm tree. We dragged the bodies
into a ditch. The pressure of pain lent manic
power and precision to our movements. We
rushed about dragging palm branches to
heap on the bodies. We couldn’t stop.
We found a Christmas tree, bits of silver
paper twisted in its brown needles, and
heaved it over onto the dead soldiers. We
paused, panting, shivering, and looked at
each other. Spots boiled in front of my eyes
blood pounded to neck and crotch feeling the
strap tighten hot squeezing pressure inside
stomach intestines a muffled explosion as
scalding diarrhea spurted down the backs of
our trembling thighs the Boy Scout Manual
floated across summer afternoons the boy’s
cracked broken film voice seeing the take
from outside the shelf I rummaged in the
1293/1780
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23
shelf knew what I was looking for along a
flagstone path feet like blocks of wood trail-
ing black oily shit this must be the kitchen
door open rusty electric stove moldy chili
dishes food containers silver paper knew
what I was looking for rummaged in the
shelves fingers numb wet-dream tension in
my crotch and I knew there was not much
time found a can of baking powder emptied
it into a porcelain fruit bowl painted roses no
water silver pies choking in a red haze not
much time out into the ruined garden fish
pond stagnant water green slime a frog
jumped the boy was tearing at his jockstrap I
sat down and slipped my strap off strap
halfway down his thighs cock flipped out stiff
he lost balance fell on his side I pulled the
strap down off his feet he turned on his back
knees up body arched pulled together spur-
ted neck tumescent choking I dipped water
and green slime into the bowl with both
hands mixed a paste slapped the paste on
1294/1780
23
both sides of his neck and down the chest to
the heart ejaculated across his quivering
stomach I dipped more paste held it to the
sides of my throbbing neck then down the
chest I could breathe now easier to move
more paste down the boy’s stomach and
thighs to the feet turned him over and
rubbed the paste down his back where the
nettles had whipped great welts across the
back he sighed simpered body went limp and
emptied again. I stood up and rubbed the
paste over my body the pain was going and
the numbness. I flopped down beside the boy
and fell into a deep sleep.
“Five Indian youths accompanied us from
the village in the capacity of guides. Actually
they seemed quite ignorant of the country we
were traversing and spent much of their time
hunting with an old muzzle-loading shotgun
more hazardous to the hunters than the
quarry. Five days out of Candiru in the head
waters of the Baboonsasshole, they managed
1295/1780
23
to wound a deer. Chasing the wounded an-
imal in wild excitement they ran though a
patch of nettles. They emerged covered from
head to foot with pulsing welts whipped
across red skins like dusky roses. Fortunately
they were wearing loincloths. Pain seemed to
lend fleetness and energy to the pursuit and
they brought the deer down with another
shot. They closed on the dying animal with
shrill cries of triumph and severed its head
with a machete. Quite suddenly they were si-
lent looking at each other and with one ac-
cord were seized by uncontrollable diarrhea.
They tore off their loincloths in a frenzy of
lust, faces tumescent eyes swollen shut,
threw themselves on the ground ejaculating
and defecating again and again. We watched,
powerless to aid them, until the Chinese
cook with rare presence of mind mixed bak-
ing powder into a thick paste with water. He
applied this paste to the neck of the nearest
youth and then down the chest to the heart.
1296/1780
26
In this way he was able to save two of the
youths but the other three perished in erotic
convulsions. As to whether the nettles were
of a special variety or the symptoms resulted
from an excess of formic acid circulated
through the blood by exertion, I could not
say. The prompt relief afforded by applying
an alkaline paste would suggest that the
symptoms resulted from some form of acid
poisoning.”
Quote
Greenbaum
early
explorer.
When we woke up the sun was setting. We
were smeared with a dried paste of shit, bak-
ing powder and green slime as if anointed for
some ceremony or sacrifice. We found soap
in the kitchen and washed off the crusted
paste feeling rather like molting snakes. We
dined on vichyssoise, cold crab meat and
brandied peaches. The boy refused to sleep
in the house, saying simply that it was “very
bad place.” So we dragged a mattress to the
garage and slept there, the carbines ready, a
1297/1780
23
snub-nosed .38 by each hand. Never keep a
pistol under your pillow where you have to
reach up for it. Keep it down by your hand at
the crotch. That way you can come up shoot-
ing right through the blanket.
At dawn we set out through the ruined
suburbs, no signs of life, the air windless and
dead. From time to time the boy would stop,
sniffing like a dog.
“This way Meester.”
We were walking down a long avenue
littered with palm branches. Suddenly the air
was full of robins, thousands of them, set-
tling in the ruined gardens, perching on the
empty houses, splashing in bird baths full of
rain water. A boy on a red bicycle flashed
past. He made a wide U-turn and pulled in to
the curb beside us. He was naked except for
ared jockstrap, belt and flexible black shoes,
his flesh red as terra cotta, smooth poreless
skin tight over the cheekbones, deep-set
black eyes and a casque of black hair. At his
1298/1780
23
belt was an eighteen-inch bowie knife with
knuckle-duster handle. He said no word of
greeting. He sat there, one foot on the curb,
looking at the Dib. His ears which stuck out
from the head trembled slightly and his eyes
glistened. He licked his lips and said one
word in a language unknown to me. The Dib
nodded matter-of-factly. He turned to me.
“He very hot. Been riding three days. Fuck
now talk later.”
The boy propped his bicycle against the
curb. He took off his belt and knife and
dropped them on a bench. He sat down on
the bench and shoved his jockstrap down
over his shoes. His red cock flipped out stiff
and lubricating. The boy stood up. Beneath
thin red ribs his heart throbbed and poun-
ded. The Dib peeled off his jockstrap scrap-
ing erection. He stepped out of the strap and
tossed the boy a tin of Vaseline from his
shoeshine box. The boy caught it and rubbed
Vaseline on his cock, throbbing to his
1299/1780
22
heartbeats. The Dib stepped toward him and
the boy caught him by the hips turning him
around. The Dib parted his cheeks with both
hands leaning forward and the red penis
quivered into his flesh. Holding the Dib’s
hips in both hands the boy’s body contracted
pulling together. His ears began to vibrate
lips parted from long yellow teeth smooth
and hard as old ivory. His deep-set black
eyes lit up inside with red fire and the hair
stood up straight on his head. The Dib’s body
arched spurting pearly gobs in the stagnant
sunlight. For a few seconds they shivered to-
gether then the boy shoved the Dib’s body
away as if he were taking off a garment. They
went to a pool across a lawn, washed them-
selves, came back and put on their
jockstraps.
“This Jimmy the Shrew. He messenger
special delivery C.O.D.” They talked briefly
in their language, which is transliterated
1300/1780
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