This is a work of fiction. Names of characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously; any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, events, or locations is entirely coincidental.

Copyright © 2011 by Dennis Milholland – All rights reserved. Other than for private, not-for-profit use, no part of this work may be reproduced, transmitted or stored in any form or by any means, other than that intended by the author, without written permission from the copyright holder.

 

Careful! This is a work of fiction containing graphic descriptions of sex between males and critiques of religion and governments.

 

Love It or Leave It

by Dennis Milholland

questions and comments are welcome. www.milholland.eu / dennis@milholland.eu

 

Twenty-four

(Sunday, October 9th)

We’ve just crossed Stateline, when he starts glancing at me from the side with visible discomfort. At first, I don’t see it, then I can’t help but notice. “What’s up?”

I just panicked at the thought that you may never want to do that again.” His face does look scared.

I smile at him. “What on Earth would make you think that?” My hand finds his, resting on his thigh.

He keeps glancing between me and the road. “Dunno, maybe the thought of eating pussy would gross you out.”

Just before I laugh, I manage to squelch it. That would ruin things. The teenager with a hair-trigger giggle, isn’t called for here. This is important to him, and I really don’t think it’s a fantasy. “But it’s your pussy, Bob.” I circumvent the tripwire. “You’re not going to find me eating out just any ol’ serpent socket. It yours, Brown Bear, and I enjoy it.”

You don’t think it’s weird?” He seems jittery again. “I mean, after all, it’s not what you expect to find.”

It’s not just how much of this is a flight of fantasy for Bob, and how much is reality, which is important. It’s what he needs. “It’s not weird.” My hand finds its way back onto his thigh to calm him. “It’s normal, heterosexual sex. You’re a woman, and I’m a man who enjoys licking you. As a matter of fact, yours isn’t the first muff, I’ve ever had, and I have to say, yours is the best.”

For me, this is a fantasy certainly worth exploring. I don’t see Bob as a woman, no matter how he feels. But I do care about him. And as long as this role playing is satisfying for both of us, who cares? It’s at least not nearly as gross as having to lick Mildred.

You’ve had sex with a woman before?” The sun is making a guest appearance, and Bob fishes his sunglasses out of the glove box.

Yeah.” Then I avoid his asking who it was with: “Do you have a special name that you want me to use, when we’re together? You know, like Cindy.” The second that leaves my mouth, I feel like an ass. Bob is anything but a Cindy.

He laughs at the name but not at me for being a dud. “No, Bob is fine. Now here’s where it gets complicated. I’m a bull dyke, but I swing both ways.”

I have been on stage as an amateur and professional actor for several years, and I’m a member in good standing of Equity, so I know a thing or two about method acting and consider myself to be intimate with Konstantin Stanislavski. This just takes me to the outer limits of anything I have ever experienced. In effect, Bob wants me to be the straight lover to his bisexual butch lesbian.

For some inexplicable reason, I feel that I have to convince him that it’s all right and anything but complicated. “Complicated is when you’re having torrid sex with your father, your boyfriend and your father’s boyfriend all at once and your mother shows up as a potential axe-murderer. That’s complicated.” Concern crosses his face again. “But that you’re a lesbian who likes to get her pussy eaten by a dyed in the wool queer is not complicated. Just go with it.” Then I think of something that might just be part of the solution, we’re looking for. “Do you have a girlfriend?”

Now, where would I find a girlfriend?” He laughs ironically. “It’d be like you having one?”

As a matter of fact, Brown Bear, I have a fiancée.” A pause becomes necessary because he just about leaves the road. “Her name is Wanda, and she just happens to be a lesbian of color.”

If you are jerking my chain, Dan. So help--”

--Don’t you listen to what people tell you, you dizzy cunt?” I consider that to be an appropriate interjection to prove my intentions. “Joey has told you; Raph has told you, and I have told you: I don’t fuck with people’s heads. I’m in this with you for the long term. That is, unless you send me away.”

Please,” His soft side emerges. “don’t be angry with me, Dan.”

And, I feel ashamed of myself. “I’m sorry, Sweetie.” I pat his hand. “It’s just that people have their preconceived ideas of who and what I am and--”

--hear you talkin’, Brother.”

I spurt a laugh and snort. “Hmm. If anyone is going to understand, it’s going to be my butch-dyke Brown Bear.” I pull out a cigarette and light it.

He rolls down his window a crack. “So, tell me, why do you have a girlfriend?”

Because the good lawmakers of the State of Missouri are willing to send me to prison from two to life for being queer. And Wanda was kind enough to be my cover. Besides she’s protesting her upbringing by presenting her parents with a boyfriend who looks like a Viking.”

He looks very concerned. “They could give you life for eating my pussy?”

Generous, aren’t they?” I flick my cigarette so forcefully in the ashtray that the lighted tip falls off.

He turns onto Metcalf. “Then why don’t you move with Raph over here to Kansas?”

I relight the butt and singe the hair in my nose with the flame. “Because our loveable Jayhawker cousins would give us two to life and cut our balls off as part of the package.”

He looks worried sick. His eyes are brimming. He’s starting to gag, as he pulls us over to the side of the road.

I’m scanning the parking lot for a payphone, where I could call for an ambulance, but all I can see is a mortuary. “Bob, are you alright? Do you want me to drive?”

He rolls down his window and spits something that smells sour and finally calms down. “You are telling me, that virtually everyone I know could go to prison for life and get their balls cut off for doing something that harms no one?”

I nod slowly and reiterate. “The State of Kansas can have queers castrated if convicted of sodomy.”

He belches again. “Where did you get your information?”

Dr. Jennette Volker.” I open my vent window and flip my cigarette into the drainage ditch next to the road and close it again. “and, of course, from Busby who has more or less promised me that he would see to it, that I get life. Oh, and by the way, Busby advised me to get a dog as an alternative to Raphaël since bestiality is legal in the Show-Me-State.”

He shakes his head aggressively. “This can’t be?”

Afraid so, Bob. Our friends down in Jeff City think it honorable and virtuous to forbid you to lick my dick, but think nothing of allowing you to fuck your favorite panda, cuddly cobra or husky.

When those pricks talk about gettin’ a piece of ass, they mean something entirely different than you and I would, and then it doesn’t make a fucking bit of difference whether it’s a jack or a jenny. You can suck all the donkey dick you want.”

Enough!” His scream is deafening in the car. “Just stop.” He is holding his hands over his ears.

We have company. The Kansas Highway Patrol has taken an interest in us. Two gentlemen with Smokey-the-Bear hats are flanking our vehicle. I roll down my window. “Officer, how can I help you?”

Are you in trouble?” He asks congenially. And I think: ‘Not if you don’t cause any.’

No, Sir. My colleague and I are rehearsing the lines of a play and pulled off the road, so he could gesture without endangering others.” My ability to bullshit has confounded the teaching profession for over a decade.

 “And what play are you puttin’ on, Son?” Ah, we are being tested by Smokey-the-Theater-Buff through Bob’s window.

An Enemy of the People, by Henrik Ibsen, Sir.” I fish out my wallet. “And here is my Equity card, Sir.”

Smokey-the-First on my side of the car examines my actors’-union membership card and is duly impressed. “Any complimentary tickets?”

Sorry, Sir. That would constitute bribery.” Of a sudden, I get my union card back; they return to their Smokey Mobile and piss off in a cloud of dust and a flash of light.

Without a word, Bob signals and pulls into traffic. When we get to W. 67th Street he turns right and then onto Marty Street. The possibly ten-year-old ranch style house has a nicely trimmed yard and large, old trees. Oddly there are only sidewalks on Geneviève’s side of the street.

It’s hard to read Bob’s mood. Is it anger? Is it disgust or possibly despair? I don’t know.

He pulls into the drive behind Geneviève’s and Jennette’s cars. A two-car garage surely beats a one-car-no-garage situation she had on Norton. And her street has the same name as one of our bodyguards. Wholesome suburbia.

Bob gets out and slams the door not any more fiercely than usual. I follow him across the lawn to the long front stoop. The door to the house is open, so we walk in. Bob stops in front of Jennette, who is arranging papers on the floor in front of the fireplace.

Can you get Dan castrated in Kansas for sucking cock?” He blurts out in a pretty-much disturbing tone.

Jennette doesn’t bat an eye. “In their 1928 unanimous decision, the Kansas Supreme Court in the case of State ex relatione Smith v. Schaffer upholds the law that says you can.”

Can I fuck a horse in Missouri?” His anger is switching to hopelessness and his tone is diminishing accordingly.

Any animal you desire, Bob. Hope you treat her well, though.” Jennette is obviously used to getting this kind of unsympathetic reactions to these questions. The early afternoon sun is highlighting her hair. She is a dead ringer for Bacall. “And in over half of the other states, you can also legally bed down your favorite mare.”

She smiles and continues in her professional-advice tone. “But, every state in the union will put you in prison, if you let Dan play with your cock. Homosexuality is legal only in Illinois and only if both of you are twenty-one. Why do you ask? Are you planning on switching sides?”

Bob doesn’t react, which doesn’t for a moment mean that he didn’t hear the questions.

You’re right, Vievie, this country is a bunch of maniacal fascists. I’m going to talk to Marty tonight. I’m pretty sure we’ll be sending our war medals back to the Pentagon tomorrow. Uh, jolie maison.”

He hands her the keys to her old house on Norton and walks out. He returns to the car where he buries his head in his arms on the roof, crying bitter tears of disappointment.

The two women look at me for an explanation. All I can do is shrug “See you tomorrow.” and go back out the way I came in. It’s getting late and we have to get back home before Don arrives.

I put my arm around Bob and ask him if he wants me to drive. He nods and gives me the keys.

Now, this is going to be a challenge, since the only standard transmission car I have ever driven is Dad’s, with which you change gears with your left hand. Busby’s Impala is an automatic. So, this is going to be interesting.

We back out of the drive, and I aim the car down Marty Street. And what do you know? It works. I can manage to change gears without seriously damaging anything. I am delighted. Bob says nothing and looks utterly miserable. I decide silence is the best approach.

We are driving along 75th Street and approaching Stateline, when Bob finally looks at me with a discouraged expression. “What the Fuck is wrong with this country?”

You’re going to have to give me something specific. Do you mean, why do you have sodomy laws? Do you mean, why are the people so narrow-minded? Or do you mean, why does it have to run on a war-time economy or collapse? Do you mean, why you are involved in a totally senseless war in Southeast Asia? Or do you mean, why are you quite literally allowed to fuck a duck in Missouri?”

Shit!” He’s looking out the window as we drive through well-kept neighborhoods with a sprinkling of half-timber, Tudor style houses, which remind me of photographs I’ve seen of the South of England. Bob is choosing not to speak, so I’m enjoying looking at the nice houses, the autumn trees and the manicured gardens. You can’t call these yards; they’re gardens, just like what Joey calls them.

We turn left onto Wornall Road in Waldo, crossing the disused trolley tracks of the Country Club Line, leftovers of a system, which provided excellent public transportation in and out of town, before the crude-oil lobby forced the city to shut it down. If he wants to know what’s wrong with this country, let’s start with a government that does not represent the interests of the people.

Since Bob wishes to remain incommunicado, I think that I might as well enjoy the ride, so I switch on the radio. Sandy Posey’s Born a Woman is half way over, and Bob switches it off, giving me a nasty glare.

Who gave these duck fuckers the right to tell us who we can sleep with?”

They simply impose their religion on the rest of us. It’s in the Bi--”

He interrupts me. “--That’s illegal! We have separation of church and state. It’s in the constitution.”

I give him my tell-me-another-one glare and continue. “The upstanding duck-fucking legislators of the Show-Me-State have imposed Mosaic Law on the population in the form of Leviticus 20:13, which says: If a man also lie with mankind, as he lieth with a woman, both of them have committed an abomination: they shall surely be put to death; their blood shall be upon them. But being the outstanding progressives they are, they have commuted the death sentence to life imprisonment.

But the self-same duck fuckers conveniently overlooked Leviticus 20:15: And if a man lie with a beast, he shall surely be put to death: and ye shall slay the beast. In this context, I’ve always wondered what the poor duck did to deserve death.”

This is so fucking sick.” He belches again. I slow and signal to stop, but he waves me on.

My mother and the Bottemlys, however, were not so charitable as to commute the death sentence. They interpreted Leviticus 20:13 literally, along with their trump card of Deuteronomy 21:20-21: And they shall say unto the elders of his city, This our son is stubborn and rebellious, he will not obey our voice; he is a glutton, and a drunkard. And all the men of his city shall stone him with stones, that he die: so shalt thou put evil away from among you; and all Israel shall hear, and fear.

My mother, of course, recognized the disadvantages of hauling a sack-load of stones up the stairs, so she improvised with an axe.”

Bob laughs bitterly with a sneer of cynicism. I switch to a less jovial tone.

But seriously, Bob, this insanity is exactly what drove my lover, Mack Bottemly Junior, to stick the barrel of a .38 up his ass and pull the trigger less than a minute after I’d fucked him. He was putting his evil away from among them.”

Tears are, once again, draining out of Bob’s big, brown eyes. He’s shaking his head in disbelief, but knowing that the horror is true. “How can you stand to talk about all this without getting emotional, without going to pieces?”

I am an atheist. I don’t buy into the crap of divine intervention. And I don’t take any of this ‘sexual morals’ discussion seriously.

If I want to stick my father’s dick up my ass and he’ll let me and it feels good, I’ll do it. As a matter of fact, I really do enjoy it. And when I suck him, it’s like sucking my own dick before some idiot surgeon decided it was the proper thing to do and cut the end off.”

You don’t believe in god?” Bob is just now catching up with what I’m saying. “You know, I’ve always had my doubts, but I could never bring myself to openly say that it’s a pile of shit. For some reason, I have always been afraid of coming out with it, like in front of my parents.”

Why? Do your parents believe in Santa Claus?” I love this analogy, so I have to snicker.

He draws both sides of his mouth tight to express impatience with idiocy. “Of course, not.”

There you have it. Like it says in Deuteronomy: and all Israel shall hear, and fear. They have kept you afraid of being yourself; they have kept you afraid of the truth.

Everyone knows that Santa is a hoax,” I have to chuckle again. “but they go along with it because they claim it’s fun. But, in fact, they force you to go along with it. Between Halloween and Christmas Day, you can’t as much as buy a gallon of gas at your local Skelly station without hearing that Santa Claus is coming to town.

And every Christian knows that Jesus is the same hoax, since they haven’t seen his ass in almost two thousand years, although he was supposed to come back in the lifetime of his disciples.

But, if you refuse to go along with it, they’ll blow your shit away. Like the Crusaders did to the Moslems. Like the Dim regime is doing to the Buddhist majority in Vietnam, and like my mother and Mack Bottemly Senior tried to do to us. And like what Mack Bottemly, Junior did to himself.”

Bob wipes his face with both hands. “This is scary. I was there when Dim was assassinated, three weeks to the day before Kennedy. The Catholics were going nuts, terrorizing the Buddhists. When is all this shit gonna stop?” He looks at me for an answer.

Right now. Go on, Brown Bear. Free yourself. Roll down the window and yell: ‘Fuck you, god!’ and see what happens.”

He slowly, hesitantly rolls down the window and scans the scene for possibly hostile, ominous signs. We are coming up Wornall Road and within sight of a large stone church with a square bell tower, built to look like all those stone churches in merry olde England with a square bell tower on the left and within earshot of the side entrance to a catholic school on 57th Street on the right when Bob leans his head out the window and screams, “Fuck you, god!” not once, but twice. Once to the south and again once to the north of 57th Street, and probably while afternoon services in both institutions are in progress.

Nothing. There is no fireball; there is no earthquake; no tornado descends upon us; we hear no thunder, see no lightening; there is not even a cop car in sight, wanting to check my membership in the actors’ union. Absolutely nothing.

Bob leans over and kisses my cheek. “Wow! This is almost on par with smoking dope. I haven’t felt this good since our last joint.”

And if your inner lesbian wants to suck cock or lick Wanda’s slit, what’s there to stop you?

My voice becomes serious. “But there’s one thing that I’ve never understood, Bob, is why so many people who are descendents of slaves accept Christianity.” I have to honk to get a Kansan doing 20 mph and taking up two lanes out of the way.

He loses the sparkle in his eyes and flashes the slowpoke the finger. “It gives them hope, I guess.”

Leviticus 25:45 gives them hope? Moreover of the children of the strangers that do sojourn among you, of them shall ye buy, and of their families that are with you, which they begat in your land: and they shall be your possession. How can that give anyone hope?”

I don’t know.” Bob is returning to being despondent, looking out the window. “How in Hell...” He breaks off and starts again. “Have you got the whole god-damned Bible memorized?”

Just about. Well, at least the parts I can use constructively.” I give him a short smile, as I have to concentrate while negotiating a left turn onto Main Street after the Nichols’ Fountain.

But why did you go to all that effort, if you’re an atheist?”

To spread the good word, that people should get on with their lives and live them the way they want, because god is a mythical figure, just like the Tooth Fairy.”

But how can you prove that god is mythical by using the Bible?” Bob turns in his seat, apparently to see if anyone is following us.

The crap is supposed to be the infallible word of god, right?” I glance at him and have to downshift into second to make the slight grade going up Main. The engine in this Austin must be smaller than the one in Dad’s.

Bob seems somewhat distant and waits a little to reply. “Yeah, that’s what they claim.”

And you open the book and there it is on pages one and two. In chapter one the god character made the animals first and then man and woman at the same time, sort of like twins. That was on the fifth day before he rested on the seventh.” I change again into third.

Then, on the next page in chapter two, he can’t seem to make up his mind as to how he did it, and in what timeframe, because he tells of how he rested on the seventh day and sometime during the next week or so made Adam out of dirt, then the story goes on, and he makes the beasts and Adam names them, and then he gets around to creating the female out of Adam’s rib. Whoops!” Again, I have to downshift into second to overtake another snail maxing out at 15 mph. I honk and remember that it’s Sunday afternoon.

Anyway, within two pages of text you have huge contradictions of how things began. An all-knowing and almighty god can’t remember how he created everything? Do you think a book should be read by millions and held up to be world literature, when the author can’t keep from contradicting himself, virtually on every count within the first 56 sentences?”

When I get no response, I continue. “Besides, the concept of ‘almighty’ is a logical impossibility.”

How so?” Now, he’s paying attention.

If god cannot create a rock he can’t lift, then he is NOT almighty, right?

Yeah.”

And if he CAN create a rock he can’t lift, he’s still NOT almighty.”

Holy Shit! You’re right. Why haven’t I ever heard any of this, before?”

Because, aside from me, nobody you’ve ever known has ever read the god-damned Bible. And most people have never learned to think. It’s just like Germany. Hitler would never have come to power, if 85 million Germans had actually read Mein Kampf.”

Have you read Mein Kampf?” We turn right onto 45th Street and angle off onto Warwick.

Yes.”

And?”

It’s fucking crazy shit, just like the Bible.”

And have you read Das Kapital?”

Yes.”

And?”

It makes sense. That’s probably what drove Senator McCarthy to drink.”

How did you learn all this?”

I read a lot. I have learned to think critically. I listen, when others talk. I analyze the things they say. And, I don’t watch Leave It to Beaver.”

When I pull into our drive, it’s empty. I can see Raphie and Dad, sitting on the patio, and it takes a second to register that Dad’s car is probably parked across the street. Marty comes out of the door to the downstairs apartment and waves with a worried look, as he walks to the car.

What’s wrong?” He is obviously looking for something, injuries maybe. And when he sees none, he settles down.

I get out and look over the top of the car. “Nothing’s wrong, why?”

You’re drivin', that’s why?” He laughs and catches the insinuation. “I mean that Bob never lets anyone else drive. He is the world’s worst passenger. What happened?”

By this time Raph and Dad have joined us. Raph gives me a kiss and a big hug. “I’ve missed you. What’s the matter?”

I’ve lost my beliefs.” Bob looks dumbfounded at his own words.

Dad and Raph give me a perturbed look, as if they think I should be put on detention. “Ya been linstenin’ t’ Apostate Dan have ya? We better keep him away from the feckin’ Pope, or it’ll be the end of the Universal Church.”

Dad snickers, as if he’s responsible for my disbelief, when it took a major effort to have him see how ridiculous religion and patriotism actually are. And I’m still not sure that he hasn’t gone into the closet about being Catholic, or however, Marty would put it.

And howd’ya feel about that?” Dad still has a scolding eye on me.

Dan’s logic is compelling. He even had me screaming: ‘Fuck you, god.” at 57th and Wornall.” Bob stops to laugh and looks skeptically at the sky. I should give him some slack, though. After all, the last time he’d said it, we were sitting in a Faraday cage.

Raphie produces a disapproving look that surprises me. “Are you okay with that?”

Basically, I am. I’ve always had my doubts. But when he correlated god and Santa Claus...” He grins at how simple it is. “I think that’s what did it.”

***

Don toots his car’s horn and parks on the street. Of course, everyone looks to see who it is, and I’m the only one who waves.

Blanche, across the street, also waves while watering Tara’s front lawn. Good sign, she does it herself. But, giving my eyes a chance to focus, I can see she’s wearing a string of pearls with her full-skirt, mid-50’s, princess-style dress, and, and fuck-me shoes. Blanche wears fuck-me shoes to water the grass. Wow! Now, that’s what I call dedication to style.

Don waves and yells a greeting to Blanche. He’s carrying a flat briefcase as he would school books, and looks somewhat fatigued.

He was probably at the Tent last night. The Tent being the code name for a bar, where they won’t throw you out, should you approach another man with the intent to commit sodomy.

Don, not being a fan of any public displays of affection, approaches with a slap on my back and a handshake for Raph. However, once he sees Joey, his eyes do light up.

His attitude becomes more cautious, if not intimidated, when I introduce Marty and Bob. If you don’t know what kittens they are, your first impression could be the same as ours was, to consider them potentially dangerous. He avoids shaking their hands.

Since Don, standing up very straight, comes up to Marty’s earlobes and not quite to Bob’s chin, and it would take three of him to come anywhere close to either of them in the trained muscle department, he pushes his black-framed glasses onto his nose and tries to appear casual, while smiling at Joey.

I tap him on his upper arm. “Let’s go upstairs.” Raphie leads the way and Don and the others follow.

Someone has been at work. There are plates of sandwiches, potato chips and dip, laid out in the center of the table, which has the six chairs arranged, three on each side, giving it a gridiron feel as if there were opposing sides.

I check in the fridge and it’s full with bottles of Muehlebach and cans of Schlitz. Several brands of soft drinks. I give Raph a kiss. “Thanks for getting things organized.”

He scratches across my back and nibbles my earlobe. “It wasn’t me. All I did was to change the sheets and make the bed. Joey already had the beer in the trunk of his car. And we stopped at Milgram’s on Main for the food and soft drinks.”

Of course, the beer would have to have been stashed somewhere due to the blue laws in both Missouri and Kansas, prohibiting the sale of alcohol on the lord’s day. What a great place to be.

But I did get the laundry out of the dryer and put away.” He smiles bashfully.

Again, I smooch with my very cuddly man. “Okay, then thanks for that, mon amant.” He pats my ass.

I leave to free Joey from Don’s clutches. “Why don’t we start?”

***

All of you” Don looks around the table. “have been involved in the events of the past week. Is that correct?

Everyone nods. “And the one, who asked me here is Dan, since he feels that he may need help. Does anyone have an objection, to my being here?”

No one objects. “Dan, are there any aspects of what happened, which are unknown to anyone here?”

No, everyone is well informed.” I chuckle. To answer Don’s inquisitive look. “We had a truth round last night.” I chuckle again, pat Dad’s hand and grin directly across the table, where Don is flanked by Marty and Bob.

And, what, may I ask, is a truth round?” He seems a bit uneasy, glancing at both Bob and Marty. His relief becomes visible, when Joey opens his mouth.

Back home, durin’ our war of independence, I was a member of the IRA, which was divided into cells. Every cell had a truth round once a month, rather than goin’ to confession. But it’s virtually the same thin’ as confession.”

I see. Well then,” Don smiles soothingly into the round. “let’s join hands and ask the lord’s blessing on our round, this evening.”

Let’s not!” Okay, I may sound a tiny bit aggressive, but this did catch me off guard.

And why not, Dan?” Don’s soothing voice may just put me to sleep. Marty’s eyes are starting to droop, as well.

Aside from the fact that praying into thin air is a waste of time, it casts serious doubts on your grasp of logic.” Don flinches for a fraction of a second, but I see it.

The tone of his soothing voice has not changed. “So, you don’t believe in god?”

No, I don’t.”

So, if you don’t believe in him, what harm would it do to ask the blessing of someone who, in your opinion, doesn’t exist?” His smug expression says: gotschya! Even my own father and my man have their eyebrows raised to accompany their somewhat sad expressions. Marty is starting to drift off, and Bob is shaking his head.

Simply because it would insert an untrue assumption into the round, thus making your analysis of what we say biased.” I grin pseudo-accommodatingly.

And I wait for a rapid response. There is none. I think that I have managed to take the fine art of baffling teachers to the new level of challenging psychologists.

Uh, what would this untrue assumption be?” His soothing voice is no longer rock solid.

That everyone is willing to accept belief in a higher being. What else could it be?”

Have the events of the past week made you angry at god?” The soothing voice becomes slightly stronger.

How can I be angry at something that doesn’t exist?” Now, what are you going to say to that, Dr. Don?

I think that denying the existence of god is a typical neurotic response stemming from a mixed Oedipus/Electra complex.” Now, this ought to be good. Luckily, I’ve read Freud and Feuerbach too, Dr. Altman.

Before you go any further,” Raphaël interrupts. “does anyone want something to drink?”

Two cans of Schlitz and three bottles of Muehlebach and a glass of water for Don. Alright. He is driving, and it is commendable that he’s not drinking. But somehow I have the suspicion that he doesn’t drink alcohol for religious reasons. The proprietors of the Tent must be particularly glad to see him coming.

Don takes a sip of water and continues. “From what I have seen and heard of your mother, she had a very strong will, and your father has not been very effective.” Everyone looks at him, as if he’d just shat on the table. “Well, even you have said that Joey is much more of a friend than a father.” His smugness returns.

I have always said that he was much more like an older brother, who never left home.” Joey looks a shade depressed. His opinion of his own parenting isn’t very high. “But Dad has always had and still does have authority. At this very second, even though our relationship has evolved, if he would tell me to do something, I’d do it. Because he is my father, the one with parental authority, who has always looked out for my well-being.”

Well,” Mildred frequently began sentences with ‘Well,’ every time she started preaching. Let’s see to which use Don puts it. “the way I see it, is that since you have, in fact, killed your mother, you sense the adolescent need to kill your father as well, in order to free yourself from parental domination. But, because you love your earthly father, your still immature subconscious demands that you kill your heavenly father. So, you declare that god is dead.”

Hmm. How do I tell him that I think he is totally full of shit without being insulting. I wish Brown Bear would give me some hints. Bob is good at this sort of thing. Okay, here goes. “You haven’t understood my stance, Don. I am not saying that god is dead. I am saying that god never existed. But you are right about my love for Joey. Raphie and Joey are the ones, I love the most. Having said that, though, I do differentiate between the kinds of love I feel for them individually. The intensity is similar, but the type isn’t the same.

As far as Mother is involved, I was and am emotionally neutral to Mildred. I killed her out of necessity, out of the need to protect people I love. She was threatening us, with the exception of Bob, with a very sharp and very heavy axe, and her friend Mack Bottemly was armed with a shotgun.

But let’s be honest, I didn’t kill her because I hated her and wanted Dad all for myself. To get Joey, I didn’t have to do anything, except let Mildred be herself.” Both Dad and Raphie sputter beer and have to wipe it off the table.

Don’s eyes get very large, proportionately to his, at least feigned, degree of astonishment. “You have incestuous sex with your father?” I love to watch very light complexioned people blush. Mainly, because they can even go deep purple.

Why are you acting so surprised? You even call him ‘Joey the hunk’ and told me that you would kill for a roll in the hay with him. Or something to that effect.” One, two, yes. Deep purple.

He clears his throat, but decidedly avoids looking at the contentedly smiling Joey and the jealously frowning Marty to his left. “All the same, I still believe that you have developed an intense hatred and fear of our heavenly father, and have a compulsion to kill him in your own play for power. This hatred is based on your knowledge that the father, with his infinitely greater dimension and strength, stands in the way of your earthly desires. Which could explain your indulgence in incestuous sex. You are also trying to make god angry by denying his existence.”

As I said earlier, you are inserting an untrue assumption into this, and have, consequently disqualified yourself.”

Don hoists his index finger. “And again, I ask you: What is this ‘untrue assumption’, you keep talking about?”

That I have ever believed in any god. And that I could give a flying fuck, whether your god or Allah or Krishna or the feckin’ Tooth Fairy, for all it matters, gets pissed off at me. None of them exist.”

Are you so jaded at your young age that you have never wondered how this beautiful world came into existence? His index finger points at me.

Yes, I think everybody has. But I am willing to say that I don’t know, rather than claiming that Santa Claus did it.”

You know, when I finally made that leap of faith, I just knew that god exists. I could feel it. I could hear him speaking to me. You would, too, Dan, if you would only open your mind to the possibility.”

For me to make any fundamental shift, you have to prove that your god exists. The burden of proof is on you, Don. It’s not up to me.”

The Bible tells us so. That’s all the proof you need.”

I attempt to keep my voice from sounding deriding. “One question, Don. Do you converse with your lord in prayer?”

Of course, all the time.” He answers, as if it is the most self-understood thing in the world.

But isn’t that an indication of psychotic behavior, conversing with voices in your head?”

Don looks depressed. He looks as if I have tried to destroy the foundations of his existence. Who knows? Maybe I have.

Be that as it may, he takes another drink of water, picks up his briefcase, shoves his black-rimmed glasses back up on his nose and leaves. An almost reverent hush falls over the room.

Marty is the first to speak. “Are you always that intolerant of religious people?”

If their religion impairs their judgment, and their judgment has a direct effect on me. Yes.” I can’t help wondering where this will lead. His face does not reveal anything. But at this point, I don’t really care.

But you can’t just expect someone to prove that god exists.” He looks at the others for support.

I can, and I do. If these Bible-beaters want me to believe that their god exists. I want this mythical god character, just like he does in their fucking Bible, to part those clouds and stick his big-assed finger in my face and say, in a language I can understand, ‘Dan Aaron Bourke, you piss me off.’ Anything short of that, Marty, is bullshit.” That does make me feel better. But I have probably angered Marty as well as Don.

What I was expecting from Don is a serious assessment of my mental health.” I take a deep breath. “And what he was offering me was a fucking séance.” My almost untouched beer beckons. I take a deep swig. That makes me feel better, too.

I mean, I don’t really believe in god either.” He thinks about his bold statement. “Aw, shit, I just don’t know.” Marty is scooting his chair around the table toward Joey for comfort.

There’s not a thing wrong with not knowin’, Son.” Joey puts his arm around Marty. “I don’t know either.”

I do know.” Bob’s angry bass vibrates. “Christianity is a sad pile of shit. There are other things Dan said today that got me thinking.

Are you aware of the fact, Snow White, that you can get life in prison for showing Joey physically that you’re in love with him? And if you suck each other’s cock in Kansas and get caught, they can have you castrated?” Bob has his huge index finger pointed right at Marty and Joey, and he is looking down it as if he has them in his sights.

Marty sounds defensive. “Says who?”

None other than Dr. Volker.” He stands and walks to the fridge. “Anybody else want something?” Joey and Raph want refills. “She even cited the unanimous Kansas Supreme Court decision to go with it.”

You have to be shittin’ me, Brown Bear.” Marty wheezes for the first time in the last 24 hours.

And you know what, Snow White?” Bob sets the beers down. “We’re gonna get your medals and my medals and our uniforms, and we’re gonna package all this shit up and send ‘em back to the Pentagon.”

He takes a healthy drink. “And we’re gonna tell ‘em why. We’re gonna tell them that we don’t want to have anything to do with their fucking crusade. That’s what they’re doing. They’re waging a Christian war on the poor Buddhists and claiming that, they’re Communists.”

Naw, Bob, don’t tell me that. You can’t mean that we’re fighting a religious war in Nam?” Marty starts trembling, which exacerbates his wheezing. He looks as if he’s close to a nervous collapse.

Can you think of any other reason we’re there? Ngô Đình Dim was the first president of the RVN and a strict Roman Catholic. His younger brother Ngô Đình Nhu, also an opium addict and an admirer of Hitler and the head of their political party, was the head of the secret police and ARVN Special Forces, those yahoos we were training and who were responsible for trashing all the Buddhists’ temples. And to top it all off, their elder brother, Ngô Đình Thc, is the archbishop of Huế.”

How did you find all this out about Vietnam?” Joey is now holding his trembling friend.

Aside from the fact that we were there,” Bob snaps at Joey. “at the Defense Language School. Hell, Marty, can tell you; he went there, too.” Marty nods, so Bob continues. “But what I found out in country was that Ngô Đình Thc had studied with Cardinal Francis Spellman in Rome, so when little brother Dim came to the United States, he supposedly lived with Cardinal Spellman. Now, we know why Dim never married.”

This time Brown Bear empties his beer in one gulp and goes to the breakfast bar to retrieve his pot. He sits back down at the table deep in thought and rolls joints, almost meditatively.

We are trying to soak in all of what he’d been saying. It is virtually too much for us to understand at once. That is, except for Joey. I get the sense that Dad has heard similar stuff before about nepotism and corruption and war for Christian causes.

Bob gives us each a generously proportioned J and returns to reporting. “Anyway, Dim’s lover, Spellman, introduced Dim to notable American Catholics, like Senator Joseph McCarthy. Spellman also calls the Second Indochina War ‘Christ’s war on the Vietcong and on the people of North Vietnam’.”

Bob gives Raph and me a light. Joey is busy with helping Marty and ignores the offer. Bob lights his own. “And there you have it in a nutshell, Snow White, how their religion affects your life. Or what’s left of it.

I can certainly understand why Dan is so aggressive toward the bastards.” Bob tokes, waits and exhales. “Whaddya think, Marty, do we send the shit back?”

Too weak to answer, he just nods and wheezes, collapsing into Joey’s arms.