A Swirling Tale of Adventure and Intrigue
by Walter Agnew Moore II, Soldier, Lover, Poet
11 April 2002, Amiens, France

——-

PART ONE: Water Seeks Its Own Level

If you wake up in the morning and you have a hangover, you drank too much.

If you wake up with a hangover, and you are still in the bar, you really drank too much.

If you wake up, with a hangover, still in the bar, and your first conscious action is to run to the john because a gallon of liquid is coming up fast out the top half of your body, you don't even want to think about how much you drank.

Damn. Pink liquid. I didn't eat or drink anything pink. Hell, I'm puking blood. That pink watery liquid gargoyling out of my face is beer-diluted blood.

Ack. I'm a real blues-man now:

"Woke up dis mawnin
An I started pukin blood
Say I woke up dis mawnin
An I started pukin blood
Caint no docta hep me
People watch out fo de flood"

Let's rewind back to the afternoon before.

——-

PART TWO: The Afternoon Before

Tall, tanned, triumphant, Walter strides into My Goodness Irish Pub, sun at his back, floorboards thumping beneath his perfectly-shaped feet in their competently-tied tennis shoes.

I am back from Italy.

Cousin Keith, Cousin Michael, and (Natasha) perk up. They know my tread. Pleasantries. Tales of Venice and points south.

Cousin Michael: "So did yuz see the Bridge of Sighs?"

"The what? I guess I did, I saw every bridge on the canals, I got a day-pass and rode all the water-buses, pirate-style, arrr."

"No, this is a wee bridge, it's right outside the old prison behind the Doge's Palace, it was the last place where a man going into the prison could turn around and see the daylight."

(Natasha) keeps maneuvering her stool to have some part of her body touching me. I need to do that pirate-voice more often. (Natasha) looks Mexican, but she is actually Tunisian-French-Polish-Russian. I go on record here as encouraging those four ethnic groups to intermarry more often. The results are pretty nice on the eye, or, at the moment, mashed up against one's leg.

She is sad. "Walter, everybody thinks I am still with my old boyfriend, but we have been broken up for a month! He was too serious, too Catholic.

"Are you Catholic, Walter? Oh, Protestant? Yes, I think deep down I am more Protestant myself. Oh, you aren't really practicing? Neither am I.

"The main thing I miss about dating him will be I don't get to see the U.S. anymore, that was the really cool thing about dating an American—oo, yeah, that spot, right there over the shoulder, GOD, Walter, you have really strong hands— oo... Yeah, I'd mostly like to see Texas— you are from Texas, aren't you? No? But you are moving back there, maybe?

"I love the music that comes out of Texas, I want to go to those bars there and dance. My favorite singers? Who was that guy, Steve Earle? Oh, you like him too, Walter?

"Wow, Walter, your French is really good! No, I mean it!

"Basically, I wouldn't mind having a new boyfriend, I just need a cool guy who wants to have a fun thing with me, maybe not so serious.

"It is so great to see you again, Walter! I really missed you! I did— I was off in England last week, and all I could think was that I wanted to get back to Amiens so I could see my Walter again!

"Walter, did you get that phone message I sent you, where I yelled 'I LOVE YOU, WALTER!'? You got it? Did you like that?"

——-

PART THREE: The Land-Mine Under the Welcome Mat

At some point during the conversation with (Natasha), it occurs to me that I do not have a girlfriend, that a very cute girl is doing backflips to get my attention, and, hey.

I put down the beer and say "(Natasha), I like you too. I think we ought to get together, go out, we'd have a good time..."

"Hmmm...Walter, can I be honest?"

The scene in the bar suddenly changes to old black-and-white war footage— in the scratchy film we see an anti-aircraft gun emplacement tracking a target overhead, spouting flames from the multiple barrels KOOMKOOMKOOMKOOMKOOMKOOMKOOMKOOM the noise deafens us as spent shell casings hit the deck.

Suddenly we are inside the cockpit of Lieutenant W. Moore's beleagered Spitfire as it shudders from multiple hits; oil explodes onto the windscreen, glass breaks, then the stricken plane rolls violently as the right wing is blown halfway off. The craft, almost impossible to control, dives into a spin, the scream of the wind rising through several octaves.

Moore is preparing to eject when he notices that the plane is headed directly towards a school-yard filled with children in knee-breeches. Sacrificing himself to save the awe-stricken innocents, instead of baling out he uses the last seconds to wrest the plane away from them, instead piling directly into a nitro-glycerine factory a safe distance away...

krwaPOOOOOOM.

Back to My Goodness Irish Pub:

"And anyway, Walter, that is why I really like that other guy so much, the guy from England who is one of your good friends."

——-

PART FOUR: Darts

I get up to walk around some.

There are two groups of people in Amiens who will always take me in: my Rugby club, because I got myself knocked out for them, and the crowd I sometimes play music with.

The latter group is in the back preparing to play darts, and they are happy to see me. Matthieu, Marie, Morgan, Fabien, JP... some of them sent me a nutty phone message last week where they were barking like dogs and other nonsense, and I didn't get to check it until I emerged from a tunnel in the Alps on the French side, and I was the guy on the train about to piss himself laughing with a portable phone pressed to his head.

We play Cricket with three teams. I am with Morgan. Darts is serious business, so we strip to t-shirts, and Morgan and I are wearing identical black ones.

"Hey Morgan, we're a cult!"

"Yeah, a secret society."

"We can call ourselves the Blackshirts."

"Wo wo wo, Waltair, pas ça!"

"Sorry, I just spent some time in Italy."

A girl tells me: "You know, when Michael first came here, everybody said, 'Watch out for him, he is a Facho, he was writing the, the Nazi cross on the top of the beers."

I yell down the bar: "Hey Michael, when you first got here, they thought when you'd put that shamrock in the Guinness foam, they thought that was a swastika!"

Michael looks to the side. "I only did it two or tree times. It was always just a joke. I put a swastika in that guy over there's beer, just to mess with him, just to joke. It's not such a big deal in Ireland, I was only joking. The French take it so seriously..."

"Yeah, they're funny that way."

It's my turn. We are ahead, and we only need one more bull's-eye to win it. I wish I were better at this.

I throw my first dart smack-dab in the middle of the double-bull. The machine lights up and the crowd goes wild.

——-

PART FIVE: She Liked My Tie

At some point in the night I am back with (Natasha) and some of our mutual friends, talking to her some more after getting shot down so as to show how cool I am. It's pretty easy to do; when she's not emitting her ask-me-to-be-your-girlfriend rays, she seems like a normal person.

The Hairdressers are there, as well as a guy they know named Nico. They witnessed the crash, and pulled my miraculously-unharmed body from the burning wreckage. We are talking about 20 different subjects, when Nico whips his head towards the bar area and says, "WHOA! Who is THAT?"

He's looking at (Artemis). She is about medium height, has the look of a 1920's Berlin cabaret-star about her, short dark-red hair, and slightly slanted brilliant blue eyes that could burn holes through steel if she smiled just a second too long. She is really nice to talk to, has a real job, speaks different languages, likes to travel. Really interesting woman. When I first got here, she was in the place a couple of times with a guy that I took to be her boyfriend, and then later she seemed to have some little thing going with Michael, but he wasn't inclined to take it anywhere. I see her so often I almost don't see her, even though we always speak.

"That's (Artemis)," I say.

"(Artemis)? Well, she was just looking over this way like she likes you."

"Man, Nico, you should have seen how she looked at me the day I walked in here after a job interview and I was still wearing a tie— she went nuts. Grabbed the tie, those eyes lit up..."

(Natasha) starts talking about something else, and the conversation wanders away for about 30 minutes. (Natasha) has to go, and the Hairdressers and Nico decide to go too. They offer me a lift, but I don't feel like moving. As they file out past me, Nico is at the end of the line, and he leans over and says:

"Personally, I'd go with the one who liked the tie."

——-

PART SIX: And It Was Just That Simple

Thanks, Nico.

——-

PART SEVEN: But First Things First

Michael is my friend.

"Hey Mike— I was wondering— you and (Artemis)—"

"Ah, there's been nothin' goin' on there for a long time."

"Because I thought you two—"

"She's free as a bird. But look at that blonde over there, doesn't she look like she knows her way around the casting couch of a porno studio, eh? Wouldn't you like something like that, though?"

"Ah, she's OK."

"Ah, Walter, are you blind? If you had to pick between buckin' (Artemis) and shaggin' a bird like that blonde, wouldn't you pick the blonde?"

"No."

"Think, Walter, here's the blonde, here's (Artemis). You can have either one. Now who do you shag?"

"(Artemis)."

"Augh, I don't believe it... Anyway, I thought you and (Natasha) were gettin' on there nicely."

"(Natasha) is confused. Michael, you sure you don't still like (Artemis)?"

"Aye, I'm sure."

And Michael turns and walks back into the store-room.

——-

PART EIGHT: 5 Days

I am smashed by this point. Maybe not much more than the average person in the bar, but well on my way.

For instance, I have no idea how I ended up in this booth with (Artemis) by my side, but she doesn't seem at all inclined to leave. Not putting on the (Natasha) act, but still, she's smiling and talking with me. Her leg against mine is warm. She could move farther away, but she doesn't.

Other friends of ours are coming and going on the other side of the table, circulating around. Michael stops by and makes questioning eye-contact at her from time to time.

It seems that I have been talking a pretty good line of smack for at least 15 minutes, describing the Better World To Come where (Artemis) and Walter skip through sunlit fields of daisies holding hands. My French isn't really as good as (Natasha) flirted it up to be earlier, but it serves. Then, suddenly, the alcohol hit-squad kicks down the door in the linguistic part of my brain and rushes in, clubbing nerve-cells senseless left and right. The French ones are massacred.

I realize I am babbling. She is looking at me. I look back. She smiles.

"(Artemis), I am trying to say, aw, I can't think in French anymore."

"So say it in English." She smiles.

"You don't mind if I switch to English?"

"No, it's fine. Go ahead." She smiles. God those eyes sparkle.

"OK—in English—hell, I can't speak in English either."

She smiles.

"(Artemis)... I like you."

She smiles and looks to the side.

"And you like me too."

She nods quickly, biting her lip, eyebrows high.

"So...?"

She says "I am going to think it over for 5 days."

"What? 5 days?"

"Yes. I am going to Belgium for 5 days. It is my vacation."

"Belgium?"

"I told you already. Liège. I go tomorrow morning."

"Oh. And then you're going to think about it for...five days."

"Yes." She smiles.

And so Lieutenant W. Moore circles over the field waiting in the landing pattern.

——-

PART NINE: It's Never That Simple

Actually, I am not circling anything. I am walking back towards the bathroom to take a break in more ways than one, when Keith signals me from behind the bar. He has a crease between his eyebrows.

"Walter! Don't go after (Artemis)!"

"Too late, Cousin Keith, I already did."

"What'd she say?"

"Five days."

"No Walter, don't do it. Ask out (Natasha) or that hairdresser. Not (Artemis)."

"What the hell's wrong with (Artemis)?"

"Nothin'— she's a fine girl, but you won't have any peace with Michael if you do."

"No, no worries— I already talked to Michael, he's cool."

"But Walter, he isn't— he's still got a thing for her."

"Then he can damn well say so."

"He won't."

"Look, Keith, all he's got to do is say one single time 'I like (Artemis)', and he's got no competition from me, I'm his friend. If he wants her, let him come out here and say it. Just say it one single time."

"He never will."

"Sounds like his problem. I think she likes me."

"Walter, I'm just saying, you want peace with Michael. I heard you when you asked him about her. You want peace with Michael. He's not gonna do or say anything, but he won't like it. There are plenty of other girls in here you could start something with, he wouldn't care. I'm not telling you what to do, but Michael still loves her. If you want peace with Michael, you can't go out with her."

"Damn. Keith..?"

"I know."

——-

PART TEN: And So

This morning, the rest of that night is rather blurry. There was some TV watching after the bar closed, people went their various ways.

This morning, there's a woman on her way to Belgium possibly thinking deep thoughts, there's my friend whose frozen emotions I helped kick into new life, and me, well, I don't know why, but here I am, puking blood.