On the very day I was fired from Penn State, in 1971, I was also kidnapped by a short-lived underground student revolutionary group who spelled their own name wrong. They shoved me into the backdoor of a yellow rusted-out car on Atherton Street, blindfolded me. A girl or woman was laughing next to me, and I remember she smelled like lemons and I was wearing shorts and she put her bare legs across my legs and I imagined her body all through the terrible hours that followed, before I escaped.
They drove me to a farm on the side of a mountain somewhere outside of State College where all the barns and silos looked crooked. The weeds were taller than corn stalks. They took off the blindfold and led me through saw grass to a meadow with picnic tables and food and hippies. In the distance, there was a body hanging from a tree. Vultures circled overhead like leftover dinosaurs.
They sat me down at a splintered picnic table and fed me watermelon in the hot sun. A wicker basket not far off was filled with hand-made nooses. An ugly man with no shirt and a beard brought me a box and asked me to open it. Inside were many paper strips of color, like paint-color samples or color-blind test sheets. He instructed me to select one. Each was numbered. By this time a small crowd had gathered, and I smelled the lemon girl and searched for her legs.
I picked color strip number 9, I don't know why, maybe because of that Beatles song. The crowd rumbled lowly in disappointment and seized me and carried me roughly to the tree with the hanging body, its flesh draping off it like folds of wax. The sound of flies filled my head like an air force of prop planes.
They tied me to the tree and went off to drink or whatever. But they were incompetent. They were fools. I quickly freed myself and made my way down the mountain.
There were hundreds of groups like that in those days, in love with the idea of revolution rather than revolution itself, and I hated them all, and escaped from many of them, the cruel ones and the kind ones, and until that era passed I became as invisible as possible without disappearing completely.
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A part of "The Comedies of Ephraim P. Noble" series, at http://comediesofepn.blogspot.com/
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Opening and closing sentences are killers. I'd like to know more about this character.
Some are still out there, now lurking in the cyberworld, ready to hack you to death. They already got me. Led by a guy named Nicholas that tells the story so well nooses are unneeded.
And that's the truth. Great stuff.
Good one Nicholas. Those words spelled-smelled are interesting, since they can be spelt 'spelt-smelt'. It'd be interesting to do something where such words(and there are quite a number of them) appeared twice, once in each form, because they often have different connotations. Completely irrelevent to your piece, which I thought smelt nice.
Very nice. The pace was set from the opening line.
this is excellent.
A bizarre yet peaceful memory. A smooth, natural style. It makes me sad that I missed the seventies drug culture. Damn.
Many thanks--I hope to post a few more here. Ephraim P. Noble is one of those characters who seem to have taken over. So many of them seem to be working but then sputter out...this guy...I can't shake him!
Funny and packed with some wonderful action, Nicholas.
Lovely and sensual writing. Very ethereal, which is impressive given the subject matter.
I like it that this is funny and disturbing and also beautiful and strange all at once. I love the last line -- which feels like the beginning of a much larger piece.
Wonderfully well-done. And it does feel like the start to a longer piece that I'd love to read.
Well written story.
Lou and Michelle, Thank you for these comments. I'm working on a series of these short pieces, all connected. This one and the sequel are scheduled to appear in Metazen at the end of May/beginning of June.
Cherise, many thanks--this narrator has taken over, so to speak, and I'm following his lead.
And thanks for the shout-out, Matthew.
Excellent. So much to like here...who spelled their own name wrong.Picnic tables and food and hippies.I smelled the lemon girl and searched for her legs...like an air force of prop planes.I became as invisible as possible.
Had me hooked from the beginning. Great stuff-- loved the last paragraph.