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Epitaph of Stonewall Sharon[1]
Fiction
By Majdur Travail
“Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees.”
--last words of Stonewall Jackson.
There I was, Big Jim Lewis[2]. Around here they calls me Yasser. I’m here to tell y’all about the final moments of the greatest general since Stonewall Jackson. General Ariel Sharon, who has just passed on after dem other crazy niggers[3] done blowed a hole the size of Texas in this here official residence of the General his self. Since then I’ve been hustling bandages and bedpans round the clock for three days. I ain’t slept a wink. Now I hope you understand; I ain’t normally like this. But this is about the second time I done this, understand? They say history repeats itself. Well, it damn sure does, but not just exactly the way it’s supposed to. You see, in my opinion this here General ought to be called the “stonewall” on account of the stonewall he actually done built. Now there’s another “stonewall” by that very name who never built no stone wall but is about the greatest general that ever lived. This one here built a stonewall, but ain’t got the name on account of the fact that another general already has it. Now ain’t that somethin’? Anyway, the great “stonewall”, Stonewall Jackson, wasn’t like no stonewall I ever heard of. The great Stonewall Jackson is in fact best known for his mobility in battle; his dash and daring. But on account of a peculiar historical twist a man of offense acquired the nickname “stonewall” while a man who built a stonewall is called Sharon. Now, ain’t that some shit?
On May 2, 1863 the Confederate Eighteenth North Carolina infantry shot General Stonewall Jackson three times by accident. Twice in his left shoulder and once in his right hand. He lay for seven days in and out of a painful delirium and would finally write his own epitaph. “Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees,” he said. Just like that he up and died on the spot without moving an inch. He never was laid to rest under the graveyard trees over yonder across the Rappahannock. He was instead delivered to Lexington where he now lies for eternity.
Now for some dumb luck I gots ta do it again. Just three days ago I was in the presence of St. Peter himself, beholding the glory of God and enjoying the bounty of the faithful. The next thing you know, I’m standing right here over the mangled body of the Israeli Prime Minister who had just been blasted by some Arab mujahedin whom I don’t know and don’t care to know 'cause it ain’t about them at all. It’s about what happened here in his final moments and the strange fact that history repeats itself, as I said before. So there I was, attending to the great Stonewall Sharon, like the good nigger I am, Big Jim Yasser Lewis.
General Sharon was in a powerful delirium, tossin’ to and fro like some kinda demon had a hold of his brain and he was trying to shake himself free. When suddenly his eyes popped open; and he looked right past me with a long distant gaze, as if he were looking into the eons. “Jackson! Tell Lee, I’m going into the trees now…My son is alive. I must go and see him.[4] Let us cross over the river and rest under the shade of the trees.” And then he up and died.
Just then, out of nowhere, the great Stonewall Jackson stepped forward, sat down on the edge of Sharon’s bed, leaned forward, and kissed his forehead. Taking him by the hand, they both rose and walked off. The room disappeared; it was as dark as night with no stars but one simple point of light. Their luminous figures walked silently down a bright shining path. Gallant Klansmen greeted them on pure white stallions;Sharon and Jackson mounted and galloped away towards the tiny light.
It was just then; it occurred to me that heaven was the other way. “Hey…Hey. You’re going the wrong way!” I shouted. I waved my arms frantically trying to get their attention. I yelled. I screamed. Dear God please forgive me, I prayed. “Jackson…Hey…Hey! Over here.” Now you know it ain’t like Jim Lewis to steer you wrong; even if you is the General Lee. But it seemed to me that, if they wanted to get to heaven, they were going the wrong way; having been there once myself already. The good Lord knows I done my best.
The Lord works in mysterious ways and Big Jim here was just about to find out how mysterious them ways can be. All the sudden night turned into day and I was standing in mid-air high above Palestine. Hundreds of thousands of Israelis, formed into minions, were marching across the Sinai towards Egypt. Generals Lee, Jackson and Sharon, mounted on white stallions, all dressed in sacred white, were flanked by Grand Wizards and Past Masters. Confederate flags flapped everywhere. Except one flag, way out in front, on a staff in Sharon’s mighty grip; one with a big black splotch, signifying the nigger, on a white field, signifying the cotton field.[5] And then I saw something I ain’t never saw before and will probably never see again. The mighty Generals—Lee, Jackson and Sharon—suddenly turned completely around and marched assed backward across the Nile as if they were marching on dry land. And he led them out; across the river, for the last time.
[1]Cf., Neil Schmitz, At the Stonewall Jackson Shrine, (Arizona Quarterly, Summer 2003), 5-34.
[2] General Jackson’s personal slave Jim Lewis was said to adore his master.
[3]Goy [pl. Goyim] is the Israeli word for “nigger”.
[4] Genesis 45:28
[5]Cf. Robert E. Bonner, Colors and Blood, Flag Passions of the Confederate South (Princeton: PrincetonUniversity Press, 2002), 106.