Of
having come
from lostness and from
nightness and afar,
of having come a long way through a swamp,
of having walked by rivers and been drenched in lakes, he had
only a vague memory. He couldn't remember now in what summer
he had been at the place. He must have been a child, though he
had possessed vigor and desire more than a child's. He remembered
only vaguely the temple whose circular roof was open to the summer
so that the tree might live. For a long time, he had possessed
the golden bough and had meant to keep it for a token, all heavy
with seed and fruit. He could not even remember the face of one
whom he had known there in that august and tranquil summer. She
had been beautiful, and yes, assuredly, his desire had been more
than a child's. And were not the morals of that maternal deity
delightfully suspect? He had even forgotten all the names--the
names equally of the tree, the goddess, and the shrine, the singular
names which he knew he must have heard over and over. He had
forgotten the name of the curious and curving pathway to the
place. And he had even forgotten his own name, the special name
that they had given him because he was the only one who had found
the way. He had been amazed by the vast extent of the forest
around him, the immense and silent grove steeped in twilight,
through which weak sunrays filtering fell, and he remembered
the distant and soft floor of the forest, and the trunks of trees,
all oaks of an extinct species. Through that forest he had walked,
and in its shadow he had lived, and there he had discovered the
place of sacred waters. But then all this must have been a memory
of something he had read or heard. If only once again he might
return and stand where the slant rays touched with fire the topmost
branches of the tree! Then perhaps a golden warmth would descend
his body, and he would discover in the twilight of the trunk
a goddess exquisitely formed, whose gold hair lay along the earth
and whose precise face would stir him to recognition. Then perhaps,
he would recapture the word which had been from the beginning,
which had awakened him from sleep and touched his ears with music
and ecstasy, a word that quivered through the grove and caused
the tree to shiver and send down a rain of yellow and unusual...
Dust and seed were on his clothes.
The quivering fabric of the court house square had been pulled
like a masque over the naked beauty of some earlier dream. He
was still glowing with a virile wish, certain that a delicious
fulfillment was waiting for him among these holiday hundreds
smeared with greasepaint and wearing ritual costumes for the
pageant. He must find the gracious young woman, she, too, wearing
a redundant costume and that fictitious name which for the moment
he was unable to lay his tongue to. He had to follow a dedalean
thread through streets and corridors and rooms and roads and
rivers to the inmost shrine. It was all a part of the festive
make-believe of
CARNIVAL BARKER
speaking through megaphone,
--A day spent among the americans!
Come one. Come all. You can't afford to...
HENRY WADSWORTH LONGFELLOW
emerging from crowd, whitebearded, beneficent,
america's foremost poet, reciting in a grave sweet voice,
--Be a hero in the strife!
MR. SHAWNESSY
dantesque gown, head garlanded with laurel,
--Let us then be up and doing,
mr. longfellow. Old translator of epics and epic poet yourself,
perhaps you would like to hear the beginning of my humble poem,
some few thousands of pages in manuscript, and entitled--
MR. LONGFELLOW
pleasant face and spreading beard protruding
from the foliage of a chestnut tree,
--I'd be content with a little
tale in a wayside inn.
About to reply, he found himself
entering a building so badly weathered that the front steps were
a pile of shifting sand in which he saw the footprints of his
predecessor. He had some memory of an ancient legend in which
an elder bard had led the young aspirant into the mystery of
a murmurous underworld beneath the vivid day. Inside the main
door, he found three smaller doors, glasspaneled, through which
he could see the dwindling corridors, the ascending stairs, the
crowded exhibit cases of the raintree county historical museum.
He pushed the middle door and entered. The metal stairs ascended
in spiral from floor to floor. He stood alone in the place where
the ancient deposits of life in raintree county were, preserved
in the exact, if slightly discolored, state in which they had
been plucked from some living past. Relics of fifty years, they
filled up rows of cases in gloomy corridors, neglected rooms.
Somewhere here, among pistols, mcguffey readers, bundles of beribboned
letters, the sacred relic lay, no value having been attached
to it by anyone but him. To take it out of its case and feel
the ancient skin of it still faintly oily and to smell the scent
of it like stuffed birds, this would be a precise and curious
pleasure.
LADY CUSTODIAN
emerging from dark hallway, disguised in corncostume,
face hidden in brownsilky hair, finger on lips, holding out hand,
voice husky and whispering,
--Sh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h! Come back
with me. This way. In here. To show you. A sudden rush from the
stairway, a sudden raid from the hall--
Eager to solve the riddle of her
identity and to find out the secret name which she could divulge
to him, he followed her into the little room where the namestuffed
book of the wayside inn was kept.
MR. SHAWNESSY
--They say there's
an interesting variant of the name on the oldest deeds.
LADY CUSTODIAN
dimly smiling, winking, finger on lips, cornleaves
rusting,
--Sh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h. It is here.
Long years after, in the heart of an oak--
She was holding up a piece of weathered
wood in which an arrowhead was imbedded.
MR. SHAWNESSY
--I see. Baldur
the beautiful, slain by mistletoe. Oakgod's life pierced through
and through by the arrow of fate. A song heard and overheard
years later. So life began--
The little room into which he had
been shown was a kind of druid shrine, oakpaneled, hung with
sheaves of ripe wheat, bows and arrows, the roof being open to
the sky. White pillars, rooted like trees in an ancestral soil,
walled him circularly in.
LADY CUSTODIAN
holding immense dogeared book, sifting seed,
pressed flowers, bits of crackling leaf,
--A book of prophecy and legends
old and new. Young mortal, more beloved than a god, you desire
to know...
MR. SHAWNESSY
hair tangled, matted with seed, body naked
to the waist,
--Where place is? When time is?
Your name, mysterious and lovely--
LADY CUSTODIAN
beginning slowly to revolve her belly in ritual
dance, slowly to husk the corndress down, showing bare shoulder
smoothwoven back, brightnippled breasts pouting over the curled
leaves, reading from book,
--There is a prophecy older even
than the indians who once lived in that valley to the effect
that one day a nameless youth will come and find the river's
secret source, and lo! it would be his...
JOHNNY SHAWNESSY
small boy, approaching the semi-naked priestess
of prophesy, reaching eager fingertips toward her bare flesh,
glowing in a fading light of afternoon and summer,
--Who is god?
LADY CUSTODIAN
seated on steps of log cabin, half in darkness,
--Remember your origin, every time
you see uncle tom's cabin, and remember to be good and faithful
and christian as...
He was looking down a valley at
the far end of which was an immense face of clay. Around it,
slowly brightening and rimmed with fire, the western clouds were
hovering. They glowed to a shimmering climax, then swiftly clothed
in darkness the face, which had vaguely reminded him of a great
american, savior and preserver of the republic, whose martyred
body had been buried in a secret place known only to...
The school children of raintree
county were a great concern to him, swarming in and out of the
museum doors, sliding down the spiral banisters, balancing precariously
on the window ledges. He had been hunting all up and down the
musty corridors, looking for the sainted mummy, hidden in an
unsuspected case, dry fragrant, unutterably old. In the glass
cases of the museum, he had seen stuffed birds and animals, varnished
fish, pioneer cradles, primitive scythes, tallow lamps, candleholders,
slates, spinning wheels, arrowheads, tomahawks, moccasins, stone
knives, belts of wampum, cultivating sticks, firebows, stone
wheels, crude steam engines, firearms, light bulbs, typewriters.
MR. SHAWNESSY
field-explorer's costume, excavator's pick,
notebook entitled scholar's delight,
--Impossible to record it all,
the endless linkage of our life, the murmurous fabric of the
names, leading us back to...
The invisible river made a low
sound in rushes as he approached the great mound on the edge
of an indian battleground, in company with henry wadsworth longfellow,
nathaniel hawthorne, and other miscellaneous bards and bardlings,
a motley crew armed with pickaxes, spades, hoes, sickles, hayforks,
mattocks. The mound was a gentle, elliptical hump, some fifty
feet in diameter, covered with fine grass and little wiry aromatic
flowers.
MR. SHAWNESSY
deeply affected,
--Gentlemen, we are about to dig
our mattocks into the most sacred earth in raintree county. Older
than christ, older than caesar, older than the greeks is this
venerable hump of earth, holding enwombed for centuries the secret
of a lost culture. Who knows what relics we shall find of a prehistoric
race, of whom not a single name survives, mounddwellers, the
first inhabitants of raintree county!
Digging at the tough earth of the
mound, he had turned up a golden railroad spike, three latin
textbooks, some landdeeds, a polished skull, a three-legged table,
a varnished chart of the human anatomy, a rolltop lawyer's desk,
a great many glass-stoppered bottles, and last of all...
The light in the office was dim.
It was late afternoon, and w. b. wasn't back yet from his calls.
The old ledger in johnny's hands was full of pressed flowers,
weightless wisps plucked long ago but still faintly odorous of
earth in summers long ago. He was certain that this ledger contained
the answer to the riddle--perhaps a map to a hidden place, a
delightfully archaic poem, perhaps even the name of that great
english poet to whom johnny shawnessy was so closely related.
He ran his eyes over records of birth and death, recipes for
medicines, testimonials of the cured, homemade hymns. There were
pictures of adam and eve beneath a hawthorne tree in a variety
of symbolical postures and other pictures of the mother and father
of the race riding in a cab with the letters taylor house upon
it, and then various views of raintree county including one of
the new court house, but lacking the tower. The print diminished
in size to files of intense little words in narrow columns. It
was a copy of the complete works of william shakespeare, who
once long ago had been a boy much like himself familiar with...
The river had a fixed and tranquil
beauty as he approached the bank and stood beside an oak (bearded
titan of the wold and hoar with age). He looked down a vista
of the river flowing up from golden summers, making eternal intersection
with the world of space and time. His naked body dripped with
a cold green water, in whose vitreous womb odd fish, seeds, bugs,
and plants had spawned spontaneous generations. He remembered
how in a cold and cloudy pool beneath an oak, a wanderer long
ago (young bard of life) had seen the shape of beauty halfrevealed.
There had been, he thought, a monument erected on these banks
to commemorate this youth, whose pencil, like a prospering wand,
had touched into life such beautiful forms inside the river's
winding banks. Bard of the river and its life, that fabulously
gifted boy must have heard the clamors of
THE RIVERBIRDS
rising from rushes at the river's edge, beating
up the river on a shucking rush of wings,
--Awk, awk. Shawk-a-mawk.
THE FROGS
shouting from the shallows,
--Shak-a-mak-mak. A-wash-a-wash.
Shawk-a-muck. A-muck.
The sharp prow of his rowboat curved,
into the semblance of a swan with wings outspread, as of the
olden thames. The village where the water bard was born stood
just around the stately bend. Dipping a rhythmical oar into the
pale green river, he stroked his boat toward a bank where the
wild thyme grew, and violets and sweet anemones, the first rare
jets of spring. Under the anglosaxon oaks, he could see the town,
a few pilgrims loitering in the street. Walking up to the general
store, he saw, sitting among several male citizens,
GRAMPA PETERS
falstaff costume, vast belly, applered cheeks,
waving a newspaper,
--boy, read for old jack. Ah, I
remember my own schooling, lads! The schoolmarm was a pretty
wench, I trow. In school, she taught me to the tune of her hickory
stick, and after school she tossed me to the tune of mine. Ho,
boy! What say, boy! Go, boy, go!
(Dancing on slippered feet.)
When I was a lad of little years,
The lasses were want to say,
No matter how tight we lace at night,
Young peters will find a way! |
JOHNNY SHAWNESSY
reading from newspaper in smallboy 0ratorical
style,
--Friends, children, countrymen--
FIRST CITIZEN
dirty toga, strawhat, elizabethan slippers,
--Say, ain't that thar johnny shawnessy?
SECOND CITIZEN
stovepipe hat, elezabethan ruff, roman tunic,
--Yep, that thar's him.
FIRST CITIZEN
--He was a promisin'
young carpenter, as ever I seen. I allays expected him to go
fer.
SECOND CITIZEN
--He has. That
boy's a riproarin' specialist in ladies' drawers.
PROFESSOR HORACE GLADSTONE
soothsayer's robe, bearing an open phrenological
chart in his hand,
--Beware the ideas of marx. Beware,
beware the bump of venus.
MR. DONIPHANT
softly curling beard, buckskin coat, western
hat, strumming on elizabethan zither,
I had a dream the other night
when ever'thing was still
I thought I saw susanna dear
A-comin' daown the hill... |
WOMAN'S VOICE
screaming from nearby house,
--Oh, dear god! Ah-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e.
GRAMPA PETERS
fatly complacent, hugely nimble,
--Come, boys, let's have a little
sport. Fat jack will lead the dance.
For it's little of joy and much
annoy
This side of heaven and hell;
So stick it, son, and have yer fun,
And leave the ladies yell! |
WOMAN'S VOICE
rising to a scream,
--Dear jesus! Ahe-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e-e!
A great concourse of covered wagons,
pageant floats, expensive carriages, bewildered citizins thundered
past.
VOICE
of carnival barker, speaking through megaphone,
--A bard is born! In the little
red schoolhouse, down memory lane...
Still stood the schoolhouse by
the road, a humble little edifice of red brick. He was approaching
it by a crossfield path from the home place, the same that he
had often taken in his boyhood. Memories of the old mcguffey
days came back--scrubbed faces of children, dogeared texts, recitations
from the initialed benches at the front of the room. It must
be almost time for the afternoon classes to begin. If he hurried
he could perhaps see the gifted boy himself, learning his little
latin and less greek while mooning over the pretty girl in the
front...
HOOSIER SCHOOLMASTER
entering from cloak room, a bundle of switches
under his arm, a pair of glasses parched on his red, raw nose,
hair goosegreased to his skull, in his left hand a noah webster
speller,
--The spelling bee will begin.
First word--
His voice began to hiss, he seemed
unable to finish the word, his body became thin and elongate.
Violently winking his eves, he rose slowly from the floor and
began to fly around the room in dizzy spirals.
HOOSIER SCHOOLMASTER
like a rocket about to explode,
--S-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z-z--
A huge bee was flying around and
around a monument erected in the middle of the schoolhouse where
the old coal stove was supposed to be.
JOHNNY
approaching the monument, improvising pentameters,
--Desire, that golden bee with dusty wings,
Hath lured me through the summer's honey hours,
And we have ravished beauty with our stings
And taken treasure from a thousand flowers.
But... |
The schoolhouse resembled very much the interior
of the little board church in dan webster where w. b. used to
preach.
CARNIVAL BARKER
indicating stone crypt in a dim corner of
the church and a recessed monument containing bust of shakespeare,
--And now, folks, we arrive at
that famous spot of ground where lie the sacred relics of the
greatest poet since the beginning of time. John wesley shawnessy
was born in raintree county, april 23, 1839, in a little...
SETH TWIGS
hayseed in his red hair, buck teeth, light
blue eyes, mailorder suit too small for him,
--Frends, I have jist come to the
toom of the cerebrated shuckspoor. Hit's a success.
MR. SHAWNESSY
with mattock and spade,
--Despite the prohibitive verse
on the headstone, an effort was made in the year 18__ to recover
the bones of the bard in order to set at rest several baffling
questions that have long vexed shawmuckian scholars--namely the
question of the authorship of the plays, the myth of resurrection,
the sex of queen elizabeth, and the integrity of the royal hymen.
To this end, a body of excavators addressed themselves to the
delicate task of disinterpreting...
He was surprised at the ease with
which he had broken into the old stone crypt beneath the alter
at the front of the church where no one else had thought of looking.
He was reminded of some room in which he had spent a long time
in his infancy, but it had been a long time darkened and closed
since that day in the late renaissance when the citizens of stratford
had tenderly interred therein the body of their famous townsman
and sealed him up at last against the whips and snares of fortune.
The enormous mystery of death and fame and time impended in this
twilight room of gathering dust. In the dim light he saw two
coffins, and, on top of each, recumbent figures, hands folded
on chests, sleeping in stone. As he approached, he recalled that
it had been only a week since the festive day on which distinguished
visitors from the city had called in the little country town
and persuaded the bard to have too many drinks. And now the thought
that he was about to see the almost mythical being, of whom there
had been so many baldheaded busts and apocryphal likenesses,
gave him an overmastering sensation of discovery and triumph.
He approached the recumbent figure of
THE REAL WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
unfolding hands, sitting up suddenly, swinging
legs over edge of tomb, his face and person unrevealed in the
darkness of the crypt, speaking with slight hoosier accent.
--God's eyes, how long have I been
asleep?
MR. SHAWNESSY
making quick calculation,
--About two-hundred and seventy-six
years, bill. How do you feel?
THE REAL WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
--A pope's pox
on that whoreson knave johnson, brought a foul pint from the
city, guaranteed to cure all ills from bald skulls to scald balls.
It did. (Getting out of comfortable featherbed, puttering around
with clothes in semidarkened oakpaneled bedroom) Now, let me
see, where'd I put my pants?
MR. SHAWNESSY
reporter's notebook and pencil,
--Our readers would be delighted
to have your opinion on a few matters that have been troubling
us. You could clear the whole thing up in a jiffy. Now about
that matter of second-best bed--
THE REAL WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
still in shadow, chuckling jovially,
--After being second-best man in
my best bed, I decided to make my successor best man in my second-best
bed. Do you follow me, boy?
For here's to the jolly white cock
That crows in the standing corn,
And here's to the faithless smock
And the husband's harvest of horn. |
MR. SHAWNESSY
--And about
the sonnets, bill. Were they addressed to--
THE REAL WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
walking jauntily down country lane, in city
tweeds, straw skimmer, knobtoed oxfords.
--To be perfectly frank, john,
you probably remember those poems better than I. Let me see,
there was the queen's lady-in-waiting--(but no lady in mating,
take my word for it, boy), a wild little bitch, black-haired,
and of a most fascinating ugliness.
The real william shakespeare turned
so that mr. shawnessy saw his face fullview. He was nothing like
the standard busts and portraits, being a young man of about
thirty with dark brown hair, a pleasant innocent countenance,
dimples, and introspective eyes of an offshade. He seemed quite
unaffected by the great fame that had come to him.
MR. SHAWNESSY
--Is it true
you cared nothing for your plays? Or should I put you in present
tense, bill--you seem egregiously alive to me.
THE REAL WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
--A man will
do anything for money. I hope I may not be judged too harshly
for those poor things. By the by, what's showing these days in
the city?
MR. SHAWNESSY
--I assure you,
bill, those poor things are now the world's wonder.
THE REAL WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
--You jest,
boy. The only good things I ever wrote were some essays I ghosted
for francis bacon. The rest stank.
The real william shakespeare, great
wag that he was, chuckled richly.
MR. SHAWNESSY
--Is it true,
bill, that you stopped writing plays around the year 1610 when
you were only forty-six years old and retired to stratford-on-avon,
where you spent your declining years--like prospero breaking
your magic wand and releasing the ariel of your fantasy?
THE REAL WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
--What mountebank's
drool are you drivelling there, boy?
MR. SHAWNESSY
--Well, all
the books about you--
THE REAL WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
--God's eyes,
are there books about me?
MR. SHAWNESSY
--Thousands.
THE REAL WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
--The world
has found wild ways to waste its time since I was a mime in motley.
MR. SHAWNESSY
--About your
decision to leave the country and go to london, bill--pray, how
did you happen to do it?
THE REAL WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
face boyish, pimpled, hair long, unkempt,
rustic straw hat, coarse cotton shirt open at the neck, barefooted,
overalled, fishing pole over shoulder,
--I just plain ran my arse off
with the sheriff two jumps behind. (Peering intently at mr. shawnessy)
By the way, son, haven't we met somewhere before?
MR. SHAWNESSY
--I am one of
your forgotten plays, mr. shakespeare, byblow of your teeming
pen, lovechild of the universe, heir of your invention. It's
a study in fate.
WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE
in declamatory voice,
--Fate that makes fools of commoners
and kings,
Old puppetmaster jerking little strings,... |
Uh--pardon me. I do that kind of thing johnny
factotum. A man must have a trade.
They were walking at the river's
edge.
JOHNNY SHAWNESSY
--According
to an authority, bill, your knowledge of latin and greek left
something to be desired. Your schooling, I think, didn't extend
beyond--
WILLIE
sharpfaced stripling, with shrewd eyes, peeping
between the rushes and looking up and down the river,
--All-lay all-gay is divvied into
three ittypray artspay. (Offering cigar) Have a weed?
JOHNNY
--Thanks. Don't
care if I do.
WILLIE
lighting up, pointing sensitive finger at
naked girl with long brown hair standing up in green sedge across
the river,
--Ain't god good to indiana--ain't
he, fellers, ain't he though?
JOHNNY
--I had a similar
experience myself, will.
WILLIE
puffing on cigar, lying on belly, chin in
hands, not missing anything,
--I tell you, john, I can't think
of anything else these hot summer nights. Ain't natur grand?
These pretty maids from night to morn,
They sing with jolly cheer-oh!
Shucking the shirts from shocks of corn
To find the big red ear-oh! |
JOHNNY
removing shirt for plunge in river, puffing
on fragrant cigar, nostalgically watching the girl walk slowly
up the opposite bank,
--O, the ole swimmin' hole, the ole swimmin'
hole,
A-comin' down in summer with the ole fishin' pole,
A-strippin' and a-rippin' muh duds from off muh skin,
A-lookin' at the water flow and then a-plungin' in,
You kin turn the clocks around and let the seasons
backward roll,
Till I lose muhself a-soakin' in the ole swimmin'
hol[e]. |
WILLIE
sitting on the bank naked, hair red and rumpled,
chewing goosequill pen, inditing on parchment,
There was a lover and his lass,
With hey, hey, the jack and the jay,
Did lie too long in the jolly june grass,
With a ring-a-jing-jing and a roundalay! |
JOHNNY
watching willie shakespeare riding on an antlered
stag through the royal forest,
--And a ring and a round and a
runaway! About the queen, will, was she really virgo intacta
to the end?
WILLIE
--Fair gloriana, mistress of our hearts,
Safe guarded by our clubs and thrusty
blades,
No king of diamonds trumped our queen of tarts,
But she was bowered by a jack of spades. |
JOHNNY
--You mean--
WILLIE
gravedigger's costume, lifting a mouldy pelvis
on a spade,
--Now here's a cup to good queen bess,
Ho! and a shrouding sheet .... |
VOICES
in distance, calling up and down the river,
--O hymen hymenaee! O, mortal more
beloved than....
The form of a certain celebrated
bard was now gradually lost to view in the shrouding leaves.
He found himself approaching an ivied wall beyond which doric
columns were and whiterobed forms walking in pairs as if in lofty
converse. He seemed to remember then a brief republic that had
thrust itself to flower in the dark chaos of the ages, leaving
a white remembrance on the lips of men. At the same time there
came to him a noise of waters beating on leaguelong beaches.
He knew then that he had passed that way long years before and
had seen across the river the naked form of beauty, shorn of
name. Later he had woven a web of words to clothe that image,
put togas on his phrases, and made majestic periods. He sprang
toward the shining forms of that adolescent republic. He ran
along the ivied wall hunting for an entrance....
He was walking up to the verandah
of the pedee academy two blocks from the square in freehaven.
On the steps, the twelve youths and maidens were waiting for
him in their academic robes, the girls in white as befitted their
virgin state, the boys in bright bowties and skimmers.
GARWOOD JONES
on top step, sleekly young, prosperous, blackhaired,
smoking a fat cigar, finely ironical,
--The hero arrives in the nick
of time--young theseus to lead us through the cretan maze of
learning.
VOICES
of distant maidens, singing, rising, appealing,
fading,
--O, hymen hymenaee! O, mortal
more beloved than a god. All day, we plunged....
With a copy of ovid's metamorphosis
in his hand, he approached the door of the academy building,
now changed to the mouth of a grottoed cave. Within, he saw the
old hall, much as he remembered it except for lumps of coal in
the corners. A girl slipped from a door on the right, dressed
in a costume of bark and leaves through which her pale flesh
shone. One bare breast stuck ripely from among green leaves.
Her little feet were naked, and her face was flushed as if she
had been running. She kept lifting a lock of stray hair from
her forehead. When she held her face up to him, he saw that it
was
NELL GAITHER
smiling saucily,
--Hello, johnny. How have you been?
He started to answer, but she put
her finger to her lips.
NELL
--Sh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.
Not now. I can explain everything.
JOHNNY SHAWNESSY
--But garwood--
The stone beside the river-- The article in the newspaper-- Gaither-jones
rites solemnized-- And all these years I have been--
NELL
--A fool. But
a nice fool. Suppose we slip into the library.
She took his hand, and he followed
her down a dark corridor, past walls of books whose gilded bindings
glowed in the darkbrown air.
JOHNNY
--Lest we get
lost again--
NELL
in green dress woven into a plastic sheath
around her body, presenting him with a piece of string,
--Unwind me, lover, till we reach
the shrine.
She walked away from him, the dress
unravelling from the hem slowly travelling from her bare feet,
up taper ankles, up sleekly muscled calves, up fullfleshed thighs,
up queenly weaving buttocks, until it reached the line where
waist was narrowest between the bulge of hips and swell of ribs.
On the left buttock he saw a faint stain like that left by a
pressed flower on a page. She was looking back at him over her
shoulder, green wideset eyes full of love's pathos, lips curled
in a wistful smile.
JOHNNY
furiously unwinding skein of dress, hands
and feet tangled in green thread, trying to reach and touch her,
--Always there was desire, and
greenness, the color of the river. For young america was always
an education in self-denial. We built our little huts on the
shore, nell and I, and we covered them with bright-colored shells.
We--
NELL
in low voice of anguish and desire,
--Unwind the skein, lost boy. Rewrite
the greatest of the sentimental novels.
JOHNNY
in talismanic chant,
--We wandered by the bright running
streams, nell and I, and we gamboled on the wide grassy lawn.
We meet again in light, sportive dreams, nell and I, when the
weary hours of twilight--
NELL
--Unthread the
devious skein. Unweave the ancient web of outworn days. Press
on, press on!
JOHNNY
--And my love
was true, but a coldness grew. 'Twas caused by an unrelenting
foe!
NELL
--Dead! Beside
the river. You see, we are both dead these many years.
JOHNNY
tangled up in thread, trying to sort out a
fistful of letters and newspaper clippings,
--I wasn't dead, nell. It was all
a mistake. Here, let me show you. Some newspaper clippings. I
mean, a lawyer came and looked me up in indianapolis, I mean,
the nation's capitol, and--
He had followed her through many
turnings, until they had come into a place where abandoned sceneshifts
were leaning against the walls. Nell had begun to climb a stair
winding into the loft of the stage, her green dress slowly travelling
up her back. He had almost reached her, hoping to achieve the
warm caress postponed and pigeonholed so many years in a cubby
hole of time.
NELL
her face smeared with greasepaint,
--I do hope aunt isn't up.
The door of a costume closet shot
abruptly open, and an incredible spinster came out, six feet
tall, railthin, with pincenez glasses, withered face, sharp black
eyes slightly out of focus, long black dress, crucifix swinging
between her withered dugs. She came forward and put conspiratorial
arms about the lovers. He realized then that it was
AUNT PINAFORE PEEVEE STILES
--I trust you
perceive this object that I hold in my hand.
It was a shotgun, barrel glinting
sinisterly.
AUNT PINAFORE
blinking, blowing a hornlike blast of her
nose, weeping loudly-- but without tears,
--Years ago, I was a girl in raintree
county. (Removing glasses and wiping the lenses) I might have
had a beautiful married life, but my father conceived a violent
disrelish for my intended and--
Aunt pinafore swung the shotgun
to her shoulder and discharged both barrels in a terrific blast
smashing rows of bottles behind a saloon bar and blowing a ragged
hole in the back wall of the old opera house through which could
be seen distant figures of people running down streets with little
arms etched stiffly aloft. Simultaneously, the curtain shot up,
the audience began to applaud loudly, and the temperance play
had begun.
VOICES
gaily singing,
--O, johnny, come out of that old saloon,
They say you are full of gin.... |
STEPHEN FOSTER
young man with sad brown eyes, standing before
batwing doors of saloon on the court house square, in outfit
of the middle fifties, large flowing tie, jaunty hat, hands in
pockets, singing in vibrant melodious voice,
--Ah went down dar wif a pocket full of tin!
Doodah!
Doodah! |
JOHNNY
in gay rig of young gallant, seeing his image
reflected in the plateglass window,
--Watch out, girls, Ah's a-comin' on in!
O, duh-doo-dah-day! |
Without bothering to put out his hand, he
left the batwing doors slapping violently back and forth as....
He was mounting a rickety stair
into the penetralia of an old frame building, whose dingy upper
floor was hived with offices of dentists, lawyers, doctors, and
other oldtime professional men. He remembered then that he had
come to find the body of a beautiful girl floating in a chemical
bath. If one poured in the right solution of the botanical medicines,
one might rescue her from the twilight of her glassy prison.
He took a door on the left and wandered down the dimly lighted
hall of a photographer's gallery. It was full of oval portraits
of girls, whose faces, tinted and lifesized, were vaguely familiar
to him, all half-dissolved in the dark fluid that closed on the
pale flesh like iris on a pupil's brilliant image. Their beautiful
lost faces seemed alive; indeed he could see the women now full
length, hovering in curtained recesses of the wall, clothed in
gorgeous, faded gowns, some with hands extended, some with tears
in their beautiful sad eyes.
PORTRAITS
Murmuring,
--Come back. Come back. And take
another turning. Sh-h-h-h-h-h-h-h.
JOHNNY
--Tell me now
in what hidden way is--
He had approached a door in which
he saw himself reflected, young with smouldering dark hair, the
young adonis of the older county before the war. He touched the
knob, turned it, and pushed...
A fierce gush of light drenched
him. Someone had shoved him through the door, and he was standing
on a little wooden platform surrounded by
CROWD
hundreds, banked around platform on court
house lawn, laughing, applauding,
--Hurrah for johnny! Speech! Speech!
PROFESSOR HORACE GLADSTONE
baldheaded, affable, touching pointer to chart
of man's anatomy hanging on tree,
--Observe the unusual development
of the lumps of love.
JOHNNY
barefooted, in overalls, one suspender of
pants broken, straw hat, hands in pockets, grass stem in mouth,
--Shucks, folks, I--
PROFESSOR GLADSTONE
--My boy, I
wish I had enjoyed the advantage of a phrenological examination
when I was your age. With a happy exercise of your natural faculties,
I expect you to become--
STOCK JUDGE
in frockcoat, tall black hat, feeling johnny's
calf, thigh, back, and biceps muscles,
--Shocko the strong, winner of
the grand individual prize for yearling bulls, is the most remarkable
specimen of fleetness, strength, and that indefinable something
that ladies lack we have seen in many a year.
YOUNG WOMAN
throwing garland of blue cornflowers around
johnny's neck,
--Amorous leander, beautiful and
young--
PROFESSOR GLADSTONE
--how about
trading with me, sight unseen?
GARWOOD JONES
offering cigar,
--Smoke, john?
JOHNNY
lighting up, blowing rings,
--Thanks, garwood. Don't care if
I do.
GIRLS
dancing on fringes of crowd, singing,
--And some it chew and some it smoke,
And some it up their nose do poke. |
W. B. SHAWNESSY
skipping nimbly-about, pointing accusing finger
over heads of the crowd,
--And jist when you suppose you're flyin'
To beulah 'an the land of zion,
Ole satan kivers you with tar
An' smokes you like a big seegar! |
GIRLS
in summer dresses, flinging ecstatic flowers,
--And some it chew and some it smoke
And some it up their nose do poke! |
AUNT PINAFORE
at lemonade stand, holding tall glass,
--I trust you all perceive the
object that I hold in my hand. As president of the wummy-crummy-tummy-empty,
I have a little confession to make. Until the age of twenty-one,
I touched nothing stronger than pure gin. But one day in the
company of a slicker from the city, I allowed myself to be persuaded
to drink a glass of water. Friends, I'm here to tell you--
FLASH PERKINS
striding down street, first of a throng, shaking
the brown shag of his hair, white teeth laughing,
--Wall, I'll be the original jumpin'
jackass from the banks of the salt! If it ain't jack shawnessy!
JOHNNY
reeling under openhanded slap on back,
--Hello, flash! My word, boy, I
thought you were--
FLASH
grabbing aunt pinafore's waist, hopping hugefooted,
banging her bony body around, grabbing her by the hair, swinging
her in wild gyrations.
--Young folks, old folks, come if you dare.
We're dancin' like the devil on the court house square! |
filling glasses,
--Pure yaller corn that comes by the cup,
Come on, fellers, drink up--drink up! |
JOHNNY
protesting,
--Sorry. No thanks--you see my pa--
Besides they tell me it's against the law. |
CASH CARNEY
patentleather hair, cigar, spats, gold watchchain,
diamond stickpin,
--It's just colored water. Get up and get!
Come on, now, johnny, and win that bet! |
JOHNNY
drinking,
|
--It tastes just a little like cider,
pard. |
SOUTHERN BELLE
twirling red parasol,
| --Ah take mine straight--an' ah love it hard! |
JOHNNY
tipsy, trying to explain to crowd,
--Adam, the principal root of it all,
Was a practicing pagan before the fall. |
CARNIVAL BARKER
fancy vest, derby, spats, oily, insinuating
voice, speaking through horn,
--See the pretty girlies! Step right in!
They twist their shimmies, and they shake like sin.
They quiver like the wind on the wavin' corn,
Or a bowlful of jelly on a frosty morn! |
JOHNNY
comedian's white duck pants, straw skimmer,
striped shirt, bowtie, fancy cane, surrounded by girls in burlesque
rigs,
--Pardon me, ladies, excuse me, gosh!
We never did this in old oshkosh-- |
GIRLS
in line, arms linked, bending over to show
plump bottoms in plushy pants,
--Well, we're just the ladies that'll show
you how.
Oh, dear! if his mother could see him now! |
CASH CARNEY
grabbing johnny by arm, pulling him up to
shooting gallery, shoving a horsepistol into his hand,
--All right, johnny, take aim and pull,
And let's have a bullet in the eye of the bull.
Win a little dollie that winds with a key-- |
LIFE-SIZED ANIMATED DOLL
posed against background of riverscene, palely
lovely, dark hair shaken, innocent blue eyes, holding a garland
of oakleaves,
| --And put it in the oven for baby and me! |
JOHNNY
sighting pistol, pulled this way and that
by giggling girls,
PISTOL
--BANG!
The pistol went off with a terrific
explosion, leaving only the handle in his hand. Girls screamed.
Nickolodeons cracked and spewed gold coins all over the ground.
The courthouse clock broke with a tremendous dong. The fire department
ran out in shiny new helmets to put out the blaze in the opera
house. A steamboat whistle went off fullblast, and the eight-fifteen
came screaming around the bend. The door to the free enquirer
office flew open, and a dozen newsboys shot out waving semi-centennial
extras.
NEWSBOY
shoving paper into johnny's hand,
--Read all about it! Git yuh papuh,
heah! Biggest dern newstory of the yeah!
JOHNNY
stepping into doorway of postoffice, reading
half aloud from newspaper headlines printed in jasmine-scented
ink,
--LOCAL LADY TAKES FATAL STEP.
SNAKE BRUISES HEEL OF DEMI-REP. LAST OF THE PURITANS SUNK IN
SHAME. SCARLET LETTER REVEALS HIS NAME. POET INVOLVED IN WHISKEY
RING. ONE-SHOT JOHNNY IS GOING TO SWING.
W. B. SHAWNESSY
peering intently at johnny,
--Uh--I reckon you've heard the
bad news, john? Oh--it gives me--uh--that is to say--uh--I have
always looked upon you, john, as--uh--
JOHNNY
accepting telegram from messenger boy and
reading,
--THE MORTAL REMNANT TO THE IMMORTAL
PART STOP DON'T DESPAIR SAVED IN THE NICK OF TIME WILL SOLVE
MURDER AS SOON AS I ARRIVE STOP AM BRINGING NECESSARY ACCESSORIES
AND ACCESSIBLE NECESSARIES STOP AM IN MIDDLE OF MONUMENTAL HANGOVER
DRANK FAR TOO MUCH PARNASSIAN SPRING IN STRAWLAND STOP IN HASTE
HAVE DATE WITH FRAIL FRANCES AND HER FROLICSOME FANNY STOP SWEET
EVE THE MOTHER OF MANKIND WAS BLESSED WITH A BEAUTIFUL FULLSTOP
AND EVENING STAR AND ONE CLEAR CALL FOR ME AND MAY THERE BE SOME
BITTERS ON THE BAR WHEN I TURN UP FOR TEA STOP STAND UP STAND
UP FOR JESUS CHRIST WHAT A DAY HOPE I NEVER HAVE ANOTHER SUCH
A STOP FOR GOD'S SAKE STOP STOP STOP STOP STOP SPOT TOPS POTS...
He had left the postoffice and
was standing on the station platform with hundreds of other people
waiting for the arrival of a distinguished visitor. A low hissing
noise was rising from the east, growing louder.
FIRST CITIZEN
bottle of whiskey in one hand, other hand
inside bodice of voluptuous matron,
--It's a balloon, that's what it
is!
SECOND CITIZEN
straw hat, vineleaves, and goatsfeet,
--It's a rocket! Comin' this way!
THIRD CITIZEN
masque of silenus over honest country face,
corncob horns,
--Le's git hell out a here.
The sky darkened. A fiery streak
shot luridly over the roofs of freehaven, descending in a stately
arc--a huge torch or the burning stick of a rocket, descending,
descending until it turned out to be a train pulling into the
station, covered with bunting, someone riding astride the boiler
on a peculiar saddle. The individual in question sprang lightly
down, turning a somersault in the air, black coattails stiffly
out behind, eyes compounded by brilliant lenses, midnight-black
hair slicked flat to reptile skull.
PROFESSOR JERUSALEM WEBSTER STILES
young, dapper, self-possessed, bowing gracefully
to crowd, twirling malacca cane,
--Greetings one and all from foreign
parts. As I was about to say before I was so rudely interrupted
by the protestant reformation, I trust you all perceive the object
that I hold in my hand. (Laughing galvanically) Ha, ha, ha, ha.
That's only a bit of a stick, perfessor, you say. So it is, friends,
but this stick is the miracle-maker and wonder-worker of our
age. Now, friends--
PRESIDENT OF LADIES' SITTING AND SEWING SOCIETY
buxom young woman, giggling and blushing,
--Your majesty, the ladies of the
raintree county sitting and sewing society-hee, hee, wish to
see our efforts established on a broad base of substantial solidarity--hee,
hee. (Bending over and presenting broad base to perfessor) In
commemoration of your ardent efforts in our behalf, we wish to
tender you this token of our cordial amity--hee, hee.
PERFESSOR
with malacca cane expertly flipping the president's
petticoats over her head and gravely pinching her bloomered bottom,
--Madame typographical error, I
accept this festive offering in the spirit in which it is tendered.
Henceforth it shall occupy a prominent place in my home as a
reminder to me that your worthy organization has ever been forward
in backwarding the cause for which your ancestors fought so nobly.
(Rolling eyes upward and twiddling thumbs) Noble washington,
how would thy paternal spirit be aroused to see how abundantly
the promise of--
SOLID CITIZEN
presenting bulky baby with soiled diaper,
--Which my fellow members of the
solid citizens and merchants organization wish to express--
PERFESSOR
gingerly transferring baby to secretary,
--And trailing clouds of glory
do we come from--
MEMBER OF G.A.R.
in uniform,
--Your honor, as poet-laureate
of the local branch of the veterans of the grand army of the
republic, I--
PERFESSOR
brandishing civil war pistol, taking potshots
at veteran, shouting at top of lungs,
--Half a league half a league half
a league onward christian soldiers marching through georgia hurrah
hurrah we bring the jubilee. (Throwing pistol on ground and watching
it wriggle into a baseball bat) It's about time you stone-age
anthropoids were instructed in an ingenious game.
Seizing the bat, the perfessor
laid down a sharp single over second base and began to sprint
around the court house square at topspeed, disappearing from
view on the south side.
OFFICIAL STARTER
tall black hat, gun in air,
--After several delays, folks,
we're ready to start this here race. Mr. john w. shawnessy will
be running on the pole.
CROWD
--Speech! Speech!
JOHNNY
naked except for tight duck trousers, trying
to explain,
--Adam, who set a speedy pace,
Started--and dern near finished--the race.... |
There had been
a terrific explosion. Everyone was running in the court house
square. Children and dogs ran under the wheels of carriages.
Old men ran, waving crutches and shouting hymen. Grandams ran,
holding up petticoats and making bony legs blur with speed. Girls
in summer dresses ran, emitting high squeaks of excitement, backs
gracefully erect, necks and shoulder held with fashionable stiffness,
parasols maintained primly over heads.
JOHNNY
running with torch in hand,
--Where's the finish line?
STEAMBOAT BILL
pulling blasts of the whistle, comin' down
the river on the robert e. lee,
--Come on, boys, let's rise and shine!
Mr. shawnessy, pour on the pine! |
JOHNNY
naked, running between statues of winged women,
over a course strewn with magnolia blossoms,
--A platform there--at the end of the street--
Victory--be in my bounding feet! |
YOUNG BLADE
crowding johnny out with fast buggy, laying
whip to johnny's horses,
--They knew damn well he would bang her bones,
Cause the man at the throttle was-- |
GARWOOD JONES
in fulldress uniform of civil war colonel,
leaping into cab of locomotive to escape crowd flinging rice
and shoes short of the speeding train, roaring through a crossing,
pulling blasts of the whistle, puffing on huge cigar, hanging
out lawyer's shingle, speaking in suavely ironical voice,
--Advice to both sexes--marital joy--
Sleep in your grave--beloved boy! |
FLASH PERKINS
running a shade ahead of johnny, wild blue
eyes fixed on distant string,
--Five times runnin' I won that dash--
Perkins, orville--better known as flash! |
SOUTHERN BELLE
on platform surrounded by notables, shaking
her shoulders and flinging her hair,
--Come on, honey, the weather's fine
Down below the mixin' and the dazin' line. |
GIRLS
in stageset of buggies with background painted
with county fair motifs,
--Goddess, give of your gracious bounty
To the fastest runner in raintree county! |
He had run head-on into a tangle of girls'
dresses and shifts of river scenery, scattering cheesecloth oaks,
daubed rushes, and mouldy river vistas all over the stage of
the opera house, where the play was apparently still in full
cry. He went on rolling right into the wings where he landed
in a great mound of clover hay.
NELL GAITHER
barefooted, naked under loose summer dress,
hair unbound, hairpin between teeth, reading from a letter in
a faroff dreamy voice,
--My darling johnny, I take my
pen in hand and seat myself to write you these few lines, hoping
that they will find you--
VOICES
as of waters running through the rushes,
--O hymen hymenaee! Shuck-a-muck.
Hush, johnny. Tall. Tall.
He was naked. He lay beside the river in the deep hump of the
hay. Greening brightness rained on his eyelids. He was breathless
with an old desire, remembering summers of ionian years, how
he had lain beside an island sea in the republic of the pillars,
had listened to the shouting of the breakers on the sand, had
sought to unriddle a beautiful inscription floating up from the
antiquity of human days, the legend of a broken oar....
NELL
--Beloved, I
was born of foam and waited for you here beside the river. Oft
was I weary when I toiled with thee.
VOICES
of rivernymphs appealing,
--Impetuous boy! Shuck me. Husk
me, lover. All. All.
JOHNNY
pensive, running warm hands up the cool flow
of nell's legs beneath the dress,
--To escape some afternoon the
terminus of raintree county, to put aside the textbooks and the
temperance plays, to find you, unknelled and nameless one. Eternally
be coming, bounded by eternal being.
NELL
eyes shining through tears, her naked form
beginning to arch and flow beneath his hands,
--Did you know that I plunged all
day without relief. Come, I will put a garland of soft flowers
on your head.
VOICES
rising, frantic, pealing, appealing,
--Strip me, love. Husk. Shuck-a-muck!
Tall. Tall.
Her mouth briefly touched his with wild kisses, but already beneath
his eager hands her body was barky and rough, her hair wet, her
shoulders greencoated like old bronze. Her cold white belly was
scalyrinded, her slippery trunk writhed in his arms. He heard....
VOICES
of the waterbirds, flapping slowly up the
chilly twilight of the river,
--Shawk-a-mawk. Awk.
VOICES
of frogs shouting in derision from the shallows,
--Shak-a-mak. Kak-kak-kak. A-wash.
A-wash.
Lonesome and threatening was the
sound. The shocks of wheat in nearby fields were flooding with
the risen waters. He was rowing down the river close to the banks
at night. Lanterns flared, sputtered, and swung in the underbrush.
He was being pursued for a crime.
He seemed to remember having stolen
the original of the venus found in melos, a solid chunk of marble
hewn into woman, but lacking arms. He would be known for a thief
in the night, his parents and friends would never understand,
he would never be forgiven. He might as well leave the county
for good and go west. If he could escape his pursuers, pack his
things, and run away with...
The statue in his old bedroom at
the home place was of a woman naked, seated, head drooped to
one side, eyes shut, in the attitude of eve repentant. It had
been a great mistake for him to fashion this lovely image of
antiquity and keep it in his room, especially now that the wrong
people had got wind of it.
EVE REPENTANT
a beautiful warmblooded woman with long golden
hair, superbly naked, reading,
--The meeting of the strawland
literary society was held last tuesday on the spacious and beautifully
landscaped grounds of mrs. desmore j. brown's. Proceedings were
opened with a selection feelingly rendered from book six of--
VOICES
downstairs,
--They're up here somewhere.
Heavy boots thundered on the stair,
the door burst open, and a horde of men swinging lanterns and
holding shotguns poured into the room.
MR. SHAWNESSY
righteously indignant but at a disadvantage,
--Merely arranging the program
for next--
THE REVEREND LLOYD JARVEY
in costume of blind milton, squaretoed shoes,
puritan tunic and breeches, long lank hair, pale sightless eyes
like balls of blue flint,
--Of man's first disobedience and the fruit
Of that forbidden tree-- |
FIRST CITIZEN
twirling hangman's knot,
--We'll be reading about you in
the noosepapers, johnny.
SECOND CITIZEN
stirring bucket of hot tar,
--A-hangin' on every word.
CROWD
closing in,
--Crucify 'im. Lynch 'im. Burn
'im.
MESSENGER BOY
presenting telegram,
--Extra. Extra. Read all about
it.
MR. SHAWNESSY
waving for silence,
--Before you act in haste, listen
to this telegram from senator garwood b. jones. (Reading) DEAR
SKINNY OUR TEARS WILL KEEP YOUR MEMORY EVER BRIGHT--
HORACE GREELEY
underchin whiskers, round babyface, pincenez
glasses, one palm aloft in benediction,
--Go west young man.
MESSENGER BOY
delivering second telegram,
--Read all about it.
MR. SHAWNESSY
reading telegram.
--TAKE MY ADVICE GET HELL OUT OF
RAINTREE COUNTY BEFORE ITS TOO LATE HERO BOY STOP BETTER BE LIVE
JUDAS THEN DEAD JESUS--
THE REVEREND JARVEY
approaching with shiny sickle, swiping blindly
here and there,
--Bring them in. Bring them in.
Bring them in from the fields of sin. All gaul is divided into
three parts--
PROFESSOR JERUSALEM WEBSTER STILES
riding by freehaven train station in buggy,
lashing at the horses, a woman on the seat beside him, followed
by hundreds of irate citizens ahorse, afoot, in buggies and wagons,
on bicycles,
--Woodman, spare that tree!
For my head am bendin' low!
My country, 'tis of thee!
Goddammit, dobbin, go! |
JOHNNY
--Goodby, perfessor!
Goodby!
PERFESSOR
borne aloft on shoulders of throng, his body
tied on crossed rails, dripping hot tar, stuck with feathers
to resemble huge river bird,
--To john wesley shawnessy, life's
eternal young american, ave atque vale. Awk. Awk.
Green be the grass above thee,
Friend of my better days.
None knew thee but to love thee,
But whiskey never pays! |
In the darkness
by the river, the train whistle was a mournful voice approaching.
He was alone there wandering to the limit of familiar fields.
He passed a lonely rock, glowing in the darkness as if it had
retained the redness and warmth of the day after the land around
had faded into night. It was like a great roc's egg lying there
in the fading evening, and as he leaned his head against it,
the rind was warm, and he saw that it was covered with wrinkles
and little scars. Leaves were falling all abroad upon the land.
The withered grass was rustling by the river. He looked back
across the land and saw the yellow lights of the home place,
but this time he knew that he must go. He must make the mythical
separation that he had never quite been able to make before.
The train's one eye was winking in the dark; the smokestack was
a flare of fire. He was stumbling up the grade to catch the last
car by. His voice was a hoarse cry of anguish for the faded years,
but it was lost in the wail of the train, whose ironlunged shriek
was heard prolonged and dying all abroad upon the fields and
distant roads and rivers of the county, the voice of a lost century,
a piercing diphthong
~
Of
sadness and farewell,
of
leaving on a train for parts unknown,
he had some memory that was more than a dream's
making. ....
To SELECTIONS from:
THE DREAM SECTION
OUTLINE of "THE DREAM"
On THE DREAM SECTION,
from: SHADE OF THE RAINTREE, by Larry Lockridge,
THE NOVEL: SELECTED WRITINGS
FROM RAINTREE COUNTY
To Home Contents
~
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