Lincoln in the Bardo(65)
mr. leonard reedy
Seems we’d missed the big excitement.
mrs. caroline reedy
Having been engaged in some excitement of our own.
richard crutcher
But then, the noise of the many matterlightblooming phenomena growing annoying— mrs. caroline reedy
We men became flaccid.
mr. leonard reedy
Making further excitement problematic.
mrs. caroline reedy
Me and Richard and Mr. Reedy hiked up our pants and Mrs. Reedy re-did her skirt and blouse and we rushed over along the fenceline toward that other (lesser) excitement.
matthew crutcher
En route we glimpsed Mr. Bevins— mrs. caroline reedy
Damned nance.
richard crutcher
On his knees by the fence, mumbling to himself.
mr. leonard reedy
Then, the usual big to-do: Flash of light, clothes raining down.
matthew crutcher
No more Bevins.
richard crutcher
CV.
The sun was nearly up.
Those of us who had survived that ghastly night huddled, conferred, went on brief sprinting expeditions, searching for survivors.
We did not find Purdy, nor Johannes, nor Crawley.
Did not find Pickler, Ella Blow, Verna Blow, Appleton, Scarry, Thorne.
Midden was missing, as were Goncourt, Cupp, Edwell, and Longstreet.
Reverend Thomas: missing.
Even Bevins and Vollman, two of our most long-standing and faithful residents: gone.
How we pitied these. So gullible. Broken by the rantings of a mere boy. Lost forever.
Sweet fools.
lance durning
Here we were. Were we not? If not, who spoke? Who heard?
percival “dash” collier
What a slaughter.
And we had only managed to survey a tiny fraction of the premises.
lance durning
Soon day began to break in earnest, and here came the usual all-body weakness, and the accompanying sense of diminishment, and we dashed off for our respective home-places, and situated ourselves squeamishly within our sick-forms, eyes closed or averted, so as not to see what those foul things had become.
robert g. twistings
And as the sun came up, we prayed, each within ourselves, our usual prayer: lawrence t. decroix
To still be here when the sun next set.
mrs. antoinette boxer
And discover, in those first moments of restored movement, that we had again been granted the great mother-gift: robert g. twistings
Time.
lance durning
More time.
percival “dash” collier
CVI.
As always at Sun’s rising, the two realms Merg’d, and all that was true in Ours, became true in Theirs: all the Stones, Trees, Shrubs, Hills, Valleys, Streams, Pondlets, Marshes, Patches of Light & Shade, merg’d, and were the same Betwixt the two Environs, and you could not have told one Realm from the other.
Much that was New & Strange & Unnerving had occurr’d this night.
We Three Bachelors had watched it all unfold from On-High: safe, separate, & Free—the way we liked it.
I enjoined my young Charges that we must now beat a hasty Retreat to our Sick-boxes, & get Ourselves within.
Within that which Awaited us there.
stanley “perfesser” lippert
Faugh.
gene “rascal” kane
We did not like entering those things.
jack “malarkey” fuller
At all.
gene “rascal” kane
But that was the Price; we must abide, fully Awake but Inert, within those Foul Things that had once Resembled (aye, had once Been) us (& which we had loved so Dearly) until such time as Night Again fell, at which time, shooting Forth, we would be— stanley “perfesser” lippert
Free.
gene “rascal” kane
Free again.
jack “malarkey” fuller
Ourselves, truly.
gene “rascal” kane
All of Bless’d Creation restored to us.
stanley “perfesser” lippert
Everything again possible.
gene “rascal” kane
We Three had never Wed, nor truly Lov’d, but, once Night fell again, and if we found ourselves still Resident here, might strike the “never”— stanley “perfesser” lippert
For until we are ended, “never” may not be truly said.
jack “malarkey” fuller
And love may yet be ours.
gene “rascal” kane
CVII.
Just now took lantern out to Carroll crypt Tom to make sure all was well and found young Lincoln’s coffin slightly jutting out of the wallslot and pushed it back in oh that poor little fellow concluding his first ever lonely night here of many such lonely nights to come a long sad eternity of such nights.
Could not help but think of our Philip about same age as Pres’s boy who will be racing about the yard and come in just positively lit up from inside with joy of living having been flirting over fence with the misses amy & reba leonard nextdoor his hair tousled and grab a broom and in his overflow of happy spirits goose Mrs Alberts the cook in her hindquarters but when she turns to give him a wallop back holding a tremendous turnip and sees that glowing face what can she do but drop said turnip into washbasin and grabbing him about neck smother him with kisses while I secretly hand her broom so as he scats away victorious she can give him a sort of avenging goose of her own in his familiar playworn trousers and a good poke too as that ladys arms are like pot roasts O Lord I cannot bear the thought of Philip lying still in such a place as this and when that thought arises must hum some scrap of tune energetically while praying No no no take that cup away Lord let me go first before any of them I love (before Philip Mary Jack Jr. before dear Lydia) only thats no good either since when they reach their end I will not be there to help them? O either way it is unbearable O God what a bind one is in down here Tom dear friend Tom I long for sleep I await your arrival, & hope these sad & morbid thoughts will soon fade away soon with the happy sight of our dear friend rising the Sun.