Jazz Latin New Age. His nerves were playing tricks with him. He was jumpy, twitchy, and he could not concentrate on his work. He was irritable with the snowbirds he met furtively in hallways and down alleys, and he snarled at one or two. In his impatience and nervousness he even passed out a deck of costly heroin for the cheaper cocaine, thus cheating himself.
After roundly cursing this example of carelessness, Gisino sought the open street and took stock of himself. The cigarette tasted rank and he flipped it away. He opened the palm of his other hand and stared surreptitiously at the neat packets of drugs therein. He carried his contraband literally in the hol- low of his hand, the better to cast it away should a roving member of the narcotic squad heave into sight.
The roving dealer in nepenthe shivered as he looked at the drugs. Christ, I could stand a jolt of it. A craving was stirring within him — a crawling, deep-seated craving. Amber, mellow liquor, the pure uncut Scotch that the woman Nada kept about her apartment for her numerous guests — paying guests of the masculine sex — would allay the craving. Gisino drew a deep breath and decided to forego business and call upon Nada for some of the Scotch.
Perhaps also he might demand embraces of her, as was his privilege. He had three more dope-vending ap- pointments for the afternoon, but they meant little to him. There were so many customers. What did it matter if three particular addicts, ridden with drug- hun- ger. Torment, ever increasing, ever tearing, would grip these wretches if he, Gisino, failed to show up.
Callousedly the drug peddler disregard- ed them ; consigned them to suffering. She was a blonde, with a tired young face and a beautiful, inciting body. She held a dressing gown, the garb of her calling, about the body. The gown was of an exotic, tangerine color. Behind the cloth gleamed virginal-looking white skin. He squeezed a breast teasingly, sadistically ; laughed as she winced, and went on into the apartment.
He flopped into a chair. Jeez, I need it. Inactive now, he was more than ever upset by the crav- ing. His nerves tensed.
Sweat stood out upon his face ; glistened on his hairy wrists. His mouth trembled and he shook as if he were cold. The blonde gazed at him silently, then turned and moved listlessly to the rear, the swing of her figure unconsciously seductive. She was his woman, but he was by no means in the mood for her now. He was beset, tortured by another desire.
Later, maybe, after he had swallowed enough of the Scotch to conquer the crawling in him, he would take her and amuse him- self with her. He got a kick out of car- essing her abusively, hurtfully, forcing her responses. Her white, curved body was so unresisting. The woman Nada was gone unduly long. Gisino, sprawled quivering and dis- traught in his chair, came to the end of his patience. What are you doing? Gisino saw with resentment that she had dressed herself.
His thick lips curled away from his teeth. Eyes burning, he tantalized him- self with it, staring at it admiringly ; then tipped up the bottle and drank greedily. His gullet moved up and down under a bluish stubble. Half the liquor flowed down his throat. He stopped drinking, laid aside the bottle, eased back into the chair. He breathed languidly, relaxedly, eyes closed. Eventually he looked up. He glanced at the blonde malignantly, as if meditat- ing further chastisement.
But the liquor was taking hold, mollifying him. His nerves had quit jumping; the crawling had left him. He reached indolently into his pocket for one of the inevitable cigarettes. He rested quietly, inhaling cigarette smoke and feeling increasingly calmed and at peace.
The blonde was watching him. Her eyes were purple-flecked and hard. You look funny. Funny as hell. I thought you never used the snow. I do everything else, thanks to you.
I know no limit. I go all the way, I do. I take on all comers. You pulled me down. It only took a year of your life to ruin all of mine, Gisino. It was a year ago today that I met you. The vague disturbance grew. I came to this town a silly innocent little kid, and you spoiled me. And what are you gonna do about it? He was of a mind to punish her for impertinence; to batter her, bruise her, hammer her mercilessly until she turned beggingly submissive and apolo- getic.
That was the sort of treatment she needed, with her catlike, treacherous eyes and cocksure attitude. He neared her, but a strange exulting look in the purple-flecked eyes halted him. He was puzzled, apprehensive. She might have laid a trap for him — im- ported some bruiser to beat him up, or something. She might even be planning to turn the heat on him. It was like these molls to pull a gun on a guy when they got worked up.
I never touch the snow! I've been feeding it to you — in the whisky. Morphine solu- tion, stronger all the time. You're full of morphine right now! You'll never be able to do without it. A hophead — a junkey! She dodged, gained the door, jerked it open, darted through and slammed the door in his face. A night lock clicked and in his agitation he could not work the catch. He heard her laughing as she fled on down the stairs.
Warren was ready for the fray also, and truth to tell, the Colonel had a notion he was a Napoleon of finance and could beat the stock market people at their own game. His son Tom wanted to be a lawyer and felt that only in the city could members of the bar reap the large rewards.
So the family was ready for the great adventure. Paying off the moderate mort- gage which had been on the place so long it was an heirloom, and putting the plan- tation in trust for fifty years so any mem- ber of the family who wished might oc- cupy it as a haven of refuge, the Warrens moved on to urban conquests. That is to say, all except old Uncle Ephriam, who flatly declined to leave the comfortable brick cabin he had occupied some forty years and where, as major domo he had exercised a pleasant and not too onerous authority.
Uncle Eph strongly disapproved of the move. Her name is Vera DeMueller, and she's the famous calan- dar girl. Naw suh, I stays! One man after another rented the plan- tation after the Warrens left — it grad- ually became run-down and ramshackle. When cotton went to five cents a pound it lay vacant two years. Then a tenant came on and so did the bollweevil ; the tenant left without paying the rent, but the weevils, having eaten up the rent cotton, came to permanently abide.
Then it continued unrented from thence for- ward. Not knowing how to write he made no inquiries. Still, he stayed on, hoping against hope that some day his white folks would return. He looked after the place as best he could, despite the steady encroachment of blackberry briers and sassafras taking fields and lawn. The cedars and mimosas down the long slope in front were a haven for mocking birds — their orisons and the whistling of quail were all that broke the solitude thereabout. Eph received a pension of ten dollars a month from the State as a faithful servi- tor of the Confederacy, and for several years the Warrens sent him an equal sum as caretaker.
He raised a few bales of cotton, chickens, too, vegetables and watermelons, which he peddled in the nearby little town. The news spread like fire in a cotton warehouse. And yet, it was mighty lonesome out on the place, with the white folks gone, and no company or companionship save his mule, his dog, and the rabbits and birds.
Eph began to take on weight and the luster of his coal-black skin reflected the plenteous diet many invitations afforded. The widow believes in direct action and she knows what to do to win a man. She feeds — and keeps on feeding him. She flatters him, but fills him with tasty viands before she proceeds to familiarly gorge his vanity. Then she urges him to talk and boast, listening with a slavish and adoring deference as he preens and struts and crows. It was just after a protracted meeting dismissed at the Life Boat African Church.
Each coun- tered promptly with a similar claim, as the crowd gathered. The resulting discussion was so highly acrimonious and violent that the services of three constables were required to sepa- rate the debaters and land them in the Tombigbee lockup — where hostilities were resumed at intervals during the night.
He discreetly evaporated from the scene while Lawyer Moss was describing his infamy in breaking the hearts of three poor, bereaved women. Eph knew in his soul that as pity is akin to live, selfpity is the preliminary to homocide, sometimes — and the wide spaces called him urgently. Three hours later when thru his front window he beheld the three Amazons, united in common cause of vengeance and smarting under fifteen dollar fines moving in mass formation upon his domi- cile, he also noted that one carried an ax helve, another a pick handle, while Pear- line, the most tempermental of the three, bore a long, shiny butcher knife.
Eph sounded like a cyclone as he tore through the corn patch ; a hippo on the rampage could not have trampeled more cotton as he surged to the river bank. His dugout canoe was barely out of range when a barrage of stones and brick- bats followed him. The Robert E. Lee on her historic race with the Natchez had nothing on him as to speed as he went Gulfward down the Tombigbee River. Thus it came about that Uncle Eph roosted on a cotton bale at the Mobile wharf and moodily pondered.
He had escaped the widows, but he was afraid to return. He did not know a soul in Mobile to identify him at the bank and he could not draw a cent of his money, a hundred miles away.
He had tried for days to find a job. He had achieved peace, a continuity of single blessedness and a whole hide, but it was the peace of loneliness and utter desolation.
Accustomed of late to being enter- tained, fed to repletion upon the best the hen roosts of quality folks afforded, fat- tened as it were, for the matrimonial sacrifice, now that he had to pay in ad- vance for each morsel of food, he found the problem serious and most depressing, with but ten cents left in his pocket. Autumn sunlight made him drowsy. He nodded and mulled over the situation.
He wished he could go back home, safely, and not be sued for breach of promise, or poisoned, or conjured as a matter of re- venge. Consciousness merged into a dream in which the big-house of the War- rens again held his white folks ; people again passed in and out of the hospitable doors, and there was happiness, and life, and contentment.
An unearthly noise jarred him into tense wakefulness. The steamboat Excel- sior, loaded for the up-river trip, had moved alongside the wharf to get some odds and ends of last minute freight and ship some additional roustabouts.
She was blowing a call for hands. River darkies began to ooze out of the fried-catfish emporiums and dives along Continued to page 56 The Editorial Scissors Cut Off Her Name and now we have left only the girl herself, one of the beauties in "Footlight Parade. At the end of the swinging stage the mate stood to meet and dicker with the hands over pay. He stepped down and walked to where Eph was comfortably reclining.
I want a sort of head waiter to make him- self generally useful. Dollar a day, tips and grub? While the Excelsior worked freight at Selma, he went ashore and in some way managed to acquire an ancient dress suit, white shirt, white tie and white cotton gloves. So eminently respectable was he in his official regalia, so evidently a clorode person of superior quality, that passengers were ashamed to offer him less than two-bits as a tip, thus proving again the old adage that it pays to cultivate appearance.
It was a pleasant and profitable life. He was entranced with the river, the boats, the ever changing scenery, and lib- eral, good humored passengers.
Two aboard seemed old residents on the Ex- celsior. They retained their berths, trip after trip. Eph noticed they seemed devoted to cards, in fact, were in a poker game which started when the boat pulled out from Montgomery and never ended until Mo- bile was reached.
He asked one of the older hands on the craft about the men who were so suave, so liberal in small donations to him when he was fetching drinks, or new decks, or cigars. The other darkey eyed him pityingly. It was on the downward cruise that men who came aboard had wallets plethoric with money and warehouse receipts for many bales of cotton, and a large and adventure- some spirit in their bosoms.
All year they had drudged making crops, and now was play-time. Across the green baize table many of them lost thousands of dollars. Uncle Eph became the favorite atten- dant upon the games and came to know the card sharps well. In turn they found the naive old darkey could innocently give them valuable information about passengers, so they rather cultivated him and were liberal enough in gratuities.
On a trip, while the Excelsior was load- ing Montgomery for the return, Uncle Eph strolled uptown. He noted Bradley and Farrish, the gamblers, entering a hotel bar with a man whom they seemed to have in tow ; and later, in company with the card sharps he came aboard.
He was rather ordinary looking, somewhere between 30 and 40 years of age, and had a discouraged, apologetic way about him.
Eph paid no particular attention to him except to note the gamblers urging him at frequent in- tervals to the bar. Once Eph saw both Bradley and Farrish empty their drinks on the floor, while the man consumed his. Shortly after noon next day Eph came upon the man toward the stern of the boat, leaning upon the rail and staring at the water with an expression upon his face no man should wear.
Mother lingered along and she died too, in a few years. The girls are married — and fairly well, I might say. Tried law, and all the time my mind was on hunting and fishing, green fields, blue skies and the cotton ready to gather. Tried newspaper work. And then I finally slipped down to where I got to be just an ordinary plug bookkeeper. The love of the outdoors is as strong in my children and my wife as it is with me. So, we decided I was to take my little savings, come back South and see if I could not land a posi- tion as bookkeeper or manager of the commissary on some big plantation, or buy an interest in a business in some small town where we could be together, and at any rate, closer to the life we all love.
And now — that hope is gone. I have only a few dollars left, after my infernal folly. What you gwine do? Remember Me. Work Search: tip: austen words sort:title. The Realms are at a brink of conflict, as the Battle of the Five Kings emerges, and a newly dubbed "Crownland Empire" begins their reign all across the realms, as King Joffrey Baratheon captures members of the Infinity Republic, six brave young heroes band together and Join forces with Queen Elsa and Frodo Baggins and his Independent Republic to bring the fight to the empire.
I do not own GOT, Disney, etc. Elsa the man-cub was born as a human and raised by wolves, Jack the ape man was also born as a human but he was raised by gorillas. So we finally get back to Dwarde's house with the cru, and settle in for a couple hours rest before our drive back to the north zzzzzz. As we awoke a few hours later, with a looming sense of hangover, we decide to gather our things and make tracks back to the homeland. Upon turning the corner to where the car was parked, Rob exclaimed "the car is gone".
Our obvious first thought was that it had been stolen, which let me tell you, is a dreadful thought to experience hungover with maybe an hour's sleep under your belt. So we phone the police who inform us that it has in fact been towed. A slight sense of relief overcomes us as we stop thinking about having to get a train back, until the realisation that this in fact not a great scenario either kicks in. So finally, after a couple hours delay, we manage to get back on the road to the north, along with a lovely whopping fine..
Upon our return, I figured I would try and compile this album, to help out with the fine. Cool story, bro? Find today's questions. Find unanswered questions. Search Search Topics. Advanced Search. Not a member? Send a private message to maurog. Find latest posts by maurog. Send a private message to Quinn F.
She delights in returning to their routine of reading their favorite story together. Her mom, grandmother, and siblings all appear to be kind, protective, and supportive. Parents need to know that Year of the Jungle is Hunger Games author Suzanne Collins ' autobiographical picture book that recalls how she felt as a little girl in , when her dad was a soldier off fighting the Vietnam War.
James Proimos ' cartoony illustrations help keep the tone light and upbeat, but there's one page that depicts an imagined war scene guns, tanks, airplanes, explosions , and little Suzy's fear and concern show when her big round eyes get very, very big.
Her dad does come home uninjured, but she remarks in her narration, "He stares into space. He is here but not here. He is back in the jungle. See more in our "External Sites" section of this review. Add your rating. It's in a place called Viet Nam He will be gone a year. How long is a year? Someone says her dad will be in a jungle, so she pictures him playing with an elephant and an ape.
Soldiers lie on the ground. Some of them aren't moving. These candid recollections of fear and confusion are based on author Suzanne Collins' own childhood, when her father was deployed to Vietnam inSep 03, · YEAR OF THE JUNGLE is a moving, personal account of how it feels to have a parent off at war when you're too young to understand what war means or how long a year is. Little Suzy is confused and misses her dad terribly, delighting in his postcards and praying for his return, and using her imagination to picture him in the jungle.5/5.