DANCES AND REVOLUTIONS
He carved thin slices of red passion in sweaty bronze skin, his nails plowing fields between the tense muscles in the broad back and pleading for one more moment, one more drop of bliss and forgetfulness. Two bodies entwined, swam and flowed swiftly and smoothly as two rivers passionately becoming one. The Gun’s left hand strolled up dirty, greasy legs and found uneasy rest on tangled pubic hair. Droplets of sweat pebbled over dark damaged patchwork of flesh and grime of days, following the rhythm of the frenetic push push push of spasmodic muscles. Pore by pore, the Gun’s whole body dilated to receive in what it was offered by the Nameless, Faceless, Gone-in-a-couple-hours man that now was his sole reason for existence, his solace and keep, his fucking Nirvana.
Outside, the thumping bumping of jackboots and jackhammers, the orgiastic movement of erect rifles and the pulsing roar of firecrackers set the pace for the celebration of the Fourth of July and tried to tear down the walls of Jericho and invade the sovereign nation of Gun’s Rented Room. The insisting insipid drum of leather and metal wormed down the street, clawing at the nearby buildings and peeling bricks and sleep and silence off the walls. It was a lively sound, an infectious sound, a diseased sound of a diseased drum.
Inside, the Gun’s personal battle continued for that blinding climax and against this deafening sound, one caress at a time, a grunt and a groan. His hips used the beat of the drum as a pacemaker and created a different music, a defying melody to all that marched and jackbooted outside.
Fourth of July was incorporated in the new mythology of America as the day the forces of law and order defeated the revolutionaries. It didn’t really happened on that day, or even completely, but is not like something as small as history ever mattered. What mattered was the spectacle, the message sent to the riff raff that America, their America, stood tall.
A soft knock on the door instantly brought the Gun to alert. He glided towards the cabinet, swiftly snatching the beat-up .45mm hidden on the false-floor compartment. Faceless man ran towards the window, carrying a bundle of his clothes and scurried naked down the fire escape, noiselessly as a drunk rhinoceros – but the Gun paid little attention to him. He might even be a good distraction, if they, whomever it is outside, follow his stumbling ass and left the front door open for his escape. He approached the door, and carefully peered through the crack positioned on the lower left side on the door.
He saw her sitting outside, calmly chewing on something he assumed to be gum. The Warrior was dressed in a thick black robe, a cloud of the darkest midnight hugging her. Hanging from her neck by a thin thread, an ivory cross blazed amidst the jet of her garments. To complete her disguise – he assumed it was a disguise – she wore a full headdress of a Catholic nun, and even a pair of glasses. She sat in the filthy bench outside his room, and cockroaches swirled around the folds of her dress. She cocked her a little to the right, looked straight at him, and said:
– “They are dancing for me.”
He breathed a deep, anesthetic breath. She is quite unbelievable, nobody else can ever detect his presence. He then walked towards the window and locked it. Remembering that the Warrior does not appreciate having guns in her face, he shelved the .45mm in the drawer of the nightstand. One leg, then another, up came his pants. He grabbed his clothes, spread all over the floor, and shoved them in the closet. Browsing through his shirts, the Gun selected a plain tight white tee. He made his bed, lighted an incense and brought two cups of chilled water out of the kitchen, placing then on the coffee table that passes as dining table. He then scanned his now transformed room one more time, sighed, and opened the door.
She stood up and the cockroaches hurriedly scrammed to the nearest dark corner. She seemed taller than he remembered, but maybe she is just that impressive. It had been years.
– “Gun, my dear, must you really wear your clothes so wrinkled? I have an old iron I am no longer in need of…”
– “Warrior..” He pouted, hanging his head. She laughed.
– “Don’t worry, I am just giving you a hard time.” She ruffled his short hair. “Is the gentleman you were entertaining still here?
– “No. He ran buck naked through the window when you knocked. Thank you very much, by the way,” he said, honeyed sarcasm dripping from his lips.
– “Dear, I am so sorry. However, I had been waiting for quite a while outside, in plain sight, and that nasty old general cannot know where I am, and especially where you are. We must be very careful right now, or everything we’ve worked to protect will crumble.”
Warrior walked to the coffee table, picking the glass of water and taking one gulp. She then looked around the room one more time, and turned her back at the Gun’s troubled face.
– “What is it?” she asked.
– “You do know that I still don’t believe in your cause, right? I mean, all this talk about changing society, all that, I am not really into it.”
– “Yet you help me,” she said, turning her head and looking at him through the corners of her eyes.
– “Yes. I help you. Not your cause, or the revolution, or whatever. I mean, look to what they have done to all of you guys. You were their leader, and thought you were winning, that the day of your revolution was finally here and then…”
– “It was not MY revolution, Gun!” Her eyes flared. “Ours, not mine! And yes, much blood was spilled for it. But blood was spilled before for profit, and it is once more. And it will continue to be until the one responsible for all this bloodshed are stopped.” A deep breath, and she calms down. “Honey, I don’t want to lecture you. This is what I believe in, what I fight for. One must fight for what one believes in, otherwise we are not humans, we are just farm animals, contented with pasture and salt-licks.”
She went to the window and put her hands on the window sill. She hung her head low and teardrops materialized in her eyes.
– “ I miss being able to say your name,” she said. “Your mother and I spent months thinking of your name, planning and plotting against your father’s horrible suggestions, and now all I can call you is Gun.
– “ I like Gun,” he answered sheepishly.
– “I know you do, dear, you picked it yourself.” She cleared her eyes from the crystalline drops and turned towards Gun. “Before we go into the details of why I am here, and before you ask why am I wearing these ridiculous clothes, I must show something. This is why I have been telling people I am sick, I just don’t know how they are going to react when they see these. I must tell you, they scare me every once in a while. I think have stopped growing, so this is all there is to it.”
With one swift yank, the Warrior sent the habit flying to the corner, and stretched her two majestic enormous wings. Black as night, they span twice as long as the Warrior was tall, and reminded him of the wings of a king vulture for their movement and grace. She flapped them a couple of times, and then retracted them to a resting position over her shoulders. She then smirked, and blinked at him with her left eye.
Yes, she was that impressive.