So We’ll Go No More A-Roving Marcia Ratliff
Author’s note: The people, places, and events in this story are based on real people, places, and events. This story is a work of fiction in which I have attempted to be historically accurate. October 1916 Where does one begin, without a beginning? I suppose it was the night she showed me the sculpture. In the dark it was glowing and I had nothing to say about it. Nothing to say about her, really. Not anymore. The passions of the past months lay behind me, behind her. June 1916 In the morning they came to get the bloody thing, their suits white and crisp in the sun. Hugo did not want to see them, but they came to his front door, eagerly. The tall one spoke. “So you say you have no idea how it got here?” “No,” Hugo replied. No. “The war,” said the tall man. “The damn war. Makes a lot of men go crazy, I guess. Well, we’ll just cite an UNKNOWN cause of death on the certificate. Damn lot of those these days.” “Damn right.” Hugo slammed the door and let the men leave, carrying the body of his friend Niall wrapped in a white sheet. No idea how it got there? Oh, Hugo knew. He could still see Niall’s wan face, when they’d last been together. “Hugo,” Niall paused, his paintbrush hovering over the tip of the leaf. “Mmm.” “I don’t want to do this anymore.” Hugo failed to hear the tremor in Niall’s voice. “What, paint?” “No. Dada.” Dada was the name Hugo had given his movement of artistic rebellion, of absurdity in all things, the name Hugo had found by flipping to a random page in the dictionary. Hugo turned to look at Niall. He was painting on a banana leaf, which would wilt in a matter of days and leave his painting worthless. Aha, life is short, goodbye. Dada. It was a brilliant idea,
17
