Established Marvel : a Monk by Abbreviation

224. THERE ARE THINGS TO SAVE/THINGS TO DESTROY:

It's not a comfortable zone to be in let no man say it is - this of the time due to observation and all its potential - this is such abstract juice that worrying about it itself is painful and more trouble than it is worth SO here I am ! sitting beneath a tree atop the promontory and next to me on some broken down old table are three Russians stammering away in their language - and it feels good just to listen and [almost] know not where I am and they go on : the oldest obviously the mother and her daughter the younger girl married to the lout they've dragged along drinking beer from an unsettled can and he appears as bored as Zeus on a day off between dozes but the two women intensely chatter and seek his comment - which amounts to an occasional shrug or nod or some stammered gibberish in OH! that mother tongue - and if the Russian army ever needed a man I can sense that THIS would be the one but nonetheless the younger Russian girl has hair the yellow of gold and teeth I've never seen before but she carries her scrambled image well while the mother IN SPITE OF EVERYTHING defines for us all the image of the Russian Mother we've somehow come to know - close cropped and close to the ground she seems as sturdy as a shed and more stumpy than a tree but she talks a mild minute wildly with her hands as they both drink orange soda from sweaty bottles and sit there as a threesome fine and dandy and along for that matter and on the other side of me the Jewish Day Camp Survivors Club is sitting as a group on the dried and fraying grass - and all of them (perhaps twelve boys and three or four girls all about eleven years old) with their guides or parents or counselors are sitting in the shade and each child wears a wild pullover shirt striped black and tan in one outrageously rigid vertical pattern and the sidelocks the boys wear seem themselves defined by the same verticality yet curled with a shine and the girls have the same pattern of clothes as their shirts and plain khaki skirts and all of them together - as recognizable as a mob - couldn't be lost as a group or a single if they tried and I figure that's how the camp keeps its order on these camp-outing trips and the men in the group are each - in white shirt and cap and old graying hair - overweight and too slow as they walk with their wives or whomever in plain back/white garb as dour as the kids are outrageous and (here I notice) the Russians are watching the kids and that's what they’re talking about while the kids are oblivious of them and everyone else while a hundred feet away are the Palisades' cliffs and any human is stopped only by an old rock wall from throwing anyone else off and my mind gets glittery with slaughter at the thought as I realize these archetypes could rise up in some ancient blood-feud again and decimate each other deadly wild and strange war-whooping with murder as they throw each other forcefully off the nearby cliffs but I lean back instead and rest my head - to think I'd better save these horrid thoughts for some other day.