stomp stomp stomp goes his foot to the man's face.
his wife, the walker, the one in anger, the one with sick built up in her stomach. his wife the offended party. she sobs and screams for his safety. she wails into the night air. she jumps the jumper landing on his back. this under the starry wide open night. there is the orchestra of bugs and other domestic creatures cooing, crying and trying to find romance. the moon is full, the moon is casting an unwavering eye upon them recording their deeds for some future playback to some future judge.
he screams under the wailing. he knows it has come home to roost. he thinks of her, he thinks of his wife the witness. he can hear her screaming as she is thrown from him. he can hear her scream as the other woman attacks. he can hear a small child crying. he can hear 'go back to the car,' being shouted. mostly he can feel the attack.
'i didn't know,' she says uncontrollably sobbing.
'daughter,' the other woman cries and slaps and pushes.
'i thought he was a good man,' she says and falls to her knees.
i...he was a good man,' she says.
'good man,' she says.
the other collapses next to her. the are mixing in tears as grass stains clothes. rolling sobbing and holding one another.
'she's a good girl.' she says.
'my girl,' she says.
'no!' comes the verdict from the man. he is heaving, he is full of sweat causing dirty blonde hair to stick to his forehead. his glasses are askew and his shirt has come un-tucked exposing a plump purpling middle age belly. he is holding down the guilty. he is staring at the women, there is snot and spit dripping from his face. gape mouthed gasping for breath. the other man barely registering, barely conscious.
there is silence now, save for the heaving, moaning and crying of a child.
'you want her, you want to act like the man to my child? you want to get her drunk? you want to rape her? you want to get her pregnant? you want those things or take the risk for those things? then you get her, she's yours and if you do not keep her, if you do not help her through this life i will press charges. i will make it ugly and take your job. i will come back with a gun and shoot you dead right in front of your wife and children.'
he takes a moment, he stares them all until they blink. he points to the wife and then to the man. the man in a heap on the ground.
'that was my daughter, she was a good girl,' he says, 'i am not right, i will never be again.' he says, 'i don't talk to threat, or talk to hear my tongue flop. what i say is a promise. jail or the threat don't mean ____ to me.' he says.
the wife of this man starts to cry.
'honey, listen now, this ain't good bye. you see you got our daughter, you took her like a thief. you didn't ask permission. you did not come to me and say, 'larry i am in love with your little girl and would appreciate your permission to date her,' you did not say those things. you just snuck in like a fox in a hen house. it's going to take time. you got our daughter. you got our first grandchild. you two, you two are going to have to work to get back into our good graces. you two are going to have to work to help us get over this. to get to the thanksgiving table. to get to the delivery room. my wife there she wants a grandchild real bad. she wants to spoil that thing. i can't lie, i do too, i do too.'
they are watching him. the wife clasps her hands together at her chest when the grand child is mentioned. she lets her tears fall and can't keep a smile from her face.
'we are not happy how this happened. but if you are a man, if you can take on your responsibilities then maybe we can heal. that's what families do, right, we heal and get tighter, tougher from our scabs and the scars they leave.'
the man rises. he takes his wife's hand and pulls her up. 'good night,' she says. they move towards the car. he places her in the back and she holds the crying child. she moves her mouth towards his cheek and ear comforting him with kisses and words. the man pops the trunk so the lid blocks the window view. he reaches in and takes out a long black double barrel shotgun. 'this is what i'll use,' he says, 'good night.'
he places the gun into the trunk, closes the lid. the car makes a squeak from the shock as he sits into the front seat. as suddenly as they arrived they had gone.
the wife in a bath of moonlight and red brake light makes her way to her husband. he is curled, broken and moaning. she moves towards his cheek and ear comforting him with kisses and words. they lay, they fall to sleep comforted by the orchestra of wild things, some songs of joy and others songs for the dead and loved ones that left home never to return.
surely there are bug wives widowed from war. widowed from the unforseen torture of the magnifying glass, eagle beak or inadvertent shoe fall.
surely there are bug wives who cursed their husbands for their failures. surely they can watch this and understand, sympathize and maybe bend a note their way. surely seeing her holding him until they sleep her hand brown red from dried blood her face tear tracked and her body curled against him until they look like a crescent moon reflected on a rippled pond, they could understand. right?
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