Thirty - Three
His foot was on fire! The cold burning which consumed began spreading upward along his leg, as his body sailed through the air. The burning was like each layer of skin was stuck to a frozen pole and ripped away over, and over, and over, and over in a never ending cycle that inched higher and higher. The race between gravity and flight had been joined. Gravity held the dark floor with veins of gold and silver to welcome its guests. Flight offered to hold the pain at bay with a buoyant wispy feeling, holding the cold burning and shearing off to a later time. Flight lost. A new contest began.
The new contestants, the throbbing crushing pain from his head hitting the floor racing down through his neck to his shattering body with the card and frozen stump of his foot and the searing pain of fire racing up his leg. Each sought domination over the brain and body. Each sought to send salvos of different types of pain to his brain. Rockets of burning pain met tracers of shooting agony round T-eight in the spinal column. His bladder released followed closely by his colon. Then the brain is overwhelmed to the point it just stops working.
The battle for the Crystal Cave was over. The battle in Devlin’s body was over also. The looser, in both instances, Mr. Mc Guier.
There was no sensation of waking. One moment there was nothing, the next, nothingness turned into darkness. Each nerve gave a tenuous acknowledgement to the brain. In return the brain either returned either an open or shut signal back. Finally only sight, hearing, and marginal surface feelings were restored to an emergency only basis. These few senses reported quickly, and the brain ascertained quickly that the changing shades of darkness indicated motion. Downward motion at a tremendous speed. Suddenly his stomach was in his mouth, and his brain worked feverishly to determine two things. One, how has the stomach been able to change its anatomical location in the body? Two, who was the stomach going to be returned to its original location with the least amount of discomfort. Several nanoseconds later the brain shut down additional nerves and rechecked the remaining open circuits.
The body was still falling. Click, the brain locked panic behind unbreachable doors. Click, slight readjustment of perception and the descent becomes vertical, feet first. Click, the brain must determine how long the body has been in motion. Click, when would the rapid falling slow or stop? Click, use available data to make assumptions as to outcome.
However, Devlin had learned early in life, never to assume anything. The darkness continued to change. Buzzing, like a million flies crammed into a tiny room filled his mind. Like tiny stones, hundreds of gravel size stones began to pelt and batter his body. His arms flailed out to protect his face, causing him to tumble head over heels. Stop!, his brain shouted at the top of his imaginary voice. The body stopped tumbling. The buzzing disappeared along with the pelting stones. But he was still descending at an alarming speed.
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The penumbra of a body became discernable in the darkness. Incredibly the image began to approach. Plunging at an unknown speed, for an indeterminate time, the laws of physics were now being destroyed by the shape of the person rapidly approaching him. The hues shifted and a face became discernable. His father, not the bastard that married his mother, but his biological father approached. Normally, he would never be able to even describe his biological father, having never seen him, but he was positive that this shadow was him. The lips moved, and like an out of sink movie, the words reached his ears a moment later.
“I’m sorry Devlin, but I couldn’t take it any more.”
“Take what?” Devlin screamed into the vast void. The shadow stopped so they could look at each other for a moment in time. Then Devlin’s falling pulled him away from the shadow? Memory? Phantom? The answer is forever lost.
Darkness moved around him, and the tones of blackness knitted themselves into a new scenario. The Rosolito Carnival took shape. He knew the people. He lived with those people. They were his surrogate family. Warmth rushed through his body as the fond memories of generous caring people flickered in the shadows of his mind. There was their trailer, his small bed hidden in the upper alcove. His mother stood just inside the door with Carlo. The lips moved and the out of sink voices reappeared.
“Stop it!” his mother said sharply, “you’ll wake the baby.”
Carlo’s hand moved further up her leg beneath the long full skirt. His lips moved.
“He’s six, and not a baby any more. It was time he saw what a real man does with a woman.”
Quickly their clothes were stripped away. In the narrow aisle of the trailer, Carlos forced himself into his mother. The memory was of how he thought Carlos was hurting his mother as his drunken grunts shadowed her moans.
The smoke from the thin cigar curled away from his mouth as he sat beside his mother’s prostrated naked body. Lips moved again and Devlin knew what they would say before he heard them.
“I have to leave tonight. Come with me.”
“Why do you have to go?”
“Rosalito will find out in a day or so that I stole money from him.” “Just give it back.”
“I can’t. I already used it to pay off the bookie. Besides, this little carny is becoming boring. Are you coming or not?”
“I can’t, the boy.”
“Leave him! Rosalito will look after him.”
“He’s my baby!”
“I’m your man and will give you more babies.”
The next image was the empty trailer. Loneliness prevailed throughout his entire body. Hate mingled with loneliness like enchanted lovers giving birth to a new Devlin McGuier.