Rudolph Wurlitzer - The Drop Edge of Yonder

"I never refuse a smoke," Zebulon replied, accepting the cigar.

"Such a melancholy overture," the Count remarked. "So different from the false promise of dawn. But then endings are usually more complex than beginnings, are they not…?"

He pointed towards the sun sinking over the horizon. "Look! There she goes. Like a wilted flower."

"Or a squashed tomato," Zebulon added.

"Or an Easter bonnet," the Count replied, surprised at Zebulon's use of metaphor.

"A thumb run over by a wagon wheel," Zebulon continued.

"A red sombrero," the Count replied.

"A smashed sweet potato."

"A splash of blood."

"So we agree," the Count said. "Everything, including nature, is impermanent, and you and I and everyone else are not what we appear to be."

"I wouldn't know about that," Zebulon said.

The Count pointed to a distant rainspout. "The banners of a retreating army?"

"Where is she?" Zebulon asked.

The Count shrugged, his eyes on the rainspout as it disappeared into darkness. "Waiting for me, I would assume. If not that, then perhaps she's jumped overboard. Leaving us with what, exactly? The remains of a great battle?"

Saluting Zebulon, he turned and went below

hat night Zebulon was woken by a sudden rain squall. Come closer, the wind and rain howled as the ship struggled over the waves, then shuddered and groaned into the troughs below; come closer to a realm where life and death are the same.

HE NEXT MORNING, AS ZEBULON PROWLED THE DECK hoping for a sighting of Delilah he was confronted by Stebbins, who had become convinced that a story about the exploits of the legendary mountain man would be the perfect opener for his series of articles about life in the Far West.

When he asked Zebulon for an interview, Zebulon hesitated, his eyes on the Count and Delilah as they appeared arm in arm on the other side of the deck, Delilah wearing a flowered dress and straw hat, the Count in yellow linen pants and a white shirt.

"It would be an honor," Stebbins insisted. "Particularly as you represent a disappearing breed of men who have gone where few ever have: men who have settled the frontier, who have fought and lived with Indians and experienced unimaginable hardships. My readers will be fascinated and thrilled to read about your adventures. And I'm the one to write about them. In fact, I'm the only one."

Stebbins produced a flask of brandy and handed it to Zebulon, who drained it before he spoke.

"I was raised by my Ma and Pa a thousand miles from any settlement. They learned me about red niggers and how to trap and build a fire in a blizzard. Went my own way and made do. I crossed Pike's Peak barefoot; lived with the Sioux and the Hopi; hunted buffler in the Black Hills; scouted for the army; lived with the Shoshonis, who called me Man Trapped Between the Worlds; sliced off more than one man's top knot; stole horses from the Comanche and Arapahoe; trapped with Jake Spoon, him that declared war on the Crow Nation; picked nuggets off the ground in Californie as big as your fist; rustled steers from Colorady to Texas; rode the outlaw trail and was proud of it."

He paused, looking at the Count and Delilah as they strolled towards them. When the Count said something, pointing towards him, Delilah laughed and turned the other way, only to have the Count draw her back again.

"I advise you to keep your secrets to yourself," the Count said to Zebulon as they approached. "Or you'll find your name on a wanted poster, or, even worse, the front page of a New York tabloid."

"I'll give you ten-to-one odds he's not a Count or even a Russian," Stebbins said as the Count and Delilah continued their promenade. "He's nothing but a flim-flam man. Take my word. I know men like him."

Before Delilah followed the Count below, she glanced once more towards Zebulon. Come closer, her eyes said once again, and no matter n1batyou do, stay aiPPay.

Zebulon stared at a half-moon that had appeared over the horizon. Like a broken egg, he thought. Or a whore's earring.

S THEY APPROACHED THE EQUATOR, THE SHIP ENTERED that inversion of sea and sky known as the doldrums, an oppressive zone of entropy inhibiting all movement and sense of time. The smell of rotten food permeated the ship. Sails drooped and clouds hung over the horizon like unwashed laundry. Not a dolphin or whale or even bird could be seen. In the suffocating heat, words felt as heavy as bricks and passengers and crew moved about the deck as if under water. When an elderly sailor lay on his back, staring mutely at the drooping sails, no one had the energy to come to his aid. In a rare gesture of compassion, Captain Dorfheimer allowed a dozen skeletal slaves to be led up from the lower depths of a cargo hold, where they had been chained to a bulkhead. Like uncorked ghosts they dropped on the deck, showing no emotion even when two of their companions, dead from malnutrition and the stifling heat, were unceremoniously tossed overboard. Until then, no one except the crew had known of their existence.

At night the passengers slept on deck, except for Zebulon and the Count and Delilah, who remained below

Zebulon lay awake listening to the shifting tones of their muted conversations in an unknown tongue, words that were sometimes punctuated by shouts, followed by sighs and Delilah's exhausted sobs. When they were silent he imagined them making love. Once, just to make his presence known, he tried blasting a hole through the wall with his Colt, but when he pulled the trigger the chamber was empty.

On the seventh night of the doldrums, Delilah appeared in the cabin's hatchway, looking down on him as he slept. A bloody slash ran the length of her cheek and one breast had fallen out of her cotton shift. It was only when he felt her thigh next to his that he realized he wasn't dreaming.

They lay next to each other without moving, listening to the cello repeat the same monotonous scales over and over.

When the scales suddenly stopped, she placed his hand on her breast, whispering into his ear, "If I'm not there, and you're not here, then where are we?"

When the scales started up again, she walked out of the cabin.

I hat night at dinner the Captain observed that in all his many years at sea he had never encountered such a strange and difficult passage. He cautioned the passengers to keep within themselves, not to stare at the horizon, and to sleep as much as possible. From now on, water would be severely rationed and there would be one meal a day As a reward for their endurance and patience, they would have an extraordinary celebration when they finally crossed the equator, quite different from the usual initiations imposed on those who had never crossed the line before.

When the Count began to laugh hysterically; Delilah helped him to his feet and led him below.

The rest of the meal continued in silence, as if any random remark might unleash the same demonic forces.

ays stretched into weeks. The boundary between sea and sky dissolved into a greasy smudge. The hours no longer clanged from the poop deck and the smell of unwashed bodies and laundry hung over the ship like a premonition of plague. The crew barely performed the most minimal tasks and finally, not even those.