Summer Storm Before the War, and: Bears and Drums

Abernethy 15 Hugh Abernethy Summer Storm Before the War Crowds are rushing out of the metro. Some with hats. Most with magazines and newspapers for hats in a sudden summer storm. Maybe, it's 1938 and no one is worried about the war that hasn't happened. Mostly, they are anxious to be home and dry where they can kick off shoes, slip into robes or warm baths. Perhaps open a bottle of wine while chicken soup bubbles unwatched in the closet of a kitchen in Montparnasse. Bears and Drums rat-tat-tat goes on all night Christopher tightens the covers, and thinks of the bear his mama threw out when the spring snapped last spring. 16 the minnesota review black fur worn down shiny He pummeled his tin drum faster and faster as Chris cranked the key every night in his back. Paws and blue sticks blurred ragged flashes in the darkened bedroom. Too soon the bear gave out. His arms like stumps shagged with vines. rat tat tap pink - a - pink He stopped in mid-stroke, his pearl button eyes wide a spy hiding his exhaustion, or maybe, a prisoner in the camps one who had learned to shrug off pain and starvation. His eyes would not betray him to those who would find great pleasure in forcing him to play and play for days until he dropped dead. Chris lifts the curtain. Trees and hedges stooped with fighting. Blackened grass and smoke. Stage scenery. The armies Abernethy 17 of bears with tin drums have moved on. Below, mists like milk pouring down silent streets, cobblestones charred and chewed, windows broken. Maybe, two or three of the bears have lost their keys, and stayed behind drinking coffee, smoking cigarettes in a closed cafe, talking of war as if it were a play and you could walk out anytime you didin't like your lines; you could hold your ears and refuse to beat the drum if you hated the song they ordered you to play. ...