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N O R T H C O A S T T IM E S E A G L E , JABRUARY 2005
THE GOURD & THE PALM
BY DANIEL ELEY
What is it the Scarlet Pimpernel used to say? What
was his favorite expression when someone said something
absolutely absurd to him and he wished to respond without
offending? He said “Sink me." As if he were a ship out at
sea. Which, if you think about it, that is exactly what each and
everything in this universe has in common. Although every little
thing is unique in its own way, at the same time everything has
in common being afloat in a sea of time and bending to currents
of the universal mind.
Do you think that Reagan dismantled the Soviet Union
when he said, while spending time in Berlin as our President,
“Mr. Breznhev, tear this wall down”? If you think his words are
the reason for the downfall of communism, you are stuck in
some kind of demented hero worship. The reason Red Russia
fell was that they spent all of their money and time trying to take
over the oil fields in the Middle East. Specifically, they wiped
out their national economy in the deserts of Afghanistan and
Pakistan. Not to mention the lives of many brave and innocent
soldiers on all sides of the conflict.
Those desert rats over there are pretty smart. They don’t
have to spend valuable time and money to transport their armies
to foreign fields. They don’t even have to spend much money on
weapons. Much like the Viet Cong, they capture the weapons of
foreign invaders and therefore have plenty of firepower to carry
on defensive guerrilla warfare and in this way bring down the
monolithic political powers of the globe which we live on. I know
because I am old and have witnessed it. Plus they have this
magnet that will assure them that after they dispel one nation’s
armed forces they will soon have the opportunity to do it all over
again to the next nation that attempts the same folly. That
magnet being their oil fields.
You know if you go after another person's spouse your
own true love may just walk on by you without your taking notice
because you are so intent on stealing what is not yours, and in
the course of events you lose your chance at true happiness.
What I mean to say is, as we spend all of America’s hard-earned
tax dollars on the military budget in order to free up the Middle
Eastern oil fields, the one our heartstrings really long for could
be passing us right on by; /.e., non-polluting energy.
It's a hell of a deal for a ship to get sunk in a desert,
and there is no such thing as a unsinkable ship. Just ask the
Titanic. I think the United States — both the government and the
majority of the people — think their ship is unsinkable. In all my
life of credible and criminal activities, I have learned one very
important lesson: You can’t beat greed. It will get you every
time. Greed will beat you to the ground and then grind you
into dust. That’s what happened to the Soviet Union and it will
happen to the U.S. if we let our oil greedy leaders continue to
lead us down this murky path into a quicksand that will sink the
U.S. into the same oblivion as the USSR.
One of the fronts in this war is national economy. When
our economy pays for our so-called enemy to beat up on us, and
pays for us to beat up on them, guess who’s going to break in
the end? We are. Guess who loses when we go broke? We do.
Our children do. Our educational systems do. Our health and
welfare systems do, along with agriculture, Social Security, high­
ways, parks, etc., etc....
What other resources do those desert rats have? Let
them have their oil and let them sell it at the true market value.
They sucked us into this war with one strike upon our nation, and
now the majority of our energy and resources are sourced-out to
our military operations. In the meantime keeping us from devel­
oping a clean alternative energy source. At the same time keep-
KARL SCHMIDT-ROTTLUFF, ‘WAY TO EMMAUS’ (WOODCUT)
ing us dependent on their oil. And Bush and Texas go along with
it because they are in the same business. They don’t want us
developing an alternative resource that would make their oil
fields worthless. They are happy with the status quo, much like
the kings of England when they had first rights to any bride.
You can bet these are fighting words — but we’re getting
killed anyway and so are they. Follow the money trail and/or the
power trail and see who is profiting off this conflict, and that will
be the one who initiated the conflict.
And who trained those people who hit the Twin Towers?
George Sr. did back in the day when he was head of the CIA
before he was ever President.
These are murky waters we are diving into, and I for one
want out: so I will go back to where I began this story and bring it
to a conclusion: The Little Pa/m.This will not be verbatim but the
general gist will be understood.
Way back in the days before Christ, there was a man
named Jonah. He was a prophet of sorts that God used to teach
everyone lessons. At this time there was an evil city, Ninevah,
and God intended to change their ways, so he sent Jonah into
the city with instructions to tell them to change their ways or else
they would be destroyed in an instant by the power of almighty
God.
Jonah did this preaching for a couple of weeks and then
retired to the desert. The people of the city had listened to Jonah
but nothing happened to the city. Jonah felt like a fool and want­
ed to die — I suppose from embarrassment — yet he continued
to hang out in the desert, and he complained God had made a
fool out of him. So one day while sitting in a booth he had made
BETWEEN FLIGHTS
BY TERESA BARNES
Stepping off a plane at 5:30 in the morning is a little
like walking out of a dream. The edges of things are blurred
and the memory of a world beyond the present is dim; you
know what to expect, but only vaguely.. You know that on the
other side of this gray tunnel there will be gray walls and hard
gray carpet and chairs. You know that you will see people, lots
of them, and you even know their general stereotypes. There
will be the businessmen on cell phones trying desperately to
look busy and important, young couples with children who seem
to be momentarily reconsidering the family life. What you don’t
know, however, is who exactly you will see and what exactly
they will say, and this (along with the fact they you will soon be
hurtling through the stratosphere on a large piece of metal) is
probably the only exciting thing about airports.
Stepping out of this dream, into this airport, the place
seems to be filled with young men and women in olive green
uniforms. The boys all have buzzcuts and the girls have their
long hair pulled tight into buns at the nape of their necks. Were
it not for their overtly military appearance, they might be high-
schoolers flying to Disney World for their senior trip. They take
pictures in front of the sunrise, they tell stories and laugh; in the
bathroom one girl zips up another's backpack. I want to ask
them where they’ve been and what they've seen, but of course
I don't.
I decide to spend my wait in front of a large television
with CNN coverage around the clock. After I've been sitting for
a while, a red-haired boy a couple of seats down gestures
toward the TV.
He: “It’s not as bad as they say over there.’
Me: (surprised and relieved) “You’ve been there?"
He: “I’ve been in both places, Afghanistan and Iraq."
Me: “What do you do?"
He. “I’m in Special Forces so I can’t really talk about it.
Mostly we just sit around, though."
Me: (pause) “What’s it like over there? Do you talk to
the locals much?”
He: “You mean the Iraqis? They’re all right, I guess. You
can't be nice to them though, or they won’t leave you alone.”
Me: “That's usually what people are like who don’t have
anything."
He: (shrugs) “Sometimes the soldiers give them MR2s..."
Me: (interrupting) “What are those?”
He: “They're food rations, but they have pork in them.
After the people have eaten them they're told what was inside.
They don’t eat pork because of their religion.”
Me: Why would someone do that?"
He: (shrugs again) “Sometimes the soldiers throw the
MRs out into fields where explosives have been set up so the
kids go running after them."
Me: (burying my horror so as not to seem judgmental)
“You've actually seen that. Children getting their legs blown off?”
He: (nods).
Me: “I guess that’s the kind of thing that sticks with you.
He: (long pause) “So what do you think of the war?"
Me: “You probably already know the answer to that. I
don't believe in war, and even if I did I wouldn’t believe in this
one."
A soldier behind us gets up and walks away.
He: (pause) “I wish I could be like you. I wish I never
would have started this."
Me: (nod guiltily)
He: (gesturing toward a crowd of green uniforms) "Those
kids have no idea what they’re getting into. They just graduated
basic training and they’re getting shipped out after Christmas."
The red-haired boy realizes that his departure gate has
changed and gets up to leave
Me: “My name is Teresa It was nice to meet you."
He doesn't give his name but says that it was nice to
meet me too.
while the sun beat down on him, God caused a little gourd to
sprout and grow to a size that provided Jonah with a bit of
shade. Jonah was extremely pleased with this course of events
until the next day when the tree withered and turned to dust.
This caused Jonah to go into a tangent, railing against his God.
During said tangent God spoke to Jonah, and I will quote from
the King James Version of the Bible. (I hope this doesn’t offend
anyone.)
And God said to Jonah, Doest thou well to be angry at
the gourd? And he answered, I do well to be angry, even unto
death.
Then said the Lord, Thou hast had pity on the gourd, for
the palm which thou hast not labored, neither madest it grow;
which came up in a night, and perished in a night.
And should I not spare Ninevah, that great city, wherein
are more than six-score thousand persons that cannot discern
between their right hand and their left hand, and also much
cattle?
I have an apartment in Astoria and inside I have a palm
tree growing in a pot. I have been watering and fertilizing this
tree for three years. About a month ago, I noticed the leaves of
the tree were being gnawed away by something at the ends and
little holes appearing in the centers. I have just noticed the
holes. At first, when it was only the ends, I thought it was my cat
I acquired last August chewing on them. I got the cat when she
was only four weeks old and she had never been outside. She
is a very beautiful six-month old Siamese and tabby cross.
Unfortunately, while doing laundry in the laundry room directly
below my apartment a few days earlier I left my apartment door
slightly ajar, and without my seeing her, my cat gained access to
the world outside. I haven’t seen her since. I am fairly distressed
over this but search and call as much as I will, I receive no
response from her. And while looking at my palm tree, I notice
the damage is continuing, so it isn’t my cat. Yet the withering
palm tree brought to mind the story of Jonah, and so the source
of inspiration for this story.
I don’t pretend to know what is going on on our earth,
but I’m pretty sure something ominous is happening, what with
this stupid war we as a nation are caught up in and the recent
earthquake and tsunami destruction that happened around about
the Indian Ocean. Sometimes I think we are inside some kind
of magical bubble here in the Northwest that separates us from
these violent happenings. But I know this is not true and that
there is a connection, as closely connected as skin is to meat.
If it hurts over there, it is painful to the whole being and there is
no rest, only weariness and deterioration. To find the proper
salve to bind and soothe the wounds; that would be a good thing
to do. Yet every time this is done, the sword or knife or whatever
it is strikes again and reopens it. And where is the salve? If I
knew the way I would cut off the hand that swings the sword, but
yet again, whose hand is it? Who owns the deep ocean and who
owns the wars? And this leads me to a fatalistic reasoning that
it isn’t my gourd, it isn’t my palm tree, it isn’t my cat, it isn’t my
tidal wave and it isn't my war. And there really isn't much I can
do about anything except myself; maybe, maybe not.
Please don’ let this somewhat pessimistic and/or fatal­
istic article discourage you from supporting our troops or donat­
ing to the victims of the recent tsunami, or from doing anything
else that would be good or helpful for the people or the environ­
ment. It could turn out that within the accumulation of many
good and unselfish deeds done by each and many individuals is
where the salve is found. Inspiration is truly a strange and weird
thing. Sink me.
Daniel Eley is a poet and lives in Astoria
A M A gallery
ASTORIA VUSUAL ARTS
160 10™ ST., ASTORIA
Teresa Barnes lives in Astoria She visited her mother in
Florida during Christmas
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