NOVEMBER 1976

that queer in here."

"That 'queer' is my lover, George."

to

"How the hell do I explain that your father's only grandchildren? How d.

explain to them why their uncle is sharing his bed with a man?" "Tell them whatever you like, but tell them that we love each other."

"He's out of his head, and you're taking advantage of it. I will not bring my kids into this goddamned foul house, again. Call me at the motel if anything. changes." George's rich cologne, mixed with the musk of manly outrage, flushed the room, as the front door closed.

Jimmy's eyes watered. He stood by the door, fixed on strong residues. He was nearly over-run. On top of his father's declining skirmishing, on top of tension battles with Peter, now George, and all-out filial warfare. Jimmy did not think himself good at adjusting to difficult circumstances, and he did not like having to so adjust. But he bore those tensions without breaking: he was helping his father to die, and he was doing it with an increasing, intuitive grasp. Often, throughout the inchoate visions. of adolescence, he had fantasized his own death, with its careful adornment. Now he reached back for a homing point, an ineffable, implacably living truth: Daddy would die, but not without a rite of strength and love, to help him.

He did not know how this resolve had arisen, but it was there. No longer did he fear his father, and no longer did he fear living on. He was awake, full of an awareness of the importance of this rite. He was testing his own strength against the final waning of his father's, and he was growing strong. He was full with feeling and vulnerability and ominous foresights, and he was weary, over-taxed by sense. still, something inside was steeling itself. He grew steady, as he listened to his father's disconnected ramblings. He learned much about his mother's and his father's life together, and he learned much about those symbols which glued together his father's world.

And then one night, after an unsuccessful attempt at lovemaking with Peter, he dreamed that he flew, he flew high above a great fleet of burning ships, where, at the peak of flight, he achieved the unattained orgasm. He awakened himself with his own quiet moans; he lay, satiated, listening to Peter's full breathing, and he heard other moaning, not his own. He knew that his father was struggling. He knew intuitively that the old man was holding out until dawn, then to die. As he woke Peter, Jimmy guessed that his father was conscious. George could not arrive in time. The test would

be Jimmy's.

Mr. Electric, prize winner in Twiggy's Place contest.

Photos by Al Morrill, Matt Phillips

PAGE 25

HIGH GEAR

Spirits around on Halloween Eve.

Halloween at Godmother's II

"Yes, Mr. Howell?" "Love my son. He needs you. "Jimmy."

"Yes, Daddy?"

"Love him good. You're lucky...I'm not afraid now. You're here. I'm lucky. I love you."

"I love you, too, Daddy. I'm Hollis Howell was, in fact, glad you're not afraid. Don't conscious. His body was nearly struggle anymore. We'll stay destroyed, yet with great force here with you. I opened the of will, he whispered. "Peter..." windows for you. It's dawn, Jurgund evsri fnbluoda uoy" benmsb tsnt evet" notgus!

Con

Daddy--can you hear the birds?" He stopped speaking. His father was dead. Jimmy looked at his father, who kept a faint smile, and at Peter, who was sobbing. His father's hand was small and fragile, almost transparent in the new light, giving less resistance than the hand of a docile child. Jimmy was crying, but he possessed a certain calmness, and a smile was upon his lips, for sed nove i onimoo as welled

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