cir- cumstance struck
cir- cumstance struck them both simultaneously. They turned to humour because there was no other tangible option. Sluggish grins turned to chuckles, then wholesale laughter. Neither of them seemed to know exactly why they laughed. Gomez reached for his crumpled pants and pulled a twisted joint from the pocket. Bobby did- nPt ask how the Mexican had anything dry. Gomez gestured in his struggle with broken Eng- lish. MEsta bueno, Bubby?N Bobby smiled and watched Gomez fire up the weed, sucking hard and long. The smoke trailed off the end of the heater and into the shafts of light
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as Gomez held
as Gomez held his lungs shut. He exhaled while he spoke. MAmigo, Bubby?N He passed the joint across. MCompaneros. Si?N Bobby took it and drew. He sucked it deep into his lungs, holding back a cough. He smiled. MCompaneros, Gomez.N The smoke floated from his mouth as he spoke. MBuenos amigos, Amigo.N Gomez returned his half-toothed smile, took the joint from BobbyPs fingers and held it up like a salute. MCompaneros viejos.N Bobby and Gomez scrutinized each other through the lazy drift of the smoke, looking for texture, common bonds. Getting familiar would be a slow process. — 54 — A little time passed silently before either of
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them found the
them found the energy to get up, but they did. Gomez got back to the hatch covers and Bobby went to the forward bulkhead to start sealing the watertight doors as if theyPd worked together be- fore for a long time and knew what the other ex- pected. Bobby heard the muffled curses starting up as he moved away. He looked back and saw Gomez, hunched, losing shape L disappearing like a ghost into an eerie, dry night mist.
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— 55 —
— 55 — Shipside A Bayou In Southeast Louisiana Monday Morning ItPs the chaotic nightmare state for Howie, dreaming of the fiasco in El Salvador a few months back L dreaming it like itPs a premonition of things to come. There he was, in the hold with the agent, hitting him again and again. Howie was high and didnPt notice the man had long since lost consciousness. In the early morning dream it went on even longer. He watched himself set the charges while
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he
he wiped the dying manPs blood from his hands. He ran like hell down the gangway, less excit- ing in the nightmare, and onto the dock. The dying manPs arms reached after him, pulling him down the hatches, into the forward hold beside his battered face. Howie liked that part. The little red light of the charge beeped neon in his face. Howie struggled inside the ordeal, heard himself silently screaming, saw himself pushing the nightmare forward K keeping it there. He managed to get himself convinced it was real and it cheered him up, made him decide to stay in it. He liked it. —
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56 — The
56 — The dead manPs face grew big inside HowiePs head. The explosion killed him as he jerked to consciousness. It was over, yet his eyes stayed shut. He didnPt want it to end, liked the action. He couldnPt remember where he was. Who he was. HePd done this to himself many times before, too many times. It was easier to stay in the night- mare. Still, he refused to open his eyes, de- manded the sweet horror to return. He begged it to stay, it denied him and slid away. He felt some other things instead, real things, pain. He wished that was a nightmare
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