King of Swords

The Library—NIGHT

I have a scruffy beard now. And I shuffle through the Library in my stocking feet, considering paperbacks by Schopenhauer, Nietzsche, and Hesse. The other patrons stare at me as if remembering me from the past. Maybe they do at that. However, I am now just a shiftless, thoughtful wanderer in a black-knit cap and pea coat.

And no shoes.

As I scan the shelves with a tattered fingerless glove, someone glides down the aisle brushing me as they go. I do not look up. Two more pass quickly also jostling me.

It is Spike, of course. My old nemesis. Spike with Guillo-Tina and Gunny Bill, no doubt. I know it without looking up. It wouldn’t matter if I did look around. They are no doubt back in the shadows somewhere. There are no lack of recesses and nooks in the dark wing of the library for him to hide.

“Watch it, Spike!” I call out, “I will hurt you, you Devil!”

“Oh yeah?” I hear back from no particular place, “I’m calling your bluff!”

I look up at last to find him stepping out of a shadow before me. I strip off my coat, revealing a tee-shirt and a few new muscles. He does not know of my Apotheosis.

I’ve been through the wars on my journey. I take up a fighting stance. On the road one has to learn to become something of a scrapper.

Spike continues his taunt, but he backs away as he does,calling “Remember, this body has a penchant for violence!”

“Wait!” I giggle as he backs nervously more away.

“What?”

“No, sorry I can’t its too easy.”

“Come on, what?” Spike is somewhere between fear and indignation. I haven’t usually questioned him.

“Okay. I will. But could you do it again? I mean say that line.”

“Huh?”

“You know, the penchant for violence bit.”

I take up my boxer’s stance again. Spike sighs, “Remember, this body has a penchant for violence!”

“Giving or receiving?” I laugh.

Spike howls as if hurt. “Oh, come on, you don’t really want to fight me. Do ya?”

“Coward!” I swing a big haymaker, cracking Spike in the head and hurling him into a stack of encyclopedias that rain down on him as he stumbles to regain his balance.

I blink. My mania subsides. Back to my senses a bit, I try to sort this out saying to myself, but this is just as much explanation for the growing crowd of on-lookers gathering from other parts of the library.

“I know that I am not cruel enough to finish him, but he still needs at least a taste of the hurt and humiliation that he treated me to, stealing and tormenting my Andrea so long ago.”

No one says different. I push through the crowd, who now start to yell and egg the fight on. From the corner of my eye as I leave, I see that Spike is now back up.

He runs up and takes a punch that bounces off my head. I turn and slam a fist into his face. He staggers, and I grab him by the back of the neck and slam him into the wall. Once. Twice. Then I let him drop to the ground. I glower down at his prone body, enjoying the horrified silence of both the horrified library patrons and his entourage, Bill and Tina, who have also emerged from the recesses to see what the damage is.