Lucius Shepard: Life During Wartime

…David…

…yes…

…you’re going too fast…

…it’s easy downhill… make time…

…it only feels easy, downhill’s harder on your legs than uphill… you’ll start to feel it soon…

…okay…

…leaving behind memories and attachments, honesty and duplicity…

…look, David… that bird…

… yeah, weird…

… did you see the tail, the ruby, feathers on the breast… it was a quetzal…

… so…

… they’re very rare… it’s good luck to see one…

… luck… yeah, sure…

… don’t make fun of luck… we’ve been lucky…

… Tully… luck?… Panama… luck?…

… luckier than most…

…leaving behind the fear of death and the desire for life, leaving hope and hopelessness…

…when I first joined the movement…

…I don’t wanna hear this crap, Debora…

…no, you listen… when I was first in the movement, about thirty of us spent the rainy season in the Petén… it was awful, we lived like amphibious animals, our shelters rotting, our clothes mildewing… we caught fevers, dysentery… some of us had leishmaniasis…

…leaving behind the usual, the expected…

…what…

…it’s a parasite, it eats the cartilage in your ears, your nose… anyway, we were there for months… it seemed endless, and I lost sight of why we were there… we were just there, we were just part of the decay, the rain, and nothing I’d thought of achieving seemed worthwhile any longer… sometimes I was so depressed I could hardly lift my head, and then this kid came to the camp, this young boy from a village near Cobán, and he’d sing, he’d tell stories… lovely stories… I hated him at first, because it seemed immoral for him to be so happy, for him to make me forget my misery… misery was important to me, I saw it as integral to the revolutionary ethic…

…leaving behind dreams and the conception of dreaming, for dreams and reality were being fused into the idea of purpose…

…and once he told this story, I can’t remember what it was about, but I remember some of the words… they spoke to me… he was talking about someone who was very sad and they were thinking that there had to be another country after this, but the only one they could imagine was this secure dull place where life was as cozy as a Christmas kiss, and that wasn’t enough for some people, for this particular person, and the secret of living through the sadness…

…leaving sadness and joy behind…

…was to find a story, an emotion, a fable so alluring that it was like another country, a continent rising from the sea, with flamingos and golden melons and animals more beautiful than sin, one that gave you strength to be the person who you always pretended to be, even to yourself, and if you could do that, if you could search inside yourself and find that country, no matter if it was a lie, no matter if it was foolish and childlike, then you could survive all the terrible realities that denied it… at least for a little while… that’s what we’ve found…

…did the kid make it…

…no, but we survived the rains because of him, and after we left the jungle, we had the strength to keep fighting…

…leaving behind the thought of peace, and entering the precincts of a violent dutiful morality with its own continuum of behaviors and possibilities…

…do you understand, David…

…just more bullshit…

…of course it is…

…then why…

…I remember more of what the kid said… some of it had to do with a story a man was telling a woman in order to frighten her, to make her come close so he could seduce her… it was a story about the devil’s green cat, glowing in the darkness of the throne, how it prowls the earth and inspires sin… not just sin… extremes of life, of action… because although it belonged to the devil, like all cats it was independent, it had its own biases, its own idea of what was appropriate… and after the story ended, after the man had seduced the woman, they were lying together, happy, and the woman realized that the story had merely been a tactic, that she had been taken in, but she didn’t care, and when she asked the man if that was the case, if the story had just been a clever lie, he laughed and said, ‘No, there’s no such thing as the devil’s green cat that glows in the darkness of the throne, striking sparks with its claws from the stones of Hell, scenting the burning from the Pit, hissing a wind full of words, saying, Live or be lifeless, Love or be damned…’

…and leaving even love behind, at least for a while, because love was changing into its martial equivalent, denying of sentiment and admitting only to the virtues of its strength…

…don’t you see, David… it’s the same story with us, it’s always the same story… I love you, and it doesn’t matter why…

…leaving behind logic, leaving behind all ordinary truths…

…I love you…

…yet in the single-mindedness of their intent, the purity of their anger, and their lack of choice, they were taking with them everything that mattered.

I’d like to acknowledge the support and friendship of the following during the writing of this book: Gardner Dozois, Susan Caspar, Lori Houck, Craig Spector, Jack and Jeanne Dann, Jim Kelly, John Kessel, Kim Stanley Robinson, Greg and Jane Smith, Beth Meacham, Tappan King, and ‘Shorty.’

Lucius Shepard (born August 21, 1947 in Lynchburg, Virginia) is an American writer. Classified as a science fiction and fantasy writer, he often leans into other genres, such as magical realism. His work is infused with a political and historical sensibility and an awareness of literary antecedents.

Shepard’s first short stories appeared in 1983, and his first novel, Green Eyes, appeared in 1984. At the time, he was considered part of the cyberpunk movement. Shepard came to writing late, having first enjoyed a varied career, including a stint playing rock and roll in the Midwest and extensive travel throughout Europe and Asia. Algis Budrys, reviewing Green Eyes, praised Shepard’s “ease of narrative style that comes only from a profound love and respect for the language and the literatures that have graced it.”

Lucius Shepard has won several awards for his science fiction: in 1985 he won John W. Campbell Award for best new writer, followed in 1986 with a best novella Nebula Award for his story "R&R", which later became part of his 1987 novel Life During Wartime. His novella "Barnacle Bill the Spacer" won a Hugo in 1993. His poem "White Trains" won the Rhysling Award in 1988. Two early collections of short stories won the World Fantasy Award for best collection: The Jaguar Hunter in 1988 and The Ends of the Earth Collection in 1992.[3] His novella "Vacancy" won a Shirley Jackson Award in 2008.

Lucius Shepard currently resides in Portland, Oregon.

Green Eyes

Life During Wartime

The Scalehunter’s Beautiful Daughter

The Father of Stones

Kalimantan

The Golden

The Last Time

Valentine

Aztechs

Colonel Rutherford’s Colt

Louisiana Breakdown

Floater