Gail

Leo

"Lots go."

"Jist a cripple mo,
"Dent be tough."

"But wo ho miles to fro!"

"Jup a wink."

"No tomb to think."
Oop and it at."

"I'll brush my heath."

"A relief."

A side street
Beneath an arch
Cobblestones
A grove of larch
On the side, some grazing sheep
Shaded in a wooden keep.
But things soon turned dry and then...

"Tin rot again."

"Yon arid plain?"

"Woy nit, but what's those pricks?"

"Thorny stems of glissy geen."

"And pointy spikes,
Mak it seem
Like pincushs in a
Seemster's dream."

"True, there's flivers
On the tips,
But not enough
To wet my lips."

"Uts sow dry,
And war's the trees,
If only they would
Huv some leaves."

"Thus is tru
It's knot so shady."

"Din the road,
Who's that lady?"

Just ahead, thumbing, stood a statuesque woman wearing a white T-shirt and cut off jeans.

"Peck er up."

"Ned a lift?
Just slid in Sid."

I must admit that's not her name,
And she's not a common dame,
Nor is she young, or is she old,
Last seen in Naples I am told.

"Who ear you?"

"What a frock. Muck ma
wan to liff alot.
(Gail was jealous.)
Thems strange duds."

"But don't be stupid,
She's not Diana
Nor is she Cupid.
Let's put this all aside,
And let her come
On for a ride.
After all, she's all we've got."

"It doesn't sin
Lick it's a lot.
And thor's some roam,
So why not."

"Hope in." warbled Leo.

"Pluzz. We're running lute."

The hitchhiker responded with a robust contralto:

"And to where
will you commute?"
"First in this livid light
Let me leisurely recite
Names and dates re this plain,
Which seem most timely to explain.
And why the common folk are wrong,
With rain and plain in any song."

"Can't this wet till a little litter?
We're getting where.
I'm all a jitter.
My nez is red
I'm getting borned."

"Lets lend an or
So we can lorn
There's nigh where ills
Thet we can torn.
We mist admit
We're probe
Lay lost
Or per chance,
At least adrift."

Leo was conciliatory, and Hitch, that's what we came to call her, sang on:

"I should tell you soft and clear,
I have anecdotes for you to hear.
But most important,
It's I who know
The only way
For you to go.
Through the circles one, two, three,
It's the route, you will see.
First the yellow, then the red,
Then the blue,
Though all are dead,
Their lips still sing
Of a time
A quiet hymn."

"But all I wanted was a swim."
(Gail was getting impatient.)

"Though the guns raged
From the shore,
And dead mysteries
Are no more.
And though high hopes have turned to stone,
Now that we are left alone,
In these ruins our souls dissever,
From the quick and from the clever.
Not all is lost in this array."

"Lots be gin,
And in our way."

"Pilocereus..."

There was a long pause. Gail sighed. She didn't trust Hitch.

"Opuntia vulgaris..."
"Peireskia..."

"Nit much for smill talk."
Gail retorted.

"Rhipsalis..."

"A diz is?
Lets chugg the subject"

"Don Alonso Perez de Guzman,"

"Is thot your husban?"

"took over the Armada reluctantly from the Marquis of Santa Cruz and sailed on the 20th of May 1588 according to the Julian Calender. On the 10th of June when the ships had rounded Cape Finisterre it was scattered by squalls. On the 20th of July it was seen off Lizard and sailed past Plymouth. On the afternoon of July 25th when the fleets sailed near the Isle of Wight, a shift of wind offered a chance for close action, but it proved a false start. On the 29th the engagement was hot and the enemy so superior that the Duke of Medina Sidonia lost heart. His large vessels were indeed so helpless that only a timely shift of wind saved many from drifting on the banks of the Flanders."

"Wha?" Gail slurred.

"Mammillaria..."

"Now a nupple?
It mocks no sense."
"I'm grotting tense.
Let's drip her off,
And then commence."

"I'm sorry for this boring train,
If you'd like I'll try again."

"Wit!
Upon reflection
There may be a rail
connection."
Leo was hopeful.

"Moby we could dick a brick.
Thus a cafe by a lic."

"There's no cafe
There's no lake;
That's why I'm here,
It's for your sake.
A mirage, you're all a blister
Sip this up,
My little sister."

The hitchhiker pulled out a thermos, and offered Gail some water.

"The names I gave were cacti there.
The dates, of the Armada fair,
Which sailed the seas, then ran aground.
And that is why no trees abound.
Cut for masts, bows and decks,
These cacti grow in there place.

But all of that was years ago,
And all of this is now and so,
Let's be calm and make our way
Through the rings by end of day.

The road will soon turn down a glen
To the baths, we'll wait till then.
So to you my wayfare fellows,
The first we'll see:
A certain yellow."

I was happy to get back to a yellow road. The sky was clear and filled with fluffy white tennis clouds. Down the road, the first circle was not yellow. A concession stand sold only bleach and vanilla ice cream. Tiers of seats surrounded the circle. White pillars supported the small overhang of every tier and arches connected them. A parched wooden gate opened to a ramp which led under the tiers to dark and shoddy stalls. The vast sandy circle was almost empty. In the elliptical shade of a cockeyed sun a crumpled paper cup rolled in the dust. Bits of litter blew about. Various hooved and human footprints pocked the ring. Particles of sand broke from the surface carried by wind. First a few, then so many flew, they obliterated the tiers of seats, the litter and the shadow of the litter.