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Donnie Plays Bull-dazzle Man!

01 Wednesday Apr 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, family, health, politics, psychology, story

≈ 25 Comments

Tags

allegory, America, childhood, criminal, Democracy, fiction, games, satire, sociopath, story, USA

orange excavator on brown hill

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Donnie looked outside and saw a bulldozer moving a large pile of dirt. 

“Mommy! Mommy! I want one! Get me one!” 

Donnie’s mommy sighed. The noon radio programs weren’t even on yet and this was the fourth impossible request Donnie had already made today. 

“I told you yesterday, Donnie, you can’t play in the dirt. You’ll get your hands dirty.” 

“But I want a big orange thingy! What is that thingy?” He pointed his teeny fingers at the bulldozer.

“That’s called a bulldozer, Donnie. And only big people can have one.”

“Daddy said I could have one! He said I could have a bull-dazzle! He said I could have two bull-dazzles!” 

bulldozer engine equipment heavy

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“I’ve no time for your nonsense, Donnie. You can’t have a — they’re called “bulldozers” — and you can’t have one till you’re a lot older. Look at that man. See? He’s much older than you. And, I still have laundry to fold.” 

Donnie said, “Yes, mommy.” But secretly, he was thinking about various ways to get revenge on stupid mommy. 

It was a sunny spring day, but not really warm. Snow still sprinkled the yard, so Donnie grabbed one of his sister’s jackets. That will annoy her, he thought and smiled. Outside, he couldn’t see much to do. Junior and Maryanne were up in the treehouse playing cards. They had tried teaching him a couple times, but they kept making up rules that didn’t make him win every time which was stupid. So, he threw all the cards on the ground. They hadn’t invited him a third time. 

brown wooden tree house on snow covered ground

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He walked over to where the clothes were hanging. A gentle breeze billowed the shirts and sheets. Junior and Maryanne didn’t even notice him. It seemed they never did. 

He tugged at one of the sheets. Nothing happened. He grabbed with both hands and yanked down on one corner. He threw his legs out just like he did when he had a temper tantrum. His teeny hands slipped off and he fell on his butt. 

He ground his teeth, and walked over to a nightshirt he could reach. This time, when he pulled one of the clothespins snapped off. He got the other one off too! Success! He looked up at the treehouse, but his siblings were still ignoring him. Good, he thought. He tried several more items of laundry and managed to get another nightshirt and even one of the sheets off. Time to tattle. 

white textile

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He walked back into the living room where mommy was already relaxing and listening to Abbot and Costello with her eyes closed. He wondered whether she had noticed him go out. He went to the dining room window and stared out. From there, he could see the treehouse, but his siblings were hidden by the plywood paneling. Perfect, he thought. When a commercial came on, Donnie said casually, “Mommy. Is Junior supposed to be showing his thingy to Maryanne?” 

“WHAT!?” She sprang up from her chair and came to the window. She could see the treehouse but no children. “Where are they?”

“They’re right up in the treehouse, mommy. I think they are hiding so Freddy can show his thingie.” 

Mommy went to the back door and flung it open hard enough to loosen one of the screws that held the hinge. The door flapped against the siding and sprang back violently, scratching her hand. She screamed, “JUNIOR! MARYANNE! Get in here this instant!” 

She walked out onto the back stoop and began skipping down the stairs. That’s when she noticed some of her laundry dragging on the dirty ground. 

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“WHAT THE HELL DID YOU KIDS DO TO MY LAUNDRY! GET DOWN HERE!! NOW!!” 

The puzzled faces of two kids peeked out of the shadowed treehouse. 

Maryanne spoke first, “How come, mom? We’re playing…”

“I DON’T CARE WHAT YOU’RE PLAYING! Get down here! Now” 

She went over and snatched up one of the nightshirts and tried to brush the dirt from it. Her brushing only ground the dirt in more deeply. Crap, she thought, I’ll have to wash this again. 

“What the hell is wrong with you two!? I worked all morning on this laundry!” 

In the corner of his eye, Fred Junior could see the smiling grinning face of his younger brother staring out at the scene from the dining room window. 

“LOOK AT ME when I’m talking to you! Why did you pull my laundry down! Never mind! Get inside! Both of you. I need to talk with you privately, Mister. No. Go to your rooms. I’ll have Fred talk to you when he gets home. That new belt of his will talk to you!” 

When she had redone the laundry and stopped cursing under her breath, Donnie thought she had cooled down enough. His enemies were still confined to their rooms, Donny said, “You know what, Mommy. You’re right. I’m too young to have a real bull-dazzler. But maybe Santa will bring me a pretend one for Christmas?” 

“What? Oh, sure. Sure. Maybe.” Her mind was swirling. Should she tell her husband about the … well, she hadn’t actually seen it. But the laundry was for sure. Junior would get a beating for that. Would he really have shown … surely, he’s too young for that. Fred would go crazy though. Maybe best not to say anything. She’d just watch Junior a lot more carefully from now on, watching for signs. 

Donny stared out the window. He felt pretty proud of himself. Someday, he thought to himself, I will have a whole bunch of bull-dazzlers working for me. What fun! I like bull-dazzlers!

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———————————————

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Open Door Policy

31 Tuesday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, politics, psychology, Veritas

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

adventure, fiction, innovation, legend, myth, story, tales, truth, Veritas

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At the grinding growling noise, the entire group jumped back from the door. Jaccim flinched — not at the slow movement of the door, but at the reaction of everyone else. He then reminded himself that they had never seen such a tunnel before. 

He stepped in front of Cat Eyes and said earnestly, “Such noise is normal. Louder than I remember but all right.” 

Cat Eyes nodded and translated the reassurance. 

The group squinted as the shaft of yellow sunlight began to trace across their faces. 

Cat Eyes turned back to Jaccim with a frown and a flash of anger in her eyes, “How did you open it though? How?!” 

Jaccim tilted his head and looked at her puzzled. “It — I just asked it to be opened. Surely, this magic is not new to you. Didn’t you see such things in the Z-Lotz village?” 

Trunk of Tree was jumping up and down and waving his hands. “What is he saying?! It could be a trap! I did it! I opened it!” 

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Cat Eyes glanced over at Salah Hudah and caught her eye. They smiled knowingly at each other while they shook their heads about Trunk of Tree. But to his credit, he was peering around the corner of the ever-widening entryway, looking for the trap that didn’t come. Once his eyes had adjusted a bit to the sunlight he scanned the nearby surroundings. As he did so, he looked up to orient to the twin peaks, but they were nowhere to be seen. 

“All clear!” he shouted back at the cave door. Soon, they were all outside. Trunk of Tree looked at Jaccim. “How did you open that?!” 

Jaccim looked at Cat Eyes and awaited her translation for a moment and then realized, he understood what Trunk of Tree must have said so answered her again in ROI. “I just asked it to open. It’s always worked that way.” 

Cat Eyes sighed. She realized that no-one in the group would accept her translation, but she went ahead anyway, “He says that he just asked it to open — in ROI — and it did. That it always works like that.” 

Salah Hudah frowned and said, “Why did we work so hard to open the first door then?” 

Cat Eyes nodded and replied, “Good question.” She translated for Jaccim, who shrugged “I don’t know why they make it such. Buttons to go in. Commands to leave. Wasn’t it this way among the Z-Lotz, Cat Eyes?” 

Cat Eyes reacted to him first with a simple “NO!” and then translated his answer to the group. Jaccim could see that his answer just caused more confusion. Cat Eyes began to suspect that maybe this was a trap after all. Jaccim’s face seemed stoical but honest. Still… 

Trunk of Tree looked around. “All right. Well, I got us out. That’s the main thing, but where are the twin peaks?” 

snow covered mountain under blue sky

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Fleet of foot had walked back some ways from the entrance. He pointed up behind them. “Come over here. The peaks are back that way.” Lion Slayer went to join him and soon saw what appeared to be the twin peaks just visible over the edge of the cliff behind them. “There they are.” 

Cat Eyes walked over as well and soon everyone was pointing to them. Trunk of Tree was the last to join the group. He nodded. “Now,” he began, “we need to determine which way to go next.” The voice of Trunk of Tree was strong and echoed off the cliff. Halfway through his pronouncement, however, Jaccim began speaking in broken Veritas. “Close Door one first. Second two, visit Veritas. Three third, this way,” and he gestured toward a broad path that led up a steep, but walkable grade to the right. Then, he himself walked a bit off to the left, following a much more overgrown path. 

“Wait!” yelled Trunk of Tree. “Where are you going?!” 

Cat Eyes began, “He asks —- “

Jaccim, put up a hand, “Yes. I know. To close first one door one. To walk path second two To find Veritas third three.” 

Cat Eyes watched Jaccim as he walked over to a rock wall, and jab his hand downward several times. Then, the door began to close. 

“Wait! What are you doing! Keep it open! We want to come back this way.”

Cat Eyes saw Jaccim shrug and quickly translated. 

Jaccim tilted his head at Trunk of Tree, looking at him with curiosity. “Do you always leave the door to your house open to the rats?” he queried in ROI for Cat Eyes to translate. 

Cat Eyes decided to add a bit on her own: “Besides, since you are always concerned with traps, do you see how each it would be to have a large force inside ready to pounce on a small party?” 

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As she guessed, that seemed to hit home and Trunk of Tree grunted his assent. “Come on!” he said and began to stride up the hill. 

Fleet of Foot put out a hand as Trunk of Tree strode past, “Trunk! Hey! Do you know where you’re going?” 

Trunk of Tree stopped and turned. “There’s only one path. This is the one to take.” 

Fleet of Foot smiled, “True enough. But there may be choice points ahead, or hidden dangers that Jaccim knows about because he’s been here before. And, if we are really getting close, Cat Eyes may begin to recognize something as well. Besides, it’s easier if they’re together in case she needs to translate. 

Trunk of Tree added, “All right. I still don’t see why he doesn’t learn Veritas though. ‘To find Veritas third three.’ What is that? Gibberish! And I don’t like to be behind the horses.”

“Nor I,” replied Fleet of Foot. “You and I should lead the animals at the back. That way we can apply the most force where it is needed most in case of battle, rather than being ambushed and rendered useless.” 

“What?!” yelled Trunk of Tree, “I hate those things! Those beasts are powerful! Let Jaccim risk his life!”

horse near trees

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Fleet of Foot clapped his friend on the shoulder. “Come on! Dah-Nah isn’t as scared of them as you are. They’re not dangerous if you know what you’re doing. I’ll show you. l would have sooner. I just learned myself though. Here. Let’s go back now.” 

Once the order of the group was settled, Cat Eyes began to converse with Jaccim in ROI. “I still do not understand how these doors work.”

“Nor I,” Cat Eyes. “I have no idea really. I was just told exactly what to do.” 

They walked on in silence for a time. The anger rose in Cat Eyes, but she breathed steadily and calmed herself. 

“You just do what you are told without even understanding it? How can you live like that?” 

Jaccim looked at her. “Do you know how your legs work? Or how we see?” 

Cat Eyes clicked her tongue. “Of course. I use things all the time because I know how to use them. I don’t know everything about how they work. But if someone says put these ten large rocks in this tiny basket, I wouldn’t just try to do it, because it would ruin the basket and nothing would be accomplished.” 

Jaccim nodded. “I am beginning to understand that about the Veritas.” After a pause, he added, “I never thought much about any other tribes, really. Just us and the Z-Lotz. The Z-Lotz are the ones that usually told us what to do. And, we, the ROI; we’re good at finding the clearest shortest path to doing those things.” 

Cat Eyes walked on a few more miles. At last she turned her head to Jaccim and said, “I told you I never saw such things but now I am not so sure. When I was very young, I learned how things were. Then, later, when I was a slave to the Z-Lotz, I … I saw things in those terms. But maybe I sometimes assumed that they opened doors the way I had always seen them being opened because….”

Jaccim put up his hand as they came to a fork in the road. He looked up to the right and down to the left and chose the gently descending path. 

Cat Eyes rolled her foot on a round stone and nearly lost her footing. Instinctively, Jaccim shot out his hand and she took it. She regained her balance and began speaking again, “Speaking of knowing how to do things, can you please tell me how to open those doors from the inside and the outside.” 

“Why? I’ll be there.”

“Jaccim,” began Cat Eyes, “has it never occurred to you that these people might realize from your speech and your manner that you are one of the people who steals children?” 

“No, no,” said Jaccim. “I’m Veritas now. I’m not ROI. I am friends with Dah-Nah. I am Veritas.” After a moment, he added, “but I can easily tell you how to make the doors work.”

“What is that smell? I recognize it! Spicebush! Someone is brewing spicebush tea. Just as my mother used to do!” 

Jaccim nodded and smiled. “Yes, I smell it too. I was just going to tell you — we are nearly there! Do you recognize …?” His voice trailed off. He could see that Cat Eyes no longer listened. She walked over to what seemed to be a cleft in the rock wall and began to go through. Jaccim said in a loud voice, “She here is! We here is!” 

“Wait.” said Fleet of Foot. “What is our strategy here? No-one there knows us and we know no-one there. I thought we agreed to let Cat Eyes in and that I, along with both Trunk of Tree, would accompany her. We will be more likely recognized as Veritas. We will be safer.”

Fleet of Foot didn’t wait for a response. He sprinted up to Cat Eyes, and put a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Wait a moment. Let’s go in together with Trunk of Tree. He’ll catch up in just a moment. Are you feeling all right? Why are you crying?” 

brown deer

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————————————————————

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration   

Last Call!

26 Thursday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, COVID-19, health, politics

≈ 2 Comments

Tags

Boy Scouts, BSA, camping, coronavirus, COVID-19, fiction, fire safety, leadership, pandemic, plauge, story

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Bill, the assistant scoutmaster, opened the flap of his old-fashioned canvas tent and stared out at the five young boys who were toasting marshmallows, talking, and laughing. He sighed. They had to be told what to do even when it was obvious. He shook his head, trying to think back to when he had been in the fifth grade. Had he been this irresponsible — so lacking in common sense? He supposed he had, but it hadn’t seemed that way at the time. 

The boys joked among themselves, and that he could relate to. He recalled getting together around dusk each summer evening between fifth and sixth grade and exchanging the most ridiculous “dirty jokes” with a few of the neighbor boys. These boys from his troop told the jokes quietly so that Bill could not overhear. He didn’t really need to hear. He assumed they were the same sort that he had listened to — and told — so long ago. 

Bill walked around behind the tent and off into the woods a few yards to take a ‘whiz’. Where had that word come from, he wondered. Once beyond the glow of the firelight, he could see the myriad stars sparkling above. Even though he had planned on going to the big game this weekend, he had volunteered, at Mary’s urging, to fill in when the scoutmaster had fallen ill at the last minute. At least, that’s what the scoutmaster had said. Privately, Bill had his doubts. Maybe the scoutmaster himself had scored tickets to the Ohio State game. The Rose Bowl berth was on the line. Damn. Yet, much as he had been looking forward to the game, being out in the woods was awesome too. It had been so long, he had forgotten how magical it was out here. The smell of pines. The burning wood. The licking flames. The warm summer evening wind. 

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He came back around the tent and said aloud, “What the f*** !?” 

He generally managed to keep from uttering foul language in front of the boys. When a word did slip out, he apologized under his breath. This time he hadn’t even noticed. The grass near the campfire was burning. 

He shouted, “HEY! Can’t you see the grass is burning! You want to start a forest fire?! Put that out! Now!” 

The boys fell silent and began to look around. Ron stared at Bill. “Don says it’s no big deal. It’ll burn itself out.” 

“What?! What are you talking about? The fire — put it OUT!” 

Tate laughed. “What’s the big deal? We’re having fun toasting marshmallows. Don says it’ll burn out.” 

marshmallow grilled on fire

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Don himself laughed. “Geez, old man, take it easy. It’s just a campfire.” 

Bill shouted, “Get your canteens! Stomp on the flames!” 

Ron laughed. “We’re not getting our shoes burned, fool.” 

Don said, “Hey, canteens? I’m not thirsty, are you guys?” 

Just then, a gust of wind blew the flames in a new direction and all the grass around the tents began to burn. Suddenly, one of the tents caught fire as did a small scrub oak. 

Bill glanced around wildly. He realized the fire had already strengthened beyond what the five of them could deal with. He raced back to his tent and found his cell phone. 9-1-1 he punched. Nothing. He fumbled for his glasses and found them in his jacket; pulled them on; glanced down at his phone. No reception. 

“Come on, kids. We have to get to the car.” 

Tate drawled, “I don’t feel like it.” 

Ron nodded vigorously, “No, me either. How about you Don?” 

Don laughed. “It’ll burn itself out. Geez. Grown ups are so stupid.” 

Bill ground his teeth. He put on his leather jacket for protection and strode over to the campfire which was still burning nicely within the circle of rocks. He grabbed the two boys who had been silent, tightly grabbing onto their upper arm. He hauled them up as one and began dragging them toward the station wagon. He had become so angry and so terrified that he could barely speak coherently. He turned back one more time to the remaining three boys who stared at him defiantly. “GET. IN. THE CAR. NOW!!” 

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“You go, old man. Coward. It’s just a few flames,” laughed Don. 

He pulled on the door handle. Locked?! WTF did I lock it for, he screamed inside his head. Habit. He fumbled for the keys and clicked the doors open. He practically threw the two small boys into the back seat. “Stay here!” 

He strode back to the other three who were now sauntering toward the car, laughing and pointing to the flames. Bill only caught a word here and there:

“Awesome!” 

“Dope!” 

“Wicked!” 

Between gritted teeth he hissed, “GET IN!” 

The boys jostled for position, shouting, “Shotgun! Shotgun!” 

Bill moved back around to the driver’s side, barely able to control his rage. He took one last look back toward the campfire. He tried to think whether there was anything crucial left in the tent. 

Perhaps that’s why he didn’t see the tree toppling toward him. 

None of the boys had ever actually driven a car. But Don had at least was quite familiar with a golf cart. He slide across into the driver’s seat. As the flames began to engulf the car, he managed to open the door by shoving hard with both legs; hard enough to dislodge the limp scoutmaster. He closed the door again and turned the key. The engine sputtered. It didn’t sound right. He tried again. At last, the engine caught and roared to life. The car lurched backwards and the engine died. 

“Did you click the clutch? There must be a button! LOOK!” Ron was becoming panicked. 

Tate said, “No, no. It’s a pedal not a button. Push in the clutch pedal.” 

The last words were drowned out by the crash of another tree onto the top of the car. The roof partially collapsed onto Don’s skull. It cut him but did not knock him out. He saw a pedal on the floor. It was too much of a reach for him.

As chance would have it, Bill’s cell phone landed smack into the middle of the campfire which still burned amidst the chaos of the forest fire. When the car had exploded, the pieces had flown in every direction…as had the boy parts and the scoutmaster parts.  

Somewhere, far overhead, a satellite streaked among the stars. Just as the phone began to melt, Mary’s voice, groggy from her nightcap drawled, “Bill is that you? Hello? Did you butt dial me again? Hello?” 

There was no-one left to answer the now melted cell phone.

sky space telescope universe

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Author Page on Amazon

Myths of the Veritas: The Orange Man

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

 

 

 

Mint Tea & Golden Coins

24 Tuesday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, psychology, Veritas

≈ 1 Comment

Tags

envoy, fiction, legend, Many Paths, myth, story, tales, translation, truth, Veritas

selective focus photography of leaves with water due

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In her dream, Many Paths happened upon a patch of spearmint that stretched forever near the bubbling stream. She stooped down and plucked one of the dark green plants. She had always loved the smell of mint. She peered closely at the leaf. Something was wrong. Tiny black snails covered the leaf. Upon closer inspection, she saw them all over the stem as well. This is strange, she thought. Snails don’t eat mint. Nor had she ever seen so many. Were they really snails, she wondered. She turned to pluck another plant but they had grown nearly as tall as she was. Every leaf and stem was covered with tiny black — dots — snails. The snails were turning red in front of her eyes, contrasting wildly with the deep green. This is impossible, she thought. I must be dreaming. The snails don’t like the smell or else they don’t like the feel of these teeny hairs everywhere. They eat almost everything but snails don’t eat mint! 

Shadow Walker stroked her silky hair and said, “Thanks for the tip. I’ll be sure not to feed them any. But as for you…I think you were dreaming, love.” 

He smiled at Many Paths, brushing her hair as though removing the cobwebs of sleep. He held out a cup of mint tea. It smelled delicious and she could see the wisps of steam dancing in the slants of morning sun. Many Paths returned the smile, brought the cup to her lips and inhaled the refreshing smell. “I take it there were no snails on the leaves?” 

Shadow Walker chuckled. “No. But if you fancy some, I’m sure I can find some for you somewhere. You know, I don’t think I’ve ever seen any on mint, come to think of it.” 

“Nor I. But in my dream, the mint was covered with them. They were tiny and they turned red. Anyway, look at the steam. What does that tell you?” 

abstract art burn burnt

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“That — the tea is hot?” The look on her face told him this was not the answer she had been looking for.

“It means, Shadow Walker, that the cabin has holes between the slats. They need to be fixed before winter. Sooner would be better than later because it also helps keep out the biting bugs.”

“Yes. Well, Many, we are soon to meet with our friends to plan….”

“I know. I know. I just…it seems I just got you back. I hate to see you going off to that hateful place again. Especially now that we know about Killing Sticks. If we had them too…”

“Many Paths, if we had Killing Sticks, we might have three more dead among the Veritas right now.” 

“Yes. I know. But we are learning. They should only be used in war, not available to settle small quarrels. I wish we could speak more with Cat Eyes about whether she saw them misused in ROI.” 

“Misused? If you ask me, they are always misused. What kind of honor accrues from killing an enemy without even touching them? Anyway, I think the people are beginning to realize the dangers. Many spoke at our last council fire about how dangerous real ones would be for those with a quick tongue.” He smiled at her again. “Drink your tea while it’s still hot. I’ve also got….What’s that?” 

Shadow Walker stood, turned quickly grabbing his sword and peered out the door. Drums were signaling the arrival of strangers. Could it be that Cat Eyes, Jaccim, and others had already returned with some of the Veritas over the Twin Peaks? No. No. These approaching people were all strangers. They were ROI! Only four of them. On foot? He glanced back at Many Paths who was already dressing. 

Many Paths nodded at him. “Let’s prepare to meet these ROI. I guess I don’t need to tell you to be careful. Last time they appeared, they pretended to trade with us and their real goal was to steal children and set our camp on fire! I wish Cat Eyes were here to translate.”

Shadow Walker added, “You prepare. I’ll find Tu-Swift. Your brother is the best substitute we have. He’s been learning as well as he can with the materials we have, the game Cat Eyes got and the marked leaves. And, he spent considerable time talking with Cat Eyes before she left.” He left. 

Many Paths watched the leather door flap ripple for a moment before settling still into place. He left, she thought. And soon, too soon, he may be leaving again. She shook her head, took a deep breath, and prepared to meet the strangers. 

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By the time the four strangers arrived, nearly the entire village turned out. Sentries were still posted around the outer perimeter in case these four were merely sacrificial distractions from a much larger attack. The four strangers themselves were being carefully guarded. At last, the four came to the place of the council fire. As they slung off their packs, many bows were tightened in case killing sticks or other weapons were hidden within those packs. The leader of the four began to speak and Tu-Swift translated. Although he spoke directly to Many Paths, he spoke loudly enough that all the Veritas within the Center Place could hear his voice. 

Many Paths felt pride that her brother’s voice proved loud and steady. His voice rang out clear, without a hint of fear or of hatred. 

“Greetings from the Z-Lotz. We bring you gifts. We wish peace between our people. Here we offer you some glass and some steel from the ancient ones.” 

Upon a large gray blanket, the leader laid out a variety of shiny objects. As he did so, Many Paths noticed that the hands of the leader seemed misshapen, perhaps from a badly healed war wound. Among the shiny objects lay another set of leaves with marks, such as the one that Eagle Eyes and Lion Slayer had brought back from the village of the Z-Lotz. 

Many Paths glanced at Tu-Swift and began her answer for him to translate. “Greetings from the Veritas. Thank you for the gifts. We will arrange for gifts in return. We did not know you were coming. But soon we will have gifts. You say you are Z-Lotz but — and, your speech marks you as ROI.”

After the translation, the leader nodded. “Yes. We were born ROI. Our village is no more. We have had a long friendship with the Z-Lotz and now we are all Z-Lotz. The ROI are no more. We all are Z-Lotz. We were sent here by our leader, NUT-PI to form a stronger alliance. With you. Soon. Some day. For now, we only bring gifts. You need not give gifts in return. Perhaps soon, you can come visit NUT-PI and offer gifts. But for now, we simply offer gifts to show we want peace. NUT-PI only wants peace. This is from NUT-PI.” 

The leader drew out of an inner pocket a number of shiny gold coins. He tossed them casually on the blanket as well. 

pile of gold round coins

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“As you can see, the image of NUT-PI is on each of these coins of gold.” 

Tu-Swift shrugged as he tried to translate this last part, saying to Many Paths and the other Veritas, “He refers to these circles as ‘coins’ and that they are made of something called ‘gold’ but I don’t know what these words of ROI mean.” 

Many Paths looked at the gifts arrayed before her. There were three kinds of gifts, each quite different, but each one shiny in its own way. She asked Eagle Eyes to fetch a basket of spices.

“Thank you for your generosity. Will you stay with us for a time? At least have a meal here. And we will give you a basket of spices. Perhaps, we will find more suitable gifts later and we may indeed send a delegation to visit with NUT-PI. This will take some time. Meanwhile, you will stay for a time?” 

Tu-Swift translated the words of Many Paths and the answer of the leader who said, “We must return at once with news that you also wish to have peace. That you will visit NUT-PI soon. You will discuss our alliance then, but meanwhile, you may enjoy these gifts.”

Eagle Eyes returned with a beautifully made basket filled with aromatic spices. She bowed and laid the basket in front of the leader on the edge of the blanket nearest him. As she stooped down, she picked up one of the gold coins and turned it over. One one side a profile of NUT-PI appeared and on the other side a full faced picture. She looked at the leader and said, “What an interesting and beautiful thing! Does this really look like NUT-PI? Does he always wear such an unusual hat?” 

Many Paths wondered at her friend’s question which seemed oddly out of bounds, but then she reminded herself that Eagle Eyes saw things others did not so she nodded almost imperceptibly to Tu-Swift who translated the question. 

The leader nodded and spoke, “That looks just like him. That ‘hat’ is made of gold. It is called a ‘crown’ and he wears it all day. Every day. Thank you for your kind offer to stay, but we must go. When do you think you may visit NUT-PI and seal the friendship between the Veritas and the Z-Lotz? Ah, yes. And here, among these gifts, is the most important of all. This book is the book of truth and tells you what to believe to become a true Z-Lotz. Please be sure to believe this before you come. That will make for a much better meeting with NUT-PI. So, when can you come?” 

The mind of Many Paths now raced ahead calculating many different answers, none of which were without danger. “Thank you again for your gifts. The weather is good. We could travel soon. But — this thing you call a book — we have no idea what is in that or how to come to believe what is in it or how to know what is in it. How long will that take? How long does it take you to come to believe it?” 

black book

Photo by Luis Quintero on Pexels.com

Once this was translated, the leader looked puzzled. He muttered briefly to his companions and then said aloud. “It is best to believe it. Later, you can discover what it says. We have many teachers in our village who could help you. First, believe it because it is the truth. Then after you visit, we will help you learn it.” 

“I understand. Thank you for your offer. Please give our regards to NUT-PI and our thanks for his offer of peace. We must hold our own council and determine who among us would be worthy enough to come to visit you — and NUT-PI.” 

The leader of the Z-Lotz delegation listened to the translation and immediately began speaking. “I am sorry about — there is no need to choose. It must be you yourself who comes — and alone. Of course, you may have companions up to the gates of their village. Our village. But then, NUT-PI and you must have a private meeting.” 

As Many Paths listened to Tu-Swift’s translation, her eyes were suddenly distracted by Shadow Walker whose face showed such hatred and anger that she was momentarily alarmed that he might strangle all the strangers immediately. She looked at him and willed him not to do it. 

“That sounds delightful then. We will arrange this as soon as possible. Certainly, peace is in everyone’s interest. And, by the way, please give my regards to your own leader, BRA-BRILL.”

Many Paths and Eagle Eyes both watched the leader intently. Even before the translation, they both noticed a dark blank face become set upon the face of the delegation leader when the name ‘BRA-BRILL’ was spoken aloud. Many Paths glanced at Eagle Eyes and could see that she too could see many calculations going on behind the eyes of the delegation leader. He was trying to decide, it seemed to Many Paths, which lie to tell. 

At last, the leader nodded solemnly, and said, “I will give him your regards. Thank you. He too now accepts NUT-PI as the leader of us all.” 

“Good. Thank you again for your gifts. I wish you could stay, but I understand you must have other tasks. Our guards will be happy to help you find your way back to the edge of the lands we call home. Safe journey to you all. I hope to see you again sooner even than you imagine possible.” 

Many Paths studied all four faces. She hoped Tu-Swift was able to translate this phrase since she had chosen it carefully. She couldn’t be sure, but a flicker of confusion and doubt seemed to flicker on each face at the end of the translation. Seeds of doubt appeared to be sown now. Perhaps conversation among the four of them would help them grow on their journey home. 

blur close up focus ground

Photo by Gelgas on Pexels.com

As the foursome turned to leave, Many Paths said, “Oh, one more thing. You are famous for riding horses. Why are you not on horses?” 

The leader turned back. He listened for Tu-Swift’s translation and said, “We set the horses free. We have no more need of them.” 

“Safe journey,” said Many Paths. She stared at the backs of the envoys until they diminished to black dots on the horizon, followed by their escorts. At last, she turned back to her people. Few of them had left for their daily activities. She stared at the gifts. The people awaited her decisions for the gifts. She walked over and picked up the book first. She handed it to Tu-Swift. “See what you can make of this, Tu-Swift.” 

She motioned for Stone Chipper to come over and asked him to try to understand what to make of the shiny objects of — what did they call it? Steel? 

Next there was the ‘glass’ but she had a bad feeling about this stuff. “Does anyone want some of this “glass”? Several came forward to touch it, and hold it and turn it about. A few seemed particularly intrigued. She nodded as they silently asked her whether they could have some. Gold coins. Each had a picture of NUT-PI. Eagle Eyes held one and studied it closely, turning from one side to the other. 

She smiled at Many Paths. “This,” she said, holding up the coin to shine it in the sunlight, “may prove extremely valuable.” 

silver colored coin

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——————————————————-

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Index for 2019 Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

Jennifer’s Invitation

22 Sunday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, story

≈ 3 Comments

Tags

assertiveness, birthday, fiction, gift, grade school, life, love, party, relationships, short story, shy, shyness, story

sakura tree

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When I grew up in Northeastern Ohio, my birthday came in the spring —  real spring. This business about three months of spring is absurd. In Ohio, spring lasts about three weeks — the time from the first onion grass, crocuses, and daffodils shoot green through bare black dirt, through the greening of the willow switches, the white exploding dogwoods and cherry blossoms, till at last, every tree’s gold and red has turned dark green — that takes three weeks. And, square in the middle of nature’s renewal comes my birthday. At the age of nine — now more than sixty-five years ago — it seemed so lucky — yet, so right that this my birthday fell in the springtime! Perfect.

The only thing more perfect would be having Jennifer come to my birthday party. Jennifer! Her family, Gunnerson, was from Scandinavia and she looked it. Long, light blond hair, deep sky blue eyes, pale white skin. Best of all, she liked me — kind of. I lived nearly a world away from her — three blocks — but luckily she lived on the way to David Hill Elementary School so I could walk part-way to school with her. We could continue up residential Davies Street, littered with maple-seed helicopters, or cut over to Archwood. Urbane Archwood Street held the branch public library and even a filling station.

fuel dispenser

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Mom had promised me a party this birthday and I could invite whoever I wanted. Or, so she said. Actually, her friend from the bridge club had two daughters that I definitely did not want to come to my party, but my mother, of all things, had promised that they could come. Really! Imagine! I never told her she had to invite Jennifer’s mother to her bridge club! Actually, it wouldn’t have been a bad idea, but I didn’t think of it at the time.

No matter, so long as I could get Jennifer to my party. The tricky part was — how to get her there. Of course, you might think: “Well, hey, why not ask her?”

You might think that if you were born in New York or California or have forgotten what it’s like to be a nine year old boy totally overwhelmed by the goddess beauty of a nine year old girl. No, just walking up and asking her was definitely not an option.

woman in white sleeveless dress near green plants

Photo by Alex Fu on Pexels.com

Instead, I hit on a brilliant idea, bound to succeed. I made a newspaper. It had three or four articles on the front page and three or four more articles on the back page. It only took me one week-end to make. And there, right on the back of page two, in the lower right hand corner was the story of my upcoming birthday party, complete with a list of invitees. That list included Jennifer!

Now, for part two of my foolproof plan! The very next day, I contrived to walk home from school in front of Jennifer. I slowed down till she was only twenty paces behind me and “accidentally” dropped my newspaper. I continued to walk, but held my breath, heart racing. Soon, I heard the soft, bell-tones of her voice call out that I had dropped my paper. Yes! She handed it to me. I dully muttered “thanks,” as I stared into those infinite blue eyes for a clue.

Nothing.

beautiful beauty blond blur

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com

Hadn’t she read it? Hadn’t she seen her name right there on page two? Was she blind, and I didn’t know?

I scurried on ahead. Maybe she just hadn’t noticed. I dropped my paper again. Again, I heard her call out my name! She had seen me drop the paper. I waited for her to catch up with me. She handed me the paper. I swallowed hard. I looked in her eyes. She looked at me. I said, “Well…did you read it?”

“Oh, no!” she said. “I wouldn’t do that.”

“Oh,” I said, and turned, crimson glowing hot on my cheeks.

I thought about dropping my paper a third time, but what was the point? She took it as an invasion of privacy to read my private paper. I’d have to come up with something else.

I did.

I got pneumonia and the party was canceled. I did get a record and a book as presents from my mother’s friend’s two daughters but I didn’t read the book or listen to the record. It wouldn’t be … right.

The next year, my parents moved to a new house and a new school district and I never saw Jennifer again. Except in dreams. Where her blond hair is still blond and her young smooth skin is still flawless. And, spring — spring lasts forever.

closeup photo of pink petaled flower tree

Photo by zhang kaiyv on Pexels.com

 


Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration 

Fate and Late on the Interstate

10 Tuesday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 4 Comments

Tags

cellphone, driving, fiction, life, short story, story, Travel, truth

128

Braintree: Don secured Timmy’s Infant Seat, shut the door and slid into the driver’s seat. He glanced over at Ivy and smiled.

Reading: Mitch’s eyes already drooped. He cracked the window; turned up the radio. His 18-wheeler responded sluggishly around the curves, the cylindrical hold sated with liquid propane.

Norwood: Don glanced left at the small planes circling the airport. “When Timmy’s older and we’ve socked away some money, I’m learning to fly.”
Ivy frowned and stared for a moment at her husband before asking, “Why on earth would you do that?”

Woburn: Mitch wondered to himself, why is 128 always crowded with traffic, day or night? God, I’m tired. What station to choose? Too many lights, he thought to himself and rubbed his eyes. He opened his driver-side window fully. The air was warm and moist.

Needham: “Don, didn’t we promise to bring wine?”
“Shoot! Yeah. Not sure where though. They don’t have anything like that at the rest stops.”
“Better hurry or we’ll miss the fireworks.”
“I promise Ivy. We won’t miss the fireworks. Hand me my phone.”

Lexington: Mitch thought, Crap. No truck stops? I need coffee. Only on the Pike maybe. No, there’s gotta be one here somewhere. Geez. I pity poor Jim who has this boring route every day. A promise is a promise though. Mitch smiled and thought, you owe me, Jim, big time.

Wellesley: “Ivy, do you remember — didn’t we visit Shelly off this exit once and I’m pretty sure there’s a wine store right down Washington. Right?”
“All I remember is your outrageous flirting with Shelly all night. Give me the phone. I’ll look it up. Anyway, Washington is mostly boarded up these days. Dead.”
“I did not! I wasn’t flirting.”
“Just promise you’ll never to do it again. And hand me the phone.”

Waltham: Windows rattled. Expensive porcelain shattered. Babies awoke. Dogs barked.

Boston: Many saw the bright and distant flash. Most assumed it was merely ordinary folks in Lexington or Concord celebrating the birth of the nation; celebrating their freedom from the tyranny of a distant ruler; celebrating their independence from foreign rule.

fire warm radio flame

Photo by Pixabay on Pexels.com


Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration  

The Declaration of Interdependence

A Profound and Utter Failure

Wonder, Wonder, Who Kept the Wonder?

08 Sunday Mar 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 5 Comments

Tags

America, fiction, life, love, parable, romance, story, truth, USA

woman in black jumper riding on purple component

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“Ladies and Gentlemen, I present to you a wonder from the farthest corner of the world: a being that is half frog, half man!” shouted Carnival Barker.

“Whoa! Now, that’s weird, isn’t it, Denise?” said Boy.
“Weird, all right. But, kinda … wonderful in way too,” said Girl.

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“Thanks for a wonderful evening,” said Girl.
“So? Maybe we can go out again some time?” asked Boy, leaning in for a gentle kiss.

BD6C0EA7-7E33-4870-9F85-B7176AACC337_1_201_a

“You look just wonderful in that dress!” exclaimed Boy.
“Thanks!” blushed Girl, as they spun through other the dancers.”

people dancing on dance floor

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“I wonder how I ever got lucky enough to meet you,” said Lover.
“Oh, that ring! Wonderful! Of course, I’ll marry you, silly,” said Beloved.

photo of engagement ring

Photo by TranStudios Photography & Video on Pexels.com

“Listen, darling, they’re playing our song!” laughed Woman.
“Wunderbar, Wunderbar, It’s a bright and shining star,
Like our love, it’s Wunderbar!” sang the record.

photo of mountain under starry night sky

Photo by Marco Milanesi on Pexels.com

“You’ll wonder where the yellow went…
When you brush your teeth with Pepsodent,” promised Announcer.
“Turn off the TV. I’m trying to sleep!” mumbled Wife.

woman wearing crop top standing near wire fence

Photo by Lê Minh on Pexels.com

“Sometimes, I wonder where you ever learned to drive,” muttered Wife.
“Just shut up and let me drive,” said Husband.
“You’re going too fast,” complained Wife.

action asphalt automobile automotive

Photo by Taras Makarenko on Pexels.com

“Hey, Charley! Ain’t these great burgers? Hmm. Wonder what that siren’s all about.
Comin’ right by the place. I just wonder,” said Steve, sipping his Bud.

Photo by Flickr on Pexels.com
Photo by Flickr on Pexels.com
Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com
Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com
Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com
Photo by Tembela Bohle on Pexels.com
Photo by Flickr on Pexels.com
Photo by Flickr on Pexels.com

“Jeez!” The sheriff shook his head. “They must’ve been doin’ eighty when they hit that guardrail. Wonder what the heck happened. There were plenty of signs posted about the danger ahead.”

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“Someone must have fallen asleep at the wheel, I guess,” offered Deputy,
“Happens all the time. Don’t it?”

“Indeed it does,” answered sheriff. “Indeed it does.”

Photo by Jose Lorenzo on Pexels.com
Photo by Jose Lorenzo on Pexels.com
IMG_9802

 

Author Page on Amazon

Index to Essays on America 

Trumpism is a New Religion

The Lost Sapphire

29 Saturday Feb 2020

Posted by petersironwood in America, apocalypse, politics, psychology, Uncategorized

≈ 6 Comments

Tags

fiction, jewels, life, parable, Paradise Lost, ruby, sapphire, short story, story, truth

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I cannot recall where or when or how I had first gotten the giant blue sapphire. Of course, even at five years, I knew it might not be a real sapphire; at least, that’s what my parents insisted. They called it “just glass.”

But, they might just possibly be wrong. After all, I could look into it forever. And, if I looked real hard, I could see the dim, midnight blue outline of things beyond and through the stone, transformed by the magic of the stone into something quite out of the ordinary; something heavenly, mysterious.

So far as I could tell, my parents never actually saw the stone; certainly they never looked through it. They’d just glance at it and say, “Oh, yeah, it’s blue glass.” Well, it seemed to me that it must be a real sapphire. Besides making things look beautiful, there was something else — something mom and dad never even tried to understand. It was this. If something happened I didn’t like; if I were sad because my dog was “put to sleep” or scared of getting a shot, I could look at this sapphire and it made me feel better! It made it all: Okay. If I listened carefully, it spoke words of wisdom and comfort. It was obviously worth a lot more than my parents knew.

True, there was a tiny chunk broken out of one corner. But that didn’t really matter. The stone was still perfect. Perfect, something to be kept forever.

Forever, that is, until Jimmy moved next door. Jimmy was ten years old and had a two wheel bike. Jimmy towered up nearly as thick and high as an adult. But Jimmy was still young enough to see the powerful magic in the sapphire. One bright Saturday morning, on the green grass of the “devil strip” between the white sidewalk and the forbidden black street where the deadly cars zoomed, I sat in the grass watching the magic sapphire, listening for its words of wisdom. Jimmy came and plopped down beside me. He flashed the red reflector from his bike in the sunlight. Oh, how it sparkled into my eyes!

“Do you want this ruby?” asked Jimmy innocently.

“Oh! Okay. Thanks!”

Jimmy handed it to me and let me flash it in the sun. It was so much brighter than the sapphire! It sparkled fire!

“Great,” said Jimmy, “Let me have the sapphire.” He snatched it from the grass where I had lain it, jumped up and ran into his house.

android android wallpaper ball bling

Photo by ARUNODHAI VINOD on Pexels.com

I stared dumbly at the huge shut door, then back down at the red reflector in my hand. Maybe this was a good trade after all, I thought. It was really bright all right. And when you moved it in the sun, it made different starburst patterns. After all, it had come from a full-sized two-wheeler. But still…something was missing. Then, a buzzing filled my ears. I suddenly realized that the reflector was just pretty glass! There was no magic to it. It didn’t speak; it just buzzed its foolish empty buzz. I couldn’t look through it to other things. It had no depth. And worst of all, it could never make anyone feel better, not even a little bit. “I thought you meant…for a minute…” I mumbled to the big kid behind the thick wooden door.

I considered telling my mom and dad. Maybe they could get the sapphire back! I hated telling them. You just don’t tell parents about kid troubles; it’s against the main unwritten law of being a kid. But maybe they could get my sapphire back! When I finally told them what had happened, they said, “Well, you made a trade.” I tried to get Jimmy to trade back, but he had none of it. Jimmy soon moved away, never to be seen again. But I kept the red reflector — not to look at because that would seem somehow unfaithful to the spirit of the sapphire — but just in case Jimmy came by one day wanting to trade back.

And later, much later, I used my allowance to buy special clear marbles — called “Peeries” — emerald green and dark blue with bubbles in them, and my dad got me a cool science kit with a clear rainbow prism that threw color into everything, and then one day I looked into the deep, sparking blue eyes of a blond girl named Jennifer and later into the sparkling blue eyes of a beautiful woman named Wendy and then into real diamonds and computer screens and experimental results and statistical analyses and conclusions, insights, and science fiction.

All of those things were good and all of these spoke to me.

But I still wonder where the blue sapphire is and how to get it back. How to get it back? The magic. Not clever illusion; not something made to look nice; but true and actual magic.

Are you out there, Jimmy? Because I still have your red reflector if you want to trade back.

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(This story first appeared summer 1997 in the e-zine, The Empty Shelf. Somehow, it seemed apropos to today).


 

Author Page on Amazon

Start of the First Book of The Myths of the Veritas

Start of the Second Book of the Myths of the Veritas

Table of Contents for the Second Book of the Veritas

Table of Contents for Essays on America 

Index for a Pattern Language for Teamwork and Collaboration 

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