So Far as I Can See

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WE, therefore, the representatives of the United States of America, in General Congress, assembled, appealing to the Supreme Judge of the world…

[Make This] Unanimous Declaration of the Thirteen United States of America…

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“The Stars and Stripes can be positively identified at a greater distance than any other national flag. At long distances, with the sun behind the observer, the stripes have a reddish tinge and the union is dark gray. If the flag is between the sun and the observer, the stripes have a light gray tinge and the union is almost black.

Our Flag has always flown for the freedom of men and the freedom of the sea. It also flies for peace and the brotherhood of man. Since it was first saluted by a foreign power, February 14, 1778, in Quiberon Bay, France, borne by our first great sailor, John Paul Jones, of the U. S. S. Ranger, it has carried a message of hope to all humanity. Its red denotes courage; its white, purity; its blue, justice, loyalty, and devotion; its stars, high aspiration and federal union. The Stars and Stripes is the sign of national sovereignty and unity. It is the symbol of the Constitution, as the cross is the symbol of Christianity…

The Constitution is the plan of government of the United States, and every citizen is bound to support it against all enemies. The great English statesman, Gladstone, said: "The American Constitution is, so far as I can see, the most wonderful work ever struck off at a given time by the brain and purpose of man."…

When naval vessels are passing Washington's tomb, Mt. Vernon, Va., between sunrise and sunset, the following ceremonies shall be observed as far as practicable: guard and band paraded; bell tolled, and colors half-masted at the beginning of the tolling of the bell. When opposite Washington's tomb, taps shall be sounded on the bugle, guard present arms, and officers and men on deck stand at attention and salute. The colors shall be mast-headed at the last note of taps."

If there be a band on a vessel passing the tomb of Washington, the band, by agreement of the Band Masters' Association, plays "Nearer My God to Thee."”

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…that all men are created equal…endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable rights…among these are life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness…to secure these rights, governments are instituted among men, deriving their just powers from the consent of the governed…whenever any form of government becomes destructive to these ends, it is the right of the people to alter or to abolish it…and to institute new government, laying its foundation on such principles…when a long train of abuses…evinces a design to reduce them under absolute despotism, it is their right, it is their duty, to throw off such government.

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In italics from:
The Stars and Stripes; a history of the United States flag ~ 1915

Salute!

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Something Borrowed

My Dear Bethany,

What is this you say you are making a dress? I can see you sewing. Please be wearing that lovely thing when you see me, when I return to you, my love. That day is so far from this place. In a way I am happy it is far from here.

All I know of war is what I've seen in books, and the pictures and this place until now. What have seen already I had no idea. It is a pleasure to have quiet finally and clean to write, at least a few lines to tell you we are well at this time and hope they find that you are well. Tomorrow we leave Orckatau and catch up with the boys if nothing happens. They are 45 miles from us and making good. Weather is alright. My spirit is low between letters, that is all.

What do they say for us at home? The old man I bet is the same. Tell him I ask, is he getting along all right without me? (laughing) He will wave his hand and say, less to worry about. Tell him I said that too. He is right, until I get back.

I remain yours, in love.
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Mary’s Room

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The War, Part 28.19

“I see her in the attic, Sam,” he said, and the old man returned to his work.

Sam saw her in the window now too, just below the gable end of the house. She was reaching above the window. Then she stepped down and he couldn’t see her.

He folded the letter and placed it in his shirt pocket. Inside the house he went to his room and returned his pack there on the end of the bed. Removed the lunch and canteen and carried them to the icebox in the kitchen. Bethany, he could hear her, she was above him humming a song. Five or six notes over and over ran together.

Sam stopped at the bottom of the stairs looking up to the room. How do you do this, he said to himself. Or to the one he always spoke to. He climbed delicately to the open door at the top a landing there he stopped, knocked the knuckle of his right index finger softly on the door frame.

“Huh!” she inhaled sharp. “Sam, I didn’t know you were there!” Bethany laughed, startled, with her hand to her breast and the other reached for the back of the chair she was standing on. Before the window in a dress over her knees below the gable end of the house she stood on the chair hanging curtains. The chair shook a little by the surprise. “You scared me!” she laughed, and a little flushed bent her knees to steady herself. Her dress covered the rest of her legs and her shoes. She stood when she was balanced and tended to the curtain once more

“I’m sorry, Bethany. I didn’t mean to.”

Sam had never been in this part of the house. It was in fact the attic, unfinished but filled with things and treated as if it were any other room in the rest of the house. There were no walls and the room covered the full extent of the house. Unfinished boards for the floor. Rough painted wood beams and in side roof boards white to look like plaster walls. Lots of clothing hung and a sewing machine and fabric, bookshelves with photographs in frames sitting on the shelves instead of books. In the center by the light of the window and Bethany’s chair was a female form, for making clothing. On it a dress nearly finished. This must have been the room of the old man’s wife.

Sam tried a smile but it came out a straight line was the most it would go. “Bethany, please come down,” he said.

“Oh?” She rested the curtain rod on its holder and stepped from the chair. “What is it Sam?” A thin curtain from her shoulder she was carrying and draped it onto the shoulder of the female form. It took her attention for a moment and adjusted it this way and that around the neck of the form. Stood back from it. “I think this is coming out alright, don’t you think?”

He walked over, but passed her instead not hearing her for the window with the single curtain pushed it aside to see the old man below. He was there working. And Sam watched him from behind the glass. There the old man rested a post across the saw horses and run his open hand over it, as he walked along it. At the other end he bent for his saw. He stood and next measured the post with his hands. One after the other he measured his hands over it, mouthing the numbers with his lips.

Bethany hummed the song. He turned to her let the curtain releasing across the window. It was so thin the room was as light as before, and she didn’t notice. The remaining curtain covered her shoulder again she adjusted the fabric on the form. Placing pins to hold the fabric, from her mouth humming along with the old man measuring.

Sam took the letter from his pocket and unfolded it. There was a small sofa the color of linen against the angled roof, with a curved back, three curved parts to the back, one higher soft curve in the middle and the other two on each side smaller and lower but otherwise the same. “Bethany, please sit with me,” he called to her.

She did. And he read the letter to her while she cried. He took her in his arms. Her head rested on his right against his chest. Her legs over his left arm. She curled into them.

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Saint Behind The Glass

Hammer and a nail
Hammer and a nail
Saint behind the glass
Holds a hammer and a nail

Baby in his arms
Baby in his arms
Saint behind the glass
Has a baby in his arms

Watches me sleep
Watches me sleep
Saint behind the glass
Watches me while I sleep

Coffee in the air
Coffee in the air
Saint behind the glass
Smells coffee in the air

Curtains blowing 'round
Curtains blowing 'round
Saint behind the glass
Sees the curtains blowing 'round

Night upon my head
Night upon my head
Saint behind the glass
Lays night upon my head

Mother don't cry
Mother don't cry
Saint behind the glass
Tells mother not to cry

~ Los Lobos
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Rude Ascension

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The War, Part 28.21

I am writing it now so I won’t forget. The dream was the same one, although none of the pieces are the same as the first time. As I mentioned, the letter came earlier in the day. After dinner the old man retired to his chair. He lit the lamp beside. Instead of removing and reading the book as he always did before bed, the book kept in his breast pocket, placed it on the small round table by the chair. His old eyes tonight moved across the letter over and over as if he were reading the book. By the wear of it, that of the book I could see from my place at the dinner table, was as sacred a thing to him as the letter. Or the letter as much as the book. Both read many times.

Bethany was as the rest of us, silent through dinner. The old man heard her closing the cabinet doors, finishing in the kitchen and called to her. He placed the letter face down on his body and when she came asked her if she would mind playing a song, I’d never heard the name. On the piano for the boy. She agreed and began beautifully and so I followed the music into the room with the two of them. There was another chair like the old man’s by the other side of the round table. I sat there to hear Bethany play for the boy.

The old man’s eyes were closed for a long time. He was not asleep. He was holding the lids shut. When he opened, I told about the kitten. I said I was sorry for not telling him then and having to tell now. He said it was alright and folded the letter placing it in the envelope and then into the book on the round table.

That was the first time I remembered placing the envelope back into the pack. After examining by the window that morning. The old man knew of the envelope. I was certain of that knowing he had been in my pack. Although we never spoke of it. Had gone through my things but not into them which was why this never bothered me. Knowing that. I was in no condition even if it had. It is the way it is.

We listened to Bethany play. He closed his eyes and I did the same, turning my head directly to his I said I carried a letter too. He said he saw the envelope. It was the first time we spoke of it. I never opened it in all the days. But I thought about it many times and decided the thinking was the thing I could control the best if I treated it as a decision that was already made. Then I wouldn’t lose control trying to talk myself out of it. Out of not opening it. I could always come up with reasons. Good reasons. As I write to you they come again.

We listen to the song and I say I have a letter too. The old man says he knows and I am embarrassed and close my eyes, because I said that. The thinking has taken the last of my energy. The song is beautiful and so sad at times feeling the tendons in my chest pulled to my spine and I don’t hear the ending and have fallen asleep.

In the dream this time I am with the old man in the cellar. We taste the wine and the oak barrels which was the thing that actually happened and that I had written to you about the animals and his stories about the hurricane. All those things that had happened. Except in the dream we did not come upstairs to dinner. Bethany had not broken the dish. The old man showed me a door in the dirt floor of the cellar and pulled it open. We descended a set of stairs together to a lower room where we arrived onto the floor which was dirt and dry dust floated around our feet. He did not carry a lamp but I could see we were together there but not very far into the darkness. It was then that I heard the dish break. I ran up the stairs and as I approached the door, pulling the handle the other space was a bright shouting noise from all sides of the room and curving around the door into the stairwell. A long crashing sound like when the marching band cymbals comes right in front of you or a great machinery space running all the machines too fast and about to come apart your instinct is to run to get away. Bethany and the old man are in there, or he is the boy, but I can’t see them through the bright daggers in my eyes. I scream knowing it is over, finally the thing has come, and my scream goes out over the noise. Against all the edges of it my sound left me in the shape of a funnel but the daggers slide through it anyway. Finally the thing has come. And is there in the room with us shaking everything and everyone, out of together, in its hands all the room bright as a white furnace blown into by the bellows fire needles in all directions. I force my scream shut slamming the jaw closed and hear the echo of it in my ears drift away. I watch myself from the quiet darkness, my screaming sound like a fountain of sparks dies off in front of me, and drifts away from me and the room along with it.

I listen to it fade and the light fade. Calm comes evenly and my heart slows with it. I am in the room listening to Bethany play. The old man is sleeping.

I kept the dream to myself until now. Will write again soon.
Sam
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Belief Can Be Renewed

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I decided to make an excursion to the Thebaid. I needed a break from my researches anyway. The monastery food…restricted as I was to two meals a day…required replenishing. I very much wanted to visit Old Cairo at the same time, so the trip offered me the opportunity to do both.

My taxi duly arrived one morning, and I set off down the highway toward the Red Sea. On my right I could see Mount Colzim in the distance, a solemn edifice of stone. It was strange to think that for the first time arriving at Saint Anthony’s some weeks earlier, I had decided to take leave of the place. It felt unsettling too: the mountain and the narrow streets of the monastery, its smoke-stained chapels and palm groves - to think that all of them had become so intimately a part of my life. To leave them was to place myself at odds with what they stood for. Going back to the world, even for a few days, was an act of abandonment: I could visualize Fr. Lazarus sitting on the terrace outside his cave high on that mountain, utterly oblivious to my departure. As far as he was concerned, no other world existed beyond what he lived for.

In my room that evening I lay there listening to the din from the street. I felt estranged for the first time, as if my encounter with the churches of Old Cairo had reinforced my sense of alienation. This was the modern age, I told myself. We prefer to bury ourselves in the detritus of waste, of evil gases and collective stress, simply to say we’re alive. Yet when I thought of the bones of those martyrs lying in their velvet-covered cylinders, so silent and enfolded, I knew that something was amiss. The image of the celestial city no longer exists in our imagination because it reminds us of a time when restraint was considered to be a genuine spiritual value, not as it is regarded today – as some sort of pathological condition.

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Walking the back streets of the quarter…Old Cairo began to yield up its secrets. Every church that I entered…They had withstood persecution, fire and decay, so that their walls had become a testament to their survival. They continued to stand, in spite of the ravages of history. I realized how central the Coptic Church in Egypt was to the story of Christianity, for it was here that the real oppression was experienced long after it had ceased elsewhere. The frescoes and artifacts in the museum emphasized something that is all but forgotten among Christians in the wider world: that belief can be renewed only when it is made aware of its own fragility in the wake of indolence and barbarism.

Coptic Christianity is permeated by a feeling of being able to survive against all odds.

~ James Cowan “Desert Father”
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