s. lying in the mud face down in the field in the pouring rain thinking in a split second. "if you hear the shot, you're not dead."
that night started pleasantly enough. pretty nancy was on his lap. manouevers had begun. the timeless zone had been achieved easily this time. nancy was as ripe as any georgia peach had any right to be. and the night reached a creschendo around two a.m.. under an umbrella in the middle of the highway north out of town, these well met young lovers embraced in the middle of the road.
s. became aware of the cop car lights. being twenty three and a citizen of the united states, he wasn't afraid. he merely bent over casually at the driving side of the squad car. an officer of the law lowered his window.
"what's the trouble officer?"
"hey, boy. what the hell do you think you're doin'?
"why, i was just kissing my girlfriend." there hadn't been a car on the road since they had walked out of town.
"you can't stand in the middle of the road kissing your girl in the middle of a rainstorm"
"i am sorry, officer", and with a slight barely perceptible insurrection, added. "i didn't know it was against the law." sarcasm. cops hate sarcasm; they feel it as demeaning their authority.
"oh yeah? well you're under arrest."
s. had heard that about seven times in the past, and he had noticed one thing. every time a cop says, "you're under arrest.", they always do it. it's a kind of a formality. they don't say it unless they mean it. sort of like 'don't point a gun at someone unless you're prepared to kill them'. it's in their manual.
s. put the umbrella in nancy's hand and dropped it in the drivers face. he took off down the embankment and raced across the field for the woods. it was at least the length of a football field. he ran so fast he fell in the middle of the field, heard the gunshot. he took off again and in about five seconds crashed across a rocky river and barged through the brush and saplings, miraculously unhurt.
he ran as fast as a deer in the dark. an hour later looking back he could still see the beams of their flashlights as the cops made a futile attempt to find him. he walked and ran seven miles through the night, then as dawn was breaking and the sky was clearing he crossed the road and climbed the hill to kalif's house. it wasn't really a house because the house above had burned down. now the first floor was the roof. but this was an old house with a large stone basement. it had a giant stone fireplace and was really very cosy. no road led to this antique property; only a dirt path made by wagons.
the next afternoon kalif came back from town having scouted the situation. the cops were saying, let him come in and give himself up if he hasn't commited any crime. there were roadblocks. the local police figured that s. must have done something to run like that and wanted him in custody for an investigation. he hadn't done anything. he was just tired of being arrested for nothing.
kalif also came back with news that pom binnings (bob anderson's niece) wanted to help. a few nights before, s. had run into her, serendipitously, at the woodstock cafe'. they recognized each other. he met her namby pamby brand new husband and they had a civilized social visit. kalif had met her that night also and it being such a small town saw her and explained that s. was suddenly a fugitive.
nancy came up to the farmhouse and expressed her dismay… expedience. "i knew they would just drive you back to town." but that was the end of that lovely plump taurian.
s. got past the roadblock on the floor of pam's car, much to the terror of her husband, who couldn't understand why she was helping him. love. it's always love.