men with clubs

 
i was watching men with clubs train other men with clubs. they kept slapping the clubs on the palms of their hands. they were circling the base of a mountain. the mountain was beauty. starting at the base, all the workers were picking it clean to bare rock and then scraping all the beauty from the rock itself. the workers were in rags and thin. many were children. they seemed fearful of the clubbed men and would sneak glances over their shoulders as the men passed. the men would catch a glance here and there and return it with a threatening look and a harder palm-slap with the club. one of the new recruits seemed unable to let go of his gentle side and was looking at the workers with compassion. the other men laughed at him cruelly to toughen him up. i remember thinking that he would not be able to hurt anyone.