Men with Torrent Women

The Lank Figure 1916-1919 (Shannon O’Day’s dream-vision) He was near a skeleton figure, lank, with only a thread deep of flesh over his frame, a dark figure, age—hard to define, with long black hair, irregular; rather long-drawn-out features. His chin and jawbone hung low, as if he were of some ancient subspecies of humans, perhaps of the Neanderthal civilization. He lurked consistently at a holy man, Shannon couldn’t make out if he was a priest, angel, minister of some organized church, evangelist, or prophet, but the holy man kept distinctly skeptical, gazing eyes at the lank figure, he could not have gazed harder, had he been a statue. The lank figure and the holy man were both particularly sensitive to each other’s voices. Shannon had learned he had severe injuries, had he not, the lank figure would not have bothered with him, he knew this intuitively. And so he watched the movements, gestures of the two figures in robes, their mouths, tongues, eyes, knees as their movements made their robes ruffle. “He drinks and he smokes, and he is dying,” said the lank figure about Shannon O’ Day, “and he has killed, and killed, without a morsel of remorse, or so it would appear,” there was the faintest suggestion of derision in his voice. “If death can possible be avoided,” the holy man said. “Whose loss shall it be?” asked the lank figure, “For I have much to do!” “I think it is possible to keep your honor and dignity, and vow,” said the holy man, “should you walk away from this lopsided sparrow?” The holy man and the lank figure sat at a table both resting their arms upon it, and waiting the next development of this unsatisfactory situation. “Of course,” said the lank figure, as if he had deliberated the issue with himself, “you must have some sort of comfort, I understand that…. (The holy man nodded his head). It is easy enough to say as many do, leave this man or give me that man, or don’t stand over him or her, the truth is, you want them all full of God—and second chances, and you don’t even know if it is a good or bad thing, giving second chances, good for humanity, or bad for humanity, when they are due to die they should die, but you always try to get to them before me; whose to say what is good and what is bad?” “I can’t for an instant tell you to leave, but I can stay by his side and pray against these uncertainties, for didn’t the Lord say in so many words: ‘…ye are of more value than the sparrow.’ And is not this sparrow irregular?”’ “Here I confess, we are like publishing a book before the final chapter has been completely written; but you must agree—this man is dying and is in a state of hallucination, he will not even notice the crossover, or pain.” “But truth be told, essential truth that is, is hidden. It always is.” “I follow you,” the lank figure said, “that is always so! Perhaps there could be some violent link in all this; some contradictory fact, some accident or some subtle change to take place,” and death had a feeling, and death paused. Even the holy man was reluctantly interested. It meant something, described something, the holy man admitted, he too had intuition, supernatural intuition. “I never believe in concealing my own thoughts from an intellectual being, such as you,” he said with a quiet offensiveness, “I left that back in the Dark Ages. I will inform you of my guesses and suppositions. At the base of this all, is a man who is due death, as a matter of fact in time to come he may very well die of over drinking; he consumes more alcohol than air, so it would seem. I’ll make you a deal—contract. I’ll leave here for a day, twenty-four hours, and upon my return, you will leave for ten days?” The holy man nodded, and the deal was sealed.