Buried HIMSELF on Sunday
It was raining, persistantly raining and Gus was sitting at the feet of the stone angel which stood over his mother's grave, looking up. He'd finished off one bottle of rum, the one that had been nearly gone and which he'd shared with Noel earlier. He didn't want to get drunk. He just wanted to forget that it was raining for a while.
"I suppose that you heard then?" What Zeta had said earlier, about liquor on his breath at that hour of the morning, that had been a low blow and not really fair. Or it was fair. Either way, Guss took a long swig from the new bottle. "You have the privledge of being in the presence of the head of state of the Republic of Solomon Gundy. Acting head. Pending proper elections, of course." Gus laughed and shook his head. "Oh, Jesus, old man. I've really done it this time. I really, actually have."
Not that he hadn't meant to. Somebody had to, after all. Somebody had to take a calculated risk before everyone lost everything forever. And you just had to hope that you hadn't tied yourself to the mast with enough rope to hang yourself with and that there would be enough meek left at the end of the world to inherist. Gus looked at the grave in front of him. CICERO KNICKEL had been a good mayor. People had loved him. Gus was just trying to live up to the past.
"You knew about this, didn't you?" said Gus, lifting the bottle in a toast to the headstone. "You saw all this coming. You set me up, old man. For shame."
He wasn't bitter. He really wasn't. Good men do nothing, but Solomon Gundy could not lose her fishing rights. Gus was a lot of things, flawed in a myriad of different ways, but he wasn't going to sit back and idly watch the island that his grandfather had loved (that he loved too, painfully, quite obviously) strangle. Born on Monday, christened on Tuesday, married on Wednesday, took ill on Thursday, worse on Friday, died on Saturday...
"Here's hoping he doesn't bury himself on Saturday, huh? Nuclear power. Jesus. Jesus Christ."
Gus tipped his head back until he felt stone through wet hair, and closed his eyes.
The rain finally stopped falling.
Gus opened his eyes, and the angel, his mother's angel, was gone. Above him, there was just a very blue sky. When he turned his head, he saw rockface, and, in front of him, a path marked with white stones. He looked at the label on his bottle and then back to the path. The letter was still in his lap.
"Oh, Jesus."
"I suppose that you heard then?" What Zeta had said earlier, about liquor on his breath at that hour of the morning, that had been a low blow and not really fair. Or it was fair. Either way, Guss took a long swig from the new bottle. "You have the privledge of being in the presence of the head of state of the Republic of Solomon Gundy. Acting head. Pending proper elections, of course." Gus laughed and shook his head. "Oh, Jesus, old man. I've really done it this time. I really, actually have."
Not that he hadn't meant to. Somebody had to, after all. Somebody had to take a calculated risk before everyone lost everything forever. And you just had to hope that you hadn't tied yourself to the mast with enough rope to hang yourself with and that there would be enough meek left at the end of the world to inherist. Gus looked at the grave in front of him. CICERO KNICKEL had been a good mayor. People had loved him. Gus was just trying to live up to the past.
"You knew about this, didn't you?" said Gus, lifting the bottle in a toast to the headstone. "You saw all this coming. You set me up, old man. For shame."
He wasn't bitter. He really wasn't. Good men do nothing, but Solomon Gundy could not lose her fishing rights. Gus was a lot of things, flawed in a myriad of different ways, but he wasn't going to sit back and idly watch the island that his grandfather had loved (that he loved too, painfully, quite obviously) strangle. Born on Monday, christened on Tuesday, married on Wednesday, took ill on Thursday, worse on Friday, died on Saturday...
"Here's hoping he doesn't bury himself on Saturday, huh? Nuclear power. Jesus. Jesus Christ."
Gus tipped his head back until he felt stone through wet hair, and closed his eyes.
The rain finally stopped falling.
Gus opened his eyes, and the angel, his mother's angel, was gone. Above him, there was just a very blue sky. When he turned his head, he saw rockface, and, in front of him, a path marked with white stones. He looked at the label on his bottle and then back to the path. The letter was still in his lap.
"Oh, Jesus."