---

Dispensing with any sort of quackery I’d simply shouted, “Get out of here. This is my home. I am an Englishman and this is England!”

After all the noise had settled and Betty had ceased whimpering I winked at Jones. He was still holding the ceremonial dagger and chalk.

“You see my man…you have to tell these things off properly…don’t treat them like bloody royalty. We are higher than the angels…do you not recall…”

The towering bundle of nerves simply extend a thin white finger.

There it was. A perfect azure sphere sitting atop a cold carpet that itself sat atop a yet colder floor.

I promptly hauled it up. Jones leapt back.

“Ah! Careful Roderick…are you mad…”

I laughed. “Perfectly so my friend. Glad for it too seeing as to the effects sanity has upon you.”

“The house was shaking Rod…shaking and humming…” Betty muttered. “You should maybe be more…”

“Ooo uhhh were it now..shaking like the perfect pair of autumn shrivelled leaves I see stand before me?” I laughed.

In all honesty I’d lost all mirth. I’d just received word from France that my bastard daughter hadn’t survived the tuberculosis. Yet, in its place, in the place of levity a certain ecstatic freedom took hold. This made me quiet jolly but with a sort of thrilling chill rather than happiness.

Everything felt liquid, fluid, cool and malleable.

It is an odd thing to see yourself in the daughter of a whore. She’d called me Papa. Six years old…moving onto the seventh…I did not have the courage to take her with me…to avoid that harsh little apartment in Tours.

It is odd to see yourself in the daughter of a whore. To see your self-same hazel fire and jetty locks to see a twist of the lips so familiar….so peculiar.

“Are you afraid of eternity?” I bellowed tossing the sphere onto an armchair.

My two tenants stood dumbstruck as I unfastened my trousers.

I urinated on the pretty thing. My offal running in gold rivulets off its perfect geometry and staining the mahogany fabric of its throne.

“It is a holy thing Hamilton…have you no shame…”

“I don’t care if its God’s own eye!” I laughed again dancing a jig.

“He’s mad…” Betty murmured.

“Oh,” I said. “No, no darling I am perfectly beautifully sane. You see I did nothing wrong not one thing wrong. Was it I who bargained with the colonials? Was it I that shot Ferdinand? What was I to do with my loneliness in France….what was I to do with that shrieking image…that homage to the great god pain. Did I invent the trench or fashion the bullet that rained upon it?

…NO!…

And neither did I fashion angels, or hells, or Gods, or magick, or its implements. Why should I give fealty to that which is not my own! There is nothing holy Jones. Not a thing upon the Earth, nor below, nor above!”

Jones simply shook his head sadly wiping away the urine with a kerchief. He moved past a weeping Betty to secret the thing…perhaps make obeisance to it.

I didn’t care one wan iotalated damn.

“Eh ! Pantruchar ! C’est y qu’ tu s’rais malade
Ou que l’ cafard te rendrait tout transi ?
Ce soir, t’as pas l’ cœur à la rigolade”

I began to hum.

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I blinked stupidly in the harsh sunlight.

O good.

Lobo was heading over. I’d long ago grown weary of his perpetually critical outlook. There was only one cunt in this camp that had the divine sanction to be cynic sovereign.

“You are taking these with us?”

“Unfortunately.”

“Why?”

“Is this your first encounter with NATO?”

“Huh?”

“What do we do every day Pinky?”

Lobo laughed. The one endearing quality about him was his near encyclopedic knowledge of cartoons.

“You do know that this will slow us down?”

“Us Carolina boys might be barefoot and bucktooth but we ain’t stoopid .”

“Huh.”

“We don’t have a choice, and yes I’m well aware that a high-tech toy chest is gonna kill speed faster than when Aunt Bertha hopped onboard the carpool.”

“They will break…or be broken…”

“Yea..well I ain’t too attached.”

Lobo appeared to be lost in thought.

“We are only taking them fifty miles in.” I intruded into his reverie confident that I’d guessed where his mind was going.

“So you’re saying that if they’re damaged…”

‘Well…fuck.’

It was true that I’d relished the chance to get a couple of good licks in even if it meant getting twisted into a pretzel. But now that the opportunity presented itself I wasn’t happy. If he succeeded in sabotaging the equipment we’d have to go back. I wanted to go back but I didn’t…I’d gone too far on this weird ride.

“Bad idea, bub.” I said placing myself in his path. At 6’ 2” I’m not exactly short but I found myself staring at his nipples.

Lobo laughed. “I am doing you a favor.”

“I appreciate that…but you are also doing yourself a disservice.”

“How?”

“You think Uncle Sam likes having his toys broken?”

He laughed again. “So you are saying they will come to Brazil…to Cuiaba…find me…”

“They’re already here.”

Lobo glanced around.

I shook my head. “Don’t you think that a lot of the tourists cityside seemed a little too fit. That their size and haircuts didn’t exactly fit the profile of bored dentist?”

Again Lobo laughed. “Yeah…I guess you have a point…but I have a suggestion…American soldiers should stay in America…”

He was holding an apple in his right hand. An apple that instantly exploded and oozed out in between his clenched fingers.

Guess he knew I was angling for a fight. I was glad that I had backup. Not because I minded having my ass kicked. The thought of bruises on his face gave me a near sexual thrill… even if it cost me a fracture. No I was glad because the shit storm of paperwork and bitching that would have come as a result of sabotage would have cost more careers than my fingers could count.

He walked off leaving me in the small clearing between our tents.

Briefly, for a few blessed moment I was alone with my thoughts. I gave myself permission to assess how I was feeling about all this. Unfortunately my introspection didn’t go past base instincts.

I was tired. I was horny. The native girls who I’d at first had difficulty seeing as sexual creatures despite their near constant nudity began to look more and more appealing. They weren’t ugly just very primitive and removed from my world. The longer I stayed here though the further away seemed that world and I began to experience an erotic dimension in the busy rhythms of the village women. I liked watching them tend to their homes, to their families, I liked their soft dark eyes and the feminine tone of their musculature.

I chuckled internally at the fantasy of going native. Yes, I Alan Baird would become ‘Karakiki’ and along with my comely village bride raise a clan of strong clever lads that stood head and shoulders over their more compact brethren. I would learn the rhythms of the wood and forget the poison of asphalt and plastic.

Despite this amusing distraction I couldn’t in good conscience go around getting my dick wet. Horny wasn’t a problem I could solve. But I could and should take a nap.

The hammocks were in a tent thirty or so paces from the high-tech igloo.

O yeah! This felt fantastic. There was air conditioning and a fan to soothe my nerves and lull me to sleep with the gentle sway of the unorthodox bed.

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7.5 Should be ready by tomorrow evening EST. Cheers and thanks for stopping by.

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