" 'Munimula' is Aluminum Spelled Backwards"

I. A Novel Approach to Vacation
Clevenger sat at his desk in the Big City, running a pencil back and forth over a copy of the latest corporate annual report. His mind was totally empty at 4:00 on a Friday afternoon and he was pretty much just waiting for time to run out. Although he had pinned up photos and notes, brought in a desk lamp, put a picture of Mary Jane next to the phone, the desk and its enclosing cubicle and its enclosing office of cubicles and desks was gray. The work of the company was gray and anonymous: financial transaction processing – electrons passing in the night, city to city, continent to continent. It was a big shell game, a big 3 card monte game of some inscrutable sort. Clevenger was a cog in the wheels, handling purchasing for the many branch offices around the country. He saved the company a lot of money and was well paid for his boring, anonymous efforts. It was a lot like many other jobs. Time ticked away, slowly now.
V. The White Ship Sails
The fifth long day of manual labor was over and Clevenger and Elrod strode slowly toward the bunk-house as the horizon seemed to attenuate and stretch before them beneath the red ball of the sun slowly sinking and the dark blue of the desert sky. “Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch!” spake the sere ground beneath the unison tread of their work boots. A slight breeze whistled around them. The approach to the grub table seemed a tube-like convergence of the lines of their vision. “Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch!” Their thoughts seemed joined to the boots’ remarks, which slowed down, then sped up irrespective of the actual tread motion. At once the march seemed uphill, then slanted, then downhill, shifting as they went. It was all matter-of-fact, however. The going was necessary, the reaction thereto, un-necessary. “Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch!” Eventually they attained their goal and sat upon the benches at the worn table. The conquistador-looking dude brought their food trays over: dried burritos, bean in bowls, smart-water, dried fruit. “Crunch, crunch, crunch, crunch! Smack, smack, smack, smack! Gulp, gulp, gulp, gulp!” Mechanically they ate the food and drank. They pulled cigarettes from the provided packet, lit them and silently smoked. Everything was good. The animal joy of food eating and the sheer pleasure of tobacco smoke taste nullified all possible dissatisfaction. The feeling of physical exertion and then relaxation oozed a warmth of well-being over them like sorghum over thick waffles.

Some music was piped in to the beat-up speaker pole atop its wooden pole. The music sounded like smearing, incandescent trumpets, racing with snare-drums down an arroyo from the sun. Clevenger tapped his fingers and took another puff on his straight. The music fit in perfectly with the camp. He took the pack of cards out of his pocket and started playing solitaire. Elrod got paper and pen from the bunkhouse and began another sketch of the parched wasteland lying directly before him. He started with the footprints, which diminished out away from the table and sketched in around them, using them as a point of reference. The wind was seen kicking up dust around the footprints, always a slight wind. He crooned along with impressionistic horn music.

Clevenger lay back on his cot and stared at the blank ceiling above him. He became confused, clouded over and it seemed a white mist was settling about his consciousness, blurring all things to him. Questions of identity and place rose and were drifted over. He receded and disappeared from the picture in his own mind. The weariness he felt was also gone.

Elrod tossed a bit, then fell asleep, dreaming he was sailing on a boat with great white sails, beneath great, fluffy white clouds. He looked around him. He wore a white T-Shirt, white pants, white shoes. The sea was milky white. The sailboat’s creaking deck and riggings were white. White gulls flapped past. He walked toward the white dinghy, but it became obscure. The shores receded into the mist. The fog began rapidly rolling in upon him. He sailed the white ship off into the clouds and soon all was cloud, as with Clevenger. Both of them had sailed away.