We were speaking about conflicts and that is a them that is important and warrants further discussion. There is virtue that will come over time and there is a retreat from virtue. That in itself is a conflict, but the conflict goes much deeper and more shallow than just the conflict between virtue and fortune, between purity and corruption, between a life of dedication to the higher things in life, society, knowledge and love; and a life of servitude to something dark corrupted and lacking in love or even lust.
We also talked about barriers, some which should have been heeded and were not and some which should have been torn down but were left in place.
This story is so full of wrong decisions and msiplaced choices that it is difficult, if not impossible to identify one line of them worth pursuing over another.
What is a barrier that should have been heeded? The most obvious was the one that screamed, don't get into business with someone who you have defended from the accusations of others. Someone run out of town on a rail, trailing tar and feathers, is an associate who will leave your hands black and sticky. Run, my brain told me, but I was deaf. Innocently I listened to the proposal and the avarice said, yes this will work and will work smoothly and the hot air in Africa laughed as it sang over the Atlantic in ever increasing pitch as summer approached.
What is a barrier that should have been torn down that wasn't? The societal barriers that prevent one from seeking what you know you want, the one that keeps you in place even when you know the place is wrong for everyone involved, at least it was wrong for me. Of course, I did not know that the barrier could be torn down. Once, long ago, I assailed that barrier, it is another story and you will have to wait for it, not in this chapter, though it lies even now far in the past. And I was ridiculed, not intentionally, not with the disdain of ratial hatred or contempt; but with a kind hand that knew little how deep the wound went.
A good writer writes of strong women and long descriptions. I was then and have always been lucky to be surrounded by such, a small male boat with low gunnels surrounded by huge female waves, often stormy as a result of my presence as if the audacity of this tiny craft to brave such strong waters were insult enough for anger.
But you know nothing of this yet, nor do you have a picture of me or anyone around me worthy of a dull imagination. I am not a good writer. Perhaps the most I can hope for is to be accepted as a prolific writer which I am in terms of extent if not in terms of art or depth. My interests, if not my knowledge, covers broad swaths of human nature, history, politics, science and fantasy. My writing was dead at this time, however, the flutterings of fearful attempts and the volumes of dull professional stuff which paid bills with logic or threat but had none of the lasting effect. Great writing requires great sacrifice, great loss, and real or imagined virtue and all of those things waited for me, impatiently, but their time was coming soon, the stage was set.
Perhaps then I should describe this deceiver. He was nearly as tall as I am, dark hair, a pleasant enough face, an intense look which invited trust and by listening he appeared knowledgable. He was busy and lived happily with another man's ex wife, as if he had convinced both the wife and the prior husband of the wisdom of her associating with him. He was storngly built, but not bulky, the strength largely hidden by his height.
Not swarthy or gangly like the narrator, all arms akimbo, spilled drinks when younger when the body could not learn how to control the tentacle like arms that unfolded great distances and which defied traditional sleeve lengths and pants legs making him seem perinially as if his body were trying to escape his clotehs from the cuff or hem. But that is a different story and the grown arms were the type type could lie about the quality of a tennis game by covering so great a distance, reach out in disasters to grab a saving limb and in passion could envelope a lover or reach special places despite great distance. If only the clumsy yourth could talk to the mature adult, how much richer both lives would be.
The terrain is another matter entirely. It rose easily, with low hill, perhaps the highest no more than 40 or 50 feet above sea level, a mile an half from shore, many places were less than 10 feet above the tideline, a fact that would be important as time went on. Oh yes, that would be very important indeed.
Gambling was made legal against eh water in many places, this too will be iportant; but for now the gaming was only just beginning to mature, haveing passed from riverboat to massive barge, breaking those who failed to preapre for the competition by the huge barges which were little less than floatiing islands of restaurnt, gaming floor and the like with nearby, land based hotels. This too would be important. The drives to these floating gaming palaces were lined with large palms stolen from overseas plantations, inland the trees indiginous, oak and farther in pine.
The beaches were artificially whte like the palm trees were artificially present and quickly gave way to a muddy bottom which remained shallow far out into the gulf, only gradully becomeing deap enough to be of interest. Long ago I was stung by a sting ray there, something I would not realize for many years afterwards, at the time thinking the black ooze from the stinger was mud and the wound the result of a sharp edged can instead ot the organic living thing that it probably was and my foot to this day bears the scar of that blow which fortuantely was glancing.
And so now you know the look and feel of everyone and everything so far and yet you know nothing more than you knew before.
No comments:
Post a Comment