Copyright 2011 Michael E. Henderson, all rights reserved. Return to:
He sat on the patio behind the house looking at the stars. Now, this is something he always loved to do, as there was no greater time in the world to wax all philosophical as when the stars were burning bright in a dark sky. This, however, was normally done by Margold James with a pitcher of martinis, or some such other grease of the philosophical skids, in his big doughy hand. He was fasting for the events of the next two days, however, meaning that he was also abstaining from alcohol. He looked at the stars, then, for the first time since he was about fifteen, with a clear and sober mind.
It occurred to him, of course, that these fucking Indians would not know whether he had abstained or not, and that it was all a bunch of horse shit anyway. A couple of half-pound burgers and a quart of gin never hurt anyone. The Indians were going to be drunk from the get go, and probably just sit around smoking weed. Indian fucking Jim probably went back to the tribe and told them that he had made the white eye go two days without eating and drinking, in contrast and conflict with his gluttonous and booze-soaked ways. They probably yucked it up for hours over a gallon of whiskey and a shit pot full of peyote, whooping and Indian hollering all night a the thought of it.
He looked up at the stars, so bright and clear that night that he could see the “backbone of night,” the Milky Way, stretched across the sky like a hazy bit of white paint over not quite dry black. He thought about what the cave men, or even the Indians, who were basically cave men, thought about these strange lights. They made them gods, and gave them powers and importance, and their movements had significance. Particularly those stray stars that moved contrary to all the others, the ones we know not to be stars, but planets. What explanation would he come up with? Well, the stars were clearly holes in a black canopy, showing a light that glowed behind it, probably where the gods lived. But what of the ones that moved differently? Maybe they were gods themselves, inside the canopy moving about affecting the lives and fates of men.
Goddamn, son, he thought, you are sober. How are you coming up with all this? That’s what the stars do. They make you think about what they are, and about what you are. Now when we consider the size of the stars and of the universe, and then consider what we are, it is not a pleasant thought. Man is zero. But look at the heights to which he has exalted himself. First he invented gods. Then he came up with one god. And God created the world, and then created Man. Of course, Man was created in the image of God. Arrogant notion number one. Then we were alone in the universe, made special above all else on Earth, which of course is the center of the universe. Arrogant notion number two. There are now, and always have been, people running around predicting the end of the world, and that certain special people, specifically them and those who believe as they do, will be saved, that there will be a “rapture,” and that they will vanish from the Earth and to go heaven, or something, while the rest of us are left to suffer on Earth for a while. This notion is the most arrogant of them all. Can’t they see the idiocy of it? And all this on a sober mind, he thought. “Fuck it,” he said out loud to himself, and went to bed.
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The next morning he got up dying for a cup of coffee with some eggs and toast, and about half a jar of jam. The Indian magicians were not scheduled to appear until after dark. How in the fuck was he going to go all day without eating? And when noon rolls around he is gonna want a beer. He actually wants a beer now, but for some reason he has been taught that one should not drink before noon. Is having a beer really drinking? Of course it is, what the hell are you thinking? Them fucking Indians slip you some peyote? See the thoughts that come into your mind when you haven’t had any food or booze for a whole day? But no, by God, he was going to stick it out. On the other hand, he ain’t seen fucking Death for several days. Maybe the son of a bitch went back to wherever he came from and would leave him alone. No sooner had this series of thoughts and insights passed through his mind, then appeared Death sitting at the kitchen table.
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