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University of Northern Iowa Death Is Always with Us Author(s): Lawrence Swaim Source: The North American Review, Vol. 254, No. 3 (Fall, 1969), p. 64 Published by: University of Northern Iowa Stable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25117005 . Accessed: 12/06/2014 19:50 Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at . http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp . JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range of content in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new forms of scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected]. . University of Northern Iowa is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The North American Review. http://www.jstor.org This content downloaded from 62.122.79.52 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 19:50:54 PM All use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

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University of Northern Iowa

Death Is Always with UsAuthor(s): Lawrence SwaimSource: The North American Review, Vol. 254, No. 3 (Fall, 1969), p. 64Published by: University of Northern IowaStable URL: http://www.jstor.org/stable/25117005 .

Accessed: 12/06/2014 19:50

Your use of the JSTOR archive indicates your acceptance of the Terms & Conditions of Use, available at .http://www.jstor.org/page/info/about/policies/terms.jsp

.JSTOR is a not-for-profit service that helps scholars, researchers, and students discover, use, and build upon a wide range ofcontent in a trusted digital archive. We use information technology and tools to increase productivity and facilitate new formsof scholarship. For more information about JSTOR, please contact [email protected].

.

University of Northern Iowa is collaborating with JSTOR to digitize, preserve and extend access to The NorthAmerican Review.

http://www.jstor.org

This content downloaded from 62.122.79.52 on Thu, 12 Jun 2014 19:50:54 PMAll use subject to JSTOR Terms and Conditions

Page 2: Death Is Always with Us

feel yourself thrust in a circular direction, but this time

lost to the events here and just the clip clop, clip clop of

a train traveling at night with bright lights and musty seats that were no longer velvet smooth but rough and

stubbled. Clip clop going backwards, but feeling foolish because no one else was alarmed or

thought we were going

backwards, why this vertigo? from the dark window that looked back, was some guy looking back with a

cigarette hanging out of his mouth going backwards.

And when the train stopped, I climbed out into the

bright daylight, a little kid, with a gun in my father's barn playing cowboys and jumping on Ronnie and hit

ting him with my gun, hitting him and feeling his head

jerk with my blows, feeling the elation of pounding his rubber nose with my fist, hitting, and pounding, hearing him scream, "No!" hearing him crying and pushing weakly, and me hitting him with my gun on the head, hating my best friend wanting to kill, and he screaming, "NO, No, no," feeling his warm blood?she screaming and smelling his rushing breath?smelling pine needles and?cold fall air?and then feeling the heavy stick go thud against our skull that was way outside away from

me like somebody hitting a barrel that I was hiding in,

feeling the body drift through the air, falling from the

hayloft, hearing the wind and the groan from the throat when the body smashes onto the cement floor, and then

stillness and quiet and cold.

JL came back to my senses shivering and throbbing and

aching all over. My face was pushed against the fence,

and it was brighter outside. I lifted my head away and looked into the sky, still not knowing why

or where or

what happened. The sky was a dark grey, and the fluores cent light was hardly lighting anything. My neck was stiff, and one eye closed, but still nothing was clear in my

memory. I could hear birds singing somewhere, but every

thing else was quiet and cold, and then it came to me,

and I stiffly rolled over, my heart pounding with fear, my stomach half in my mouth, feeling panic, seeing the blood all over her exposed legs, and I reached for her, and she was warm and breathing and stirred, and I felt

my own pain again. I forced myself to my knees, and looked at her face.

She was wide awake, and looked at me without a single

sign of emotion. Just looked without blinking. Her head was bruised but not badly, just her forehead and cheek bone.

"Are you all right," I groaned stupidly. She just lay there looking into my eyes, hers just as

clear and brown and large as ever, not angry, not sad,

but just colder and clearer.

"We'd better get you to the hospital." She just lay there, staring. I put my hands on her

shoulders, and she took one of her hands, and grabbed me firmly by the wrist. I didn't know what she was doing so I took my weight off that hand as I kneeled there, and

she took that hand, that wrist, and flung it away, still

staring coldly into my eyes.

"We'd better go," I said quietly, but she lay there

and stared.

It must have been half an hour before she moved or said anything.

"God!" she cried with a deep painful whine, "I could have fought harder. I could have screamed. I could have clawed his eyes out. It was

only him?the big one? and

after that they left. I let him do it, that's all?it hurt less that way. And he was gentle. Oh God! I moved." There

were no tears?her eyes were clearer now than before.

Her voice shook and squeaked, and beneath was a moan, "I moved, God! Goddamned." And she looked away through the fence at the cat which had come over and

was rubbing its side back and forth against the heavy wire.

LAWRENCE SWAIM

DEATH IS ALWAYS WITH US

There were the different times in Kansas

There was the time

of the storm wind

when it

sucked at the earth

in the dusty railroad

bottoms

there was the time of winter, the

grave of winter when

children left the steaming kitchen to

go-to-the-barn and were found dead in

a glazing bank of

snow at noon

There was the tired and pleasant time of early summer a

noisy time and a

time

of sudden

quietness when the wheat turned its heads

against the wind (like a glass ballet)

a long sheet of silence

against a

slope of blue and

then you heard someone

calling your name

64 The North American Review

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