NOTE: If you haven’t been following this from the beginning, and if you want to know the full sequence of events, start with the introduction. Click on Archives on the right.
This post was edited on 21 Aug. 2015 and republished.
Tron Plank is running towards us in a batman outfit. Holding his arms out like wings and trailing blue smoke from one hand and red smoke from the other. When he gets within a foot of our table he tries to throw the smoke underneath and runs off with his cape trailing high above his blue shorts. Something bounces off the end of the table and releases clouds of blue smoke near my orange plastic chair. Now red smoke is rising from underneath the table, all around us. I can see Tron knocking over Jeff Petrosian in his bishop’s miter as he runs out of the white cloud Jeff is spreading. Clouds of red, white and blue smoke obscure my view of big Ben Alekhine in what I think is a knight’s costume. He seems to collide with Tron, who staggers out of all the patriotic clouds and trips into the prickly hollies around the edge of the big lawn.
This is my introduction to the Fauxmont annual fourth of July party, held on what used to be the lawn behind The Ashes, at the top of Wicket Street where it intersects Bails Lane. Lou has cut it with his heavy-duty lawn mower, weeds and all. Making a big smooth rectangle of soft thick spongy grass, clover, wild strawberry, dandelion, and other weeds too clipped to identify.
I haven’t seen Tron Plank or his father Niels since we first met on the Trip’s driveway back in the winter of 2012. I remember him making a daring run, before the police arrive, from the grasp of Irma Standov of Suburban Security Solutions.
Heidi Guderian, dressed up as the queen of hearts is standing nearby with a sparkler in each hand, talking to Pam Dirac, dressed up as a duchess. There’s young Serge, holding up his iPad mini to take pictures. He is wearing a tricorn hat with a black tail-coat and jeans over his white tee-shirt and sneakers. Tron runs by and tries to knock his hat off into a cloud of white smoke. Serge yells at him and tries to trip him.
I can see Lou sitting at one of the four picnic tables with Lark and the Planks. Two other tables are set up like ours: two saw horses and a 4 by 8 sheet of plywood covered in red white and blue paper table cloths and white stars on the blue stripe. Daisie sits opposite me, leaning forward, both elbows on the table. Her face shaded by such a wide-brimmed yellow straw hat that I can only see the tip of her nose and chin. She has gathered her long hair into one large black braid, which comes forward over her left shoulder. All her thin silver and gold bracelets have fallen down her long forearm and gather low down with countless reflections from the setting sun on their multiple facets. She idly runs the loose end of her braid through her fingers ignoring the smoke.
“Who is that bratty bat-kid Fred?”
“Tron Plank I think.”
“Tron, did you say?”
“Yes, he is staying with his Granddad and Lark.”
“Oh right, Lark told me they had some kid here for the 4th.”
Another cloud of smoke wafts by, green and blue thinning as it passes.
Daisy takes off her hat to fan it away.
“Well at least this smoke keeps the mosquitoes away.”
“Why are all these kids dressed up in costumes Daisy?”
“They always have around here for the 4th of July. Did you see those costumes on sale at Tenniel’s Art Store?”
“No I haven’t been over there lately … Why the dressing up?”
“I don’t know. Never had any kids. Why the costumes, Helga?”
Helga Dumpty with pink denim pinafore dress is eating bear meat barbeque and sitting in a blue canvas director’s chair next to Daisy. Her thick white hair bulges out and falls down her neck, from under her red baseball cap with Snaz logo. She waves her plastic fork in the air, trying to disperse the red smoke rising between them from under the table. She knocks back the pewter lid and takes a gulp of beer from her ornamental stein showing off the gold accents of its Bavarian Crest. Having downed the beer, she points out the edelweiss banding with the sauce-coated tines of her fork. Hank’s nearly empty bottle of Augustiner Bräu marks his place next to Helga at the table. Holding his matching stein, Hank is over at the barbeque with Albrecht, getting more beer and another helping.
“Oh I think it was our generation that started it. Back when the Ramsays and Sloots were growing up.” She swallows some bear meat, “why, I don’t know.”
Daisy gets up and pulls her orange sari-like silks around her shoulders. Her long legs are sheathed in tight white jeans with yellow paisley pockets. We had been sitting together as the ruins of The Ashes cut into the sun’s sinking disk, waiting for the food line to shorten, and watching the wild Plank kid spreading red white and blue mayhem.
“Look at the line now Fred, don’t you want some barbeque?”
“Maybe some of Hank’s bear meat would be good.”
As I get up to join Daisy, Helga starts telling me that Hank brought back pounds and pounds of meat from his last Yukon hunting trip. “This is the real thing Fred. Just great!”
Her plastic fork breaks as she speaks, trying to spear something from her well-laden paper plate.
“We need some real cutlery at these celebrations!”
She turns from her plate and buries her hand and arm in a substantial shoulder bag hanging from the back of her director’s chair. Out of it comes a hunting knife in its worn leather sheath. After she draws out the blade I can see it has been sharpened so many times the stained old-fashioned steel has lost its original edge and the slightly bowed blade ends in a sharp point.
“This was my Dad’s, and this old Solingen steel holds a hell of a edge.”
Helga starts eating her bear meat with the pointed knife. Young Serge is standing by fascinated, watching her every mouthful go in off the blade, as Tron sweeps past with white smoke and knocks off his tricorn. It bounces on the table and spills Hank’s remaining beer.
“Mind what you’re doing there kid.”
“Sorry Helga, can I get you another bottle?”
“Oh hi there Serge. I haven’t seen you since you sprouted those additional inches. Stop throwing that hat around or I’ll take it away from you.”
“I didn’t throw it Helga, Tron …”
“Don’t try and blame some one else. Here put it back on and keep it on!” Helga hands Serge his hat dripping with beer. Another cloud of smoke engulfs Serge and drifts toward Helga.
“He’s a good one that Serge, polite too, not like the little delinquent spreading smoke. If he comes by me again I’ll take him in hand!”
Daisy is standing in front of Boyd and Albrecht under a white canopy, with flags draped from the top of the extended poles supporting the canvas. Barbeque is served under a banner across the front, saying “Fauxmont Militia” in big white letters on a deep flag-blue background. The yellow pennant showing the Gadsden flag logo hangs at the back of the enclosure. Boyd, empties a big bucket of ice into an inflated child’s swimming pool. There’s an orange canopy next the Militia’s with the Dordrechts logo printed on the canvas. Looking around I see that Dordrechts have supplied the orange chairs too. With their logo embossed on the back. I can barely see Daisy shouting through the low light, smoke and humidity.
“Fred! Are you going to eat or what?”
When I get over to it, I can see Boyd’s pool is full of German beers. Brown bottles of Augustiner Bräu, Lagerbier Hell, and Spaten Optimator, are sticking up out of the mountain of ice cubes. “Where did you find all this German beer Boyd?”
“Albrecht got them from a friend in the National Guard. He brought them over on a hop.”
“What do you mean a hop?”
“I mean Daisie, that is how these bottles got here from Germany.”
A shirtless man, I don’t know, standing in front of Daisy, turns with a bottle in one hand and two plates of barbeque and potato salad balanced on the other. “He means hops in the beer.”
“No, that doesn’t make sense.” The man doesn’t hear Daisy. He has walked off with his big pink belly sagging over his brown draw-string pants stained from sitting on the wet mown weeds.
Albrecht leans over from where he is basting and serving the meat. His sauce brush drips on the ground from high in his hand as if he is waving to the crowd.
“We need some clarity here Daisy. A hop is a flight, like hitching a ride on a military plane.”
Some sauce drips down among the ice and beers.
“You mean you can do that?”
“Daisy, baby, you could for sure, but for any one else, they need to be in the service and in uniform.”
“Okay Albrecht, okay, I get the picture.”
“Don’t forget what we are here for folks!”
“Independence day Albrecht, we all know that.”
“Daisy, we are rapidly loosing the liberty this holiday is about.
Why don’t you step over to the Militia Booth right next to us here and sign up for freedom!”
“Thanks Albrecht, I think I’ll eat first.”
“Be first in Freedom instead!”
“Well, aren’t you going to talk to me?” Boyd has put down his empty bucket of ice and looks over at Albrecht with irritation.
She pushes back her hat and smiles at Boyd.
“Sure Boyd, can I have one of those Beers?”
Daisy takes the hat off and starts fanning herself with it.
“What kind you want?”
“Oh just pick one for me Boyd.”
“No, you’ve got to choose. I’ll pick the wrong kind.”
“Well, I don’t know German beers.”
“Guess then.”
“Okay that one with the silvery label.”
“You want a Becks?” Boyd looks up frowning and gestures impatiently with the bottle in his hand.
“Yeah, give me that one.”
Daisy puts her hat back on and takes the bottle after Boyd opens it. We walk back to our table together with paper plates sagging under the weight of Albrecht’s generous portions. The sun has gone down further behind the ruins and the long shadows have merged into gloom with the smoke. Helga and Hank, are now sitting at the table together, two silhouettes seen against the brilliance of Heidie Guderian and Pam Dirac’s endless supply of lighted sparklers.
The first firework of the evening is like a peacock’s tail of multi-colored flashes fanning up from the ground with a deafening bang. There is a pause up on the terrace of the old house while our pyrotechnicians prepare the next display.
“Who’s letting off the fireworks?” Hank looks up with a rib in one hand and wipes his mouth with the other, full of scrunched paper napkins.
“Marshall Rundstedt is part of it. He told me all about it just now. Got some really great ribs at the Dordrecht’s barbeque stand.”
A whistling rocket shoots up above the tree line after another loud bang at ground level. As the whistle dies out the air above us is filled with cascades of burning stars in the midst of another deafening report. A series of deafening explosions fills the air with color and fire, which then subside and I can hear a lone cicada accompanying the ringing in my ear. Is it all just in my ear?
“Fred, you know what’s going on there?”
I have enough hearing left to understand Daisy. “Fireworks isn’t it?”
“No not that, I mean Boyd and Albrecht?”
“Ah, well they went west and found enlightenment.”
“You know, I saw them kissing earlier, behind the tent.”
“Yes, I thought I saw that a while ago.”
“You know I wasn’t surprised. He often seemed ambivalent when we were together, and he couldn’t stop talking about Albrecht either. His politics and all, it was so boring!”
“I think Boyd is imaginative and that complicates his life.”
“Yes he is sensitive, but Albrecht isn’t.”
“I don’t quite trust him, Fred. Albrecht maybe smart but he has no imagination as far as I can see!”
“That’s odd too. His father is an artist.”
“He didn’t get those genes. All does is repeat political slogans.”
“I think he’s a bit of a fanatic.”
“I mean, can’t he speak his own words?”
“I have heard him talk at length about his ideology.”
“In his own words?”
“Oh yes.”
“He is obsessed, and he’s got Boyd all wrapped up in it like a package.”
“Do you think they know they are in love Daisy?”
“Maybe they are in denial.”
“Does Lark know?”
“She hasn’t said anything. Neither has Diddlie.”
“I thought maybe they were going to come out tonight.”
“I can’t imagine it.”
“I wonder if Albrecht is aware of David Koch’s views?”
“Who’s he Fred?”
“You know the Koch brothers, the conservative billionaires!”
“Oh yeah! Lark is always talking about the way they are buying the political system.”
“Well, David came out in favor of gay marriage.”
“How will their relationship fit with Albrecht’s ideology?”
“It will set off another kind of fireworks.”
