Gone the Tides of Earth

In the late hours of morning, I am woken and told we are to make ourselves ready for active duty that evening. Such as do beat cops, our task is to make rounds, patrol the festivities and strike sentry positions near some of the more popular proceedings.

Alci sleeps still and soundly on the cot opposite, rolled toward the canvas, a ratty twill blanket supplied via service pulled tight around his waist and the collars of white undershirt darkened urinal yellow. Courtney has begun to revive at the back of the tent, stretching arms overhead, rubbing at face with the palms of both hands.

‘Will you walk me back up to the hospital?’ she asks, eyelids clamped.

‘Yes, dear wife.’

‘There are cafés along the road. We can stop in at one for a coffee.’

An hour later we nestle atop two chairs at a copper, claw-footed table, coming out of the crisp august air under a frail blue sky into a chic diner. Loads of people, mostly civilians, have taken refuge from the cold and cool contentment of dawn to the ordering of hot beverages, and the warmth to be found inside. Courtney’s skin is paler in the early hours of seasonal cool, sun-ripened blonde hair and eyes almost luminescent.

‘This is a fine bistro,’ she says, cozying in at her seat.

Creases under the eyes and a sleepy shape in her mouth show that she is still tired. Presumably, I appear the same yet much worse for wear. After a moment I betray a yawn, and her own follows momentarily thereof, and in this showing we share a smile.

‘Do you ever get really crazy dreams?’ she asks me, sleepily.

‘What kind?’

‘You know: the ones that make no sense when you wake up - dreams or nightmares you never know what-all about.’

‘I’ve hardly dreamt in years - long ago all the time,’ I tell her. ‘Anyway, I know what you mean: words cannot capture the essence of nocturnal DMT-trips.’

‘Right, I had a most interesting one just last night. I was an athlete of renown in it at Ancient Olympia. I won many of the events, feats of strength staged quite unanimously. After, when proclaimed victorious I was hailed in a great celebration of camaraderie. In this here dream I am a big burly man, of course. Then I went off after by myself and ran alone the track for what seemed ages, underneath a brooding sky. It felt that there was this empowering intrigue until these emissaries arrived, who came with a strong horse and told me war had come and for it I must gallop across the country unto battle. And then the rest became shaded, distant from then on - I wish I could explain better than that.’

‘That is really interesting,’ I say back. ‘Personally, I must admit that I admire ancient culture very much. Just look at these nice and excellent, beautiful relics over yonder. Alci would be smitten and aroused; a good show, I must say.’

The items in question are not typical Greek nudes or busts but rather showgirls and hired actors in skim skirts and pseudo-bronze breastplates cropped above the waist, or otherwise senatorial togas clasped with tin fibulae usually worn by males.

‘It’s all very democratic for the conservers,’ whispers Courtney, leaning close. ‘A liberal showing, such proceedings can only be said to be.’

‘Where I came from we considered conservatism quite differently,’ I offer, in jest.

‘Me as well,’ she says back, lightly in tone, though with a hint of resolve - a moment of solidarity anyone nowadays would understand in feeling.

Courtney reposes as mine gaze lifts away, and then a waiter is at our table requesting an order. She asks for a cappuccino and I get an English Toffee, which they were doing on special. Then I take a moment to enjoy the sight of her, unbrushed waves frizzy, feel perfect the touch of cold hands in mine, heart home with hers.

‘A bride-and-groom’s luncheon,’ I say, dotingly.

‘Will you wait here just a moment?’ and traverses to the bathroom.

Across the room at the contiguous table is an army officer with a lovely young woman garbed in the sporting attire of the players. No doubt a member of superior personnel who won for himself an admirer in the haunts of night. On an arm’s sleeve he bears the Caduceus emblem, patches that are order of First Army officers. Catching my gaze, fellow curls lips at me, a smile kind yet eyes and grey skin steel-seeming.

Seconds later our coffees are placed on the table and, in a swirl, Courtney sitting back down in front of me. In a horizontal line, across the midsection of her scalp is a cyan ribbon tied into a bow, certainly juvenile and at the same sweetly endearing.

‘My mom used to love when I did it like this,’ she tells me. ‘I wanted to show you, and figured it might as well act in substitution, since you’re without a ring.’

‘I absolutely love it,’ I say, her becoming blushed, almost shy.

Courtney undoes the ribbon, pulls my left arm closer and ties it around the wrist so that it is both comfortable, secure, and too means more than any ring could.

‘It’ll have to do for now as your wedding band.’

‘I love it. Your mother was correct.’

‘She was also wont to say flattery is mere florid bribery. You’ve won the game, we’re already married,’ and as she finishes the knot, ‘I keep you, Henry Owen.’

Before leaving the café, Courtney orders a half-dozen French Vanillas for the other nurses and I carry them in a pulp holder tray. At the great grated doors of the mansion hospital, she bids me wait in the stone courtyard. When she returns down hallway holds adjacent her bellybutton, perched between clutch of both hands, a brown moleskin book.

‘I thought I might be waiting to receive Mr. Cian.’

‘Those two are already off somewhere - I wanted you to have this before you away.’

In the inner jacket were transcribed the words To doodle, or dream.

‘I know you have your writing notebook. Although its planning is a mess, besides your characters and notation. So, you can work notes in here for now on.’

In deference and tender thanks, my eyes fix aground.

‘I know you hate this war, so do I. You’re looking after your own necessary enough to remain alive. There’s no dishonour in that. And if any god had a problem, they could fix a remedy for it. Neither of us care, and so soon we will get out of here together.’

‘You’re too good to me,’ I respond, ‘probably for me, too.’

‘We’ll figure this out,’ chides her answer, placing fingers against the nape of my neck, spreading fingertips, ‘and we’ll be happy. Don’t you agree, my love?’

‘I do.’

‘Swear it?’

‘Promise.’

‘Change happens at extreme temperatures, and this thing is heating up. Your average citizen is starting to talk. People exchange terms like revolt, revolution.’

‘Funny, I haven’t noticed such stormy weather lately.’

‘The tides turns before it shifts. A plunge meets the trough.’

‘I’m on the edge of my seat.’

‘Then stay right there,’ she commands, cupping the back of my head, kissing passionately with rolling tongue. ‘Tomorrow or tonight next?’

‘Likely tomorrow. We’re being activated for service tonight.’

Then she kisses me gentler, and her eyes soften.

‘Tomorrow, then,’ and turns off with a twinkle in her eyes, going in through the iron gates until she is striding along the eclectic inner hall.

‘Sorry if our Count Crapulous woke you two,’ says Alci back in camp, preparing under severe skies. ‘We had quite the evening for ourselves, my dear Henry.’

‘It’s fine.’

Harsh winds blow in the canvas flaps, so privacy is null and across the yard we spot half-naked men and women within their own changing clothes, who brace protectively.

‘It’s going to be a stormy one,’ he conjectures. ‘P.S, I kissed that orderly from the hospital last night. Some of the girls wanted to meet up - he wanted me instead. Upon first move he offered me a cigarette, then put it in my mouth, one in his and lit it while with a fist lifted my chin. Mr. Owen, I had not had butterflies like that in ages.’

‘You didn’t let him dick you, though?’

‘Never on a first date - you slut.’

‘Well, you’re the hoe who kisses and tells.’

‘Let’s get up and out after duty. Time to go to work.’

‘What about Cian?’

‘Poor excuse for an occupied man, he is.’

We start out into the yard and down the pathway for the field. Many of the pavilions are deconstructed or blown astray in the gale. I find myself thinking of Courtney as she had glid along the ornate hallway, voluptuous like a runway model or red-carpet celebrity.

‘Last night I heard something not so handsome about this army we serve,’ announces Alci whilst we walk. ‘Apparently a large yield of its annual sum comes from a big racquet; the rich and merciless of the Balkans pay the high command to be taken north on excursions, most of them taking posts in hawksnests to make big-gameshoot of the enemy. Lots of the time they use personal discretion to decide who the enemy even is. And so, these wildcatters poach any members of the resistance they deem to pass them by. That’s how this war machine mostly is funded. Also, many officers of the First bet on wagers to do with greener and rural recruits, gambling as to surmise who is noble and then the ones they believe will flee, deepthroat shotguns or elect wrist-cutting.’

‘We don’t have to discuss this, do we?’

‘Sorry,’ he says, eyes dim. ‘It has bothered me greatly to think on.’

‘You ought not have heard it in the first place.’

‘Such is life, the word of this man.’

We walk onto the fields, inadvertently falling in beside a contingency of badged personnel. They in the throngs of their group address an obscure matter hidden from sight before them. From where we stand, can merely hear the snorts of horses, see maned spiny heads thrashing above; and know by the indignant tones that the persons of interest are civilian and not military. After a shock of disagreement and palpable obstinance the wall of soldiers begins to dissipate, heavy-shouldered backs starting to clear from view.

An elderly country man and what can only be two sons in early adulthood stand holding the reins of two brawny work horses, aside a broad wooden plow resting abreast the grass like an anchor cast to the sands. Evidently, they are perturbed and the eyes bloodshot with malcontent speak volumes. The army men shake their heads and begin to diverge, cutting across the plain in direction of the encampment or parlours.

‘What is the problem?’

‘They’re trying to till,’ I answer.

‘For what reason would they do that here when everything else is going on.’

‘Could be their land, for all we know.’

I meet eyes with the grey-haired, bent-backed foreman prior to him turning to address his sons, their horses and workload. Any amount of obstreperousness and overtures seemingly have failed, soon enough they are turned and headed for the escarpment into the wood towards the road beyond. Darkly trees zigzag overhead their ascent.

‘We go for monitoring party tents or the open field?’ wonders Alci aloud.

‘We’ll start over to the food-stalls. Grab a bite. And then we’ll see.’

‘Precisely. I could use a warm meal. Let us eat, now.’