Sequoia Trail-A Bo Jon Littlehorse P.I. Novel. Second Edition

by Danny E. Allen

  ***

  David had grown-tired of cold-food, and isolation. His-thinking went to Mississippi and home-cooked food and temporarily, a ‘home’. His new course was to steer to home in the Northeast. Where long ago he’d spent with his parents. Before the hard-path of commitment, and condoning. He-wanted an easing-of-contention. Which home long ago, had conjured. He-passing, had stored, no-longer; needing to worry of capture and contempt. Just as he’d regained a working; a certain-degree of espoused, willingness and resolve. As Sam Nauts, he’d reengineered a new-identity. He could have left the country, under an assumed name and started all-over. Yet what he’d come-over nearly 30-years was the total of his existence he could not undermine; even though-it was all for naught. Where once he’d thought it ’‘imperative’-to assume it would be his undoing. So he knew, it was all... He was not an instigator. He’d-thought it was ‘imperative’ to adjure the facilitate, ‘atomization’-of what had been an ominous, abjection. He-knew fear would have been ’‘embellished’ of impart; that one’s civility was an impending of was no longer a thorough-good warrior...caught in errand, rightful duty.

  After the war ended he had been given commission within months of its conclusion when some were lost on Vietnam’s dis-junction and casualties. Most were no longer emphatic about military-work. There was whole establishments since being due to that fact. Many who’d come disillusioned with-it held grudges, dissatisfaction and blame. Yet some in the military life were proven men of dedication... He fortunately, was never-lost on his hold-on office-ship. He’d spent little-energy on fortune or foster, of the complex-of-enlisting. Like his fellow-soldiers, the Vietnam-conflict was not easily, consoled. Yet a man was responsible-for duty, and command, not policy or politics. Unfortunately, home-side didn’t see it that way... He’d seen many men with whom could not conform or digest the circumstance. He had risen above all this. Perhaps it was too enlightening or effects for officer capacity. He’d earned his rights in war yet now he could see in practical-sense it affected him as well. Though rarely, he’d attuned-to the in-ordinal, ’‘sophistication’ but ill-certainty-of fate in the situation had exposed; super-imposed-disposition to deferring-issues. He-remembered the combat-zones, killing-fields, and the enemy. Death, danger and destruction as, its hallmark and haunting. And yet as-he

  remembered the many-horrors perhaps he’d become in-turned, to it in some deep, dark act-of-passage.

  He ’‘was’ a veteran of an intense-conflict... He understood he-was imperiled, in venue. And it didn’t un-affect-him. Perhaps his mind presupposed contentions rightfully yet ’‘mistaken’. He’d had the ideals of man-made leaders over-new facets of ’‘human’-law; its product. The rides he’d made into Richmond and Charleston were enjoyable. Much of the southeast had restaurants with home-cooking, breakfasts dinners and pies to go. He’d even stayed several nights at a bed and breakfast enjoying the simple-life and laid-back atmosphere. The South fed his appetite and as Sam Nauts allowed an oblivious life-style. He saw flyer-reports on T.V. Yet no one paid attention. Not even local Sheriffs. Besides, that the effort was localized in the Southwest. He would make treks through downtown Richmond buying things he needed or sightseeing. No one suspected he even visiting the Navy station to see young men working their vessels or going on furlough. He stayed till October 21st then moved North. He hadn’t been through the area since his college-days. The Iraq war was now in full swing. As he drove along the coast he could see freighters then ships and destroyers returning from the Arabian Sea. He-knew their parents were proud of them. He rode into Virginia stopped over at Charlotte in to Baltimore where he stayed for several-weeks.

  It was beginning to cool, so he moved in-land were festivals, celebrations and social ceremonies were to be had... He had came-to their celebrations; enjoying the festivities. He’d no longer felt the complication of a ’‘loner’, on the run. His tomorrows were numbered, but at heart was a good time, by all. It was like being-at home, is some small town revelry. He drove-to Virginia Beach where the seasons were-in transition. He-was alone on the windy beach shoreline... Then, last of the vacationers had vanished. It was high-tide and the waves crashed along the shore. As sure as the Fall had arrived things were changing and times of revelry were in their twilight. He-knew he wouldn’t see another year of self-satisfaction. He-figured he’d be sent to some federal prison one day. It could have been all an illusion and fate being the reality of being over-ruling in all his-actions, in life. Though he’d nearly always tried to do the right thing; an inner plea to relent might have always been there. A private-reality and ratification in expression of ’‘rebuke’ in no uncertain-terms. He-was beginning to realize ‘fault’ and ‘failure’ were dynamically, inconsistent-orbiters... ...Following command had been the ’‘rule’, an insinuation of proctor never needing ’‘abridge’ or abatement; a predilection of common-relativity and in-fusion. That act, and accord prevails as aperture of delineation in what is a demurred, obligation.

  The passing semantics an parsimoniousness. A working of hopeless pride and young pre-summation given disguise, as ’‘will’ and ’‘tact’... He didn’t feel disappointed that was a strange misnomer if anything he felt a strange-‘loss’ for the ultimate-fight which he could not-win. He had remembered how out-of college; fresh in the military. He had wanted to prove his commitment and dedication with all the dreams and fancies of military-life. How that seemed assertively, ’‘delusional’. He stayed at the beach till nightfall watching the stars and moon became occluded by clouds. The dark seas rushed-in and hit the rocks cold and wet; as if no-one but he was left in the world. An instance of utter aloneness... It had seemed a masquerade of missive, modality and merger. A giving-over of one’s life time odes of magnitude... As he’d entered the officer corps, his deed responsibility was impression and mute. Perhaps the military betrayed the simple complexion of naïve, or ’‘ode’ youth. The dark seas and salty-air of change was giving impetus to move-on and accepting what had been ended. The once-distraught, dereliction-of ’‘dishonor’ had all but gone; and a setting of acceptance had now come-to Sam Nauts. A person he was deliberating-’destiny’ and design. No longer, desperate or distancing. An elicit of conferring away-from the deeding conveying once holding-’time’. In a practical sense he suffered enough, the turning-tide as the ocean roared-in a invigorating wind of accepting, compunction and incurring-had availed. He stayed at the beach till late then drove to a hotel-nearby.