The Stand

Before the force of that grin they were lost. The spears fell to the sand; one of them struck point-down and hung there at an angle, quivering.

“Do you speak English?”

They only looked.

“Habla espanol? ”

No they didn’t. They definitely did not habla fucking espanol.

What did that mean?

Where was he?

Well, it would come in time. Rome wasn’t built in a day, nor Akron, Ohio, for that matter. And the place didn’t matter.

The place where you made your stand never mattered. Only that you were there… and still on your feet.

“Parlez-vous francais? ”

No answer. They stared at him, fascinated.

He tried them in German, and then bellowed laughter at their stupid, sheepy faces. One of them began to sob helplessly, like a child.

They are simple folk. Primitive; simple; unlettered. But I can use them. Yes, I can use them perfectly well.

He advanced toward them, lineless palms still turned outward, still smiling. His eyes sparkled with warm and lunatic joy.

“My name is Russell Faraday,” he said in a slow, clear voice. “I have a mission.”

They stared at him, all eyes, all dismay, all fascination.

“I have come to help you.”

They began to drop on their knees and bow their heads before him, and as his dark, dark shadow fell among them, his grin widened.

“I’ve come to teach you how to be civilized!”

“Yun-nah! ” the chief sobbed in joy and terror. And as he kissed Russell Faraday’s feet, the dark man began to laugh. He laughed and laughed and laughed.

Life was such a wheel that no man could stand upon it for long.

And it always, at the end, came round to the same place again.

February 1975

December 1988

,

Note1

GEORGE WASH BRIDGE TRIBOROUGH BRIDGE BROOKLYN BRIDGE LINCOLN AND HOLLAND TUNNELS PLUS LIMITED ACCESS HIGHWAYS IN THE OUTER BOROUGHS

Note2

a spasm of coughing

Note3

a spasm of sneezes

Note4

a spasm of coughs and sneezes

Note5

he lectured himself

Note6

But I’ve written it down myself, just in case he forgets. Who knows? The Shadow do, hee-hee.

Note7

A note here: We are all fantastically sick of boiled water, which tastes flat and TOTALLY DEVOID of oxygen, but both Mark and Glen say the factories, etc., have not been shut down nearly long enough for the streams & rivers to have purified themselves, especially in the industrial Northeast & what they call the Rust Belt, so we all boil to be safe. We all keep hoping we’ll find a large supply of bottled mineral water sooner or later, and should have already—so Harold says—but a lot of it seems to have mysteriously disappeared. Stu thinks that a lot of people must have decided it was the tapwater that was making them sick and used up a lot of mineral water before they died.

Note8

General laughter.