The Time of My Life Read Free Page A

perceived in the twinkling of an eye from which beasts a king doth profit at election time, and from which beasts a king profiteth not. A king, he did perceive, profiteth not from eagles.
    The king’s heart did burst asunder when he saw the weapons in the hands of his countrymen and knew with what eagerness the hands did itch. “Yea, verily,” quoth he, wiping copious tears from his royal eyes. “‘Tis an awful thing to gaze upon lambs lying dead upon the field and great birds without profit soaring freely in the heavens, gathering unto themselves the rays of the sun. If ‘twere the good days of old, I would lead thee and thy vassals against them myself, and smite them hip and thigh with mine own jaw bone. But the imperial government in faraway Washington understandeth not the good ways of old. The faraway rulers understandeth not the joy that leapeth in the hearts of good herdsmen at the sight of skies empty of eagles. And when spies did reveal unto yon government the scarcity of eagles in our land, it stayeth our hand, even unto this day.”
    â€œBut sire,” wept the shepherds and goatherds. “Does thou not perceive the connection? The lambs are dead, but the eagle liveth!”
    â€œYea, verily, I perceive it,” answered the king. “I shall inquire.” So he did urge the imperial Fish and Wildlife Service to bless the slaying of any golden eagle that didst presume to make its home in hills and deserts of the kingdom where lambs and kids did also reside.
    And it came to pass that a still, small voice called unto the king. “King Dolph,” it cried, “wherein is the connection? ‘Tis the custom of gold eagles to feed upon mice and rabbits and carrion slain by other beasts. ‘Tis a rare thing indeed to find a lamb verily slain by an eagle.”
    â€œOnce is enough,” quoth the king. “When shepherds and goatherds desire to cast their eyes upon dead eagles, who am I to say them nay?”
    â€œBut couldst not the Kingdom of Texas pay for the carcasses of the few lambs verily slain by eagles? Or mayhap some group of citizens who doth love to watch the wings of eagles gather unto themselves the sun? ’Twould be but a small price to pay for such a sight. And a rare sight it is, forsooth.”
    But King Dolph was not moved. “Thou under-standeth neither shepherds nor goatherds nor kings,” quoth he. “The only beautiful eagle is one spread upon a fence of barbed wire, where thou canst mea sure its wingspan and take its picture and put it in the weekly newspaper. That hath always been the way in Texas. Depart ye, and cry in the wilderness henceforth, if thou canst find any.”
    And it came to pass that wild dogs and coyotes and sundry beasts did slay a lamb or kid from time to time. But no more eagles did gather the rays of the sun.
    October, 1976

A Quiet Tear for Other Days
    W HILE WATCHING THE TV networks Tuesday night, with all their colored maps, computers, key precincts, pollsters, slightly pompous commentators, and attendant rigamarole of this video-political age, I couldn’t help wondering what the folks in Jeff Davis County were doing.
    The same thing I was doing, I suppose—slumping bleary-eyed and bloated with junk food, like a kid mesmerized by a nonstop Walt Disney festival.
    But when I was growing up in Fort Davis, a mere thirty years ago, before the cable brought television into the mountain canyons, Election Night was really something.
    The real Election Night, of course, wasn’t in November. It was the Democratic primary in July, when the mountain night breeze was as soft and cool as satin against our cheeks after a blazing hot day. We had a village Republican, though. And a village drunk, a village idiot, and a village atheist. Fort Davis, though small, is equipped with the truly necessary people.
    The setting of this extraordinary event was the town square (or plaza, depending on your language