Chapter 2

Reprinted from 'Faust' Trans. Bayard Taylor. Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1898.

Bo heard his friend awaken or rather his chainsaw shut down to be replaced with snorting and smacking indicating Phil too wondered what animal had shit in his mouth while he slept.

"Hey man, can ya'll pull over?" Phil croaked with his thick Texas accent, "I gotta pee sumpin fierce. The mongoose is moanin."

"Me too, but I was hopen ta find a wide spot in da road and maybe get a bite ta eat too. I swear ta God ma mouth tastes like a buzzard's asshole. Next time I ask yata buy me smokes and ya bring back them damn cheap smokes I'm gonna shit in yer mess kit."

"Quit yerbitchin'. Ya want duhgood stuff, gimme somma yermoney next time." Phil looked around and did a double take,"Wharduh hell are we?"

"Welcome tabum-fuck west Texas."

Phil was from Beaumont and had never been to west Texas before. He was used to marshes, thick with trees, and brush. Here there was nothing but horizon as far as the eye could see. Not a single, solitary, tree or hill broke his gaze. The road was as straight as if someone had laid it out with a tight string. All around him was nothing but scrub brush and orange to yellow sandy soil ready to move at the slightest hint of a breeze.

Bo loved this part of the country. Quiet and serene with a certain beauty only the desert can provide. No way would anyone sneak up on you here.

He let up on the accelerator and allowed the car to coast to a crawl before applying the brake and killing the engine. Bo knew better than to pull off the blacktop here because the heavy car could easily get stuck in the sandy soil and the nearest wrecker was probably 100 miles away. The sudden quiet was oppressive broken only by the tink-tink-tink of the hot engine cooling.

Both men stretched and groaned as they exited the car. Bo arched his back with his hands on his hips and twisted his torso futilely trying to rid himself of the aches in his back. The shrapnel remains next to his kidneys a present from a truck bomb he happened to be to close to back in Beirut, Lebanon. Phil was stretching in much the same way as he walked and stomped down the road behind the car. A loud 'bruuuppp' sound trumpeted through the quiet.

"God damn Phil, stand down wind would ya."

"I would if thar was a breeze here. More room outside than inside Gramps yous'ta say. Ain't ya glad I waited till I got outta duh car," Phil chuckled as he cracked his neck moving his head side to side.

"Damn, what eva yaw ate last night don't eat that shit again," Bo chided with a chuckle.

Nearly simultaneous moans announced the bladder relief as each young man contributed much needed moisture to the arid landscape.

"How close are we ta civilization and food do ya spose?"

"I mahgin bout a haf' are or so from Marathon, but the next real town is Alpine or bout are or so."

"How far is dat in miles?"

"Shit Phil, nobody measures distance in miles here bout. Distance is measured in duh time it takes ta drive it."

"So an are would be bout sixty ta seventy miles or there bouts."

"Shit, mo like a hunnerd ta hunnerd and twenty."

"I know ya just funnin me now."

Bo chuckled at his buddy. "Hell, even ol grammas cruise at 80 out here. Now dat we got daylight I'm gonna cock the ears back on duh Cuda and show ya what dis baby was built for."

True to his word, Bo gently accelerated through the four-speed an once in high gear eased the throttle down and the motor growled throatily as the acceleration pushed them back into the seats. Phil doubted he could have touched the dashboard if he had wanted to.

"Damn son, this bitch can haul!"

Bo was grinning like a jackass eating briars. He had never had a chance to show his buddy the true nature of his pride and joy since he had picked him up at the bus station in Houston the day before. Bo had long ago replaced the entire drive train and suspension and replaced it with as close to NASCAR specs as he could afford on his meager military pay. Thankfully, the factory MOPAR catalogue had all kinds of high performance parts for this model. Not much in a quarter mile, as most guys built their cars to be; this car was made to eat up the miles across the big sky country.

"What's top end?" Phil asked, with as wide grin as his buddy sported.

"Don't know. Duh speedo only goes ta one-eighty. I can and have pegged it many a time."

"Hot damn," hollered Phil as Bo eased off the accelerator at 130 mph and set the west Texas cruise control.

They pulled into Marathon, or rather slowed down to sub-light speed twenty minutes later. They came across a relatively decent looking stop-n-rob at the hwy 385 turn off and pulled in. Phil went inside while Bo filled up the Cuda with high-test. After pumping the fuel, Bo headed inside hoping they had fresh coffee and maybe some breakfast tacos. Behind the counter was a young lady that couldn't have been more than eighteen if she was a day. Cute little thing with the reddish glow of a Texas tan and the hard look in her eye of someone that had seen too much grief in her young life.

"How do, ma'am. Whard my buddy run off ta?"

"Can's round back. He high stepped it that a way," She gestured with her thumb and looked Bo up and down as if she was grading a slaughter beef noting the USMC tattoo on his bicep.

"Any thang ya got hot for breakfast and how old's duh coffee?"

"Ah kin rustle up some tacos on the grille and coffee's bout haf are old."

"Sounds good ta me. Gimme a mixed dozen of whatever ya'll got. Plenty of salsa too. Hotter duh better."

"Ya want jalapenos on those too? There fresh, not pickled."

"I think I jest fell in love," Bo laughed and gave her his best grin. "Better put dem jalas on only haf of em and mark em cause my buddy's from east Texas and he can't handle em too spicy."

The lady grinned and Bo thought he noticed a slight flush come over her features. "Get yer coffee marine while I get ya boys' sumpin to keep yer backbone off ya belly button."

After finding some real ceramic coffee mugs as well as the standard Styrofoam, Bo was doubly impressed with this small town stop-n-rob. He also noticed an old card table and some folding chairs sitting in a corner so he just helped himself to a seat while he waited. Shortly the lady called "chow's on" and he went to settle up. While him and the lady exchanged dead presidents a slick looking cowboy want-a-be came in and proceeded to speak his mind.

"Betty Sue I told you no woman of mine was gonna work in no gas station."