JAMES DICKEY
451
loose my whole arm; thrown my arm away, but I was still falling, turn–
ing over from the position they'd taught me. What the hell, I thought;
that's all I can do.
I was shot, through the armpits and between both legs. There'd
been a loud pop, a crack like a rifle, that had been the shot, and I had
sure been hit. My face had taken a lick, too; I felt of it, and it was wet
on one side.
But the chute was open. I looked up at it, and started to make my
thinking include it, and the reason for the cracking sound, and the new
hurt under my arms and between my legs. The chute.
It
was the chute. I
was in a very big, quiet place in the middle of the air, and not shot. Not
shot. I couldn't get rid of the idea that I had been.
I looked around, from my float, from my big wide calm place in
the middle of things. Swaying back and forth, I concentrated on the sit–
uation; it was the first time I had ever tried to concentrate and sway at
the same time, and it was not a bad feeling, though I wouldn't want to
do it every day.
Right under me was dark, but to my left was a lot of silver, very
beautiful, too. Water, sure enough; it went way out, out into the
moonlight as far as I could see. I was not far from all that silver, and I
started
to
wonder about where I would hit. Breaking a leg was not part
of my plan, but you can always do that in the dark, and I couldn't see
anything right under me, at all. I felt for the risers, because I knew I
could control where I hit, or control it to a certain extent. But I didn't
have anything to sight on except the water. I think I could have slipped
the chute enough to land in the water, just barely, but what would have
been the good of that? I didn't need to be wet; I needed to be on the
ground with no broken bones, dry and figuring.
Even though I couldn't see where I was going to come down, I
was not near enough to the ground so that I couldn't spill part of the
chute and make a move - a little move - in any direction I wanted, but
it was the dark or the water, no matter what, and the more I thought
about it the more I wanted the land. How close to the water, though?
How close to the docks, or whatever was there? I didn't want to land
on top of a building that I couldn't get down from, or on somebody's
roof, if I could help it.
I was getting closer. I could hear a siren, a lot like the ones the Air
Force has. I looked inland toward the fires. The smoke came past me,
and there was cordite in it, from some of our bombs. About a half mile
from me there was a lot of stuff burning, and I hoped that would keep
people away from where I was going to hit.
I was still high enough to get a fairly good view. I could see the
docks now, and the ocean spreading out in another way from the first
