Editor’s Note: Marlow contributes this to a wild week, and I found it resonating. I gave a presentation at a business meeting this morning about likely impacts of all this not to the Republic, but to employees planning on committing to work with the prospect of potential street violence. This morning, I said it was mostly peaceful;. Unsaid, I knew that what it meant was that there was a plan for violence which had been deferred, waiting on legal challenge that could drag out long enough to see Speaker of the House Pelosi as acting President. Historic times, aren’t thy? Let’s go with Marlow to see hoe he feels about it all.

– Vic

Author’s Note: Even now, I can still feel the tightness I felt that accompanied this neighbor’s story telling. I want you to feel it — the scented wind coming off the river, the utter silence of those moments, and our carefully tended Victorian side gardens now part of an unsafe frontier. Fully awake I finally was. “Woo, ah ah ha . . .” as Major Kong shouted as he rode the bomb down. Now that Halloween and Election Day 2020 have passed, it’s time to consider the real predators amongst us.

-Marlow

05 November 2020

Rufus

Coastal Empire

It happened during the last days of this past August. A violent red sundown draped the town, the kind that bathed our Victorian neighborhood’s houses and yards in reflected blood. It was as if the heat absorbed during those dog days erupted from the earth to set the town on fire. The normal hustle and bustle of car traffic to and from downtown had faded almost entirely. Distant clouds raised threatening portents. Eternity was flashing.

It was exactly at dusk that evening when Charles from across the street spotted the largish adult male bobcat out back in his alley. Rufus was what he called it. The last one I had seen in Georgia was back in 1974 in the fields just beyond the trailer park where I was living outside Naval Air Station Albany.

“Never expected to see one here in the city. But there it was. Big as life.” he muttered.

Charles’s face showed no amazement when he recounted the sighting the next morning. No fear was a part of it either, but I suspected there was some hint of awe of this beast just beneath his calmness. This rufus dropped weightlessly to the ground from a garage roof and glided down the alley. I let out a small breath and nonchalantly asked which way it headed. He gestured to the east remarking it broke into a trot as the twilight settled.

He chose not to tell his wife nor any of the other women who lived on our street. Just me.

Something was up. He was a born, bred and life-long Georgia boy and he knew that a bobcat sighting in the middle of downtown was a sign of troubles to come. I knew it too.

We tried not to frown. Both of us knew this sign’s meaning. There was nothing in our well-thumbed almanacs to help us out.

We knew that predators like this one were among the first killed off by the English and Irish settlers of our town 287 years ago. Back in those days along the bug infested swamp creeks and drains leading to the Savanah River rufuses inhabited this place alongside witches, snakes and other such predatory creatures as prowled man’s subconscious and gave shape and explanation to this new world’s greater unknown.

Life for a few of us older ones along Park Avenue was still animated on some deep interior level by the past idea of such portents. Things both tangible and impalpable lived alongside one another with equal importance and the bobcat was an omen waiting to be fulfilled. Some part of our souls thirsted to know but could not.

So, we were left with no meaning for it, just an uneasy impression that something mighty unpleasant might be lingering nearby.

Even as that impression slipped away as time passed, we brought our handguns out, placing them in a ready state near the doors leading to our back alleys,

We were both old enough to know the true meaning of the word “past” isn’t “passed.”

I saw the local Animal Control agents in their SUVs cruising the hood several days later. Charles likely called them.

With a tip of the hat for Tom Waits’ inspiration, here’s a Park Avenue Rufus lament:

When Rufus walked through our gardens
We started watching our backs
We ain’t gonna beg anyone’s pardons
Nor walk straight and narrow tracks

Some might advise to walk with Jesus
Like He’s gonna save our souls
You gotta keep them furry devils
Way down deep in their holes

We got the fire and the fury
At our commands
Well, we need not worry
Cause we got Smith & Wesson in our hands

We’ll all be safe from Rufus
When our thunder rolls
We’ll keep them devils
Way down deep in their holes

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