"Again and again I will suffer; again and again I will get back on my feet. I will not be defeated. I won't let my spirit be destroyed"

Banana Yoshimoto

A VERY BAD DAY

A pale sun entered the building as the Pastor talked 'bout beloved Rose Strate to a crowded church, crowded not because of people's love for the decedent but more because of people's affection for the decedent's son, their beloved deputy; crowded for simple curiosity, too.

Enos stood still in his black clothes (everything black… shoes, trousers, tie, jacket… except for a white shirt), his head down, the feeling of people's eyes piercing his body as thousands of little icy needles, his right hand, firmly squeezed into Daisy's hand, the only part of his body spared from that cold; a shy warmth radiated from his hand along his forearm, but that warmth was not enough to fight against the cold gripping his flesh and his heart.

"When we are troubled by life, we need to turn to others (friends, family, church) and to God".

The Pastor's words echoed inside the building, or, at least, they seemed echoing to Enos, who couldn't distinguish every single word but only confused sounds.

"We can't make it on our own; we need support…and support is available".

Daisy squeezed even more Enos' hand, and the warmth rose to his shoulder. He closed his eyes and he remembered Miss Kate's words when they parted: "Daisy loves you, Enos. You're not alone. Hang on her. Don't give up and everything will be OK. Relate to Daisy and Dukes… and to me, if you'll want to call me, some day".

"We try to bear our burdens alone, to carry that weight, which can lead to confusion and panic".

Confusion. Everything happened in the last two days, since his coming back from the Institute, was confused in his mind. He's stayed at Dukes' farm, and he barely remembered what happened: he slept (a lot), he ate (not so much) and he talked (just "yeah", "no", thanks"; he didn't remember anything else 'bout his conversations, anyway). He barely noticed Bo and Luke temporary absence when they went to the Institute to get his car back (the day he came back with uncle Jesse and Daisy he wasn't for sure in condition to drive for several hours on an icy road, and, in effect, he didn't even try to ask to drive his car back to Hazzard… in effect, he simply forgot 'bout his car, totally forgot). He was barely aware of the time spent at the funeral home, staring at his mother's casket.

The only thing he was totally aware of was Daisy's presence by his side, always: her scent, her touch, her hand squeezing his one, her neck where he liked to bury his face, her shoulder where he liked to rest his head, her tiny waist as he wrapped his arms around it.

He was aware of Bo's, Luke's and uncle Jesse's presence too, a quite and not intrusive, but sweet, presence, as they've decided, somehow, to let Daisy play a "major role" as his support. He wondered if they knew what happened between him and Daisy at the Institute, if they knew how much their relationship was different from the past, if they knew he and Daisy were now a couple, psychologically… and physically.

He didn't talk to Daisy 'bout what happened (he didn't talk 'bout anything, in effect), nor she did, but there was no need of words. A gentle touch from her was enough to remember him their new relationship, her gentle touch was his lifeboat (his dream) in that cold and agitated sea (his nightmare).

When Daisy moved, he opened his eyes and he realized the function was ending, and it was time to go to the cemetery, finally, to end that… thing. He only wanted to go back to the farm and to sleep… after the luncheon, another step to face before to sleep.

Words, words and words, the Pastor kept on talking.

The pale sun gone, a tiny and icy rain was now hitting him, adding to those little needles already piercing him, and now only his right hand was warm thanks Daisy, but that warmth wasn't radiating anymore along his forearm as he looked at his mother's casket descending in the grave.

When Daisy moved, again, he realized he was finally time to go back to the farm.

His mind lingered on a sort of fog, and his body was like a rag doll moved by invisible threads, and those threads, somehow, brought him to the farm, where he sank into the couch in the living room. Staring at the fireplace in front of him, his right hand still in Daisy's one, he answered politely to people offering their condolences, able to say only "yeah, thanks" and unable to hear anything.

Uncle Jesse, Bo and Luke were always around him, as they were guarding him: they let people come in, approach him and say what they had to say before to go away; they answered people instead of him, they let people talk and they prevented people to talk when they thought it was too much (Enos perfectly knew Dukes were trying to protect him from possible painful talks, but they didn't know that, in that moment, he could barely hear what people told him).

In his fog, at some point, he noticed, confusingly, a journalist of the "Hazzard's gazette" entering the farm, but uncle Jesse didn't let the journalist approach him; obviously "Hazzard's gazette" published something 'bout his mother's death, 'bout HOW she died: a pulpy new, a dark romance, something to write a lot of. As he tried to understand what's uncle Jesse was saying to that journalist, a sudden and brief attention to what's going 'round him, Bo gently patted on his back and Luke asked him if he wanted something to eat or to drink; he turned to Luke, averting his eyes from uncle Jesse and the journalist, "yeah, only a cup of tea, thanks", the only words he could say before to look at the fireplace, again abstracting from everything 'round him.

Finally, silence. Everyone gone, he could relax, he could go sleep.

He closed his eyes and he had a deep breath, when that image slapped him: that man burying his face against his mother chest. Who's that man? Did "Hazzard's gazette" write something 'bout him, or was he simply "Rose Strate's last lover"? Were Hazzard's people talking 'bout that man? Did someone know that man was his mother's lover since… then, since he was a child and maybe even before? Did someone think that man could be his father?

Despite the fireplace, despite there were no eyes on him, despite there was no more an icy rain hitting him, he started to shiver and thousand of icy needles pierced his flesh; a cold hand grabbed his throat and he felt as he was drowning. He fell on his knees in front of the fireplace, his left hand grasping the carpet and his right hand trying to untie his tie, frantically, as his breathe became quicker and quicker.

Then, everything became dark.

"So, now, uncle Jesse, how can we…?", Bo walked into the little kitchen, unable to stay sitting, "we managed to avoid he knew 'bout Andrew Salinger, today. But we can't avoid it forever; we should say it to him before someone else does, but … HOW? Did you see him? He was kinda… shocked, so how could we say to him something's goin' to shock him even more? Doc Appleby had to give him a sedative to calm him down!"

"We should wait… for a little while yet. Today was a very bad day for him, his mother's funeral, but things will go better and better. He needs some time to face...this thing", uncle Jesse caressed his white beard, thoughtfully.

"Yeah, but we'd say it to him before he goes back to his work. He won't stay at the farm forever, under our watch", Luke stood up, scratching his hair in frustration, "Enos is too much… sensitive… and frail; we've just had the proof of it, and it's what that woman, Miss Kate, told us when we went to the Institute for his car: take care of him. She seemed knowing him pretty well, especially his weakness", he rested his back against the cupboard, his arms folded.

"I trust Enos' ability to stand up, again. He's always stood up, after a bad fall", uncle Jesse sighed, "'till now".

"Besides, there's… that other thing", Bo finally, after his wandering into the kitchen, sat down, looking into his uncle's eyes, "people start to talk 'bout the possibility that… Andrew Salinger could be Enos' father. It seems he arrived to Hazzard the year before Enos was born, and people are wondering if his relationship with Rose Strate…", he hit the table with his hand, angry, "I can't stand this idea. Enos… the son of Andrew Salinger, the man who killed our parents?"

"Beauregard Duke, remember that Enos is Enos. We know him since he was a child, he grew up with you, Luke and Daisy. Even if…", uncle Jesse sighed, "even if he's Andrew Salinger's son, it doesn't change anything. He's an honest cop, he's our friend, he's Daisy's boyfriend now. He's someone of us, no matter what blood flows inside his veins".

"Uncle Jesse's right", Luke, still standing against the cupboard, nodded, "and we have to convince Enos 'bout it. Nothing's changed, for us, no matter who his father is. Knowing Enos, it won't be so simple, 'cause ol' Enos has the peculiar gift to blame himself for everything. Enos has NOTHING to do with our parents' death".

"Yeah, you're right. I'm sorry for my… reaction 'bout it", Bo looked down at his hands, "we'll have a hard work to do; especially Daisy".

The three men sighed, looking at the door of the guest's room, thoughtfully.

Under the blankets, Enos slowly opened his eyes. Was he at the Institute? Or at the farm?

He slowly remembered the funeral… and his sudden panic in front of the fireplace; it was like he was drowning, a painful way to die, then everything became confused. He barely recalled Doc Appleby coming to the farm; he didn't remember how he arrived to the bed.

He was still wearing his black trousers and his white shirt. Did he take off his tie, jacket and shoes all by himself? Or, more probably, did Doc Appleby and Dukes undress him? He didn't remember it.

Daisy.

He felt her body behind him, spooning him, like that day at the Institute.

He closed his eyes, recollecting in his minds everything 'bout that nigh: Daisy's skin so milky into the moonlight he thought he was a dream, Daisy under the blankets with him, both naked. He focused his mind on everything 'bout that night, but it didn't work to forget everything 'bout the present day.

He gently turned to her and he hugged her, murmuring her name, again and again, 'till that murmur changed into sobs. When she wrapped her arms around him, he buried his face against her chest keeping on crying, his hands frantically grasping her shirt, as he wanted to tear it up. After a long time spent crying (he couldn't say how much time, maybe only few minutes, but that cry dried all his energy out, or he simply had no much energy left), he suddenly fell asleep.

Nearly nothing of that night lasted in his mind, only a confused mix of tears and kisses, voracious kisses and burning tears. He dreamt of a tempestuous sea, of his fight against that sea and of his exhausting attempts to hang on to a lifeboat, to a lifeboat that had Daisy's scent.