4.

The German Army marched in complex patterns of give and take, act and receive. They moved forward in ticks and jerks, compelled to move as they did by a force they sensed and fell into harmony with. Their movements were steely and sharp and controlled, their very breath prescribed and tailored. But once they were dropped down into battle they became fluid, elastic; they rushed forward in haphazard patterns and were full of liquid gestures and instinctual motions.

Alex closed his eyes from the TV and leaned his cheek into the side of the easy chair and didn’t realize he was asleep. It seemed he was dashing across a green meadow in great leaps that sent him yards up into the air, then storm clouds and thunderheads filled the sky. Lighting struck down all about him so that he huddled in a cave. There was an old man in the cave speaking of catfish. He was a black man, a wise grizzled old man with white afro and a white goatee. He was talking about how catfish are crows in their dreaming state, and if men could realize this they would do away with lightning, which kills so many people. Finally the grizzled old man said, “Trust in your fellow man, and trust in the laws of nature.”

Alex opened his eyes to see Marty doing pushups in front of the TV.

He leaned forward. The TV was showing some World War II movie and had no sound now and Marty was heaving breath as he did his pushups.

“What are you doing?” said Alex.

“Pssshhh!”

Alex looked to the TV and caught the image of a grenade filling a man’s face with shrapnel, so that the right side of his face was blown completely off.

“Why is the sound off?”

“Pssshhh!”

Alex stood, walked into the kitchen, then paused. What was he about to do? He came in here for some reason; then, shit, what in hell was he going to do?

He walked back into the living room. Marty was lying facedown on the carpet, limp, his back heaving with breath.

“What’s that smell?” said Alex.

“Sweat.”

Alex was reminded of what he’d gone into the kitchen for by a gnawing in his gut. Five minutes later his Top Ramen was boiling and he pulled a bowl with fetid water in it from the sink, rinsed it just enough so that there was no food waste visible, and poured in the Top Ramen soup. He always hated the time it took to wait for it to cool down enough for eating. He put it on the table and sat in front of it, waiting for its heat to leave. Damn, he was hungry.