Bank Teller v. Bassist

Why the Bassist would bring his upright bass to a duel is a mystery, even the Bassist. It wasn't a decision, he contends, but a reflex. Whenever I leave my apartment I bring, he says, my bass.

The Bank Teller asks how often he leaves his apartment.

Often, he says.

The Bank Teller frowns. She tells him that he might as well play.

He grips the bass and plays. Then he begins whistling to the rhythm. By reflex, the Bank Teller begins dancing. She claps and dances and the Bassist plucks and whistles.

When the first song is over she asks him to play another. He plays a slower song by the same artist. They play and dance, respectively.

They stop half-way through the fifth song at the sound of a diesel engine coughing to life. They look to the northern fence. In the distance, in the northern field past the fence, they see commotion. The Bassist sets his bass against the oak. They walk to the northern fence.

Standing at the northern fence they smell the dead and look out to the field and see in the distance two men - one fat, one thin - a small filthy boy and a haggard woman standing around a heaving motor. The motor is situated next to the old wind-powered well. Now a motor-powered well. The Aviator's plane has disappeared. A hideous shack of red painted wood and recycled newspaper stands by the well. The men and boy and women dance as if drunk. They lurch and sway to the rhythmic pounding of the motor.

The Bassist leans forward. He squints. The Bank Teller touches his elbow, concerned.

From a bent and rusted pipe, the hollow gurgle of water - then a swift gush. Another. A fetid mud pours, frothing like foul champaign as it hits the earth. The woman sweeps her arms low, then high. She ululates amid piercing cries. The men stagger and sway. The boy shuffles in the semi-circle about the ground where the water pools.

This is why I stay in the city, the Bank Teller says.

The Bassist nods.

They shake their heads, return to the oak.

There, they choose their guns and take the field, standing ten paces apart.

They raise their guns. Their guns go off.