DRUM-TRUCK CAME
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the air of the blue and white sky that is part of their world and part
of their life. Yes the sky is part of the world, the drum-truck world,
our intimate world, and the undulating green in which the world is
suspended, the fields of timothy and Queen Anne's lace, the slopes
where devil's paintbrush struggles with the rocks. This is all part of our
beautiful world, the banks of life, of our this life. It is such a lovely,
lovely day.
Drum-man is standing in his place, lazily alertly beating on
his
drum, tall and blond and knowing he's good, feeling he's good, stands
like a river lies in the sun. Martha leans against the side of the truck,
watching the drum-man beat the drum, eyes waving like a field in
the wind, hair waving in the boom of the sun, thighs strong with the
beat of love. The bird in her throat is singing now, the taste is strong
upon her tongue. The tramp is sitting on the floor of the truck and
his legs are swinging off the back. The tramp is black like a fecund
cloud about to be a summer rain.
DRUM-MAN. I don't have to beat when we're riding through
the country, riding between fields and fields, riding and shining like
a river in the sun, between green banks. But I like to stand and beat
my
drum, it's a crisp white sound
qn
the morning air, it's fun. Boom
boom boom boom. Ho ho.
MARTHA. I was hanging sheets and shirts on the line (I forget
whose shirts, I wonder whose shirts) when the drum-truck passed and
I
saw you there. The shirts were white against the blue, they waved
like your hair was blond in the wind, they beat against my face with
the beat of your drum and my love was like a bird in my throat.
THE TRAMP. I was a small white cloud, fleecy, floating. It is
such a lovely day.
DRUM-MAN. And I like to wear this uniform, and.the way it
feels. In fact, I might say, I like my job. That is to say, I like my life.
I
like the truck beneath my feet, it's faster than the ground, it changes
color faster.
MARTHA. I never thought that I would forget, and leave my
house, and start to live. Drum-man, I love you (before I never said
that). I know it with the taste of honey and grapes, wild grapes on
my
tongue and my breasts are like honey. The bird in my throat is
singing, singing. My thighs are strong.
DRUM-MAN. I love to ride, beat the drum. Boom boom boom.
I
love to live.
THE TRAMP. I live to love.
MARTHA. I lived to live but now I love to love.
DRUM-MAN. Boom.
MARTHA. So quickly, so nicely, my life simply ended. The
