Hurricane - Part III
By Charles Bane, Jr.
The boy was walking about the village when suddenly he reached out to the air, as if to grasp an invisible arm. He fell back, seizuring. His father rushed forward, and lifting Collier's head, fanned his face with the palm of his hand. Of all the boy's maladies, the man most despised his son's epilepsy for its utter cowardice, and stealth. Ever again it struck, only to retreat to its lair, and wait for an unsuspecting moment to lift its hand again. Surely Caesar, experienced in its comings and goings, was deceived as he tumbled to the Senate floor. The father was beside himself with worry; there was neither telephone or electricity in the village and its huts were as nothing for shelter. When he returned to the city, he would purchase the Imperial and burn it to the ground. He helped Collier to his feet and they sat together within the walls of a kapok tree.
His arms wrapped tightly across his chest, the hurricane spun and neared San Juan. The waters of the bay below the village changed direction, as though beating an escape. In the lobby of the hotels in the city, wooden shutters were nailed over the windows, and they were blind. At the front desk of the Imperial, the clerk noted that father and son were missing. He hated Americans; he had begun his long career at the hotel as a waiter, and watched turistas blanch when they were served sopon de pescado, with the head and tail of the fish intact. Any of the starved of Puerto Rico would have wolfed it down. There was nothing to be done; he would send a car and driver into the hills when the storm had moved away.
Charles Bane Jr. is an American Poet. Curbside Splendor published his first book The Chapbook (July 2011) and will publish his second book New Poems (October 2012) via Concepcion Books, a new Curbside imprint.