A Sur Thing

Chapter 13 of Carnival

Carnival

Chapter 13

A Sur Thing

Arnie’s “something special” turned out to be a plate of runny scrambled eggs, bacon so charred it disintegrated upon contact, stale toast with jam that was suspiciously bland, and a half-full glass of rancid orange juice. And Arnie did not “like kids”, at least not the three of his own he badgered around the greasy, dingy café. Breakfast was served by Arnie’s filthy sniffling six year-old daughter, on plates that were chipped and unclean.

Arnie was a squat, feverishly balding, gray-whiskered old second generation Sicilian given to wild gestures and exclamations, hollering, “Stupido! Imbecille! Idiota!” while indiscriminately clouting ears. Arnie appeared to have a select, ungovernable dislike for Kevin and Janet, his only customers. After much shouting and slamming of doors he grimly made his rounds, smearing the grime on the tabletops with a tattered rag of a bath towel which, from the looks of it, was a multipurpose implement, used to swab floors, scour pots, and grip the pan when Arnie changed the oil in his prehistoric Buick. As he worked he mumbled viciously and incessantly, glaring at them with a spite that kept their eyes on their plates and their conversation at an agitated standstill. And he wheezed horribly, gasping like some ancient janitor attacking stubborn stains in a toilet bowl. He was always right around their table, and when nearest his grumbling would acquire a sharply rising inflection until he was passionately swatting the towel against random chairs and tabletops. At such times he would appear about to break, gripping a chair’s backrest with his white-knuckled hands, trembling, raising himself to his full four and a half feet while goring them with burning ire.

It was the harrowing tension Arnie generated which made them force down every mouthful of the awful meal, like children at the family table. Kevin paid and they wordlessly slunk away, swearing off recommended eateries forever. He consulted his wallet, counting the bills with a sinking sensation--where had it all gone? Mostly on goodies. And on treating his friends to meals and snacks. And there was the vest and hat and belt, all that much worse for his experiences. And, of course, the pot. For the first time he began to wonder how he would subsist in the magic city, for at this rate he’d be busted shortly after arrival. Poor incarcerated Eddie had often told him that one could survive solely on the love and charity of others, never want for a thing so long as one’s head was together, and that one’s head was instantly together on arrival. Then again, Eddie was the only person to provide that assessment.

Janet was humming sweetly, watching Kevin affectionately as he stuffed the bills in his wallet. Kevin smiled back. Love? He was already well-supplied. He was rapt. He was intoxicated by it. Dizzy, even. A very sharp pain pinched his eyes and passed.

“Are you all right?” Janet was asking, her voice far away. “You just made a face something awful. Kevin…are you all right?”

Fine, he tried to say, but nothing happened. He couldn’t smile offhandedly, couldn’t look puzzled, couldn’t move a muscle. Kevin swayed, staring at her, wondering at her strange expression. Now she appeared to be speaking urgently, but he heard not a word. Only an angry buzzing in his skull. He willed his arms to move. They wouldn’t budge. A novel terror came over him. Was he dead? Disembodied? Why couldn’t he speak or move? And what was this freaky numbness creeping up from his extremities, and why was the sky dancing with sparks? The air seemed to thicken, to fill with little filamentous bodies. The numbness leapt on his chest. The sun beat down.

The sun beat down. It hurt his eyes to look at it like this, but he couldn’t turn his head. Wait. Yes he could. Not too easy, but now something cool was on his forehead, something was trickling down both sides of his nose. And a very grim face was right in his. This man was rude to stare so hard and directly, and Kevin felt sure the owner of the face was bent on doing him harm. He had the black mustache and dark eyes of the bully at Perky’s house--only he was older, much older, in his thirties at least. Could so much time have passed? Kevin looked away from the face, straight into a navel on a girl’s brown belly. There was some gentle weeping above him--nothing serious--which obviously came from the owner of this heavenly depression. His head, then, must be on the lap of the brown girl; that made sense. Yep, he could feel the firmness of her sun-baked thighs. That was delightful to know, and certainly exciting to feel, but the dark bully was watching him and that made it not so good. Perhaps that explained what was so disturbing about the face. He must have made a pass at the bully’s girl, and been knocked silly for the effort. Kevin sat up slowly and a strong hand gripped his arm. “Sorry,” he gasped.

He was the epicenter of a rolling crowd. Two policemen were crouching next to him. So he’d been right. The owner of the face was wicked, for he was surely going to throw Kevin into a pit where Eddie would already be slumped, badly bruised and barely recognizable from malnutrition. Kevin tensed. He tried pulling away from that steely grip.

“Steady there,” said the policeman, with a surprisingly gentle voice. “Everything’s fine. Just take it easy. You passed out and had some kind of seizure. Do you remember anything about it? Are you all right now?”

Kevin nodded and held out his wrists for the cuffs. Janet took hold of his hands and brought them down to his lap.

The crowd, disappointed by Kevin’s revival, broke up at once.

“Yeah, I’m okay now,” Kevin managed. He got to his feet, supported under either arm by a policeman.

“You’re sure?”

Kevin grinned lopsidedly. “Yeah.”

The mustached officer continued to study him closely. “Do you remember what happened?”

“The sun,” Kevin extemporized. “It was my own fault. I was looking straight at the sun, just to see how long I could stand it. Dumb thing to do. Then I got dizzy and fell over. That’s all.”

“This young lady says you had some sort of seizure after you fell. Has that happened before?”

Kevin ran a hand over his eyes, careful that the move not appear too sudden. He knew there was something dreadfully wrong with him, and now urgently wanted to see somebody about it. But if he allowed the cops to take him away, or if he went to a clinic on his own, he was sure as sure could be that it would mean losing Janet. And he could deal with anything but that. So he said, “Well, I hit my head when I fell down. I remember that. Plus, like I said, I was dizzy, real dizzy. That must’ve been what caused it. Sure, that’s all it was. I’m fine now. I feel great.”

“No history of epilepsy, tumor, heart trouble?”

“Uh-uh. No sir, nothing like that.”

“Are you taking any medication?”

“No sir. Honest, I’m fine. It was just a freak thing.”

The other officer, who was chubby and redheaded, searched his partner with a deeply concerned expression. His cheeks began to tremble, his neck muscles grew taut. He closed his eyes, squinted, and then his mouth burst open with the widest yawn Kevin had ever seen. He shook his head like a wet dog. “Gonna wanna runna shubriety?”

“That’s okay,” said the mustached officer after a moment. “Shine it on.”

The redhead nodded and yawned again. He walked over to clear away the few remaining bystanders.

The policeman looked at Kevin critically. “Come here, son.”

Kevin dropped his head and followed him over to the car. So he was going to be taken away after all. The officer hitched up one leg of his trousers and perched casually on the car’s front fender. “Have you been taking drugs, son?” he inquired offhandedly.

“Oh, no sir. No, honest to God. I swear. Really.”

“Okay, okay. I believe you. You seem like an honest enough kid. But let me warn you, man to man now. If you are, you’re just looking for trouble.” He held up a hand. “Now, I’m not trying to preach to you. But you’d be surprised at how many kids end up like you were, and then we find out they’ve been taking reds and acid and God knows what. But they don’t learn. They go out and pull the same stunt over and over and over until it kills them. This girl here says you’re from Los Angeles, on your way up to San Francisco. There’s nothing wrong with that, if you’ve got your folks’ permission, but I guess you know as well as I that San Francisco’s the worst place to be if you want to experiment with drugs. So I’m telling you right now…no, let me rephrase that, I’m asking you to watch out. I’ve got every right, and reasonable grounds, to search your effects for drugs, but I’m not going to. You’re not holding any drugs, are you?” Kevin shook his head vigorously. “Like I said, you seem a nice enough kid. So just a word of advice. If you are holding anything you shouldn’t, throw it away. Don’t take chances with these things. There’s so much to live for, so much to look forward to.” He patted Kevin’s shoulder. “Take care.”

Kevin walked back to the girl sagging with relief. Not such a bad cop after all. Janet was all set to go, so he climbed on his bike and they took off immediately, not daring to look back.

“You weren’t telling the whole truth,” Janet said sharply. “You weren’t looking at the sun, buddy, you were looking at me. Now I want the whole truth, mister, right now! Out with it.”

Kevin stared at her, surprised at her change in manner.

“What are you getting all excited about?”

“I’m not excited. Don’t tell me I’m f*****g excited. If there’s something wrong with you, I want to know about it, that’s all, and I don’t want you keeping anything from me. Why, you had me scared to death back there, flopping around like a big fat fish and saying all kinds of weird s**t. And you had everybody staring at me, like it was all my fault. And what was I supposed to do about it? You didn’t tell me what I was supposed to do about it, did you? You didn’t tell me anything! So I don’t want you holding anything back, you got that? Or we can just go our separate ways right now. Is that clear?”

Kevin swallowed. “Wow…” he whispered. “Janet, how can I explain something I don’t understand?”

“You can start by being honest, for crying out loud.” The girl appeared to mellow as quickly as she’d freaked. She took a deep breath. “Look, Kevin, nobody’s ever going to get on your case for not being well. Don’t you understand that? It’s just the dishonesty, the holding back, that keeps people apart.” Her expression was wistful. “And here I thought we had something special between us.”

The boy blushed. “Really?”

“Really. So tell me, what was that all about?”

“Like I said, Janet, I just don’t have a clue. It’s only happened a few times now, but--”

“But…bullshit!” she screamed. “I ask you to be f*****g honest, and all you do is play f*****g mind games!”

“I’m not playing games.”

“F*****g retard. If you’re not going to level with me then just keep your fat trap shut.”

Kevin fixed his eyes on his front wheel, his neck bunched into his shoulders. For a moment he saw red, but only for a moment. Janet began humming Baby Love, and a soft breeze came whispering off the sea. A caravan of motor homes rolled lazily by. Kevin sighed. At least they were still together. If only these bizarre attacks would cease, or at least become predictable. There just had to be a recognizable catalyst, something he could monitor. But the more he thought about it, the farther he seemed from an answer.

* * *

They made Big Sur around noon, aided by a lift from a sweet old couple in an ancient, clattering pickup. The man and woman, both in their hale seventies, had sold their Santa Maria farm and were following the coast to belatedly “get out and see the world”. Kevin and Janet had accepted the lift only because the couple were so friendly and so insistent. They had secured their bikes in the bed and rode cramped up front in the cab.

The seniors were enchanted with Kevin and Janet, whom they considered model hippies. For Kevin, the experience was as close as he’d ever come to feeling part of a family.

Alongside the road were dozens of bicyclists and hitchhikers in all manner of attire, from the most ragged to the most elaborate and ingenious. Tents could be seen between the pines. As they approached the forest proper the ambiance became that of an endless party, for in those days Big Sur was one of the Movement’s major stomps.

When they reached Jules Pfeiffer forest they hopped out and said their farewells. There were so many revelers loitering in the road that traffic was at a standstill, so the couples had time for goodbyes that grew redundant. At last the old truck moved away, and Kevin and Janet walked into the throng with stars in their eyes.

There must have been thousands of partying souls present that day, and the ruckus was tremendous. It seemed everybody had an instrument; a guitar, a harmonica, a tambourine. The wood was alive with song. Long-haired satyrs wove melodies with flutes and piccolos and recorders. Somewhere in the thick of it a full drum kit paced an electric piano. And through it all rang countless voices; voices shouting, chanting, laughing, shrieking, singing, reciting.

The moment held a special magic for Kevin.

Here was a taste of what he craved, and the first real indication that spots like Haight-Ashbury or Greenwich Village might actually exist as described. He saw Big Sur, via the tutelage of Eddie, as a major oasis in a nation unflinchingly devoted to war, antiquated ideals, corporate gain, and stiff associations--a workaday, business-suited nation: an arrogant place designed to render life as dull, as mundane, as sober and routine as humanly possible. But here, in this remote and enchanted commune, throve a philosophy that defied those traditions supposedly responsible for the mortar in all working social structures. Theoretically a society such as this should not be able to endure, since its only requirements were that one be peaceable, use drugs (or at least tolerant them), deny the principles set up by, or approved by, the preceding generation, and have a worshipful sense of identity with rock music and its heroes. Yet this society, and others like it popping up around the world, could survive. They persisted partly through the allegiance of these woolly inhabitants, and partly through the unsung contributions of benefactors from all walks of life, who, like the straights who so adamantly condemned these docile, carefree outcasts, ached from the bottom of their hearts to be free of their inhibitions, to be bohemians.

But this generation had its own new standards, its own leaders, tenets, heroes, gods. Within this subculture--or counterculture--it was perfectly respectable to be poor and rootless, to run naked or in rags.

And in Big Sur it was always party time. There were characters in turbans and robes offering one odd candies and free incense, long-time residents and newcomers embracing each other like family. You were free to simply look on to your heart’s content, or to participate in any music-fest, discussion, or purely social gathering. And of course marijuana was everywhere. Several times total strangers would hand Kevin or Janet a joint without introduction or examination, as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do. But most of all Kevin was blown away by the size and vitality of the crowd. It reminded him of what he’d read about January’s Human Be-in on the Polo Fields of Golden Gate Park, when White Lightning tabs had been passed out in a crowd numbering in the tens of thousands, and beaded and feathered freaks had managed to keep it mellow all the while. Now the easygoing affection of the people around him made it possible to believe that, in the near future, he would walk on those very Polo Fields on a date which, he felt, would grow to be of equal historical stature, when, he was pretty sure, this girl Janet here, this beautifully blossoming flower child, would stand beside him and take him seriously, he seriously doubted, when he told her he wanted to be her guru, and she to be his earth mother, throughout the Revolution and beyond. Kevin wasn’t sure he could summon the words or the courage, but he was positive her refusal would crush him. Here he was, in the kind of environment where anything seemed possible…and his heart was telling him that without her he was nowhere--that without her happy exclamations and little electrifying nudges and squeezes of the arm he’d might as well be on the moon.

A bit deeper in the woods Kevin and Janet chanced upon an assemblage interesting enough to bring them to a halt. Perhaps a hundred freaks were gathered in concentric circles around a smaller group of seated persons, each poised with hands raised slightly above the head. After locking their bicycles to a tree trunk, Kevin and Janet made their way down through the crowd to its focus.

In the center a bearded, totally bald blind man sat on an upturned paint can, wiggling his fingers over his head. On his right sat a skinny, leotard-clad middle-aged woman, her eyes rolled up, her arms crooked about her head to form a frame for her face. Members of the inner ring were apparently the blind man’s adherents, as they now commenced, almost in unison, wiggling their fingers in rapt mimicry.

It looked like Kevin and Janet had arrived just in time, for even as they sat the blind man ceased wiggling, and his disciples respectfully followed suit.

“Now,” the blind man intoned, “we shall demonstrate, for all those who seek inner peace and wisdom, that ancient and most sacred Sri Lankan technique known as Abu-bu-agubu. I, having labored a lifetime in search of the Self’s ultimate fulfillment, chanced upon this sacrosanct method while a guest in the mountaintop libraries of the Vishbewa holy order.

“It is not mere happenstance that our hands and feet should have precisely five digits apiece. As you shall presently see it is essential that the devotee have a minimum of five fingers upon each hand--although I have personally witnessed certain digitally-challenged elders of the Vishbewa order perform the Abu-bu-agubu using only the toes. Truly an awesome and uplifting experience.

“To demonstrate the technique we have my assistant here, the lovely Moonflower, who has herself transcended the worldly too many times to number, and is the most proficient purveyor of transcension west of Delhi.

“Now, the key to reaching the inner Self is, of course, the severance of the spirit, or tukhu-khu, from the senses. You will learn here today that enlightenment resides within each of us, in a dormant state, and that its natural expression is inhibited solely by the barrage of sensory impressions we constantly receive from without. Therefore, you must understand, it is vital that we remove ourselves from sensory stimuli in order to set our spirits free. To this end we employ the five fingers of each hand, our tukhu-sem, in the esoteric ballet of Abu-bu-agubu. To prepare ourselves, we engage in Bawa-khe. Moonflower?”

The skinny woman now began gracefully wiggling her fingers above her head. The disciples copied her movements eagerly and with precision.

Kevin and Janet also began warming up. Janet was giggling. “Why do I feel like a jellyfish?” she whispered.

“C’mon, Janet,” Kevin said, wiggling away. “Maybe this guy’s for real. I mean, look at all he went through just to get inside himself.”

She placed a hand on his thigh for support, pushed herself to her feet and looked around. “You go ahead. I’m going to try to get inside myself in a ladies’ room somewhere. I’ll be right back.”

Kevin was about to object when the blind man resumed his monologue. Janet stepped around sitting observers. Kevin heard her asking directions.

“First of all, as Moonflower shall demonstrate, we employ the little finger of each hand, the tukhu-pe, and the second finger of each hand, the tukhu-ba, in tandem, touching the tips of our tukhu-pes together, and then touching the tips of our tukhu-bas together, as Moonflower is doing, to form a temple shape while bending the first knuckle of each tukhu-ba to create, roughly, a rectangular shape, a bawa-we.

“The bawa-we is now placed upon the mouth, or ama-mi, and the tukhu-pes and tukhu-bas are brought toward each other, pinching the lips so as to prevent the ingress of any substance polluting to the spirit. At this stage it is vital the follower be breathing only via the nostrils, or ama-ama.”

Kevin achieved the first step, like everyone else, by copying Moonflower, whose lips protruded obscenely from her cinched bawa-we. The woman was obviously no slacker.

“And now,” the blind man continued, “we employ our middle fingers, or tukhu-jis, by thrusting them into the ama-ama, thus further cutting off the profane outer world from the sanctity of the tukhu-khu. It is essential that participants, at this stage, no longer be breathing, and yet remain relaxed and alert. Moonflower?”

Moonflower now rammed the middle finger of each hand up a nostril and rolled her eyes ecstatically, looking like a bulimic gargoyle.

Kevin gently placed his tukhu-jis in his ama-ama, but found he was cheating, taking occasional shallow whiffs of air.

“Now,” said the blind man, “place the index finger of each hand, your tukhu-mas, over the eyes, thus shutting out all visual impediments to the liberation of tukhu-khu.”

Kevin, Moonflower, and the disciples did so, but Kevin again found himself cheating; peeking this time.

“And finally, place the thumbs, or tukhu-vas, in the ears, thus completely blocking sensory stimuli, and allowing the Self its full expression. Moonflower?”

Moonflower jammed her thumbs in her ears and remained absolutely still. After a minute or so her face began to turn blue, her ribs to quake, her arms to tremble. One by one audience members gave in to the profane, removing their hands and gasping; embarrassed, ashamed. Moonflower, after quivering a while longer, keeled over at the blind man’s feet. Adherents rushed to her aid.

“By that sound,” the blind man said, “I understand that Moonflower has once again achieved tukhu-khukhu, has transcended the worldly to commune with her sacred Self in the utmost expression of bliss. Reveal to us, Moonflower, what secrets your Self has divulged.”

Moonflower, supported under the arms by envious followers, grinned dopily, saliva hanging from one corner of her ama-mi. Suddenly her body jerked forward. She lay on her face, head and legs still, torso thrashing like a landed fish. Moonflower became absolutely limp. The crowd went wild.

Kevin wiped his hands on his Levis and got to his feet, looking for Janet. He saw a little cabin-shaped outhouse not more than a hundred yards away amid a cluster of pines, and realized she couldn’t possibly be lost. He was just beginning to worry when he saw the unmistakable cascade of chestnut hair only thirty feet to his right.

She wasn’t alone. Kevin was surprised to find her engaged in animated conversation with a foppish young man who had apparently sidled through the crowd to attempt a pickup. The threat was somewhat diminished in Kevin’s untrained eyes, for this intruder was such a phony Janet had to be doing everything she could to keep from laughing in his pretty-a*s face. With that comically too-neat hair and those embarrassingly too-sharp clothes, and with all those tacky, expensive-looking rings on his fingers and that way-too fancy gold medallion, the gaudy jerk stood out like a sore freaking thumb. He couldn’t possibly know what a fool he was making of himself. Yet, perhaps because she was embarrassed for him, Janet appeared to be humoring this phony. Kevin proceeded, not by degrees but by leaps, from wry curiosity to narrow resentment to outright jealousy. He walked right up beside them, as though urgently impelled from behind, and was entirely ignored. A troubled and nondescript bystander, he stood with mouth contorting, hearing portions of their conversation in one ear and a cacophony of partygoers in the other.

“…no really, swear, you remind me of this chick so much you could be her sister.”

“…get that medallion? And those rings?”

“…was playing with this group from Blackpool.”

“…bet you got all the girls.”

“…only the naughty ones.”

From Kevin’s lungs rose a great bellow of shock and outrage at this betrayal. Somehow the roar got stuck in his larynx, and all that escaped was a croaking sound compromising a belch and a grunt of frustration. Janet and the intruder stopped talking and looked at him curiously; the stranger with mild surprise and she with a touch of irritation. As no further gutturals seemed pending they took up where they’d left off.

Kevin turned his head sharply and clenched his fists, his expression twisting into one only his father could appreciate.

Could she possibly hold his love in such low esteem? Were all his considerate and selfless acts to be dismissed so casually…could anybody really be so cheap and underhanded? Clouds of creeping comprehension passed over his face. Those clouds grew darker and darker still, until Kevin stood alone in deepest shadow.

A Voice appeared in the middle of his skull, attempting to infuse that skull with wisdom that, to an impulsive male, is only a distraction.

And the Voice described just how modern, democratically indoctrinated women are attracted to the weakest, least masculine end of the male spectrum, and surlily explained that those males are psychologically closer to a teddy bear than to a figure of independence.

No genuine, self-respecting man, the Voice elaborated, would flirt, or allow himself to be babied--genuine men do not pucker; they gag when the maternal instinct rears its gooey head.

This indictment, the intrusive Voice went on, is in no wise a celebration of the male marauder, whose profanity is monumental.

Yet is there no compromise ’twixt the teddy and grizzly?

The dandies dance their darlingest dance, the duet effete permeates our perpetually horny, narcissistic, a*s-happy land of opportunity.

Stress breeds men. Lack of same produces…you guessed it. There’s just too much liberty, that’s all--and liberty does not bring out the best in people. Seems humankind’s heartfelt supposition is that people are basically good, and that they simply need as much liberty as possible to express their highest potential.

People are animals, both figuratively and literally, and they’ll exploit any system as far as they can.

It is so goddamned f*****g tough dealing with explosive words such as evil, immoral, or improper.

So the Voice coined a noun, one that was both childish and simplistic, certainly, grammatically awkward, yes--but the only one aptly describing human character. And that word was UNGOODNESS.

How many truly good people, the pointless Voice inquired, have you encountered? Not people who simply are not bad, and not those who behave positively because they’ve been proselytized, or reared properly, or scared straight. How many people have you met who live virtuously because they are of a virtuous nature, and are instinctively repulsed by worldliness?

Don’t bother enumerating.

The Voice tapered to a murmur even as the sun began to peek through the clouds.

Kevin shook his head. Hearing voices was a real bad sign. And Eddie had no business f*****g with his head right now. There was more at stake than logic. Kevin’s eyes refocused. He again became a reactive engine, as nature intended. But though he tried to shut out the broken dialogue beside him another part of his mind eavesdropped intently.

“…beach house in Monterey.”

“…just love Monterey.”

“…going deep sea fishing. Maybe you’d like…”

At this point Kevin turned and asserted himself, every nerve on fire.

“Sorry, man. But we already had plans. I mean we have plans. Look, why don’t you just mind your own f*****g business and split, okay? Let’s, like, let’s not, you know, let’s not lose our heads over this.” His hands, now forcibly unclenched, were trembling. He was hyperventilating.

The dandy stared in surprise for a moment. His eyes flashed. He looked back at Janet, who seemed grimly absorbed in some godawful noise coming from an amateur band to their right.

“Forgive me,” he addressed her gallantly. “I thought you were alone. My apologies. Your brother?”

“Not my brother,” she grated. “Just a friend I met down the coast.”

Kevin flinched. Just a…friend. She couldn’t…couldn’t possibly have any idea how those words hurt.

He began blinking rapidly, his pain clouding reality.

What was going on here?

She was…she was dumping him!

It was over; it was sealed: it could be read in her tone. He was being discarded, traded for this b*****d fop as readily as a princess would replace an impudent servant.

“Just a friend?” he choked. “Why, why, I practically saved your life! I fed you and protected you and--”

“Don’t you,” Janet said loudly, “shout at me!” Several heads turned to look on with interest, bored with love and peace, itching for attitude. “And don’t give me all that crap about what you did for me, mister. Nobody forced you to feed me.”

The flashy intruder now intruded again, stepping between them while easing a protective arm in front of Janet. “Now look, man, I’m not going to stand here and listen to you badmouth this young lady. Why don’t you run along to mama before I forget you’re just a big fat kid with a big fat mouth.”

Frustration fogged Kevin’s vision. The crowd pressed in with greedy faces. The stranger was rolling up his sleeves, and Janet’s eyes were gleaming over his shoulder. The instant that gleam lanced through, everything made a savage kind of sense. Clearly, there was only one way to reestablish himself in her heart. Chivalry or insanity, it was convenient this dapper meddler was offering his face as an outlet for years of frustration. With a snarl Kevin threw a haymaker, and the power behind that punch was aimed not only at the weasel, but at all the pricks and pussywillows who had conspired from Day One to make this adventure an undeserved kick in the balls; at all the so-called friends who had exploited his trusting nature, at all those pretty pink jock-playgrounds who had taunted him, intentionally or no, with their unbearably desirable bodies--trashing him with a complete lack of sympathy for his honest green susceptibility.

Fortunately the punch was wide; the young man had seen it coming and deftly sidestepped.

There was immediate activity all around, as those closest tried to lay on some controlling hands. Kevin’s opponent, though easily forty pounds lighter, proved himself a clever and experienced fighter, managing several good jabs with his left fist while feigning with the right, steadily driving Kevin back into the crowd where there was no room to swing. The boy found his hard punches consistently glancing off the stranger’s quicker forearm blocks, but he hardly felt the jabs against his nose and chin. He was looking for an opening. When he found it he was going to leap on the thief and thumb out his pretty-boy eyeballs.

A gesticulating man began pleading for peace and order, but the crowd, deaf to him, gravitated to the action, forming a shouting ring around the fighters, whooping and cheering with each connecting jab.

One of Kevin’s random roundhouse punches finally caught his opponent on the temple and sent him stumbling back shaking his head, but the boy was slow to capitalize on his advantage. He threw himself on the dazed stranger clumsily, and the two went rolling in the dust amid a stampede of retreating shoes. The young man, squirming free, leaped right to his feet. He kicked furiously at Kevin’s face, drawing ecstatic boos from the onlookers. Kevin rolled away and scrambled upright just as his foe came sailing through the air, delivering a fine judo kick to the side of the logy boy’s head.

“Get up.”

Kevin’s skull was ringing. It wasn’t anger that moved him now; most of his rage had passed in that initial swing. The taunts of the bystanders were firing him. Even though he knew the struggle was lost he gamely pulled himself erect. The crowd cheered.

Kevin made a growling rush, somehow coming out of it with a handful of the nimble young man’s hair. He held on long as he could, landing three solid hammering slugs to the forehead, until a barrage of desperate kidney-punching caused him to release his grip. They whirled away together, slamming into a group of lounging bikers. These party-crashing thugs immediately reacted by grabbing and trouncing any flower child they could get their greasy felonious hands on.

The domino effect was dazzling.

Hippies showed their fangs, lovers became brawlers.

Kevin, struck from behind, was flung hard on his stomach. He rolled over as his enemy pounced, but before the young man could completely straddle his spreadeagled body a wall of clashing hotheads fell in a line. Kevin had a glimpse of elbows and heads as his opponent was golfed away. Next thing he knew he was desperately fighting to make his feet.

Those interested only in escape were being trampled, falling back into the fray before they could scramble out. Kevin scurried underfoot to the melee’s edge and crawled out like a dying man. Park Rangers in jeeps and on horseback were pulling up nearby. With the aid of several huge Hell’s Angels members, these men in uniform began wrenching fighters apart. A quickly finished skirmish broke out between two chain-wielding troglodytes and half a dozen efficient Rangers.

A helicopter magically appeared above the trees. As the roar of its rotor hammered down, the fighters pulled apart one by one.

Kevin lay in a heap, too done in to be bothered by running feet. As in a dream, he heard hundreds chanting for peace, with more joining in on each call. The ever-watchful arm of Authority was back in control.

The kids were all right.