down. He rested it against his left
shoulder. The old man did this, though not before allowing
photographers their time needed to record , for tomorrow's headlines say, this
memorable head-to-head.
10
Back onto this hard-matter existence,
curiously referred to as a type of present, Arjuna had bowled a
googly. In this one reality, hard and physical, the old man had hit
a Jerry Ford crowd-ducker into the first shoots of flowers. He had
sclaffed the ground hard at impact and the ball left the tee
lead-like. It looked shot from a country-made pistol. It had taken
off in what is commonly termed as plain ugly.
The ball had gone stem-skimming. It had
ignored the lake or problem area referred to astutely by game
regulators as a water hazard. The ball had appeared to search
hastily for a reasonable spot to exit. This was in contrast to its
earlier incarnation back on the tee as one cool customer. It had scurried off into
the sidelined marginalia as a vacationist. It went into an area not
far off the mound. The
ball had gone into a place where it looked like hay was
kept.
The old man’s swing did finish high. His
arms twisted up in his
trademark corkscrew. He had on an expression that was a true
collector’s item. Arjuna looked to where his ball had gone with a
mix ture of relief and some stark disbelief. He understood it had gone into
a nearby maze of tall flowers. His drive had fallen short of his high hopes
for it. S uddenly he called after the shot
with renewed gusto.
"May you reincarnate as a two-toed, pod-shod
Gujarati camel!" he said.
Nicolas, with a clenched fist he held
quaking around his mouth, resisted laughing outright. Then a smile
did break through. His grin showed where before it had been
strictly forbidden.
The old man smiled too. He understood well
the precarious nature of participating on this plane of existence.
Arjuna was filled then with the feeling of outright humility.
The
youth broke loose. Nicolas burst out laughing without regard on how it might be
perceived.
A rjuna turned to him. The old man said in
mock-apology for his comment over a well - known ornery Indian camel, "Forgive me,
friend."
Arjuna took this chance to play-act more. He
did this for the youth's enjoyment, as well as for his ever-present vast army. He returned the clubhead to the
ground. He did this in a resigning gesture. Arjuna shook his head in performed
disbelief. He went on to his act's next logical conclusion. He tapped down the
ground that had strangely popped up . Arjuna knocked back the dreaming tufts of grass. The old man followed this with his brand of
humor over a ball that had clearly gone missing.
"Is it gone?" he cracked , and the
youth laughed until a trail of tears came to make him stop.
"Yeah," Nicolas managed, adding the
needless.
Arjuna stepped forward once . His pant leg was given one final hike
as if this was the thing missing from his earlier preparations.
This was followed fast by a deep-knee bend. The old man swiped
across the grass with his free hand. He picked up the remains of
the tee. He flicked the mortally wounded thing off to the side with
performed disdain. He looked to the youth for confirmation that all was well and
good up here and smiled.
Nicolas went along gladly with the old man.
He laughed while appearing to cry also. His infectious smile, along with the
youth’s good humor , turned each to enjoying life with laughter. Both shrugged. But t hen , gravely , what came to Nicolas next was the
realization that it was now his turn to play. He
understood the moment to start here, in India's northern reaches,
had now arrived.
Inside the fright sense came to him then as butterflies in the thousands. This tryst
with the terror feeling did not come alone. What came to greet him
also, as to thrust him hard under a glaring spotlight was the urgent,
though not too unexpected need to find a place up here, in these wide-open spaces, to
shoulder. The old man did this, though not before allowing
photographers their time needed to record , for tomorrow's headlines say, this
memorable head-to-head.
10
Back onto this hard-matter existence,
curiously referred to as a type of present, Arjuna had bowled a
googly. In this one reality, hard and physical, the old man had hit
a Jerry Ford crowd-ducker into the first shoots of flowers. He had
sclaffed the ground hard at impact and the ball left the tee
lead-like. It looked shot from a country-made pistol. It had taken
off in what is commonly termed as plain ugly.
The ball had gone stem-skimming. It had
ignored the lake or problem area referred to astutely by game
regulators as a water hazard. The ball had appeared to search
hastily for a reasonable spot to exit. This was in contrast to its
earlier incarnation back on the tee as one cool customer. It had scurried off into
the sidelined marginalia as a vacationist. It went into an area not
far off the mound. The
ball had gone into a place where it looked like hay was
kept.
The old man’s swing did finish high. His
arms twisted up in his
trademark corkscrew. He had on an expression that was a true
collector’s item. Arjuna looked to where his ball had gone with a
mix ture of relief and some stark disbelief. He understood it had gone into
a nearby maze of tall flowers. His drive had fallen short of his high hopes
for it. S uddenly he called after the shot
with renewed gusto.
"May you reincarnate as a two-toed, pod-shod
Gujarati camel!" he said.
Nicolas, with a clenched fist he held
quaking around his mouth, resisted laughing outright. Then a smile
did break through. His grin showed where before it had been
strictly forbidden.
The old man smiled too. He understood well
the precarious nature of participating on this plane of existence.
Arjuna was filled then with the feeling of outright humility.
The
youth broke loose. Nicolas burst out laughing without regard on how it might be
perceived.
A rjuna turned to him. The old man said in
mock-apology for his comment over a well - known ornery Indian camel, "Forgive me,
friend."
Arjuna took this chance to play-act more. He
did this for the youth's enjoyment, as well as for his ever-present vast army. He returned the clubhead to the
ground. He did this in a resigning gesture. Arjuna shook his head in performed
disbelief. He went on to his act's next logical conclusion. He tapped down the
ground that had strangely popped up . Arjuna knocked back the dreaming tufts of grass. The old man followed this with his brand of
humor over a ball that had clearly gone missing.
"Is it gone?" he cracked , and the
youth laughed until a trail of tears came to make him stop.
"Yeah," Nicolas managed, adding the
needless.
Arjuna stepped forward once . His pant leg was given one final hike
as if this was the thing missing from his earlier preparations.
This was followed fast by a deep-knee bend. The old man swiped
across the grass with his free hand. He picked up the remains of
the tee. He flicked the mortally wounded thing off to the side with
performed disdain. He looked to the youth for confirmation that all was well and
good up here and smiled.
Nicolas went along gladly with the old man.
He laughed while appearing to cry also. His infectious smile, along with the
youth’s good humor , turned each to enjoying life with laughter. Both shrugged. But t hen , gravely , what came to Nicolas next was the
realization that it was now his turn to play. He
understood the moment to start here, in India's northern reaches,
had now arrived.
Inside the fright sense came to him then as butterflies in the thousands. This tryst
with the terror feeling did not come alone. What came to greet him
also, as to thrust him hard under a glaring spotlight was the urgent,
though not too unexpected need to find a place up here, in these wide-open spaces, to
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