When Allister came to, came to enough to realize that he was indeed standing on the canvas and roped in by the raw ropes of a boxing ring, he was still unsure of the reason. He was standing, this much he knew. He had not been knocked out. One could accredit the absent lapse of time between when he was consciously aware that he was not in a boxing ring and when he was consciously aware that he was in a boxing ring to the merry cheer and black humor of friends and beer and wine and whiskey and bourbon and gin. Also vodka-though just the sound of the name gurgled in his ear, whaffed and twisted and clogged his nostrils, and oozed down his throat to turn his stomach. But, when enough alcohol had been accepted, vodka, of course, would be invited.
And so, Allister swayed and pondered-gathered information from the haze. Gathered the smells and sights and sounds. It sounded of thunder, it looked of smeared colors and shapes, and it smelled of the fermented juice of the potato.
And Allister could never really remember seeing the fist-for there were no gloves (Allister, of course, did not know of this fact. But, this little tidbit was received years later by an old, aged friend of Allister's who had been only slightly more sober.). He only remembered periods of sudden darkness in one eye. And then the other. It was as if the sun was rising and setting at various times for both of them. It was also as if Allister’s stomach-his cheeks, his stomach-were inflating and deflating rapidly.
So, it was that the sun set and rose in each eye and his cheeks and stomach exhaled and inhaled. And the rain fell ivory and solid. Allister cupped his hand and threw a palmful of rain down his throat to quench his thirst-realizing only too late (when sober), of course, that one can not quench one's thirst with one's teeth. But, then, he knew nothing more than there was rain. There was a sun rise in one eye and a sunset in the other. His cheeks heaved along with his stomach.
And Allister giggled. Giggled and bowed. And popped back up again. And bowed as a fist forced him back down. But, the world was moving so quickly, days, years leaped by. Allister was afraid for a moment-only a moment, though. Afraid that his eyes were speeding ahead at different speeds-that his right eye would finally come to a stop, sunrising and sunsetting fifty years in twenty seconds and his left eye would finally come to a stop, sunrising and sunsetting five hundred years in twenty seconds-a different time for each eye. But, even this made him giggle (after some delirious thought). Two eyes in two different eras. Ha! Think of it! Allister bowed again. And popped back up.
He could feel his face becoming other faces-friends, Romans, and countrymen. He wondered if they could feel him becoming them. He wondered if they would collect his face because he could feel it dripping down. He imagined they would. He imagined their bucket-the friend, Roman, and countryman bucket. He imagined that he would dip his hands in the bucket and wash his skull anew with his face. And this made him smile. A sweet, sincere smile for all those friends, all those Romans, and all those countrymen. He felt safe with them near. So safe. So safe, in fact, that he laid down and took a long nap.
And so, Allister swayed and pondered-gathered information from the haze. Gathered the smells and sights and sounds. It sounded of thunder, it looked of smeared colors and shapes, and it smelled of the fermented juice of the potato.
And Allister could never really remember seeing the fist-for there were no gloves (Allister, of course, did not know of this fact. But, this little tidbit was received years later by an old, aged friend of Allister's who had been only slightly more sober.). He only remembered periods of sudden darkness in one eye. And then the other. It was as if the sun was rising and setting at various times for both of them. It was also as if Allister’s stomach-his cheeks, his stomach-were inflating and deflating rapidly.
So, it was that the sun set and rose in each eye and his cheeks and stomach exhaled and inhaled. And the rain fell ivory and solid. Allister cupped his hand and threw a palmful of rain down his throat to quench his thirst-realizing only too late (when sober), of course, that one can not quench one's thirst with one's teeth. But, then, he knew nothing more than there was rain. There was a sun rise in one eye and a sunset in the other. His cheeks heaved along with his stomach.
And Allister giggled. Giggled and bowed. And popped back up again. And bowed as a fist forced him back down. But, the world was moving so quickly, days, years leaped by. Allister was afraid for a moment-only a moment, though. Afraid that his eyes were speeding ahead at different speeds-that his right eye would finally come to a stop, sunrising and sunsetting fifty years in twenty seconds and his left eye would finally come to a stop, sunrising and sunsetting five hundred years in twenty seconds-a different time for each eye. But, even this made him giggle (after some delirious thought). Two eyes in two different eras. Ha! Think of it! Allister bowed again. And popped back up.
He could feel his face becoming other faces-friends, Romans, and countrymen. He wondered if they could feel him becoming them. He wondered if they would collect his face because he could feel it dripping down. He imagined they would. He imagined their bucket-the friend, Roman, and countryman bucket. He imagined that he would dip his hands in the bucket and wash his skull anew with his face. And this made him smile. A sweet, sincere smile for all those friends, all those Romans, and all those countrymen. He felt safe with them near. So safe. So safe, in fact, that he laid down and took a long nap.
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