down the cup of beer. Figures swayed in the dead corn. Shapes shifted to the music, drunk, they tripped around the bonfire. And swing of a hammer, swing of a shovel. Breathless running through the fen, muddy hands clutched to his ears. Slipping on the blackened face that sweats red tears.
You ran away, he said. There’s no peace in that.
SPARKS COUGHED LOGS AND BALES OF STRAW AND BUNDLES of cornstalks tossed onto the bonfire. On the flatbed the band dinked around with sound checks before the last set. Lighters flickered Stars across the clearing. And bodies sagged to the mud. So many beers, such cold wet feet.
She leaned against him her cheek upon his shoulder. He watched the foam dwindle in his cup. Too simple to say anything. All simple took was belly and thigh and sweat of daffodil. All simple took was her foot pressed on his foot. Her breath on his throat. All simple took was. He raised the cup to his mouth.
She said, Y‘knowyou can balance a egg on end at a pacific time during the equi, equinox. You can balance a egg so it stands up all by itself ha ha Sara n’ me you know Sara right? Yeah you do. Me and Sara had her whole counter covered with all these ballast, balanced eggs. Fuck it was so amazing.
He sipped his beer. I thought that was only during the vernal equinox.
Huh?
Springtime, he said. That egg trick won’t work in the fall.
Yes it does. We did it. Serious. Oh fuck man you don’t know a thing, she said and pulled her arm from his arm. Beer slopped out her cup. Damn. Don’t do that don’t give me that look. I know what it means it means you mean you think I’m full a shit you goddamn goateed bastard fuck I really hate that fucking superior attitude you don’t know shit do you.
Okay. So you can balance an egg in the fall. He blinked and laughed. What are we talking about here?
Doesn’t matter anymore I got to piss. Come with me.
He laughed again.
Oh fuck you wait right here then. I just don’t want you to disappear ‘cause you got to dance me at least one dance before this party’s through and we really need to talk so hold this for me okay? She handed him her cup.
I thought we were talking, he said.
Sheturned and Barefoot walked across the mud and joints of stalk and leaf and plastic cup. Her thighs ushered ghosts in the moon the firelight pale phantoms pain and paintings in his head. She dissolved into the ravaged corn. The sky began to rain.
He stood with a cup of beer in each hand. Across the clearing figures hammered poles into the mud around the truck. Crossbars were screwed into the poles. As the tarp dragged over the frame, someone screamed.
Beyond the bonfire cops in helmets rushed across the clearing Sirens and dogs Flashlights guns and shields This is the Police voices yelled the bonfire spat he ducked as rat-toothed pigs ran past swinging swastikas, all was noise and showers of light. Shadows chased and tackled. Arms raised against baton and pepper spray. You are all under arrest. He threw down the cups and backed away, into the corn.
She had not gone far. Her body crumpled between two rows. He kneeled beside her. The mud soaked cold through his knees. Mud in streaks across her thighs. The untoothed stalks barked at bodies crashed and shouted in the rain.
He ran his fingers over her scalp. Back of her neck. Not hit, only dead drunk. He took hold of her shoulders he shook her and her head bounced against the mud. Wake up, we got to get out of here. She groaned but did not open her eyes. As before. As before he sawher naked, sawher beneath him, seated on top of him, he. Was this all a dream or someone else?
Flashlights bobbed all around. He ducked down. He gripped her shoulders he dug his thumbs under her collarbones he shook her. Come on, wake up, he said. Party’s over. Hey, come on, damn it.
Her eyes fluttered she raised a hand to shield her eyes against the rain. What? What?
The fucking cops, he said. He grabbed her wrists he pulled her off her back. He dug his feet into the mud he leaned backward, pulling on her arms. Come on, get up.
Where’s Cameron? she said and her wrists slipped muddy from his hands he spun his arms he fell into the crackling stalks. A voice boomed on a megaphone. A siren whoop whooped. Shovelheads sawblades swung. Mudflungin thick Wet clumps. She belly pressed to he mouth a hammer swung and swung and swung and Snap out of it, he said. He wiped the corners of his eyes. Snap out of it, or your ass is busted.
She fell back. She slapped her hands on the mud. You have to carry me, she whined. I can’t walk I’m too fucked up I’m not supposed to drink alcohol y‘know.
I can’t carry you, he said. It’s too wet. I’ll fall.
Drag me.
He laughed. The third time tonight. Laughter is good for the soul is good for what ails you is good for nothing is laughter. Christ. He unbuttoned his denim work shirt he stripped it off he tied the sleeves around her wrists. He pulled hard on the shirt. Her arms jerked up from the mud.
Ow she said.
All around dogs barked Cops dragged bodies kicking through the stalks. He leaned backward he hiked his feet until the mud let go her body. He dragged her down the row. He dragged her over stones and broken stalks and stunted ears of corn. Crouched at the shadows running past.
On her back he towed her from the field, the heated voices. His feet slapped puddles like shovelblades. He shook the rain from his hair and the hair from his eyes. Near the poplars the fen His feet dished out from under him his shirt ripped Cornhusks he tumbled knees and elbows down the bank, face first into a bowl of mud. She fell on top of him laughing. He spit and coughed and Fuck. He kicked he shook her off his back. He pushed himself to his knees.
On her back, a manikin mud and leaves. Arms unfurled she thighs an open invitation. She eyes glinted scattered shovelfuls of moonlight. Belly go weak with dying stars, breathless running through the fen. The blackened face that sweats red tears. He spit again. His squeezed he cold mud hands into he armpits he shivered.
He said I can’t drag you anymore.
She watched him. She rubbed her heels against the mud and shewatched him. I really do like your beard, she said. You look just like Cameron.
HE FELT ALONG THE WALL FOR THE LAMP. HE TWISTED THE rough pebble of the switch. The bungalow was one room. On either end the kitchen the bathroom. On the dinette stacks of ceramic tile and dirty dishes. A mason jar filled with paintbrushes Wood flowers drowned in thinner. Books in stacks in milk crates around the room. Books cracked face down on the bed. The bed with blankets spilled to the floor beer bottles on the floor. Between dinette and bed the plastic sheet stapled over the hole in the wall. She pushed the door shut. The plastic sheet rustled.
My god, she said. Her muddy footprints across the dusty hardwood. I cannot believe you still have the wall torn down. How can you stand to have it all open like that?
He pulled the string hung from the ceiling. One bulb snapped yellow. Dead dark bugs in the shade. He said It’s kind of nice this way, actually. It’s like, I feel more at peace and freer now.
She said Yes but are you ever going to build the bedroom? Her eyes blinked in the curded mask of mud. Things chased things in her flickering gaze. She said, What I mean is.
It’s
