An Aquarian Exposition
Raúl Güizzo
Shelooksdownathermuddybraandpanties.Itisdarkinsidethe
tent,butfaintmoonlightfiltersthroughenoughtomakeoutshapesanddim
colors.Everythingishumid.Thecanvasofthetent.Theskinbetweenher
fingersandtoes.Theair.Herhair,turnedfromblondtobrownbythemud.
Eachbreathisashallowgaspofmoisture.Shejusthastogetoutofthere.Her
stomachquiversasshepullsherselfupandcrawlsoutofthetent.
The dry night air makes her breathe in deep as she lets her entire
bodyshiveroutthehumidity,imaginingherselfasalmonburstingoutofthe
waterasitswimsupstream.Ahystericallaughechoesinthedistance.Bonfires
dotthecountryside.Linesofsmokeswirluplanguidly.
She had hitch-hiked most of the way, leaving her small suburban
townjustoutsideofBostonwithnomoreforethoughtthanapeacesignand
asmile.Shewalkedalongthehighwaywithanupraisedthumb,fullofclean
idealism.Notsurprisingly,shehadaridewithinminutes.Shecouldn’thelp
butsmileassheliftedthehemofherdressandslidintothepassenger’sseat.
Thedriverwasarealrevolutionary,fatiguejacketandall.Redstaronhisforest
greenbaseballcap.AcopyofStealThisBook!sunburntonthedash.There
wasmuchuseoftheword“movement.”Heseemedtoreallyknowwherehe
wasgoing.
Thecarspiledupastheygotclosertothevenue.Eventually,trafficwasatastandstillandshehadnochoicebuttogetoutandstartwalking.
Hernewfriend,whohadpickedherupsomewhereoffRoute20,wasuneasy
aboutleavinghiscar(probablyborrowedfromhisparents)unattendedonthe
sideoftheroad,soshedecidedtocontinuethejourneyonfoot,flashingher
automaticpeacesignandsmileashestoodtherestrokinghisstubblewitha
sidewaysgrinoffarewell.
Howlongitwouldactuallytakehertocompletethejourneywasn’t
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ofmuchconcern,aslongasshegotthereeventually.Thesofttapandswooshingofhermoccasinsasshepassedthroughthegrassprovidedawarm,steady
rhythmthatsoftenedherthoughtstoadaffodildream.Thewildflowerslooked
beautiful.Shefoundithardtoimaginethatonlyayearagoshewould’vedismissedthemasweedsasshereacheddowntopluckoutaparticularlylarge,
creamy-whiteflowertoslipintoherhair,unabletosuppressthelivelysmile
whichshoneacrossherdoll-likeface.
Outsidethetent,hersmileisnowgone.Thewildflowersmushed
intothemud.Shestillhashermoccasinson,soatleastherfeetarecleanand
warm.Sheisn’twillingtorisksomeoneswipingthosefromher.Theconcept
ofcommunalsharingcanonlygosofar.Herdressiscrumpledonthefloor
somewhereinthattent,cakedwithmudandsweatandwhoknowswhatelse.
Maybehernewfriend,whohadinvitedherintothetentafewhoursago,isusingitasapillow.Hedefinitelyissleeping.Hisintoxicatedsnoreshadmadeit
impossibleforhertogetanysleep.Wasthisnewfriendthesameonefromthe
driveup?Sheisn’tsure.Hesuredoeslooklikehim,butwhenevershetried
toask,hewouldjuststartgiggling,mumblesomethingincoherent,andpass
herthejoint.Itdidn’treallymatterthough.Loveismeanttobegiven,andhe
needslovejustlikeeveryoneelse.
Abreezecomesaroundthehills,overthestage,andacrossherbody,
makingthetasselsonhermoccasinsflutter.Sheshivers,triestorubthegoose
bumpsaway,butgivesupandsitsdowninaballwithherarmsaroundher
legsandhercoldnoserestingbetweenherknees.Shecoughsintoherthighs.
Theairisastrangemixofsmoketingedwiththebitternessofvomitandthe
sweetnessofmarijuanafilteredthroughtheearthinessofthedriedmudonher
thighs.Thevibrationsfromafewhoursagostilllinger,likeabig,brassbellon
thevergeofbecomingstillagain.
Someonepassesbywithlong,awkwardstepsandmumblessomethingaboutacigarette.Sheisn’tsureifthepersonistalkingtoherorsomeone
behindher,soshejustglancesupandquicklyshakesherhead.
Strangehowquietthingscangetinthemiddleofthenight.Asif
thesunlightcracklesanddistortssounds.Whisperedwisdomcarriedbythe
noiselessbreezesofthenight.
Urgentrumblingfromthetentmakesherturn,restingacheekonher
outerthighwhilestiflingayawn.Hernewfriendburststhroughtheflapand
wretcheshorriblyontheground,justmissinghermoccasins.Heturnsaway
andcontinuesroaringouthisinsideswithhisbackarchedlikesomedemon
cat.Finally,hestops,bumblesover,andplopsdownbesideherwithasquish
inthemud.Heputsonalazysmile.Hiseyesareredanddroopy,andhestarts
toleanover…forakiss?No,notakiss.Hecan’tbethatstonedorstupid.
“Feelbetter?”Sheblurtsoutinajump.
“Oh,Ifeelfine.Justhadtoclearthepipesout.”
Shescrunchesherlipsintoapursedsmile.“Wick—groovyconcert,
huh?”
“Youain’tseennothingyet.”
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Howisshegoingtoditchthisnewfriend?Therearesomanyother
friendsouttheretomeet.Newfriendsthatarehopefullyalittlecleanerand
moresoberthanthisone.
“Well,Igottatakeapiss.”
“Good,”shethinks.Assoonasheisoutofvision,sherushesintothe
tent,feelsaroundforherdress,andcrawlsbacktotheflapwithittwistedin
herfistagainstthesoftground.Shepopsherheadthroughtheopening,looks
around,andstartswalkingawayfromthetent.Thedressstillcrumpledinone
hand.Themudsuckingathermoccasins.
Sheliftsherheadandrealizesthatsheiswalkingtowardsthestage,
weavingherwaythroughtents,crushedbeercans,andsnoringshapesstrewn
outonthemudandsomeofthefewgrassierareas.Shekeepsherheaddown
toavoidsteppingonanybodyoranythingandalmostbumpsrightintosomethingwhite.Shelooksup.It’satepee.Arealtepee.Woodandhideandcanvas
andallthat.Shestandstherestaringuntilshehearsavoicesay,“Comeooon
in.”
Hadsheimaginedit?Asshelooksaround,asmooth,grinningface
popsoutofaflapandrepeats,“Comeonin,friend.”With“friend”draggedout
tosix,slowsyllables.
Sheishesitant,butstepsinlightlyasheholdstheflapopenforher.
Theinsideofthetepeeisdimlylitlikeacathedralwiththick,tallcandlesdrippingwaxandleavingtrailsofsootupthesidestothesmallholeuptop.Fortunately,therearerugsonthefloor,soshedoesn’thavetositinmudagain.He
guidesherovertoapillowandshesettlesinwithherlegscrossedIndian-style.
Hernewfriendsitsacrossfromher,pullinghisbarefeetbehindhiskneesinthe
classicmeditationpose.
Thefirstthingshenoticesabouthimishisimmaculatecleanliness.
Asheguideshertothepillow,shesmellssomethingofincenseandpeppermint.Hisflowing,white-cottonpantsandshirtremindherofthatguyonTV
thattheBeatlesvisitedinIndia.Hesmilessoftlytoher,takesatoke,andoffers
ittoherwithraisedeyebrows.Shereachesout,grabsit,andtakesalong,heavy
drag.Theendofthejointcrackleswiththesuddenintakeofair.Thesmokeis
muchheavierthananythingshehadtriedbefore.Shecoughsspasmodically
andpassesthejointback.
Hejustsmilessoftlyagainasshestrugglestogetbackhercomposure.
“Wherewereyouheaded?”
“Oh,Idon’tknow.Justexploring,Iguess.”
“Comeacrossanythinginteresting.”
“Justsomeoneinatepeewhoseemstohavemanagedtoavoidallthe
dirtandmud.”
“Well,everyonechoosestheirownwaytogroove.”
Shegiveshimaclosed-lipsmileandcannothelpbutwonderhow
eventhesolesofhisfeethaveremainedclean.Lookingdownatherself,she
feelsasuddenflashofembarrassmentsittingthereinhermuddybraandpant44
ies.Herdressrumpledonthefloorbytheentrance.
“Haveyoueverseenaneaglecatchitspreyatsunset?”
Shejustblinksback.Hereyesredanddistracted.
Themaharishismilespatiently.Hesmiles,buthedoesnotspeak.
Hiseyesdonotblink.Theglazed,creamywhitenessofthemlookthroughher
foreheadforaresponse.Sheshiftsonthepillowuneasily,fullyawareofher
itchyscalpandachyjoints.
“…”
“…”
“Noooo?Um,no.No,Ihaven’t.”Shestartstosecondguessherself.
Maybethereissomemetaphoricalmeaningthatsheisn’tabletofigureout.
Maybehe’sjustmessingwithher.
“Ahh.Soyouhaven’t?”
Whatisthatsupposedtomean?Ofcoursenot.Whohas?Besidesmaybea
zookeeperorforestranger.Whyisheaskingthis?
“No.Idon’tthinkso.”
“Wouldyouliketo?”
“Yeah.Well,Iguessso.Butit’snighttimealready,sowewouldhave
towait—”
Hepullsuphissleevetorevealatattoo.Ofaneagle.Catchingits
prey.Atsunset.
“Whaddyathink?”
“Doesitmeananything?”
“Maybe.Ijustlikehowitlooks.Beautiful,huh?”
“Yeah.”
Sheisdisappointed.Withnothingmorethanaliftofhissleeve,the
mystiqueofthemaharishiisbrusquelyrippedaway,likethehusktornoffan
earofcorn.Despitetheclothesandthetepee,allshecanseeisaripe,golden
earofcornpluckedoutoftheMidwestandshippedhundredsofmilestothe
countrysideofaforeignland.Astickeroforiginbecomesstampedfirmlyto
hisforehead.Withfadinginterest,sheslipsherhairbackbehindherearand
putsonalivelysmile.
“Thisisanicetent—uh,tepeeyougothere.”
“Isn’titgreat?Webroughtthepolesandcanvasfrombackhome. There’sareservationcloseby.RealniceIndianguy,ownedthestoreIthink,
showedushowtosetitup.It’snice.Morefaroutthanatent.”Thewords“far
out”clunkingoffhistongue.
Hegetsupandmakeshandgesturesashedescribeshowtoputthe
tepeetogether.
Shenodsherheadwhensheissupposedto,butsheisn’tlistening.
Sheissomewhereelse.Imagesflashthroughhermindinplayfulresponseto
theoverwhelmingfatigueofherbody.Herparentswaving.Guitarsrefracting
sunlight.Agrunting,muddymassofhairandmud.Nakedchildrenwandering.Rucksacks.Helicopters.Kool-aid.Atrampledchain-linkfence.Cows
chewingtheircud.Colors,somanycolors.Tomatoreds.Grassgreens.Mag45
neticpurples.Stingingaquas.CornYellows.Felthats.Stripedpants.Beads
aroundnecks,aroundankles,aroundforeheads.
Thecornmaharishichangessubjects,goingonaboutthelongjourneyeastthatheandhisfriendshadtaken.“Yeahman,sowewerelowongas
andthecarsweren’tmoving,sowesaid,‘Fuckit.Let’sjustcarrythistepeethe
restoftheway.’”
Shenodsandholdsherheavyeyelidsupwithraisedeyebrows.
“Youknow,myunclewaschildhoodfriendswithDavidCrosby.Beforehishairevenreachedhisears.IcouldprobablygetusbackstageifIcan
somehowgetaholdofDavy.That’swhatmydadcalledhim.Himandmy
unclekeepintouch,soIthinkhe’llrememberme.”
Sheperksupatthat.Sheisn’texactlysurewhoDavidCrosbyis,but
sheknowsheisamusician.Awell-knownone.Ishetheonethatlookslikea
sheepdog?
“Youwannaheaddowntothestage?Seeifwecanfindhim?”
Shedoesn’tanswer.Shejustgetsupandslipsthroughtheflapofthe
tent.Hefollows.
The brass bell has finally ceased and she can enjoy the relative silence.Aconstantmurmuroffadingvoices,cracklingcampfires,andvarious
bodilysoundsfilltheair,butshecanclearlyheartheglipandgloshoftheir
stepsastheyweavedowntowheresheguessesthestagemustbelocated.The
yellowcornmaharishidoesn’tshowanysignofprotest,sosheassumeseither
sheisgoingintherightdirectionorheisjustaslostasher.
Therearesomelightsinthedistance,soshekeepsgoinginthatdirection.Astheygetcloser,sherealizesthatthelightsaremuchtooclosetothe
groundtobestagelights.Infact,theylookmorelikeheadlights,atleastfive
pairsofthem.Theygetcloserandseeacircleofvansandbuses.Itreminds
herofsomeoldWesternwherethecoveredwagonsweresetinacirclewhile
thefrontiersmenfoughtoffattacksfromtheIndians,exceptthesewagonsare
anythingbutwhite.Blues,purples,yellows,greenswraparoundeachotherin
swirlsanddotsthatglowinthedark.
Shestartstodetouraroundthewagontrainwhenahandgrabsher
frombehind.SheturnsquicklytoseetheMidwesternmaizemaharishilookingather.
“IthinkIknowtheseguys.Theyhadsomegoodstuffbefore.Let’s
seeifthey’vegotanyleft.”
Shenodsandallowsherselftobetuggedalong.Shewincesastheyapproach
aheadlight.
Thereisagroupofpeopleinthemiddleofallthebusesandvans.
Drumsandsometypeofwindinstrumentaredroningsoftlyasthetwodozen
orsopeoplehum.Theyarearrangedinacircleinsidethecircleofheadlights,
facingeachotherwiththeirlegscrossedmeditation-style.Therearetwopeopleinthemiddle,flatontheground.That’skindastrange.Fromtheskyit
wouldlooklikeaneye,withacolorful,metalliclidofbusesandVWsandthe
swayingmassofbodiesasaripplingirisandpupil.Astheygetcloser,shepeers
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atthetwointhemiddle.Shecanhear—justbarelyoverthesteady,hypnotic
music—gruntingandtherustlingofgrass.
Theyarehavingsex.
Rightthere.Inthemiddleofallthosepeople.How?
She is transfixed on them, intertwined, twisting, gyrating, to the
samerhythmasthedrums.Aman’sassandleghair.Anipplebeingsucked. Theman,thestranger,makeseyecontactwithher.Shecan’tpull
herselfaway.Thengroaningwithdeepresonantfinality,hesmilesaslow,lazy
smile.Hissmilecontortsitselfandfadesaway.
Her face flashes cold. Then, it burns. She turns on her heel and
quicklywalksbacktowheretheyhadcomefrom.Shecanhearhercompanionfollowing,butsheistooembarrassedtolookback.Despiteherself,she
can’tgetthatimageoutofherhead.Sheblowsairfromhernostrilsandwalks
faster.
“What’samatter,babe?”
Shekeepswalking,notworriedaboutsteppingonanyoneoranything.Shejusthastokeepmoving,tokeepthatfreshairmovingacrossher
flushedface.
Thenshestops.Breathinghardandstaringintothedistance.Alone.
Standingtherewithhermoccasins,hermuddybraandpanties,herfilthydress
clenchedinfrontofher.Shedoesn’tfeelthecoldanymore.Shedoesn’tfeel
herface.Shefeelswet.Shefeelsexposed.ShefeelslikeGodlookingdown
uponeverything,frowning,condemning.Freeloveisabeautifulconcept,but
that?Thatbeastialdisplay.Thatbacchicorgy.Thathedonistexhibitionism.Is
thatfreelove?
Hegentlytouchesherarm.Hishandcold,reptilian.“What’samatter,babe?”
Thequestionbothersherbecauseshedoesn’tknowtheanswer. Whatisthematter.Sex,makinglove,isnatural.Thereshouldbe
nothingtohide,nothingtogetuptightabout.Shetriestoconvinceherselfthat
itwasjustherupbringing,allthesocialnormsthathaveconstrainedpeople
fortoolong,butshecan’tbelieveit.Atleast,shecan’tconvinceherselfofit.
Somethingistellingherthatthatiswrong.Thatisnothowitshouldbe.
Hiswaxyhand,holdinghersgently,isstillthere.
“No,”shethinksandpullsherselfloose.Hisnailsscrapingagainst
hersmoothskin.
“Hey,babe,whyareyoubeingsouptight?Theywerejustgrooving
tosomehigherpower.Can’tyoudigit?”
No.Shecouldnotdigit.Shecouldn’tburyit,burrowit,ordrillit
either.Itseemedtohavedugherthough.Piercedandgougedanddugup
something.Shecouldn’tfigureoutwhat.Notinthestateofmindthatsheis
in.NotwithMr.EagleatSunsetstandingrightthere.Notwithacrazycircus
ofsexgoingonjustafootballfieldaway.
Sheshootshimanelectricglare,eyestingedatomatored.Hegulps
andlooksdownathermuddybra.Then,herpanties.Finally,settlingonthe
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tipsofhermoccasins.
“Ijustwantedtotakeyoubackstage.Showyouagoodtime.”He
mumbles,stillstaringdown.
Leave.That’stheonlythoughtthatcomesclearly.Theonlything
thatseemstomakesense.Shestridesaway.Up.Awayfromthelightsandthe
murmursandthegrunts.Awayfromallhernewfriendscacklinginthedistance.Awayfromthoselazysmiles.Awayfromthepossibilityoftomorrow’s
festivities.Awayfromitall.
Themudsplish-splashesandsheraisesherkneeshigh,holdingher
dressupoutoftheway.Shecanfeelherfaceagain.Itisn’thotanymore.The
coldhasreturnedandsheshiversslightlyasshestridesaway.
Eventually,sheisoutofthemudandwalkingthroughhighgrass.It
feelsfinetowalknormallyagainandletthegrasstickleherknees.Thereistrue
silence.Nomassofhumanity.Noringingbrass.Nosmoke.Noheadlights.
Justthesoundofhermovementsandthelightwind.
She hears the deep clunk-clunk of cast iron. Strange. She peers
aroundandseesthebig,dulleyesofablackandwhitemilkcow.Shechuckles
toherself.
“Heythere,Walden.”
She doesn’t think that is a girl’s name, but it sounds appropriate
enough.Shewalksafewmoresteps,lookingawayfromthecowandcomes
acrossalargeoaktreenexttoasmallpond,whichreflectsthemoonexactly,in
mirroredperfection.Shekeepswalkingtowardsthepondinsteady,confident
steps.
Shesitsdown,slidesoffhermoccasins,letsthedressfall,snapsoff
hermuddybra,pullsdownherpantiesandslipsintothestillpond,sending
ripples about the surface. Slowly, she dunks her head under the water and
comesbackup.Slowly,sherubsherbodyandcleansoffallthecakedmud.
Asshesitsalongthebankwaitingforherclothestodry,shereflects
onherevening.Abreezecomesaroundthehills,overtheoaktree,andacross
herbody,makingthetasselsonthetopofhermoccasinsflutter.Shesighs,feelingthewispsofairmoveacrossherkneesandarms,throughherclean,blond
hair.
Lovely,shethinkswithahalcyonsmile.
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