CZ Studio and Radio Verte presents The Wild Wind by Corey Zimmerman.
Chapter 10
The Wild Wind
Lawfully entertaining the assumption, my words will be cherished on a loveseat next to a crackling fire in some distant future poignantly makes me self-aware. I am anchored in the past.
There was a time we sat beneath the mantle and read books aloud. For in my youth there was no radio nor television, nor did the old farmhouse have a furnace. Yet it is likely that in time each home may be warmed by its own nuclear reactor.
Regardless of how my words may be cherished in the distant future, be it by campfire in some dismal, though romantically lit post-apocalyptic cave, or beside a glowing reactor, I shall be content in the earth, knowing that within a small sliver of my long, yet grim existence, I knew love.
When my biscuit hit the floor, Mama said I shall marry poor, and when my elbows were dirty, she said the same, poking them with a fork over ham, applesauce, and the sauerkraut sam you fermented yourself. But Mama never spoke of the wealth of love.
When I walked twelve steps on the railroad tracks, I reassured myself how rich my heart shall be. Yet when I threw the peel of an apple over my right shoulder to see my husband's face in the mirror behind me, all I saw was lightning on the western front as a rumble shook the floorboards beneath my feet.
Some days it rains worms, someone once said.
But when the day finally arrived, the day my heart rose with the sun, let me just say, old Newton rolled over in his grave. It blasted off into space like a rocket, for parts unknown, well past the moon, for the stars, where the earth became a mere pebble, well beyond the Milky Way, to the edge of the universe itself, for the vast bliss of nothingness.
The unimaginable silence encircling the beat, beat, beat, warm life force of an ever-expanding universe within a sun, within a heart, within a soul, within a world, within a word, love.
A heart never to return to my virgin youth, I plummeted for bright blue in the vastness of it all. As his hazel eyes looked down upon me with a crooked smile, cowboy boots having kicked up dust when he ran over to lift me from the drowned, I felt his firm yet gentle grip upon my hand, asking me,
You okay, ma'am? Embarrassed, I answered, Why, yes, yes, I am, thank you. I have no idea what got into him, he's never bucked me like that before. Spooked by the thunder is all.
Just as the sky opened up, and the torrential rain fell upon us like love. Hurry now, he said, pulling me by the hand toward the barn, and as I looked back, don't worry, I'll fetch your horse, he assured me.
Rowan Beauty, I said, as he lowered one brow. You can call me Richie, he said with that crooked smile. No, that's his name, my horse, Rowan Beauty, covering my grin with my hand. Thank you, Richie, but the wind swept away my words as he ran off into the storm.
I stood motionless, wondering, as my hopes and fears braided into one.
Is falling in love the end of all things?
Sam, I worried you might be offended, as I was not eating your glazed ham, nor the maple syrup drizzled sweet potatoes, as I pretended to have a belly ache, yet slipped into my best dress.
I never got made up for no one, yet here I was, all made up, watching the sun take its sweet time, approaching the horizon.
Sam, you knew what I was up to, but politely ignored me, as I snuck out the back door.
You see, I knew better than to use the window, as it might crack from corner to corner, a bad omen, to say the least.
I saddled up Rowan Beauty, touched my beauty spot to the saddle, and made a gate down to the river, in ecstasy with thought, as Jojo trailed just behind.
I had agreed to meet Richie down by the bank, by an old, fallen cottonwood.
Illuminated by the moonlight, it was otherworldly and slightly orgasmic, as our horses strolled side by side in perfect rhythm upon the autumn carpet of leaves well past midnight.
We met the following night again, and we talked about all sorts of things, but I continually strayed away from talk of the hilltop.
We mostly talked about our dreams between moments of awkward silence, occasionally giving a shy glance into one another's eye, myself hollering for Jojo, who surely had picked up on the scent of some skunk nearby.
Richie took quick to Jojo, and I knew he was meant to be, as everyone knows, a boy fond of a dog makes a good husband.
I was sixteen, Richie two years my senior. In each night we found it more difficult to part ways, our fingers unwilling to unclench one another's as we walked beside the river, its reflection an inviting path always at our feet.
Our pelvic bones stirring closer and closer together as we stood beside the current, even as our river of words ran dry from time to time. We stayed out an hour or two later each night, before trotting home our separate ways, our hearts torn in two.
Mama and Pa didn't give a damn, and only you Sam caught me sneaking back in the same door I had left, but seeing you kept my secret to yourself, I wrote you a story, a tale I knew you could appreciate, as you were satisfied with whatever must be done for my story to be told.
With Jojo stank to high heaven like a skunk under my bed, I sat beside the lamp on my desk and scribbled away. I told my tale, filling out everything, of the sky and his eyes and what the sea must look like, of his chiseled jaw, yet boyish rosy cheeks, ignoring the old saying, a rosy cheeked couple was lousy look, as a blush had long become a permanent stain upon my freckled face.
I wrote until the sky turned black to violet and then to orange upon the horizon, which seemed to come earlier and earlier each morning, approaching harvest season.
I worried about my beauty sleep, but felt terrible for Richie, as I knew he was in the fields working by dawn, with only a couple of hours sleep in him, dark rings under his eyes.
In the night, I never saw darkness, nor heard a single complaint. All I heard was Richie's soft and gentle voice, and an occasional cry of a coyote, the hoot of an owl, and whispers of love I arranged in my mind, hardly ever speaking them aloud.
The reflection of the stars in his eyes when he glanced over at mine, and I looked away before I fell dead off my horse, there along the bank of the old Illinois, where the most beautiful hazel eyes would look down upon my happy corpse.
Strolling back upon the fallen tree, Richie hopped off his horse, a chestnut thoroughbred named Autumn, as orange as the leaves of that time of year, and I sat next to Richie on the old dead trunk, bleached white as a bone by the sun forty yards long, yet glowing with life in the moonlight.
My legs crossed within my finest flower dress, my nerves became too much, and I kicked my shiny black shoes back and forth. Richie put his hand upon mine to call me, and like that, time stopped, and I still live in that tiny sliver between when he leaned over and placed his lips upon mine, and when I did the most horrendous thing.
I panicked, and jumped backward, pulling Richie over with me, and we plummeted a good few feet to the ground, landing upon our backs, knocking the wind from our lungs. Richie leaned over to see if I was alright, and I opened my eyes, breathless.
Although I could not manage to speak, I reached up and grabbed the back of his head of beautiful brunette hair, and pulled his lips toward mine, and I kissed him deeply and purely, and I shut my eyes and I saw nothing but stars, not realizing how hard I had hit my head upon the ground.
The crickets blessed us beneath the midnight sky, as Richie said, lying upon his back. I have a little sister, they call her Peep Peep, when she wades into the water deep, deep, deep, she climbs up the mountains high, high, high, my poor little sister, she has but one eye.
I giggled and then said, you are just a tiny spark, hanging up there in the dark, like a cinder from the sun. When the day is done, all your sisters and cousins come a-crowding out by the dozens, just to see what makes you merry, jolly, jolly, fairy. As the wink and blink and twinkle, all the sky looks like a sprinkle, of white sugar on a cake, like that the fairy's big.
Richie looked at me and I said, my grandpa Sam taught me that one.
We awoke early the next morning to a flock of honking geese splashing down upon the surface of the river, and we found ourselves wrapped in a saddle blanket, flesh upon flesh.
Richie cursed and jumped to his feet, saying, my pa is going to kill me, as he fell over in the tall grass, trying to put his trousers on, inside out.
I covered a dreadful scar on my thigh, now exposed to the light of day, with my disheveled dress, and Richie crawled over to me and gave me the most honest kiss upon my itchy lips.
He jumped on autumn and said, there are some blackberries just down the way, tell your folks you woke for dawn to go gather some. You want me to lie? I replied, knowing my folks wouldn't give a damn.
Whatever you gotta do, meet me here tonight, he said. And what about your pa? I asked. The old bastard gonna have to put me down to keep me away from you, Sarah Beauty.
As Rowan Beauty and I strolled slowly along the bank of the river in the rising sun, making our way for the blackberry bush, my skirt got all caught up in the briar, and I knew Richie was still thinking of me.
When we came across the berries, they were huge and ripe, and I brought home a dress full, and as I imagined, I found only you Sam in the kitchen, and I could sense you were concerned.
But as far as I was concerned, I was no longer a girl, but a woman, and I brushed off all concern with the leaves from my dress, and I dumped the berries onto the table top with a yawn, asking, Sam will you please make a blackberry pie, before collapsing to my bed.
Some hours later, a cool breeze wafting the scent of a warm pie cooling on the ledge of my window woke me, a note upon my desk which read,
Any moment might be our last, everything is more beautiful because we are doomed. You will never be lovelier than you are now, we will never be here again.
I showed up that night with blue hands and nails, and mighty winds swept with a blackberry pie in my lap, and little did we know as we fed each other's hungry lips, as Richie's own blue stained fingers touched my breasts, that the plague of locusts was soon to arrive.
A W upon their backs. The W of war.
And soon Richie would show off how handsome he looked in uniform. We managed to find an abandoned barn, and with a few branches, and a box of matches, and a few scratchy horse blankets, we spent the shortest winter of my life in the nude.
I was so damned with love, that the only thing sexier than his soft flesh and hard muscles under my fingertips was seeing his broad shoulders in that uniform. It is no myth girls.
With the same knee he placed upon the dusty ground at the rodeo that fateful day, Richie kneeled upon the wooden planks of the platform as we waited on the train and asked me, Sarah Beauty, will you do me the honor to be my bride? Yes, I said quickly, covering my face with my hands, feeling quite faint.
Richie then said in all seriousness, Sarah I need your hand, and he slid a horseshoe nail forged into a ring upon my finger.
The deafening train whistle sounded, and Richie grabbed me by the waist and pulled me in, leaning me back with the most romantic kiss. And then he disappeared into the steam, leaving me alone.
I found myself lost in a fog, the world spun around me. I heard Richie shout, the bastard's gonna have to put me down to keep me away from you Sarah Beauty, but saw no eyes.
Put you down, I questioned under my breath, stumbling upon my own feet, spinning that ring, the weight of the world around my finger.
I had set out to write Richie one letter a day, with a heart full of love, yet bowels of dread. As a great part of myself, hoped maybe my letters may never arrive.
Ending up lost in some deserted, crumbling post office, surrounded by dead horses and flies, with no seeing eyes to read them.
I spent that first summer sitting amongst the butterflies, waiting for one to land upon my finger, and when it did, I saw its yellow wings and my heart dropped.
I pulled its wing off and cried as it fell to the grass.
I stood and spun, grinning, running around in circles, laughing and crying, hysterical, singing, cursing, having found love, having lost love, having lost all confidence in my dream, in my future.
I began to scratch as I seized upon the past, and became a rotten little girl once again, unable to bear the weight of a ring which laid hidden under my mattress.
As the dandelions turned white and blew away with wishes, my tears fell amongst dancing loonies and kooks, and as the geese circled, vultures circled, the scent of roses, the smell of death.
Once autumn arrived, I knew it would be a blackberry winter, knowing the frost cannot kill a flattened blackberry.
I worried nonetheless it may ruin our love, and I told him so in letter number 72, as I kept the purple under my nails for luck, wondering if it's true.
Would we never be lovelier?
My dear Sarah Beauty, I can't understand anything about this world anymore. My heart done broken forths, first for being away from you, and then for the God-forsaken reason or lack thereof.
I sit here in the mud and look up at the gray skies, and I ain't never heard such silence upon God's green earth. Here I am surrounded by boys in tears, missing their maws and their gals, so I'm certainly not alone, Sarah.
Surely all our hearts are broken by this mess, but I can't seem to wrap my mind around the reason and why. These German boys ain't never did nothing to me. I just know if it wasn't for this damned war, we'd be having a beer or two talking about our horses and our gals back home, and I find myself struggling to see the God in any of it.
As I said, over here, when the bombs ain't a-falling, it's so damned with silence. I haven't heard a songbird in weeks, Sarah, but it done had the sense to fly off long ago, and I swear if I had wings, I'd be there by midnight.
I don't know how I found myself mixed up in all of this, and who in their right mind would leave a girl like you behind. I ain't even scared no more, as every time I'm feeling lost, I just shut my eyes and I see an angel with blue eyes like heaven looking down upon me.
And I see your smile, Sarah, and I remember God, and I have faith you are showing me the way home. Give JoJo a good old tug on the ear for me, won't you?
My beloved Richie, this is my 100th letter, but I already told you it would be yesterday.
I love the heaviness of your writing, and how you can hardly stay between the lines with excitement. I can see the love and passion in your words, in your upside down stamp. A kiss? How sweet you are.
After I sent off your letter, I took a walk down by the river, I passed our spot along the way, and I sat for a spell upon the old tree trunk. I couldn't help but think of that night I fell to the ground and pulled you along with me. Oh my, I was so embarrassed.
But what a magical night it was, Richie. I sat there listening to the songbirds, they brought a smile to my face as they always do, and I thought of the silence of which you write.
It reminds me of the thicket in the winter, when everything seemed so lifeless, yet all the little creatures are but nestled away in holes in the ground, keeping warm, and I imagine the same for you.
I'm so pleased spring has arrived, having the sun upon my face helps with the heartache. These last few days have been so sunny, it's been wonderful walking barefoot, the dewy grass between my toes.
But it rained today, and I've been keeping warm by the fire as I write you this letter. Some days are more difficult than others, of course. Please try to understand and forgive my letters that are so smeared in tears, they're hardly legible.
I wanted to tell you about my dream from last night before I go. I was riding Rowan Beauty across the prairie as the sun was rising, on my way to pick some spring flowers, and we came across the little stream and I hopped off Rowan so he could get a drink.
I ate an apple and some strawberries I had brought along, and then a snake came slithering toward me. But I grabbed a rock and I killed it. I squished his head, and I woke up with so much hope I knew everything would be okay.
Dear Sarah, Lately it's been seeming like we can't get enough food, and it's pitiful to see the boys grabbing turnips and what have you, anything that happened to show itself.
Once we reached the barracks today, I did receive about a dozen year letters, about a half hour ago. I ain't had the time to sit down and read them all just yet.
We were at a little place in France where we stayed for five days or so, then we left for Belgium. There we had a terrible scrap, but our brigade was in reserve and we only got a few shells our way. As of now, the only wounds me and the boys have endured are sore feet from marching, marching, marching.
Even if I can only get off a letter every few weeks or so, you're always on my mind. And if this war continues to proceed the way it's going, they say the Germans are going to surrender in no time, and I'll return to take your hand in marriage.
Dear Richie, I can't stop daydreaming how beautiful it will be. It'll be perfect, as long as it is not in May or February of course, nor on a Friday, as Friday is hangman's day, and will most certainly bid us an unlucky union.
The same goes for Saturdays, and either of our birthdays, or God forbid on a rainy day as they say, tears for the bride on whom the rain falls upon. Of course it must be a full moon, June would be best, maybe the third or fourth, but October is good too, and I love it.
Yes, December, on a Wednesday, in the snow, and I will wear all white. But Richie, be sure not to nick yourself shaving, for if you get a drop of blood on my gown, they say you will grow tired of me and kill me.
But Richie, I must tell you, I have been waking up sick to my stomach for some time now, but don't you worry, I'll be fine. Richie, I wonder if you are receiving my letters. I've become quite agitated every time I feel you have not, which seems to be more and more often. Oh, and I saw a doe with her beautiful fawn today.
Sarah, today I finally received a batch of your letters, and wow, do they make my day. Last night we stayed in a building without a roof, there were four walls only. I was stuck beside this fellow crying and shaking, and I hardly got any sleep at all. It was pitiful really. I hate to say it, but I nudged him a few times.
Work can give you an edge like that, so please forgive me. We went into the trenches on Wednesday night, and a Sunday morning at dusk, artillery commenced bombing the German trenches, and after 20 minutes or so we went over the top. My goodness, what a reception the Germans had in store for us. They simply swept the ground with a machine gun fire and trapped him with my poor old buddy Calvin. He caught a hot one.
Richie, I saw the white goose. It visited me in my dream. I now know we shall be well. I put my head at the foot of the bed and looked out the window, and I counted seven stars. May God put an end to this horrible war.
I am loyal to you, Richie. You do not have to worry. I would rather cut my own tongue out than talk to another boy, or gouge out my own eyes than see another man. You see, the reason I am saying these things, Richie, I saw the brightest star in the sky last night, and it twinkled right at me. I think it's a sign. I think I shall have your child, Richie.
Sarah, today it was impossible to make any advance, so we dug ourselves in the ground, only our nose is sticking out for air. Still many of the man-well, it's wrong to call them man. Anyhow, they didn't make it through the night of shelling.
My Richie, I have made sure since the day you left to say yes, no, maybe so. To every train whistle I hear, making a wish for you, Richie, my love. Every time I stub my toe, never forgetting to kiss my thumb, I even remembered to wish upon the first thunder of spring, and I promise to God I make a wish every time the broom falls.
When I drop my brush, a fork, a dish rag, or I find a button, a four-leaf clover, of course, and every dandelion I blow, every time the breeze turns up the hem of my dress or tangles my hair, and every time I find a hairpin, I always make sure to put it on a rusty nail on the barn.
Every time I see a haystack, I wish, and I'm extra careful never to look at the same stack twice, and every time I see a wagon of hay, I say, load of hay, load of hay, take my wish and go away.
I wish for you, Richie, your safety, your health, and for your quick return.
I wish for every white horse I spy, I spit on my left pinky finger, and for every horseshoe I hang upon a fence post, every wishbone I break in two, even when tying my shoes, or a spider drops before my face from its web.
And every time I speak the same word as another, for every cardinal and bluejay that flies my way, or any bird circling overhead, and with every rabbit that crosses my path, I think of you, dear Richie.
Every time I eat the last piece of blueberry pie.
I even made a wish for you today, when I saw a man with a wooden leg, and I wish upon every cricket that chirps in the night.
Richie, yesterday I asked you to send me all the numbers of the letters of those you have received so far. This one is number 145.
Oh look, while I'm writing you, there's a flock of geese heading north. I hope no hunter shoots at them. It's that time of year, you know. Winter will be here before we know it.
Dear Sarah, we were relieved this afternoon, but not before we got another bombardment. A boy named Billy is the only friend I got left. The last two days we walked with no rest, pathetic lot.
And finally last night, we made it here to this building where we managed to get some shut eye for the first night in a week.
And I finally asked somebody this morning, what's the trouble with that guy who keeps us up all night with his shaking and hollering?
And they said it's the shell and that's made him a nutcase. Terrible thing Sarah, and now I feel horrible. I think it was a pretty awful thing I did. But at the time, I was so tired, we never know when we get a chance to shut our eyes again.
My beloved Richie, this is my 200th letter. I cannot be sure, but I believe my efforts to inform you of the big news have not gotten through, as I have not heard any reference in your letters. I will tell you again my darling, I shall have your child within the month.
But don't you worry, I am eating well and getting lots of sunshine despite the cold. Richie my belly is sticking out so far, I'm so fat, and I'm sort of happy you can't see me looking like I ate a dozen pies to myself.
Sarah, it seems like every time we go over the top, almost every time, somebody goes mad. Today I saw a man singing in the hail of gunfire under the old apple tree. He was blaring it out at the top of his lungs and then he stood up and a few men hollered for him to get down. But he just stood there singing until a bullet went straight through his brains.
Dear Richie, I know I should not speak of bad dreams. Still, I feel I must tell you, I was planting flowers when a windstorm came along and it began to rain and lightning struck catching fire to the ground. I kept running and running through the smoke and ash until I found myself in a thicket and I pulled up the saplings by the roots to get on.
All these worms were falling from the roots. Oh, it was terrifying Richie. And then to make matters worse, I ran right into a beehive, can you believe it? And I ran on until I came to a stream full of dead fish running red with blood. But I jumped in anyway to get away from those bees and I was washed away and thought I might drown.
But I managed to grab a branch and pulled myself toward the bank. But when I tried to climb out, I got stuck in the mud and then it began to rain fish and then toads. Four days I laid there in the rain, frogs hopping about, fish rotting and no one to hear my cries. Oh, I was starving. I decided to eat a toad, can you believe it?
After I chewed him up and swallowed him, the pains on my stomach were as much. But when the mud dried, I finally made my way off the bank, but without my shoes. I walked barefooted and stubbed my toes and eventually I came upon an old farm in a cow barn.
I laid right there on the ground and let the milk pour into my mouth until I tasted blood and I knew I cursed myself by eating that toad. I vomited to make things worse.
And then I heard an angry holler and when I glanced up, a filthy old man in the nude was running at me with an axe. And just as he swung, everything went red.
I woke up flinging my hand above my head. It was no good, no good at all, Richie. I am frightened for what it may foretell. By nightfall, I will put a horse halter on my headboard, a pair of shears under my pillow. I'm going to throw some salt in the fire and leave my shoes at the foot of the bed facing east.
I don't know Richie, maybe I've been biting my fingernails too much. My darling, please ride as soon as you can.
Sarah, this whole damn place is a lonely band full of people either murdering or two days to do the murdering.
Laying on the ground staring into the sky and when we do spot a V-formation, just like the geese back home, though here they're made of shiny aluminum and drop bombs on us.
And you know after a bombardment to be dazed, that's quite common actually. It's not out of cowardice or anything.
Hell, I'm trembling right now as I write this letter and I hope you can read my shaky words.
Richie, last night I gave birth to a beautiful little boy. I named him Richard Jr. after you.
Everything went well, the doctor took good care of me, so don't you worry. And the baby is in perfect health.
Right now he is asleep upon my chest as I write this letter. Sorry if I stray from the lines a bit.
I pray it gets through to you my dear, and I know you will be the perfect paw.
Sarah, some of the men they've been out there on the line a long time now, they're all white in the face like spooks, empty eyes.
Like their souls done gone home, left their body here to do the warrant. Lately I've had a bad stomach.
Dear Richie, you should see Jr. He is rolling about already and every day he is looking more and more just like you.
He sat up on his own yesterday, I must say Richie. I am deeply worried by what I have read in your letters.
I know you do not wish to scare me, and I love that you feel you can share everything with me.
You are a strong man Richie, you will make it through this. I wish to write more but Jr. Wilkin is crying for the tit.
Oh Sarah, here I am, trembling like a leaf. I can't stand the thought of never seeing you again.
One has to bury their fears over here real deep. And forgive me if I don't write often. It's just hell.
And I'm caked with mud and clay from head to feet, you should see me. I am a bit concussed I must admit, but I'm not dumb.
Well, not too dumb. I can still read and write. But so many here remind me of a statue frozen to this holy shattered and well, I shouldn't say such thanks.
Oh Richie, your words have become shaky and unsteady. I'm scared out of my mind any moment a bird might fly into the door.
My right ear is still ringing Richie. I pray it moves to the left.
That silly cricket in my room is still keeping me awake all night, him and Jr.
But I know it's good luck so I don't kill him. The cricket I mean. How my heart aches for you. All of you.
I love you for all time. Eternally yours, Sarah Beauty.
Oh my what a magnificent place I've come upon. Comforts that exceed my wildest dreams.
Swimming baths, billards, bowling, tennis, fireworks. And you should see the gardens blossom with flowers. You'd love them.
I've been interviewed by the doctor a few times now. Doc is a clever man. A bit too much sometimes from my understanding.
Yet a top specialist in his field they say. Sometimes he can be a cranky old bastard though.
He's always questioning my darn life. Asking things as such. Is there any nervous trouble in your family?
Have you been ill as a boy? How do you do in school? Do you smoke much? Drink?
How was your relationship with your Paul? Were you a mama's boy?
So on and so on. And I often forget to know the right answers. But don't you worry Sarah.
Doc always nudges me in the right direction. And he says he'll be back on the front line in no time.
But I gotta go now. It's lights out. Love, Richard.
Your stamp, Richie. It was on the left. Does this mean you wish no longer to write?