blockhead's Blog

4 Chris? Quest

The music was getting louder, and the upper part of the guesthouse which was open to the public now, was being filled up with GI?s and Germans, some hanging their hands and torsos over the railing looking down below, looking at all of us poor folk ?Ski took a look, made a grimace?:

?How?d they like me to pull their fu?en noses down here,? he commented, shaking his head.

?Yaw, it?s getting crowded with young gals, German girls? and GI?s,? he added.

?She seems nice,? I said to Ski, as he sipped on his dark-bock-beer, leaning back in his chair checking out the four guys at the table about twenty-feet to our right, and watching the waitress from the side of his eye (I noticed Mac had come in, or was in, I didn?t see him come in, and he sat at the bar, he didn?t like Ski, not sure if he saw me).

?Are you saying Chick, my observations were right on??

?The German girl???

?You know what I?m talking about, don?t play dumb??

?Yaw.? He smiled with pride as if he was the Commanding Officer of the 1/36th Artillery, for giving so much wisdom, but what could I say he was right.

?Hay man, she?s given you the indication to visit?!?

?What!?

?Go dance with her?!?

?So how should I approach this??

?Listen, the music, dance man, get into it, this is a guesthouse not a funeral home, she?s wanting to meet you for some reason, not bad either, kind of on the richyyy $$? side I?d say, you know, good job, money, looks, car, you can?t go wrong.?

Somehow I heard that philosophy before, I think Ben Franklin said something like that, -- ??marry above yourself and you got nothing to lose?? something like that, Ski must had read a bit.

?She can come over here,? I said.

?She?s not going to come over here man, where?s your head, she already made her move, it?s your turn, your move, she?s going to dance with someone else if you don?t move; you?re going to lose her!?

(I glanced at the bar, Mac was not looking well, he was drinking one drink after the other, and he seemed to sniff the air, trying to figure out where he was at, or perhaps he knew, and he was back in Vietnam, I saw this before, whenever he got too drunk, and too lonely.)

I felt he [meaning: Ski] was probably right, she would dance with someone else soon if I didn?t make the effort, but I had learned in life also, yes, my little 22-years on this earth, I had learned, when a woman has her eye on you, it doesn?t matter if you are in a barn with one hundred-naked men with gold chains on their you know what, she will come to you; even if you?re in a chicken coup, she will come to you: perhaps it is a challenge, because as soon as they see something else they like, they will: you got the picture, go on to other things. And, for some odd reason and only they know?I don?t know?when they focus, when women focus, they are concise, I mean really focused, and when they shift gears to leave your ass that is what they do, for some odd reason what they like fades faster than the wind?they run faster than a train. This was my experience at twenty-two, anyhow.

She was about twenty feet from us making more gestures.

?She?s not coming to you Chick, go see what she wants.?

?Yaw, yaw, I?m going, I?m just not used to someone coming on to me like she is, normally I got to work for it.?

(I looked over at Mac again, his very silence, his not talking to anyone told me he was going through some hard times, I?m sure it is the attack coming alive in his head again. He?s mumbling to him self, his hands are moist, and he?s wiping them off on his pants. I saw his nerves go like this before.)

If it wasn?t winter it wouldn?t be so hard to date anyone now, I thought especially not having a car; I mean, dating in winter time is next to impossible. For Ski it wasn?t a problem, he had a car, a VW, but you never could really count on him, he was around, but not when you needed him, when he needed you, that?s when he was around. But what the hick, this was a night out, a Friday night out, and so I had to be back by midnight, might as well try, why not. During the week bed check was at 10:00 PM.

She hovered over her chair as if she was a cat waiting for a mouse; and I was her mouse to be: sitting ?studying me?like a hawk; next move has got to be mine, ----I ??NNNNNNNooo??

She had a few years on me, maybe two or three. A business degree, maybe, a manager possibly, unattached I hope. If we were ever to meet it might workout somewhat, she seemed to relay: but you know, men always think like that. That smirk on her upper lip tells me she?s a fox after a hound; and to be honest with my second self, I think I am dreaming faster than a rocket.

?Wakeup Chick! Stop daydreaming, she wants yooooou?!? said Ski. I shook my head: yes, I guess I was daydreaming.

Financially, I knew I could not afford her, but the theme was starting to take on a life of its own, its own course: to be exact, taken out of my hands?for the time being anyway; I think I was starting to feel her prestige involved; she had two girlfriends sitting by her and I was something of an imagined plot of hers: I told myself as I starred back at her, and she at I, and Ski at both of us, and Mac into his beer: Perhaps we do have something in common after all, who was to say unless you took that step.

As I started to stand up, I noticed she was dressed in a fine up-to-date style of cloths, and it made her look a tad older than I first thought. She put her hand out (it was thin, slender to be exact, smooth, nice finger nails, milky white skin, with a tint to it, not much, just a slight auburn tint) and stood up, ?shoots,? I said, Ski laughing and covering his mouth (now Mac turned to look at me, he nodded his head, a slight smile as not to offend Ski and I figured I stop on over there afterwards. His head kind of fell to his chest, his chin hit his chest, like a bomb, I saw him do that before.)

?Don?t say it Ski, I?ll turn around and leave.?

?I?m not saying anything man, just enjoying the trip, dance man dance!?

She was almost as tall as me, sandy-dark-brown hair; a fresh looking face, with a nice smile, a laugh right around its corners, and she seemed like she was simply celebrating life, as I was.

?My name is Chris, sit down,? she said as a quick introduction; then her three girl friends said their quick hellos. Chris just looked about, and then like a kitten, came back with her eyes focused directly into mine, like a hypnotist.

5 Mac?s Dilemma

?Let?s dance; I do hope you dance,? she added, in a tone low, and a light laugh starting to come out of her smile again, almost disarming me. And out to the middle of the dance floor we went. About several couples filled in around us, and the dance became a mental waltz, as we tightened our dance to each other?s body curves on the floor.

?Yaw dunce vel,? she commented with her broken English, and Germany accent.

I didn?t instantly reply, she pulled me closer to her during the next dance saying, ?I?ve vant to go to club I know vel, you?v Vis to come along??

She waited for a response. My pants started to bulge out a little in the wrong place or maybe right place for her. I thought, and thought ?she?s asking me to go to a club she knows, I think. And I got to calm down, before I get laid on the floor here. I was starting to like the dance, it was smooth, and her thin body was melting into mine. I was hoping she would change her mind and just stay here.

?Vell,? she asked again.

?I need to tell somebody I?m leaving first, ok.?

?Yaw, I vat.?

?Just a minute please?I?ll be back.?

As we got outside, I thought about Ski, I felt a little displeased with myself but Ski knew it was coming; it was not quite that evident to me at first, that is, that I?d be leaving the Den, but to him, I?m sure it was evident.

Chris was attempting to ease me a little as we walked out the door, not quite achieving it at first, realizing the slow approach I made at her calling me to her table in the Den, like a dog or at least I kind of took it that way, I didn?t tell Ski that, he?d think I was a kid, her approach was like ?come here little doggy??, even though I was a little nervous, and I did like the fact she made the first move? I put it together it just took me awhile.

She explained it wasn?t all that far from where we were as we walked around the corner to her car.

?A most interesting friend you have,? she commented.

?Well, I?ve heard that before I guess.?

?Eh? yaw-have???

?I don?t want to get into it, he?s ??

?Trouble??? She said.

?Yaw, I guess you could say that, how did you know??

?I can see it, I?m sure others can too.?

?I guess I thought it wasn?t that obvious, that I was the only one that could.? She smiled as if she would have me all figured out in no time. Was I that readable? I thought.

Rapidly she opened the door to the car, a new 1970 Ford Mustang and within a minute we were on our way to wherever. As we drove a few minutes I noticed a section of town that was quite alien to me. Then I noticed the big gray tower as she drove north of where I was stationed at Reese compound. I pointed it out, saying that was where I was stationed with the 1/36th Artillery. She said ?Oh,? as if she?d pick up the conversation on that subject later.

Then down around a number of buildings and around the cities fancy regal design water fountain she raced as if the cops were her fans and wouldn?t give her a ticket; then up a few more unknown streets I hadn?t seen as of yet, -- she went; I actually seen most of the city on many of my long afternoon walks throughout the city. I counted twenty-seven blocks in all as her tires squealed around the corners, and then suddenly she stopped.

?Yaw ? you ok?? She felt moved to say; ?I need a cigarette?? she looked at me.

?Oh, I see.? I looked quite dashed I suppose, we both looking at each other.

??In as much as, or rather I should say, it isn?t my business of course, but do you smoke??

?Yes, but I don?t want to now,? I hesitated, ?Well, not really,? nervously.

?My dear boy, we are here!? She gazed at me, with bewilderment?a little inward exasperation, as she sat behind the steering wheel, charming, eager, and full of life; so, anyone would have said.

?Must you have one now,? I said.

?No, let?s get into the bar?.?

As we stepped out of the car, the stars were glowing in the cool glassy darkness. Chris pulled off her black small hat fixing her full thick hair with her fingers. Her hair was not long, but not short.

As we walked into the club, it seemed she was quite in charge of the moment. But it was a good moment I thought, a new corner of town for me, headlined with bright lights, a huge mirror along the bar and a jolly bar tender with a white shirt and black bow tie. A few guys and women seized Chris as we turned the corner from the entrance hall to the bar area, they started speaking something in German. Then she introduced me to her friends as her friends hurried to get a round of drinks for us as we joined them at their table.

?Just a few friends,? commented Chris.

?I like scotch on the rocks,? she told me. I tried to figure out how much money I had in my pocket. I had just gotten paid a few days ago, $127-dollars for the month and it had to last, and this place was high buck, costly by the looks of things.

She picked up her drink, and hit my beer glass ??a proast my new friend?hit my glass,? she meant ?toast?, I mumbled, she smiled, ?proast in Germany?? but I guess it?s different in Germany, and so I did as the Germans do best, and down the hatch it went.

Her three friends talking at the bar came over with another round, and down they went also. Then I bought a round, $12.75, it was a few days pay, but I knew if I survived the night I could not duplicate it again this month.

There was little conversation between the five of us, for only Chris could speak English clearly, the rest of them tried but they were as bad at English as I was at German, and so I just kept drinking. But it was joyful.

As the drinks kept coming the voices at the table sank to a sleepy blur, and a few yawns. Chris smiled to herself or so it seemed, standing up a few times walking in circles. She got a sandwich ate half of it and asked me if I wanted the rest, I said ?no,? so it was left on the table, she seemed fatigued but we continued to drink, smoke and smile.

Chris drank slowly not as fast as I. It seem to me she had a good sense of human nature attached to her character, and her sex-drive went up as my beers went down?or at least it seemed to me to be that way, as her eyes were removing my cloths. Or was it my mind, my imagination doing it for us. Who could tell?

In my mind I was counting the money I had left in my pocket, and how much I would have left for the month after this evening, yet I didn?t want to spoil the inner warmth of our connecting drowsy bodies being stirred up.

I earnestly hoped that this new lady friend would be a little sympathetic with the drinks: --I would have to tell her soon I was a private not an officer, that I couldn?t afford to go on spending money this way, but I?d wait for the evening to get a little more interesting. Timing was everything, or so I believed. And I didn?t want to leave the wrong impression.

For the second time in an hour I had found myself buying another round, another $12.75, this was number five. I had to remind myself again I had not come prepared to spoil Miss Germany with every penny I had, in the broad-spectrum, I could not go on like this.

?Chris,? I asked, ?let me explain. I?m a Private First Class [PFC], not an officer. I?ve got to get back to base before midnight, bed check. But I guess the Army is doing away with bed check come next week. The whole damn army is. I hope we can see each other more. And please don?t think of me as being cheap, but I can?t afford this place.? She smiled, one of them cat and mouse smiles I do believe; but she understood.

?Yaw, I know, and you are a gentleman, and tired. Let me buy a few rounds.? I looked a little embarrassed I?m sure, but said to myself if she wants to stay here so be it, and I sat back down and waited for the next round. Actually my beer was the cheapest think on the menu.

It was almost like a holiday for me, you know, on one of those high-class vacations on the Mexican Rivera, the ones I used to read about in the Sunday paper back home. Beautiful bars with well to do women, and everyone dressed as a star, everyone that is but me. I was dressed all right, but these people here were dressed a little more sophisticated.

I almost couldn?t believe it, all this luxury, and a pretty woman to boot she was not any young girl I should say, but not old. And the club was playing my Elvis music, not that disco crap. Chris got a look at me as I was tapping my fingers and moving my feet ♪ with the song ?Heartbreak Hotel? ♪ ☺ and then came ?Don?t Be Cruel? ♫♫♪

?I see you like him to, Chick??

?Yaw.?

?What?s your best song of his??

?Not sure, maybe ?It?s Now or Never,? not sure.?

?We all loved Elvis coming to Germany; many of the girls used to try to find him while he was on guard duty, until they took him off. But that was ten-years ago.?

?That?s right he was here just ten years ago, how interesting.?

?He is now making a comeback I see, or so they say.? Chris liked the song, Heartbreak Hotel as much as I did, we both kind of rocked in our chairs looking at each other, and at her friends as they got up walking around chatting with everyone in the bar.

?You like the Everly Brothers?? I asked Chris.

?Some of their songs are fine?not as much as Elvis though?why??

?They played at my High School Prom.?

?So do yaw like me?? She asked. I hadn?t expected that, but I quickly appeased her by saying, ?Yes,? and there was truth in my voice. I?m not sure why I did confirm that, but I did.

She bathed her voice slowly, saying, ?You?re quite handsome, I like your square chin, I mean jaw, I guess I mean both, and strong looking face.?

I knew she had been to the top of the mountain, and was not quite sure what she wanted with me, but I had nothing to lose. We were both attractive people in a sea of youth, and the timing was right. Everything seemed just right, too right.

She had reached a stage in which she knew what she wanted, and went after it, I figured that much out quickly. But I lacked the finery she possessed; yet she was proud and unspoiled, as I seemed I suppose, which she chose for her intellectual reasons.

As she fell back into her chair, she became very comfortable with me quickly, and for some reason I was not getting drunk but she was. She had that smile again, that laugh I noticed at the disco, and it seemed to come out sideways. It made me believe it was more of cunning assurance she cultivated for her prey, rather than sincerity.

The bar maid came by, ?Can I help you with another drink?.? She asked.

?Maybe a little coffee, Chris?? failing to concentrate on my comment, she leaned over the top of the chair and took her finger and waved the waitress on closer.

?You know, Chris,? I commented, ?This finger thing with you is a little disturbing, kind of like you would do to a dog.?

?Arf ffff? arfff?.? she went, we both started to laugh☺ I leaned over toward her, within inches of kissing, but out of respect, I just couldn?t so I left it alone, it wasn?t the time or place, especially with all her friends around, plus she was too vulnerable. I have learned a few things in my young life and one is that if a person sees you taking advantage of them when they are weak, they will not forget that when they are strong. It is like telling someone your secret-weakness, and when you are arguing and you want to win the fight you take that secret weapon out and use it to shut the person up, yet, to do this is not to be honorable, and it is not a friend that would do this; friends do not do such things.

?Let?s go Chris?I got to get back?.?

She got up, I helped her put her coat on; she smiled a little, and held out her keys.

?Youuuu driiive Chick ☻ yoa-r more sober I--iiii think.?

?Sure,? I replied. As we walked out to her Mustang, I then thought about the way she dressed, I liked it, and it was as if she dressed for success. We both were excited about this first date, this enchanting evening, and we both knew we?d never forget it, how could we, it was the beginning. Chris asked optimistically ?How about me mmee-meetng yooou at the front-gate of the base? tomorrow??

٭

[chapter 5 to be continued in following chapters]

There is a fine line between a toy and a game. If you don't think so, look inside the mind of a child and inside the following article. It may just change how you think about what exactly is a toy.

What's the difference? To a little kid, probably not much. And with games that you only need one person to play, such as solitaire, the distinction can be a very fine one. How many of us have heard our mothers yell at us to 'put our toys away' and what's in front of use is a chess set that we used to play war with. Kids have wild imaginations. Has that chess set just become a toy?

In most cases there is a very big difference between what is a toy and what is a game, at least according to our adult minds. But in the hands of a child, either one can be, well, either one.

Dominoes is a great game for two people. There is quite a bit of strategy involved in putting out just the right piece so as to block your opponent from being able to do anything and thus forcing him to pick up a domino. But did you ever see those things in the hands of a small child who's stringing them along the floor in what is turning into a maze of wonders. With the number of dominoes in a set, the number of different mazes that child can make is virtually without limit. So go and tell him that his bunch of dominoes are not toys.

Getting back to our chess example. We all know that a game of chess is one of the most complex games of thought ever created and it takes a superior mind to play well. But did you ever see a kid set up a chess board and start to move the two armies towards each other? As the pawns approach and get within striking distance you're only seconds away from seeing pieces fly all over the place. And so see the knight get up on top of the castle (isn't that what knights do)? and start firing arrows or swords at the opposing bishop is a sight to be seen. And then finally, to see the cat fight between the two queens as the kings stand by and watch is like watching the battle of the titans. Chess pieces can be great toys. And if you've got those new chess pieces that are designed after popular movie characters like Star Wars or Lord Of The Rings, well, who needs real toys?

Take a simple game of cards and it doesn't matter which card game you choose. Did you ever see a kid start to fling those things around the room? They make great projectiles and if you're not careful as an adult passing by, those cards can easily take out an eye. Not to mention the great card castles that you can make. Heck, we all do it. And don't think they're so easy. Kids seem to have a gift when it comes to that stuff.

The truth is, just about any game can be taken apart and turned into a toy. But for the sake of the remainder of articles in this series, we're going to concentrate on toys that were not meant to be made into games.

Not to say they don't ultimately end up as one.

Over five thousand people came to see the lynching the following week, they came from every county within 150-miles, and here Jeremiah stood in front of the crowed, stern-still, stoned-faced, flat affect, deep-narrow eyes of black and red?an iris as big as a cows; there he stood on the wooden gallows: yelling to the crowd; --and as he yelled the several closest to the gallows got sprayed purposely with slim and spit from his mouth, dribbling, slobbering all over everyone as he laughed and spoke:

?Get on with it whitey [he shouted], yous keeping mes from having dinner in hell, whts ya problem boy?! [Then he started to swear again at the crowd, obscenities no one had ever heard, the white women held their hands over their children?s ears]. Every white person stood there in shock, as if he was supposed to use his last words, his last moments of life to repent with, and show some kind of remorse, yet he didn?t, not at all, matter of fact, it was dramatically to the contrary. Yes, these brought back some old memories for the group watching Old Abram hanging. A hundred years had pass, but the attitude of the county had not changed.

[Somehow those old memories were started to settle wrongly in the old man?s head, he couldn?t squash them in the corner of his brain anymore, they started to seep out, as he sat back in the rocking chair, grabbing a little white-lightening.]

5.

Back to the Trailer Court

Unhurried now, yet a bit tired from all the excitement Chris looked in his rearview mirror witnessing the old man steadily plowing through the mud to the porch beyond, trying to get to that old rocker, from time to time, checking out the dubious looking sky.

As Chris drove the road steadily, the rot, stink of the flesh and wet bones was on his person, he could smell himself, it was nauseating, and his stomach was turning. He told himself, dead bodies smell, look nasty, have many colors to them, dull brushed colors. It was not a pretty sight by far. The sky was getting even darker as he raced down the lightly paved road: --racing as if the demons themselves were against him for taking the bones, an unblessed treasure, their feast, to look at, how they made man into a beast and had them kill for them. And now Thompson?s car would smell it was no more than a hearse for the moment. Along with the dark clouds, dust was befalling the earth around Chris. A chill went up his spine, now he was questing himself, did he do right? It was not a chill of fear he told himself, rather one of tampering with the sacred remains of another person. Yet it was better to preserve a man?s remains, bring them to a dignified closing, than let them rot like a meal for a vultures on a white man?s farm; his sins were no greater than anyone else?s, he told himself?[for he really didn?t know Old Abram], and much less he presumed than the old man?s, the one with the rocker on the porch.

--As he got closer to town, outside of the city was a cemetery, he entered it through a back road, saw a sign that read, ?Cremation,? and parked the car, went inside the one story building, and made arrangements for the body parts [mostly bones, and the skull] to be cremated, and picked out an urn?: one of wood. The cremating cost him $50, which was ten-day pay, and the urn, which was five-day pay. He was making about $127 a month, and that was taxed, with six-dollars a month coming out for bonds. But he figured he?d drink off the other guys for a week and mooches cigarettes off his friends-likewise; what the heck he thought, they did it to him all the time. It was all worth while he told himself, feeling guilty for putting that young black girl, almost a woman, and possible a woman in harms way; this was the least he could do. Plus, it just felt good. He told himself, God puts people in funny situations, and most people go tell someone else to do whatever they think should be done, when it is them who should be doing it, and so he did it. His mother had told him that once; he never forgot it; kind of like telling someone else to take their own inventory, instead of taking yours, which so often people do.

--When Chris returned the car to the trailer court, he explained everything to his friend Thompson, whom simply shook his head, saying:

?Things are quite different around here Chris, you got to stay out of the way of the issues they got down here, you?re going to get yourself killed, and my damn car impounded for being part of this southern charade.?

Then he added,

?But it?s quite noble, I doubt I?d have done something like that, matter of fact, I?d never would have talked to the black girl in the first place, you know, one thing leads to another, just like it?s happening now?? then he gave Chris a pat on the shoulder, kind of man-hug one might say for his daring. After that Chris grabbed a phone book, he remembered Elsa had a diabetes name chain around her wrist, it read, he remembered: ?Elsa something,? and quickly thumbed through the ?location? section of the phonebook.

?Whitehead?Boston ?Boston?Boston? Rebecca Whitehead-Boston,? he said out loud, ?it must be Elsa?s relative.?

?There,? he told Thompson, ?There she is, Elsa?s last name, it was a funny one, a double one, Whitehead-Boston, got to use your phone please.? At this juncture, Thompson thought Chris just had a baby, he was so excited to have found her identity; then Thompson handed him the phone with a sigh oozing out of his chest and mouth as to not delay Chris? mission,

?Good luck??

?Hello,? a female?s voice came over the phone.

?Elsa Boston?? asked Chris ?I mean Whitehead,? Chris confused.

?Yes, yes, dhats me, why? [A pause] this is Elsa, why??

?Hello again, this is, is?I hope you remember me, I?m Chris, and I met you about a month ago [?Oh?? came over the other side of the phone?with nervousness to it]; I don?t mean to bother you but? [A pause??But what, doan mess wid me again? replied Elsa].?

She was listening intensively now.

?As I was about to say, I have a gift for you.?

?I?m using my Auntie?s last name and ? [she hesitated to fill in the sentence],? she corrected Chris, as if to alert him that she was the right person, but she was not giving him her legal last name, possible for personal reasons. ?And what might that be, and howd-ya get my phone number?? she commented a little sarcastically.

?It?s a grief gift, the ashes of your Old Uncle Abram? [Then Chris explained what he had done].?

During the clearing up of events [namely, telling him her story], Elsa was idle, without words, and a few tears were sensed over the phone, which came with a sniffling, a cry, a moan?: thought, Chris with a sense of relief, ?now she [they] can grieve,--put a closure to it, if that?s what is really needed.?

?Aunty,? Chris heard over the phone, ?Uncle Abram?hes-a?hes comon hom I guess.? Then with a pause, as Elsa clarified to her Aunty what was happening, she said?in all the excitement?she had forgotten his name, then abruptly said:

?Is you gona stop over tomorrow??

?Yes,? replied Christopher Wright, as she thanked him several times.

6.

Returning of the Bones

[Wirily and still a bit tired] Chris woke up early the next morning, it was Saturday, and borrowing Thompson?s car again, he went and picked up the ashes, with the wooden urn [he had ordered], which had a wooden cross and butterfly carved of wood attached to the urn in the front of it; and headed out to find this black-girl?s house.

[Chris had stayed overnight at the trailer court, drinking the night away with Chief, and Thompson, talking about his good deed, and not so good idea to get involved; --but both friends encouraged him to follow through on it, none the less. They all had but two weeks to go to graduation, and it was best to settle this so he could get back to studying for the examination coming up in a week?thus, clearing his mind.]

The Shanties

On the way to the black-girl?s shanty, Chris noticed, as any single GI from the Midwest might have noticed, the strange area he was driving into: strange because it was extraordinary in contrast to the area he had just left, which was quiet visible, immediately when he turned the corner off the main highway, prior to entering the shanty-city; for the most part, now there were no more road signs anywhere to be seen?dirt compacted roads only [in St. Paul, there was nothing so drastic in changes like this, from one extreme to the other], ?why: where?s the tax money goin,? he whispered-out loud to the windshield. The shanties were sparsely placed he noticed, some clusters of them here and there, some black kids running after chickens, chasing them down. A man with an ax chopping away at the roots of an old tree, a stump of a tree that is; another someone: somebody?black-lady, collecting eggs inside a chicken-coup he noticed [she was walking on her hands and knees backwards to not allow the chickens to escape in front of her; as he drove down the zigzagging road].

The countryside, to include the outskirts of the city was quite a ragged sight compared to the inner city structure, or the Military Base; another world one might say?of itself. It seemed like a version out of one of Steinbeck?s novels, of the Depression time?figured the soldier. Like most country roads, this one was of hard gravel, deeply rutted by trucks and car tires; some old timbers were lying about, erosion beaten, and with the window open, the landscape reeked everywhere, leaving a bad odor to his senses.

[Inquisitively] Chris saw an old man resting [as he drove his car between five to seven miles an hour over the rouged terrain], doing a double take, he almost smiled at him, --the old man was lying peacefully against a huge Cyprus tree, laying against it with a shoe for a pillow; --his head pillowed on one of his shoes [an idea he thought that might be useful, ??come in handy on some of them long Army marches,? he told himself, especially when one gets only a fifteen-minute rest after several miles].

In the not too far distance he could hear a train whistle, --couldn?t see the tracks nor the train, but they had to be in back of the shanties somewhere he presupposed, where else, that was where the sound was coming from? The car came to almost a complete stop trying to get around, and drive over the holes and bumps in the soil, trying without breaking the car?s axel, for should he continue this way, he?d surely break something: again, the odor, a different smell to his liking, come through the window, garbage possible. It hadn?t occurred to him, lifestyles were so drastically different, to be precise, poles apart, when everything was so close to the city or Army Base. The only possible conclusion was, wet wood, a cooler atmosphere, less grass and more bare-brown earth, and a graveyard that was being used as a garbage facility; everything uncultivated, long-haired grass everywhere. He concluded the benefits of modern life had not yet brought profit to this section of the county, or for that matter, country. Bad roads, bad schools, bad shanties, and bad health; everything was poorly maintained--: no resemblance of a plan. Houses zigzagged all over the place.

The so called Negro settlement was an abandon area for the most part, an area in a process of decay. Yet still, Chris was intoxicated with the idea of bringing back the bones of a black-man to his kin; therefore, he looked every which-way for her, or her shanty. He was now a half mile down the dirt road, and some old Negroes congregated at a corner of the road, they were doing something, playing chess or checkers, he couldn?t make it out, yet he could see the uplifting of one old man?s brow, seeing the whites of his eyes, big eyes: both eyes checking out his bluish-green eyes. He was, or so he noticed, the only white man in this shanty-town.

Revenge or Redemption

It was [thoughts going through his mind: Chris?s] about 104-years in the past when this area was a slave society; where slaves and slavery were frequent subjects, and the white man was still at the forefront of this, a century later, or at least in the eyes of the black man, he had just seen, it seemed to be not much different: that is to say, decades had not washed or cleansed the sins that evidently were committed here, and his bones, the ones he had sitting on the seat beside him, proved just that. Another amazing thought that went through Chris? head was the display of rich and poor living so close to one another, sometimes a grave apart, or a graveyard apart; he wasn?t quite sure how to place it?to measure it, but it didn?t seem to digest quite right.

Now he saw her house, it was standing as she described it, her shanty, like a dog-trot log cabin with planks, and a huge chimney to the side of it that stretched from the ground to over the roof, the chimney looked as if it could have heated up a mansion at one time, and probably did. It looked as if it was built over another foundation [the shanty], and it was held up on short pegs, possible to keep the wiggly creatures away, such as snakes and so forth

what was going on in Chris? mind, no one really knew, possible not even him, possible only God Himself; but what it seemed like, what it gave the impression of was a poor response, from a poor white boy, a soldier, a white soldier who put aside, or wanted to push aside resentment and revenge for an alternative response called redemption for his race. And so he looked at the bones, and the black girl?s shanty, and proceeded with his forbidden quest.

Returning of the Bones

It was now 9:30 AM, he parked his car at the bottom of the road that led into what looked like a campsite; walking up the incline, he showed up outside of Elsa?s house [shanty], it was in the back of the cemetery, he had found out, as he looked south-east, her house being more north-east. Not all that far from where he was [he noticed] was actually the city. Matter of fact, he noticed the cemetery was used for garbage?as expected?and people?s old car parts, old tires and so forth?yes a junkyard to boot, and some very old graves where about [as he had walked up the dirt road, he had noticed the unfenced in cemetery?s abandonment, and walked through it partially], so old were some of the names, that they were worn down to make the stone only carry a shadow within its surface, and only a few dates remained clearly identifiable.

Her shanty was quite small [as he looked ahead] compared to the houses he was used to seeing in St. Paul, Minnesota, where he was from?the Midwest. There were several houses in a row; actually they all looked rather small, similar to a one car garage back home. There wasn?t much grass around her house either, weeds for the most part, and only dirt roads in and out of there, that lead in and out and around the back of the cemetery, her neighborhood. It was startling for Chris, for not far from there were expensive mansions?with seven bedrooms mansions, four bathrooms in some, and here were almost dugout houses of a century ago?now called shanties. What a difference, what a 360-degree turn about?he pondered.

As Elsa met him at the doorway, as she was expecting to, she took the wooden box from his hands, hugged it for a moment, almost fearful it might drop, it was about a foot tall, and half foot wide, still holding it as if it was a baby, her eyes filled up with tears, and her mouth quivered, her legs seemed to weaken, the grieving process had started Chris told himself, it was marked by pain, and relief, sorry and sadness, but mostly love. The young soldier [Private First Class Wright] looked kind of down on the ground for a moment, almost as if to give her a moment to get herself back together, yet he really didn?t expect or demand that, it was all a new experience for him also. He was trying to figure out what a person says in such a case, and in lack of anything intelligent he babbled:

?I don?t know what to say, but I?m here for you,? she slightly glanced up?and smiled, evidently that was what she needed to hear. He never expected she was that close to him, evidently, he had lived there with them; it seemed that Aunty, or Rebecca Whitehead [Boston] was the sister possible, to Abram: or so Chris deduced. But he left well enough alone, and didn?t pry?said no more?shifting a series of illusions in his head [phantasmagoria] as if he had made the world a little bit better; plus, he knew he was getting too involved, as he was told by his Army friends, which wasn?t wise, and so he concurred with them at this point; for her he felt the previous unfinished grieving (she needed to do), could now be done properly; wherein if not done, possible creating more resentment, for as the old saying goes: ?Out of sight, out of mind,? if that was the case, time would tell.

She implied to the young soldier: he now would be handled with respect and dignity. She didn?t ask any questions, it just didn?t matter anymore it seemed, or so her face showed?pale as it was with holding of the ashes?with a little animosity. He was dead and right or wrong would not bring him back, nor would the people who did this atrocity get punished for it: not here on earth anyhow, and if so, she?d probably not hear about it, but she had learned the old saying was true: ?What goes around, comes around,? and so the monsters that did this could only expect some kind of ongoing nightmares concerning this matter, knowing everything has a price. For the moment she was just happy to see that there was a proper ending to all this?a closing if you will; something she had not expected. Chris couldn?t see her aunty but he heard her:

?Wes got a jug in de bushes??she bellowed; there was a long pause, as Elsa held the urn, and Chris stood on one foot suspended over one of the three steps to their home, the other foot on one of the square blocks of cement leading to the steps, his balance?readily available to go up or back at any command. She was trying to be polite, and possible it was all they had to offer?the home made whisky. Then she asked a funny question, or so it seemed to Chris, since this was the first and only meeting they?d ever have, and under such circumstances, she asked:

?Hows it to be a soldier, I mean, is it a good life??

Said Chris with a stunned look: ?I like it, it gives me a roof over my head, three meals a day, a little money, some rank: I hope to get more rank, maybe be a sergeant someday and make more money, and I can go to school on the GI bill while in the Army. I guess you can?t beat that,? smiling.

?Oh,? she murmured.

The mineral to which the term ' precious stone' is applied, must be adaptable for jewelry or ornamental purposes and must possess beauty, hardness, and rarity.

The beauty of a precious stone or gem consists of its color or colorlessness, brilliancy or softness of luster, and transparency. To take a high and lasting polish, a mineral must be hard, ?and many stones that would otherwise be highly valued are low in the estimate of worth because they do not possess of sufficient hardness to make them endure the wear and friction to which a precious stone is subjected when used in the form of jewelry. The rareness of precious stones has a decided effect in determining their values. For instance, the crocidolite, commercially known as tiger-eye, was sold by the carat some years ago, and was largely used in the making of fine jewelry. Today, this material is so plentiful that it is no longer classed among the higher gems, but serves for cameos and intaglios like chalcedony and onyx.

The changes of fashion have much to do with determining the market value of precious stones. Amethysts, topazes, cat's-eyes, aquamarines, alexandrites, and even emeralds and opals have been eagerly sought for at times and then again neglected for other gems, causing a sensible difference in the value of these stones.

It has been a mooted question as to the proper dividing line between stones that deserve the title ?precious,? and those, which should be placed in a so-called semi-precious or lower category. To draw such a line is hardly possible, as neither hardness, rareness, nor value would be a positive test--some of the hard stones, like zircon and almandines being less valuable than softer opal, while the diamond, one of the most plentiful of precious stones, is at the same time, one of the most valuable.

Neither can price be taken as a complete test, because fashion makes a turquoise, an opal, or an emerald much more valuable at one time than at another, All precious minerals used for ornamental purposes, from the diamond to quartz, or chalcedony, may properly be termed precious stones.

The Final Word On Precious Stones

The most precious stones are the diamonds, emeralds, rubies and sapphires. The pearl is oftentimes classed with precious stones. Although strictly speaking while it is not a stone it holds an esteemed place in jewelry.