...at least now he was not speaking of the dead.

William-Adolphe Bouguereau They all settled down again and Francis kept guard. He watched scavengers pour over the dead men. They were stripping the corpses. He thought for a moment about it all. The Irishmen were off duty one night and it was going back to the old ways. He shrugged and looked at Rosario, lying next to him. He sniffed the air.

“That dog’s fartin’ Mama. You’ve not been givin’ him beans, I hope.”

Rosario yawned and shook her head no.

“I like dogs. Even when they fart. Most of the time it don’ smell near as bad as a man’s farts anyway. My Ma, she always was fond of cats. We had half dozen cats over the years. You like cats?” He didn’t wait for Rosario’s answer. “I like cats all right. They’re all right. Can’t be trained. We once had a cat, female, bitch, I guess. No, that ain’t right, a female dog’s a bitch, don’t know what you call a female cat. Anyways, she was good at catchin’ things. Used to bring in snakes she’d captured. Little bitch used to shit in my shoes.”

Rosario chuckled. “Francis, you tell funny stories.”  She loved him so. She now knew not to stop him from prattling on, at least now he was not speaking of the dead.

“Yep, my ma, she said, when a cat shits in yer shoes, means they especially like you. Said it’s good luck.” He grabbed his coffee and watched the last corpse lose his pants, his naked backside glowing in the moonlight. “I don’t know about that, but I tell you what, Mamacita. I’d rather that cat hate me.”

She felt him trembling next to her. She put her arm around his shoulders, pulling him tightly to her, trying to make the shaking stop.

“Rosario?”

“Yes, Francis?”

“I sure am glad we met. I sure am glad I got to know you.” He reached over and kissed her gently on the cheek.

“Me, too, Francis.” She choked back her tears. She did not want to cry in front of him now. “Me, too.” Allingham