An Enemy, Purring Sappily From the Heart
by Kerem Simsek
He pinched his bottom lip, and stared into the distance, a loopy look fogging his face.
“Well Valentines, when are we gonna depart for the favor you gave to Watson.”
“We?” Valentines inquired in a droll tone, staring at Eugene.
“Why yes.” Eugene puffed, raising his eyebrows skeptically. “You are gonna let me skip on this boisterous job.” His voice broke to a pained edge, his emotions poured out icily, like a tall glass of black wine stumbling down.
“My friend, how fiendishly naive you are. You think so quickly you shall embark on this risky canal of crocodiles and giant snapping snakes. Metaphorically speaking.”
Eugene turned around, laying two yellow paper-like fingers on his cigar and taking it out inches away from his chapped lips, and said, barely moving his mouth, his yellow skin twisting into his plain features in a chesty crisp British accent, “Now what are the risks my friend?”
Valentines muttered something about ignorance.
“Look Eugene, solving a murder mystery, tracking down gangs, are stuff that puts your life in risk, any moment, for the pleading wrath of revenge, you can be drugged, killed, poisoned and you can be a goner in history, and blood will splatter on the pages.”
“You’ve risked it” Eugene noted, raising an eyebrow like a gargoyle looking in dull disbelief at some cocky traveler, who says he could go through the entrance in a breeze.
Valentines rubbed his temples, looking frustrated, and he dipped the side of his finger up his nose like he was adjusting some imaginary specks, and had the irresistible urge to massage his eyes.
“Eugene, there is only one life for you to live. If it’s gone, it’s gone. You have a chance to live for yourself and you risk it by parlaying in a gumshoe game?” It seemed like a rattling statement, but the inquiry swirling around the end of the words made Eugene feel true to himself in such a deep way, and he felt a slight pang of guilt.
Eugene knew he had to use humourous tactics, so he flashed a smirk, saying, “Whoa, whoa, shamus, you gonna go and solve a mystery, what about you? They’ll flick the living daylights out of you. What with you and your thin delicate bones, no offense.” He said, when Valintines quirked up an eyebrow.
“But, an old man like you, trust me, you’ll need a nark just like me to be at your aid when you’re breaking down in front of that wack lot.”
Valentines gave a hearty laugh, and his eyes twinkled mischievously.
“You don’t know what I’m capable of.”
“Surprise me.” Eugene said, his smirk growing more smug.
Valentines put a drag on his long wooden pipe, and began–
“The country Cefate’, about a minimum quarter of it was at war, due to a rich supply of oil, and a grand thatch of forests. We had some good deal of silver, given by the government to keep safely, and not only that, which was discovered later, but the Sherdany had sent some supply ships, and they were mistaken into thinking we had shot them down with tanks.
“Though what lit tremendous outrage was that on the ship was the famous captain, Bait Srunes, a poet who makes the trips dancing with music, he’s been on many luxury ship lines, and when he was killed in the bomb attack, they declared war. Though Sherdany was just giving an excuse. They were one of the quiet countries who never were that war prone, and it gave them a reputation as kooky cops, or inky Q-Pease countries, so they wanted to wipe clean of the muttering grime on them, and rattle the others, wanting them to stare in awe.
“But the minister and president were drunk when they declared war, and when they got into it, they didn’t want to back out as cowards. Besides, the rich family of that captain poet was furious and gave a good deal of money to hitch off on a war.”
“And?” Eugene asked eagerly, his eyes sparkling with excitement.
“Well, I was a young teen, and I enrolled in the military, which was small. The most rugged military knot of men were the Pasty’s, which had been named for making people go pale, as they boasted gloatingly.
“It had rained slightly that day, the ground was wet and muddy, our grimed white thin suits which our skin was slightly visible against, as it dripped with water, and we had sopping wet strands of hair which hung down in gloomy curls, I coughed and felt staggered in the inside for trying to light the end of my cigar when water fell from the trees and put it off. I was gonna light another when a loud sound boomed far by.
“Me and my friends were shaken, and readied our rifles.
“We watched with excited eyes, out lips trembling, and then the guttering chatter of a chopper started firing behind us.
“‘What the—?’ My friend exclaimed, as bullets fired for us and missed by mere inches, hitting the muddy patches of high dirt.
“I whipped my head around, my eyebrows wrinkling, and I squinted, trying to see where the attacker shot from. I cocked my rifle and fired a couple times before more bullets rained upon us.
“I dodged out of the way, two of my friends got shot, and slid down on the ledge of mud, their eyes rolling around in their heads. Blood trickling down their suits, or leaking down in a slick revolting manner.
“My friend fired a couple of times, and got up a bit, moving forward, firing without stopping, the smutty ground looking disheveled with the bullets littering the ground.
“A bullet whistled for him, and hit him in the shoulder. I could see in slow motion the blood spitting out like the drooping mouth of a nasty farmer, who stooped down warily.
“I bit my teeth into my lips, my eyes flaming with anger, and cocking the rifle, I moved forward, and aimed a couple of times. The chopper was quiet for a while, then a shrouding horde of ammunition rained upon the forest like a clan of wolves.
“One bullet slipped off the mud, missing my stomach by inches.
“I gave a dreary sigh, and fired a couple of times when more bullets fired, chattering near my feet and legs.
“I stumbled forward, my legs bended, and then more bullets came zipping through the air. I made a jump for the muddy ground, my chest hitting the sloshy sickening squish of mud, and cringing, I found the man in the distance firing a chopper and I shot a couple times, hitting his machine gun, and then reloading, I hit the men and he giving a groan, fell down.
“I hurried over to him, my rifle cocked. The man’s skin was pasty, and his eyes were shut, shadows inked under them.
“A comrade of mine came, looking startled, and he helped me pick the shot enemy and laid him next to a sloping up chunk of dirt which protected us from the rain, and we hung a lantern on the dirty wall, and I pursed my lips, as my friends wrapped bandages around the man.
“Then I stared at the long towering trees, both thin and thick, I stared at the mud which smudged people's pants with muck.
“Then, pursing my lips, thinking to myself, I got out my notebook, reading a poem I made during the days of fighting and struggling to survive. After I finished, I said to the pale enemy who lay there limply on the sludgy ground, ‘You have a wife, it seems.’
“‘How do you know?’ The man said in a husky tone.
“‘Oh, I just examined the expression on your face. I know that look, seen many men flash with that grim expression. Knowing they will have to leave their homes, wives, to grovel at the feet of lingering war and death. Where bullets lick people's wounds with jubilation.’
“‘It seems that’s something I have in common with the enemy.’ The man said dryly, giving a wry smile.
“After a moment I asked,‘What is she like?’
“‘Oh.’ The man's smile spit away like a goat whipping its horns around. The man’s lips curled bittersweetly, and he gazed up at the sludge of muddy dirt above him, lost in deep sticky thoughts like being held from all limbs, suspended in the dark murky waters of Davy Jones locker.
“‘Well.’ The man rasped in a soupy tone. ‘She was as sweet as long crooked bread. A good tempered woman. When I flashed my opinion, her face would scrunch, and her eyebrows would furrow, and she would give a bristly prattle about it that would stretch for some time, and she would end with a couple mumbling string of words. Yet I would still love her. She had pearly blonde hair, and some strands would always hang down over her forehead, and I would swipe it behind her ear gently.’
“He gave a stretched sigh which twittered with chirping birds and cloying drugs of love. ‘What’s her name?’ I asked him.
“‘Shannon Clefts.’ He said, his lips barely moving, his cheeks pasty, and his eyes staring into the distance, as though he was in a trance.
“After a while he cocked his head to me and said in a pleading tone, ‘There’s a photograph of her in my pocket, will you take it out?’
“Bags seemed to have slinked under his eyes, and they turned misty with tears, but the waterworks seemed to be working even more when I pulled out the photograph out of his pocket, and gave it to him.
“The man stared at the photograph for a long time, giving a glassy stare, and sniffing, he rasped in a mushy tone, ‘Like the sirens of ancient times.’ And his hand slid down on his chest, the picture having a cold air about it.
“The man sucked in a breath, and something grazed under his eyes, and they pitched out, like a snakes, and his face turned pale, as he sputtered, grasping on my hand desperately, like a suicidal sailor, who decided halfway he would rather not go down the path of drawing salty death, and held a clutch on a saving line which was tossed out to him.
“‘You seemed to be able to know I had a wife, though I don’t think it’s because of remembering them through men's grim expressions. You ain’t no ordinary goner, you—’ His voice staggered. ‘You are someone much more unique.’ And then the man stared icily, his chest drooping down, and was set like the jaw of an angry old timer who had a revolver being pointed at him point blank in the forehead.
“A shiver of sorrow shuddered down my spine, and I took off my helmet in respect for the man who had been dispatched to the chalice of the metaphorical wine which flushed deeply in a rich scarlet color.
“Then saluting, much to my friends surprise, turning around, my lips pursed, I slung my rifle over my shoulder, and walked down the moldy ground which was a tumble of leafs and mud, and it crunched under my boots as I walked with a forlorn temper about me.”
Finally Valentines finished his story, giving a sad smile, and raised a toast to the killed man, and quaffing it down in one swig, he got up, stroking above his lips, and grabbed the newspaper, his eyes grazing the columns.
When he realized Eugene was still looking at him, he waved a hand, and smiled a dewy smile, and said, “Now now, that is enough for today, though I have many more stories that shall grab your interest, and give you quite a thrill.” he winked, and left the air misty with ominousness that made Eugene’s insides flush with curiosity.
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