GOODBYE, SOUL BROTHER 2 - cont

2.193.  A hollow sound.  As if bankrupt of solidity.  Sounds like a vocal tremor, somewhat, as if often released by a woman during a vulvanic eruption.  By the way, how about that volcano near Temperence Hill?  

    The unidentified noise did not erupt explode burst out like a rifle shot but sort of sashayed its way into the captain’s auditory awareness.  His is a sharp sense of hearing, sharp and ultrasensitive so he suspects he has heard something innocuous, the feather quiver of a straw of hay?  Still he is unnerved and exuberant to leave and find another trooper to be tasked with stable duty.  With quiet exuberance he exits and sees a pair of FuPegs bowing their way by.  Funny creatures, FuPegs.  Bowing and giggling almost with an African rhythm, certainly a native rhythm which most of the troopers find comical.  Papa Clem preaches that the FuPegs are not to be laughed at or used as a source of amusement.  The poor stinking yellow bastards deserve pity not ridicule.  They were born here and will die here for reasons controled by God.  The troopers, on the other fucking hand, were not born here but wll die here for reasons controled by the chief secretary of all war matters.  What matters more than war?  What matters more than the death of the colonel, the impending death of Trooper Bowers?  What matters more than getting the FuPegs to stop free-shitting?  The troopers give some of them a little credit for attempting English but even these troopers, in their heart of hearts, think of the FuPegs as little more than Sodomites with bad accents.  Damned to damnation.  

    Lef rye lef hada lef rye lef toward the Atabrine mess where the captain will draft a trooper into temporary service at the stable.  A stable trooper.  This disqualifies most of the troopers.  It isn’t a matter of passion for duty.  The passion factor may be weak yet continues to pulsate with the pulse of life even though life pulses in Fusaichi with a soft low beat as if in grudging retreat performed with a rippling rhythm to an ancient tune whose rhythm existed even before forefathers of any nation upon God’s creation.  

    A sudden sensation as spooky and undefined as that noise the captain heard at the stable.  A feeling discordant with itself and with the situation like the time when a wounded trooper panicked not about his wife or his life but about his dick.  Oh my God my dick my dick oh my God how’s my dick?  It’s fine.  But if your leg is broken we’ll have to destroy you.  Bad luck, brother.

    It’s a glitter of apprehension this suddenly stoic sensation akin to a first kiss on the lips of a tailored lady tailored with experience.  It’s the real impact of a real feeling during sex wondering if it’s a harmonized feeling.  

    A female FuPeg passes and the captain notes the stormy wind in her hair and witnesses the battle between her hair’s stiff straight blackness and the wind’s hard rush steadfastness.  Hers is a glittering giggle.  FuPegs are always smiling and bowing and giggling and free-shitting and the captain wonders if they worship a yellow god or if god is even a real concept to them.  Us v Them.  Troopers v FuPegs.  They are both living in a very mighty state of versus.  Verses of the Bible cannot align them.  For I will set mine eyes upon them for good and I will bring them again to this land and I will build them and not pull them down and I will plant them and not pluck them up so it is written in Jeremiah 24:6 yes it is written but is it accepted?  This land is Fusaichi?  Where is the tall high sky scraper building up of the troopers within the pull down of their constitutions via boonification?  They want to be plucked damn it plucked and taken out and away through a purple haze to where the females have wide birthing hips and the males have a virile build as it should be by God and bye Fusaichi and the stink still pervades and the green still holds dominion and the twilight must still shimmer purple while the FuPegs giggle and Trooper Bowers dies by degrees and the colonel is already dead and the storm keeps up its boastful promise of breaking. 

    Lef rye lef closer to the Atabrine mess and the closer the stronger the smell of beans which the troopers use to name all grub served by the king of that establishment.  A strange warm and fuzzy smell.  Disarmingly appetizing because of the warmth and the fuzz.  Troopers want a little warm fuzzy wuzzy in their tummy tummies?  Well chow down.  This ain’t no formal dinner.  Ain’t no well decorated tables.  Zilch on the frou frou.  A gastronomique implosion awaits.  They know it, the troopers.  They await it.  Still they must eat.  Eat and await the implosion of their entrails.  The big dream of every trooper is to have a solid shit before death.  A smooth solid class one download.  No pinching of the gut, no burning of anal hairs.  Nothing sticky and fecal and impossible to wipe away.  Two dreams:  shit clean and leave Fusaichi.

    And meet the colonel.

    Already a dead dream and they don’t know it.  

    Capt. Shuvee sees an empty place at a table.  A bold place because it’s at the table’s head.  Troopers are chowing gabbing ruminating and among them at this particular table are Troopers Vyjack, Verrazano and Volponi.  An obedient threesome.  None of them boonified.  All of them always obey orders without question.  So which trooper?  Vyjack who is the perfect guy for a sweet romance or Verrazano who is too chic for Fusaichi or Volponi who is killing a loaded tray of shit on a shingle?  They all follow orders and in an orderly fashion.  Probably, the captain thinks, they also fuck in a strictly professional orderly fashion.  Mount thrust climax dismount.  Any of the V troopers will be just as good as another and he wishes he has a switch in time to allow a switch back to the time before the colonel died before Trooper Bowers got terminally sick before they deployed to Fusaichi before he did not rape Susan’s girl before he had the role of officer of the day and all this before and after sits with him as he sits at the head of the table and engages the Troopers V with a hard stare.  Which among them will take over the duties of the stable for a while he wants to know and one two three wan tup threep they stand yes uh fur muh tiv each Trooper V stands to volunteer and the captain feels all powerful and almost purple in the pride of his power.  

    Thundering force.  Dangerous wind.  

    The Troopers V sit down.  

    Again.

    Capt. Shuvee also stands oh so sharp as to cause soft angels to stiffen their feathered angel wings.  He stands, the most popular officer, and sees or imagines or imagines that he sees purple whispering shadows all around the table.  After all this time at Fort Marcy, Fusaichi, is becoming boonified?  Lately all moments have been measured moments yes every lef moment and every rye moment.  

    One of the Troopers V stands and leaves for the stable as if with an amazing bounty on his head and unwilling to pay the export price out of Fusaichi.