"Don't be silly. I'm dying now.
Ask those bastards." He looked
over to where the huge, filthy
birds sat, their naked heads
sunk in the hunched feathers. A
fourth planed down, to run
quick-legged and then waddle
slowly toward the others.
a nearly dry water hole where
sand grouse flighted in the
mornings.
"Wouldn't you like me to
read?" she asked. She was
sitting on a canvas chair beside
his cot. "There's a breeze
coming up.
"They are around every camp.
You never notice them. You
can't die if you don't give up."
"No thanks."
"Where did you read that?
You're such a bloody fool."
"I don't give a damn about the
truck."
"You might think about some
one else."
"I do."
"For Christ's sake," he said,
"that's been my trade."
He lay then and was quiet for a
while and looked across the
heat shimmer of the plain to
the edge of the bush. There
were a few Tommies that
showed minute and white
against the yellow and, far off,
he saw a herd of zebra, white
against the green of the bush.
This was a pleasant camp
under big trees against a hill,
with good water, and close by,
"Maybe the truck will come."
"You give a damn about so
many things that I don't."
"Not so many, Harry."
"What about a drink?"
"It's supposed to be bad for
you. It said in Black's to avoid
all alcohol.
You shouldn't drink."
"Molo!" he shouted.
"Yes Bwana."
JOY FEELINGS | DECEMBER ISSUE
252