WEBVTT

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The body lay on the ledge
in the summit's long shadow.

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Vernon stood over it with
the sticks on his shoulder.

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He nudged the quilt edge
with the toe of his boot.

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A corner folded
over and revealed

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an ear and dark
hair salted white

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and a cheek as smooth as ivory.

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That skin flustered Vernon.

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He lifted more quilt
with this boot.

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A green eye showed itself,
staring into nothing.

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Then Vernon had to see
the rest of Mr. Augusto.

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He pulled a stick
from his bundle

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and threw the quilt open.

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The man was thin and
wore gray trousers

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pressed with a hard crease.

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He wore a matching vest
with brass buttons,

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and a shirt the color
of a salmon fillet.

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He looked like a politician.

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Like a preacher.

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The left side of his
face was unscathed.

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The right eye socket
was a blood-crusted pit,

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the cheekbone collapsed.

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And Vernon turned over
the boulder to be sick,

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but there was nothing
left inside him.

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He ran into the
cool of the tunnel.

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Slumped against the wall,
he steadied his breathing.

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Then Vernon descended to
strata of pallid light

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and tried to imagine this
man wielding a knife.

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He entered the cavern to find
his father asleep and shivering

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on the sun-washed granite slab.

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Sunlight streaked a harsh
tide into the cathedral,

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and water trickling down
the walls threw tiny prisms.

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Vernon set his load of wood
in the center of the benches.

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He shook his father's arm.

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His father's eyes opened
enough to show white

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through the lashes.

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"I need your lighter, Pop."

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His father's eyes
batted and closed again.

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And Vernon dug into his
father's pants pockets

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and found the silver lighter.

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The damp air made the
fire difficult to start.

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And soon the wood crackled and
let off a vapid roil of smoke.

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His father now sat
in a slouch, trying

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to comb his hair with
a quivering hand.

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And Vernon took
the comb from him

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and ran it carefully through
his father's oiled hair.

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"He was shivering," Vernon
said, and gave his father

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back the comb.

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"There's lots of fires around.

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I don't think ours
will draw much notice."

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His father nodded.

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"Thank you, Vernon."

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he said.

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"Now, bring Mr. Augusto
in here, please.

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And plenty more wood.

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Several big logs.

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Use the rope to get them
up here if need be."

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Then Vernon found he could
no longer look at his father,

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and just did as told.

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He exited the cave
and to keep his mind

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off unpleasantness tried
to focus on each singular

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movement--

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putting his foot in
a pock of sandstone,

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breaking down sticks, piling
them on his shoulders,

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stepping through fern, dragging
thick sections of birch

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he found not far from the rock
and up the cliff, back down,

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feet moving, hands on hot
rocks, stacking logs high,

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high on the burgeoning fire.

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He dragged the quilt down
the calcite corridor,

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Mr. Augusto's head knocking
against the damp floor.

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Vernon pulled tenderly, as
if dragging a man asleep

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and trying not to wake him.

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Soon he felt the heat
from the fire on his neck,

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and he tugged the body,
as if entering a furnace,

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through the cavern's mouth.

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The fire lashed flames
the size of small trees

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and the oval of blue sky
was overcome by the smoke

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and the cathedral
walls now reflected

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firelight instead of sunshine.

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His father approached and
they stood with the body

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and the quilt between them.

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"Help get it on the
fire, son," his father

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said and straddled the quilt and
struggled lifting Mr. Augusto's

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feet with his one hand, and
Vernon grabbed the quilt up

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under the shoulders.

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They awkwardly dropped
the body and the fire

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was momentarily smothered
and the break in the smoke

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brought a flash of bright light.

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And then the sun was gone
again and the flames grew livid

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as his father stirred the logs.

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Vernon sat on a granite bench
covering his nose to the smoke

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and facing his shadow
flickering on the wall.

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"Vernon," his father said,
standing at his shoulder.

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"I want you to take
your mama out tonight,"

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and he handed Vernon a
folded wad of dollars.

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"Get her a nice steak.

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Take her to the picture show."

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He sat down beside
Vernon, cradling

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his black-fingered
hand tight to his ribs.

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"When you come
back home tonight,

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Mama will go and meet me
at the old McAlester Road.

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From there we're gone."

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Vernon wondered if
the money his father

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had given him was from
Mr Augusto's wallet,

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and allowed himself to
peek behind at the fire.

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His eyes blinked
against the heat,

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the quilt fabric burned away
in spots to expose the body.

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And waves of smoke
scorched Vernon's eyes.

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He turned back to the wall.

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His father had slumped forward,
as if poised to be sick.

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