DRUM-TRUCK CAME
43
dead in Martha's mind) flapping snapping, beating cool against her
face. Beating white against her face like the sudden life of the drum–
man's eyes, boom boom boom, like the waving of the drum-man's hair
(our man) in the crisply whitely coming wind. How her life is now
a life, living life, shirts are dead as her husband is dead (in her mind)
washing cooking children dead, life is starting as a river blows, and
blows in the sun, and foam and sun. (On the square the politician
is
making his speech.) No boom now but the boom in her wrists, the
blood in her throat like a bird in her throat, living bird. Drum-man's
eyes are gone but there, there in the morning blue and white
air.
Booming gone and the waving of his hair, but still they're there in the
beating of the shirts, the flapping and beating against her face, the
living boom against her face, against her soft warm belly-place. Living
boom in the sight of our man, in the morning air, the call to life.
Such a lovely day.
Martha suddenly forgot her home, the little white house with its
orderly lawn, forgot why the shirts were flapping on the line, forgot
her husband away at work, forgot her children playing in the school–
yard, forgot her life and lived her love, lived the life of her instant
love, her morning
l~ve,
of outside woman for outside man. Outside
love that usually dies, dies in a moment of swallowed regret, lived
this morning as a taste on her tongue, conquering beautiful living
taste, burgeoning taste of honey and grapes. Instant love, morning
love which we force-forget in the afternoon, dies on our fear like a
river under mist, dies on our shame like a river run dry. Take this
love! Martha breathed. Seize this love ! Martha dissolved into honey
and grapes. Take it now! Boom boom boom. Hurry now in the blue
and white morning. How she runs (our woman now) Martha runs
to claim her man, to claim her love, beautiful sudden shyly instant
suddenly boldly outside love. Living life. 0 green eyes of living things.
The village crowd stands in a circle, gapes in a circle, around the
open back of the truck. To see our man, to see him boom, to hear the
boom. Our man, they breathe. Our man, they sigh. And let the
thought die. Only Martha as the truck begins to move, sees our man,
seizes with her eyes, meadow eyes, pasture eyes, lives the life of a
sweet warm breeze over countryside, grasping, grasping, finding love
on the palm of her hand ... clenches her fist! pushes her way through
the circle of crowd, runs and runs (feels her legs melt like a stagnant
pool) gathers herself into a moment, jumps onto the back of the
truck, jumps the truck as it starts to move, slowly move. Drum-man
booms.
* * *
A tramp was loitering on the square with his shabby clothes and
his shattered shoes and his battered hat, when the drum-truck came
