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Read books online » Fiction » Disaster Among the Heavens by Don E Peavy Sr (macos ebook reader .TXT) 📖

Book online «Disaster Among the Heavens by Don E Peavy Sr (macos ebook reader .TXT) 📖». Author Don E Peavy Sr



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over his nose and mouth and tried to recapture his breath.
Fredda, still naked, caught up with him and led him back to the bed where she eased him into it, sitting beside him. She stroked the back of his neck, got up and took a wash cloth out of a nearby drawer and wet it then placed a few ice cubes in it that she got from the small refrigerator and returned and sat beside Diggs and placed the wash cloth against his forehead with one hand while stroking his neck with her other hand. Soon the colour returned to his face. He regained his regular rhythm of breathing.
“Are you okay?” she asked with the tenderness of a mother.
“Yes, I think I’ll be fine,” answered the Doctor. He crumbled the paper up again and tossed it towards the trash can. He missed.
“C’mon, it’s late. You’re worn out. Let’s get some sleep. We’ll figure out what to do in the morning,” counselled Fredda in the mode of Scarlet O’Hara, who represents the ethics of tomorrow will bring the answer needed today.
Diggs jumped up from the bed. He startled Fredda who was reaching for the covers. “In the morning? Didn’t you hear what that crazy Hammer Head said?”
Bewildered, confused, and frightened, Diggs looked straight into Fredda’s eyes who feared he was getting hysterical again. She tried to comfort him. “Don’t worry about that guy. I knew him in Chicago. He’s blowing smoke. He’ll be calmed down in the morning.”
Diggs was not convinced. He grabbed his head with his hands and spoke with a whisper.
“Yea right. Famous last words. If I don’t put the assistant on that radio in the morning, that idiot will come down here. What the hell am I supposed to do?”
Fredda looked into her weary friend’s eyes and pleaded, “He’s only bluffing. He won’t leave his post. He fears the Assistant. Thank God he doesn’t know the poor fellow’s dead.”
Still not persuaded, sweat oozed from Diggs’ forehead. He looked at Fredda and in a prosecutorial tone of voice said, “Hammer Head doesn’t have enough sense to bluff! He’s a fitting protégé of the assistant – a raving lunatic. He’s like all those who believe that violence is the answer to our problems. It’s easy to be violent. It’s easy to burn baby burn. Violence is the retreat of the unenlightened. It’s easy to be a drunk or a drug addict or a criminal.”
Diggs sat up in the bed. He felt his strength returning.
“What’s hard is doing what we middle-classed Blacks have tried to do – to build communities out of the ashes of slavery and racism! You, Hammer Head and the assistant laugh at us and degrade us. But what have you offered in return? Promises and false hopes. You burn and destroy in the name of black power. I’m sick of black this and black that!”
Again, Diggs was getting worked up. Fredda tried to say something to him but he turned away from her, got out of the bed, and stood looking toward the ceiling. He raised his fist as if shaking it at God and said:
“Black is beautiful. It is the cause of the Motherland--
the pride of her people.
Black is Don Lee Imanu Amiri Baraka and Eldridge Cleaver
(Before the water).
I saw my sister’s husband refuse to work for the white man
cause he’s black and proud--so he sat home and
lived off welfare checks mailed by a white social worker,
delivered by a white mailman, cashed
by a white store clerk, spent at a white store.
I saw my brothers drop out of the white man’s school and
enter the white man’s jail--heard them curse the white man
all night long while drunk on white man’s liquor;
watched them reject the white man’s medicine then
OD on the white man’s drugs.
I’ve read black
danced black
dressed black
ate black
lived black
been black
is black
And I’m sick of it!
I want to reach forward--to soar to new heights--
to touch the hand of the colorless man--
When he was finished, Diggs stood erect and raised his other fist toward the ceiling like a defiant Hamlet. He closed his eyes and stood there. Fredda was both impressed and confused. She was impressed by the spontaneity of Diggs’ poetry but confused by the message contained in it. In recent months she was forced to push her mind beyond its capacity as she was dragged into events which she could neither comprehend nor understand.
She agreed with Diggs that the assistant had been misguided in starting a revolution without a specific goal in mind. Surely he could not have thought he could overthrow the government of the United States.
Fredda had seen violence all her life – from the union strikes to race riots and she knew that reason had a way of becoming boxed in until violence came along and freed it. Although she loved to be loved and to love and knew the power of love; she had come to realize very early in her life that love is at its best when hate lurks in the shadows. The assistant did not need to tell her that America embraced Dr. King only because Americans feared Malcolm and other Blacks who spoke of violence and some who actually perpetrated it.
During the time she watched life escape out of the Assistant, she had reached down deep inside herself to find a way to give meaning to the hate and violence of the last few months. Out of that effort had come the Manifesto on A Great Society. Diggs had been a great help in polishing the language and sharpening her ideas – many of which had been voiced by the assistant in his more relaxed moments when the flames of hate were not consuming him. She could never understand why the assistant would not use his contacts in government to try to make those things a reality.
Fredda failed to understand why the assistant had chosen violence instead of politics. Why he did not run for office or use his position at the foundation which hired him after he left the CIA to push some of the wonderful ideas he had. The mystic fog she saw in the assistant she now saw in Diggs. She watched him open his eyes and turn towards her; she sought a way to do for him what she had not been able to do for the assistant or the director – to save him – to give him an honourable way out of the dilemma in which he found himself.
“Don’t worry, I’ll take care of Hammer,” Fredda said to Diggs who had reclaimed his seat next to her. “After all, he’s my home boy.” She hoped these words would comfort Diggs so she could get back to sleep. Her hopes were dashed in a hurry.
Like a wounded animal, Diggs responded with fiery darts that hit Fredda at the bull’s eye of her heart. “And what will you do? Screw him to death?”
The darts hit their mark. Fredda gave Diggs the look of Medusa. In silent hurt, she fell into the bed and pulled the covers over her. Tears began to flow down her cheeks. Silence was replaced by deep groans of pain as the comforter longed to be comforted.
Diggs realized his error. He pulled at the covers. For a few seconds he and Fredda engaged in a tug of war. This time he was victorious; unaware that Fredda had loosened her grip.
“Look, I’m sorry. I am so sorry,” he said as he crawled into the bed and slid beneath the covers. He took Fredda into his arms.
With some difficulty, he turned her to face him. Her sleep breath invaded his nose, stimulating him in a freaky sort of way. The Doctor licked the tears from her face and replaced them with midnight saliva. He continued to stroke her face with his tongue while his hands massaged her breasts -- slowly and methodical.
The Doctor moved his hands farther down, replacing them with his tongue which sucked at her breasts like a famished baby. Fredda jumped at the touch of the invading hands. She gave out a pleasurable shriek. Diggs licked around each nipple then glided them one after another into his mouth where he sucked on them gently as if they were a Tootsie Roll Pop. He tried to get the entire breast into his mouth but they were too big, or his mouth was too small. As he continued with the breasts, his hands worked on her thighs – first outside then inside them.
Fredda took hold of his penis and tried to stroke it but she was too deep in ecstasy and let it go. Diggs did not complain. Rather, he took one nipple into his mouth while he stroked the other one with his left hand. His right hand massaged Fredda’s vagina until it was moist. He used the moisture as a lubricant that allowed him to insert his index finger into her vagina. Once inside, he moved his finger around until he found the clitoris. Fredda groaned to let him know he was there. He held this position for some time. Naura Hayden would have been proud of his accomplishments. Meanwhile, Fredda tried again to return the joy she was experiencing. She took hold of his penis and stroked it, then massaged his thighs and then his butt.
Diggs acknowledged his pleasure by speaking in tongues. In return, he increased the rhythm of his own actions. Fredda pulled him on top of her and drove his hardness inside of her as Diggs moved his hands to her butt and held it nearly off the bed as he began to drill for oil.
“Oh God, yes, yes, yes. O-O-O-O! It’s yours. Work it like you wanna!” Fredda called out.
Her body shook with the force of Mount Saint Helens as she erupted inside. She lost control of her hands and the index finger of one of them, which was now inside Diggs’ butt, thrust forward and its fingernail dug into his prostate. Diggs gave out a loud scream of pleasure mixed with pain as he too erupted and then collapsed on top of Fredda.
It was over. Man and woman now lay enfolded in each other’s arms. They were one. They were satisfied. They were relieved. They were exhausted.
However, they were not safe. Nor were they any closer to solving the problem that had made them one. For these bodies, locked lovers, that no longer mattered. They now slipped into darkness. Whatever problems they had would have to await the morning. Sleep well lovers in your subterranean lair. Let your minds be filled with visions of another time and place where such joys go unmolested by the night. For this night, even as you lay enfolded each to each, two Trojan birds have landed and are now taxiing to the terminal where they will yield up the prizes inside of them. Soon a third will join them. Sleep well lovers of the subterranean lair, for soon the daystar will arise and where passion now is disaster will be there!
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