Sally waited a moment and repeated her call in a louder voice which she hoped did not sound desperate. She didn’t want to sound desperate. After all, she wasn’t desperate. At least, that’s what she told herself as she tried to control her breathing.
“JOE!? You’re not funny! Where are you? Where the hell are you?”
Silence. She wondered why her voice sounded so hoarse.
“This game is stupid, Joe. I’m done. I’m leaving.” That was when Sally noticed the smell of onions. “What the hell? Are you cooking? What is that? Steak with … Onions? Garlic?”
Sally closed her eyes and concentrated on slowing her breathing. That will avoid panic, she told herself. It’s not like Joe to play these games.
She succeeded, at least a little. She opened her eyes and looked about. The light, if it could even be called that, only revealed shifting shadows — various shades of dark gray. I should never have agreed to come here.
Here?
Now, Sally really did begin to panic in earnest. She muttered aloud, “Where is here anyway? Where the hell am I? How can I have forgotten?”
Unable to see more than a few feet…inches?…in front of her, she was reluctant to take a big step so she decided to sidle along slowly till she reached some light. But she couldn’t sidle. She couldn’t move her legs at all, she discovered.
She shook her head in order to clear it. That turned out to be a big mistake. Her head exploded in pain. A field of black stars screamed into her ears and eyeballs.
Then, a clear image came to her.
Driving. They had been driving home from the party, late at night. She had been driving. Joe had been beside her, sound asleep on the passenger side, his plush seat fully reclined. He had been snoring. Loudly.
She had heard that familiar chirp, the high pitched screech cutting through his buzzing snore. She had glanced down at her cellphone. Celine. Sally had wondered what she wanted. Sally had glanced over at Joe and noted how blue he looked in the light of the oncoming headlights. She had begun to text her response, making it short just to be safe.
Apparently, not safe enough, she thought.
The pungent odor brought her back to the present. “Joe! What the hell are you cooking? It’s too … are you cooking in the car, for God’s sake? What’s wrong with you? What the hell, Joe? Why won’t you answer me! Answer me!”
“Do you mind if I turn on the A/C? I’m too damned hot!”
Sally had always been excellent at puzzles. This particular one was taking longer than usual. At last though, the pieces slammed together. She knew what the strange odor was. She knew why she couldn’t see properly. She knew why she couldn’t move her limbs. She knew why she was hot. Everything made perfect sense.
Everything except for the fact that she had only glanced down at the text for a few seconds.
Her last thought: “I shouldn’t have to burn for it!”
Zeus was King of the Gods. Well, not the King of all the Gods. But he was King of the Greek Gods, and you might have thought that that would be enough to satisfy anyone.
After all, Zeus got to live in a beautiful palace on top of Mt. Olympus. The view was tremendous. At night, the clear mountain air revealed a sky full of bright stars. But, being immortal has its downside. Even though the stars were spectacular, they appeared to travel in the same circles, night after night, month after month, year after year, century after century, millennium after millennium. Zeus was bored.
Zeus complained, as he often did these days, to his wife Hera, “Hera, don’t you get sick of watching the starts go round and round every night? And, they move so slowly. And, then, the next night the same basically. And every year, the same circles at the same time.”
Now, you might think, since Hera was also immortal, that she would be just as bored as Zeus. The difference was not that Hera was more powerful or more immortal or the she got to eat better quality potato chips or higher quality dip.
No, the difference was that Hera had a much better imagination. If things “out there” were boring, she’d make up stories about the things “out there” that made them much more interesting. She was astounded that Zeus, who had also lived forever, had never figured this out for himself, but he apparently hadn’t so she thought she’d share some of the stories with him. Perhaps then, he would eventually learn to make up his own stories and never really be bored again. She could then spend less time listening to Zeus complain and more time eating pomegranates and planning elaborate weddings for some of her human friends. Win/Win.
So, she said to Zeus, “Actually, my dear husband, if you watch more carefully, you’ll see that most of the stars go around and around in the same circles just as you say. But some of the stars are wanderers. They don’t go round and round and come back to the exact same place. Instead, if you watch long enough, they also go this way and that way. And some of them are actually the brightest stars in the sky. But they aren’t really stars at all. They are planets.
Zeus’s giant jaw dropped all the way to his chest. “What?! What are you talking about Hera. That can’t be right! I would have noticed. I’ve been staring at the sky every night for years and years. There aren’t any wanderers.”
“Oh, yes. You don’t notice because, after all, they appear to move slowly. They are far away and even though they are actually moving much faster than horses can run, they seem to move slowly. So, it’s not surprising you didn’t notice. To tell you the truth, I didn’t notice either until your daughter, Athena pointed them out to me.”
Zeus’s face darkened at the mention of Athena. “I still have a splitting headache from the spot where she came out of my forehead! I don’t see why she can’t have been born the normal way.”
Hera nodded. “Yes, well, let me tell you, Zeus, the normal way isn’t all that comfortable either! But that’s beside the point. It doesn’t matter who first discovered it. The point is that some of those things that appear to be stars are actually planets. They are not glowing globs of nuclear fusion at all. They are giant rocks — somewhat like earth — and they reflect the sun’s light. They go in orbit around the sun just as does earth. When we watch from here, it appears that they are wandering. There aren’t very many of them. Anyway, Athena and I decided to name them and make up stories about them so we would not be bored.”
“Name them? How did you name them? Why wasn’t I consulted?” Little thunderclouds orbited around the head of Zeus much as sharks will circle their prey. {And, actually, now we think about it, isn’t ‘sharks circling their prey’ a good metaphor for anger? It’s easy for you to become the actual prey for your own anger. Anyway, back to Hera.}
“Well, Zeus, we did look for you in order to get your opinion. But it turned out you were busy being overly friendly with a Swan named Leda. Or, maybe it was Dione. Honestly, you have so many kids from so many different wives, it’s hard to keep track. But again, not the point. We named many of these so-called planets after your kids. But to avoid confusion, we used the Roman names.”
“Roman names?” Zeus was puzzled. “What is Roman? What does that mean?”
Hera sighed. “Really Zeus, I’ve explained the Romans before. You really should go visit the Oracle at Delphi. They can tell the future. In the future, not so long from now, the Romans will take over much of the world and they will still make people worship us but with different names — their names. You, for example, will be known as ‘Jupiter’ among the Romans.”
“What?! ‘Jupiter’! What kind of name is that?!” Now, the dark rainclouds circling the head of Zeus began to flash and sparkle with lightening.
Hera sighed again, somewhat more exasperated. “I told you, Zeus. It’s a Roman name. In a few hundred years, we’ll all get Roman names. Anyway, the planet that apparently wanders back and forth the most, we named after Hermes. The Roman name for Hermes is Mercury. The one that has the prettiest blue color and shines the brightest reminded us of Aphrodite, the Goddess of Beauty so we named the next planet after the Roman name for Aphrodite, Venus.”
“Do I get one?” Asked Zeus.
“Of course! We named the biggest planet after you. After your Roman, name “Jupiter.” Your planet is big and golden, just like you.”
“Good!” Shouted Zeus.
“Good!” Shouted Hera. “Now, tonight, when the stars come out, you watch carefully. Keep careful track and after a few weeks, you’ll see that some of the stars do not keep going in exactly the same circles every night. You’ll see the ones we call ‘wanderers’ or ‘planets.” And if you see a big golden one, that’s named after you. Jupiter. Now, you rest up while I go fix tonight’s feast of ambrosia.”
Hera left. Soon, Zeus forgot all about getting a rest and instead decided to try his luck at a game of “Jolt the Dolt with a Bolt.” In this game, he would throw lightening bolts all the way down to the beach and fields and roads way below Mt. Olympus and try to Jolt humans with a lightening bolt. It was hit and miss. More often, in fact, it was miss, miss, miss, and finally hit. Lightening bolts were hard to control. Often, he not only jolted the human, he fried them to a crisp. He grew bored.
Then, Zeus had a great idea. He decided to have a competition. It would be more fun if he were Jolting and Bolting with someone else. And, he knew just the person! Ares, the Greek God of War. But how to get hold of him? Cellphones, of course, hadn’t yet been invented. “I know,” mumbled Zeus to himself, “I’ll have Hermes go get him.”
Zeus buzzed the intercom on Hermes’s desk. “Hey! Hey, Hermes! Come on over to my balcony. I challenge you to a came of ‘Jolt the Dolt with a Bolt!’ You up for it? I’ll wager you 20 drachmas a dolt. Oh, and pick up Ares on the way over.”
Hermes replied quickly. “You’re on! I’ll be there in a flash. But do me a favor. Call me by my Roman name, ‘Mercury.’”
Zeus opened his mouth to say something, but before he could utter a word, Mercury (aka Hermes) appeared right beside him.
“Wow, you’re fast!” Remarked Zeus.
“Yes,” said Hermes. “That’s why you made me the messenger of the Gods, remember? Any way, who else is playing? Where’s Hera?”
“Hera went off to cook up some ambrosia. She doesn’t really like it when I jolt people with lightening. Something about ethics.”
Hermes shook his head. “Ambrosia? Again! What about a snack first. Potato chips and dip for example? Or some nice fresh raspberries? Oh, I know! What was that thing Athena invented? Olives! Yes. Olives, Chips and Dips. I really have to have that every time I play Jolt and Bolts. I call it OCD for short. Any of that around?” Suddenly, Hermes struck himself in the middle of his forehead, as though he had forgotten V-8 rather than Ares, and V-8 had not even been invented yet. “I forgot Ares!”
Zeus was thunderstruck. “How could you forget war? It’s never far from my mind? How else can we get mere mortals to fight each other rather than us? After all, that’s half the fun of Bolt the Dolts! When you Bolt a Dolt, if they survive, they blame another human! As though humans could throw lightening bolts. Pathetic, really. Anyway, I’ll make snacks.”
Zeus went to the mini-fridge on the deck and quickly arranged a snack. When he brought the plate back, however, Hermes was gone. “What the … ?”
A moment later, Hermes reappeared with Ares. The Greek God of War.
Ares spoke up, “Hail to thee, Zeus! I hear we’re going to play a game of Jolt with Bolts. I’m teaming up with Hermes. Who else is on your side? Oh, hey! Nice snacks. If only we had a some grapes to go with it. Or, some grape juice. Hey, I know! How about Dionysus! He can be on your team. Have him bring some wine for us! It’ll be a blast!”
Zeus liked Dionysus but he wasn’t sure he would be a very good teammate at Bolts and Jolts. Dionysus had been drinking so much wine over such a long time, he sometimes had trouble remembering the rules. When that happened, as it always must, the game was ruined.
“I’ll tell you what. I’ve been hanging out all day — well, maybe all year, actually — here on Mt. Olympus. I’ll just borrow your chariot, Hermes, and go get Dionysus myself. We’ll be back in a jiffy.”
When he arrived at the house of Dionysus, he was rather surprised to find Dionysus completely sober. Though he had just poured himself a large flagon of wine, he had yet to drink a drop. “Hold on!” Cautioned Zeus and he stuck his hand out to block Dionysus. “No wine yet! You and I are having a contest and here’s the deal. I want you to bring a gallon of wine for our opponents Ares and Hermes. You and I are going to drink grape juice instead.”
Dionysus tilted his head. “Well, OK. I guess. But when can we start with the real wine?”
Zeus rolled his eyes. “Dionysus, it won’t be long. We’re going to hit a few humans with lightening bolts and call it a day. Hey, by the way, how’s your mom, Persephone, doing? Are she and Hades getting along in — where was it they relocated to? Hell?”
Dionysus frowned at Zeus. “You want me not to drink? Don’t bring up my Mom! I mean how in Hades do you think they’re doing? What is hell, after all, but lack of love and truth?”
Now it was Zeus who frowned. “I’m surprised to hear that. Hades seemed quite taken with her.”
Dionysus shook his head. “Zeus. That was lust, not love. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s focus on our strategy. Say, I forgot to ask. What are the stakes?”
When Zeus arrived back at his lavishly appointed deck, he could see that the sun was already beginning to sink. Okay, folks, let’s go. Let the games begin! Everyone quickly pick a human to defend. Each team will have two humans to defend and two that they are trying to pierce with a lightening bolt. Every contestant will be allowed one and only one throw each time the gong sounds. If there is a tie at any point, We’ll keep playing till another human is killed. Any questions? We’ll play nine rounds in all. Let’s go and let the best God win!”
Before the first gong, Dionysus pulled Zeus aside and said, “I don’t get it. We’re playing but we don’t really lose anything. Do we really care which humans are killed? We don’t really have a stake in the game. What’s the point?”
Zeus laughed. “We’re immortal. Don’t you see? That’s our curse. We’re immortal — so nothing really has a point.”
With that, Zeus strode over to his array of lightening bolts. He chose a jagged orange one. He hefted it a few times. He loved the feel of the steel. He couldn’t help but smile, remembering the nice feeling it gave him when he really nailed a human being.
“That ain’t showin’ respect. That’s just showin’ you don’t give a good God damn.” Greg turned and spat an impressively large wad of chewing tobacco all the way off the front porch onto the ill-kempt and scraggly lawn beyond. It was a kind of tic that Greg had, as though something of Sunday School had rubbed off on him after all; some teeny niggle of guilt dribbled through his nervous system when he said a curse word with the word “God” in it. If he happened to be chewing tobacco, which was most of his awake hours, it caused him to spew his chew. He frowned. He hated losing such a fresh wad of Stoker. Papa’s old hound dog heard the splat and ran over to investigate. One good whiff and the Bassett (named Ole’ Bassie) sneezed and turned away. Sometimes Papa remembered to feed him and that was good. But he wasn’t above eating garbage and anything he could catch. This however was too foul even for a semi-starving dog.
Greg’s older brother Ron and he couldn’t seem to agree on much of anything these days except how much they hated God damned snowflakes, as they called them. The two of them revisited this particular argument about whether it was okay to let their dad drive into town every few weeks. Understand, it wasn’t as though they scheduled the argument. No, it wasn’t that. Neither brother paid much attention to clocks or calendars. But as though scheduled by a mindless office software package, every two weeks, Papa would end up demonstrating some new level of dementia that re-ignited the argument. It was as regular (and as useful) as the biweekly committee meeting.
Ron pursed his lips in a perfect, though unconscious, imitation of the most small-hearted and sanctimonious church choir member in the Farmington Baptist Church. Ron shook his head disapprovingly as Greg pulled out his pouch of chaw and bit off another piece. Ron looked skyward as though repeating a small, silent prayer. “You know what happens to people that chew they’s tobacco like that there? Mouth cancer. Lips. Gums. Tongue. Whatever. You’re going to die like a dog, man. Keep it up and you might go before Papa even.”
“Better’n dyin’ of the H, I and V like you might do. I got me a wife and that’s it. I’m tellin’ you, Ron, sneaking off with every skirt…”
Ron began to wag his head back and forth as vigorously as Ole’ Bassie did whenever he emerged from “Lake Woe.” “Lake Woe” is how Aunt Emily had dubbed the swamp that lay like a forgotten promise between the family house and US 250. The name was meant as a dig. For a few years, the entire family had listened to “Lake Wobegon” on the radio every week. According to Garrison Keillor, all the children in Lake Wobegon were above average. “Well,” Aunt Emily had said with a nod, “there ain’t none of you kids that’s above average. All you been is woe. We’ll call it Lake Woe. You git it? Named after you two.”
Whenever his older brother Ron wagged his head like that, Greg thought of two things. First, he was every time amazed that he could move his head that fast. Greg was afraid he’d smash his brains against his skull if he tried that crap. After all, he though, don’t they get concussions and crap from fights and soccer and football? Must be the same with his head shaking.
The second thing that snapped into Greg’s mind was this. He recalled Aunt Emily’s naming ceremony at Thanksgiving Dinner. Greg had initially thought it was wonderful to have something as fun as the swamp named after him and his brother. Ron though, being older, and more knowledgeable about how things worked in the world, knew right away that it was a put-down, an insult. She was having “fun” at their expense. Ron explained all this to Greg right after dinner. But Greg had stubbornly refused to believe his older brother. Greg had just figured Ron was trying to be a “smarty pants” and spoil the moment for him.
Ron said, “I’ll tell you what, you cud-chewin’ cow. I’ll outlive you, I’ll betcha’ right now!”
Greg was one of those folks who is easily triggered by every little one of those everyday annoyances that civilization gifts upon us. Of course, some folks were pretty adept at avoiding Greg’s “hot buttons” but there were so many, that even the cautionary ones would screw up on occasion and say something that Greg took as demeaning or terrifying.
There was that Christmas dinner when Aunt Millie had not partaken of the canned New England Clam Chowder.
She led with: “The health benefits of being vegetarian” — button pushed. In fact, he was half way there just from hearing the phrase: “The health benefits.” The other thing about the way Greg’s brain worked was that once he heard a triggering word or phrase, he stopped listening. What Greg had never heard was the rest of Aunt Millie’s comment: “The health benefits of being vegetarian are nothing compared with the taste of a good fresh steak or fried chicken or best of all, roast turkey. I’ll have some of those. Butcha’ know, I’m allergic to shellfish. Even a tiny bit & I break out in hives….”
But never mind. We’ll stop that narrative right there because the contents don’t matter. What matters is that Greg never heard any of it. If you’d ask him, he’d tell you that Aunt Millie is a friggin’ vegetarian.
While there were those folks who tried to tip-toe around Greg’s hot buttons, Ron was not one of those people. No. He delighted in upsetting his brother. To Ron, it was just a game. Ron hardly even faked being upset most of the time. On rare occasions, he would feign hurt or rage or fear or love or whatever it took to get Greg’s goat. And, the thing about Greg’s hot buttons, which Ron knew full well, was that pushing the button always caused the same reaction. He could turn his brother into his … puppet. That made Ron feel as though he had some power in this world after all. He had some standing. He was somebody. Maybe he couldn’t control everything but he certainly could control his brother.
Greg’s brain also had an interesting kind of “three strikes and you’re out!” rule. Perhaps he had picked it up from baseball or a questionable theory about criminality. In any case, if Greg got upset three times in one day, each reaction was a little more extreme. He didn’t back off. Oh, no. To Greg, it meant, three strikes and the monster comes out. Understand, Greg didn’t realize he had such a rule. Ron understood it, but it just made it more fun. He could not only make his puppet brother dance; he could make him dance at different intensities as well.
Greg ground his teeth. “So how we know who wins the bet, smarty pants?! Hah?! Didn’t think of that, did you?”
Ron smiled placidly. “Sure. No problem. Give me the money now. If you die first, I’ll keep it. If I die first … well, you’re my only heir. Well, almost. I did give a little to Audrey.” Ron tried — and failed — to keep a straight face as Greg began his final meltdown.
“Audrey! Audrey! Are you kidding me? Whaddya’ think my wife’s gonna say about that! Why did Ron leave money to your old girlfriend? What’s going on? Are you still seeing her? I’ll friggin’ kill you!”
“That’s what would happen, you God-Damned” — well, that’s what did it right there. Ron miscounted. Greg was already beyond the boiling point when he spat out a perfectly virgin wad of chaw. It was his favorite brand too: Stokers.
Of course, we can only speculate what might have happened, had guns not been readily available and already loaded. As it was, the police pretty quickly chalked up the murder suicide to a family feud. It happens. They shrugged it off as just another one. Tragic. But — within normal bounds. The worst thing about the crime was how everyone seemed to have forgotten about Papa. Perhaps they unconsciously thought he was gone anyway. No-one looked for him. No-one seems to have noticed he was gone for weeks.
Since these two boys were Papa’s only offspring, in a way, the police were right. It really was a murder/suicide.
The boys had agreed on one thing about Papa while they had still been living. They had put almost all their assents into a three-way checking account.
Papa didn’t live much longer.
But Fiji is beautiful. And, you can be sure Papa made the most of it. He really had a blast.
There are some things whose memory we retain throughout our lifetime. Some remember their first look through a telescope or a microscope. Some remember their first taste of alcohol or coffee. Many remember their first kiss. All remember the first time they held their newborn baby and grandchild. So too, was it among the Veritas.
Tree Vines and Gathers Acorns immediately recognized the voice of their daughter despite their many years apart. They began to run toward the sound, but when they came within sight of her, they stopped. The couple held hands, and stared at their daughter who had now grown into a young woman.
Tree Vines thought of so many wasted years, but so many stories to tell and listen to. He would make it up to her — ever allowing her to be stolen in the first place.
Gathers Acorns regretted never have had a chance to talk with her daughter about so many important things. And who had raised her exactly? And, what kind of a person was she? But she’s my daughter, she thought. I want to hold her at long last.
Cat Eyes bit her lip. She thought: Could these be my parents? I have a family? Why did they let me get stolen? Of course, they had no choice. Tu-Swift doesn’t hate Many Paths for letting them steal him. I shouldn’t be mad at them but at the Z-Lotz and the ROI. That’s who I’m really mad at. But I am mad at my parents as well. It’s crazy. I wish I could have talked with Tu-Swift before I met them so suddenly. That didn’t happen so…I do feel like hugging them though.
All this flashed through each person’s mind in a split second of awkwardness and indecision. Then, the three of them melted into one six-legged, six-armed goddess of love. There were tears of joy and there were tears of regret and there were tears of anger and frustration as well.
Many Paths approached the reunited family holding hands with both Eagle Eyes and Shadow Walker. Soon, Many Paths noticed that the gaze of Eagle Eyes had shifted away from Family Together at Last to Trunk of Tree. She ran toward him and flung her arms around him. Many Paths noticed that Trunk of Tree smiled with true happiness. She was happy for him. She let out a little chuckle.
Shadow Walker then smiled as well and tilted his head at Many Paths in a clear sign of query. The smile upon the face of Many Paths broadened. She rested her head on the shoulder of Shadow Walker. She spoke quietly so only he could hear. “I love you so much. I missed you. Among other things….” She paused and looked up at his large, warm & smiling eyes. “Among other things, I missed your wise counsel. I was just thinking how desperate I was to talk with you or Eagle Eyes or Tu-Swift. And, you were all gone. She Who Saves Many Lives is still sick and she’s asleep, so I didn’t want to disturb her. And, I’m not sure…well, sometimes she seems delirious. The other night in her sleep, she sat upright suddenly and said something like:
“It’s all happened before! This has all happened before!”
I was about to start a conversation with her but she fell back down into a deep sleep. I mean what does that mean? So, I’m not sure I can trust her judgement right now. And everyone I really wanted to talk with was gone. And, now, you’re all back. And I don’t know … I know what I want to do. But there’s so much to do with the tribe. Can you wait a few hours while we deliberate?”
“Wait for what?” Shadow Walker pretended not to have any idea what she was talking about.
Many Paths simply hugged him tighter and said, “I must ask you this though. Are you all right? Did they harm you?”
Shadow Walker winced. He didn’t want to think about how he and Eagle Eyes had been ambushed so easily when they thought they were sneaking in unseen. “Not really. It’s no fun being in prison, but they were going to torture all of us. If it hadn’t been for Eagle Eyes, I’d be dead. She’d be dead. The parents of Cat Eyes would be dead. We really cannot thank her enough.”
Many Paths laughed. “Let’s let Trunk of Tree thank her first.” She smiled at him coquettishly.
Shadow Walker laughed with her for a polite period and then said, “Well, if they are going to have a private thanking session, then we … and well met, Trunk of Tree. Well met.”
Trunk of Tree went straight to the point. “There is much to discuss and many people to thank. But right now, we must prepare for war.”
Many Paths took on a serious tone as well. “I agree. We need to prepare for war — but not in such a way that it makes war more likely. We don’t know what the Z-Lotz will do. First, let us delve into what we have learned. Then, we may prepare more completely and thoughtfully. We must hear all the relevant stories first and then make plans.”
Eagle Eyes, who had accompanied Trunk of Tree, said, “Don’t wait too long. But I don’t think we are in immediate danger. They seem to have lost their horses. And, I think they will be preoccupied for a time choosing their leader. I can’t tell how long, but the very people who would argue that Shadow Walker wasn’t a “real” king because he hadn’t by himself slain NUT-PI now face a situation in which no-one can claim to have killed NUT-PI or Shadow Walker. So, to regain legitimacy, they may well try to kill Shadow Walker, but they must first fight amongst themselves about who should do it. I think it will delay their plans. You see, none of the would-be kings wants to share the killing with any of the others.”
Many Paths shook her head and muttered, “What a lovely system. And I suppose no-one else gets hurt in the process?”
Eagle Eyes and Shadow Walker exchanged glances. He spoke thus: “People — innocent people — do get hurt in the process. Of course. How could it be otherwise? NUT-PI, in his attempt to kill the eagles, instead killed several of the Z-Lotz. I’m sure he didn’t care, but I felt bad for them. That’s one reason — I hope I did the right thing — I destroyed the killing stick and then later, when I had a chance to take one or two, I took none. It may not have been … we have no idea how they work. I was afraid if we tried to take one apart to understand better how it works, we would have killed ourselves. Also, I remembered our “imagining exercise” where people pretended to have them to think about their uses. And two of our tribe were about to use the killing sticks over nothing. I mean over something so trivial that I cannot recall what it was. And, I guess that they don’t recall either. There is a reason that they are called “killing sticks.” Because that is what they do. Kill.”
Many Paths said, “I think we must continue to debate this, but not now. Now, we must focus on hearing the stories about the Z-Lotz and their likely tactics. And … but, Trunk of Tree, where did you come from? How did you get Tu-Swift and Cat Eyes?”
“I discovered a very short path to the Veritas on the other side of the mountain. I was hunting deer and the deer led me to this place that was a narrow cleft and then, I was at their village and there was Tu-Swift and Eagle Eyes. These two are … well, they know more about bawks than anyone else! You should see it.”
Tu-Swift, who had also joined the small group, said, “He means ‘books’ — it’s ‘books’ Trunk of Tree. Anyway, there is so much in those books, so many stories, no much information … and so much we still don’t understand. But this much we do understand. I have to tell you something. It is amazing and wonderful, but also … difficult. But we must understand the true story of how we got here before we plan what to do next. Do you agree?”
Many Paths shrugged. “I cannot disagree, at least not until I know more about what it is you’ve learned. What is it?”
Tu-Swift took a giant sigh. He looked down at the ground for a moment and then right into the eyes of his sister, Many Paths.
Everyone seems about to go for the throat. Many people are not sure whom to trust. Should they trust doctors who spend years and years learning about calculus, chemistry, biology and then more years in Medical school learning about anatomy, physiology, and medicine and then more years as an intern and resident? Or, instead, maybe how about believing a yelling, screaming talk show host? Hard to tell? Maybe no-one ever taught us how to tell liars from truth tellers. There is no simple formula that will guarantee us to be 100% accurate, but maybe we can think together about it.
——————-
(Processed photo from one I took on Maui.)
Sam sit alone at the local sandwich shop, and began contemplating whether to have dessert after his nice lunch. It was a club sandwich, already a lot of calories, but what the hell, he thinks. With what the doctor said this morning, I should be free to eat anything I want,
Three older guys — strangers — come in and waddle up to a table next to Sam’s. The trio have their menus but before glancing at them, they look up at a nearby TV and raise their fists. There’s a roar because someone has just run back a kickoff for a touchdown.
Andy says, “Wow! What a run back. I played in high school. Not easy running back a kickoff all the way into the end zone.”
Sam regards the threesome. It’s hard for him to believe any of them were ever fit enough to play football, but most people do gain weight with age and lack of exercise, so — he could be telling the truth.
Bob says, “I played in high school and college. I was good. Blew my knee out as a sophomore though and lost my scholarship.” This too seems plausible to eavesdropping Sam.
Cal says, “I played in high school, college, and went pro. I was fantastic. Probably the best runner and wide receiver and quarterback in the history of Ohio State. I played free safety too. Had more tackles than anyone before or since. If I were playing quarterback, no way that guy would have scored. I was the top draft pick five years running. A lot of quarterbacks these days are too chicken to tackle anyone. I would have nailed him. I was breaking all the records for the Houston Texans! But I got bored. Football’s really a simple game.”
Sam thinks that Cal is bragging way too much. His story is a priori unlikely. Regardless of what he says or how he says it, the chances that a random person is the best anything at Ohio State is highly unlikely. He played back, wide receiver, quarterback and free safety? That’s unlikely. Extremely unlikely.
Sam frowns and shakes his head. What does it mean to be the “top draft pick” for five years? If that were true, it would lead naturally to an explanation but none was provided. Further, quarterbacks may be told not to risk their careers making a tackle on a punt return. But what quarterback is on the field to defend a kickoff return?
Houston Texans? Their first season was 2002. This guy looks to be at least 65. So…he was playing all those positions when he was 45? That seems highly unlikely. Got bored playing football? Possible, but again seems very highly unlikely. Football’s a really simple game? Really?
Cal’s story has a lot of holes in it. Now Sam laughs that he ever swallowed any of it.
Bob says, “You played for the Houston Texans? You mean the Oilers?”
Cal shoves his chair back hard enough to spill water on the table. He pushes on the arms of his chair and manages to stand up and he yells even louder, pounding the table to illustrate just how much he believes in what he’s saying. “I said Texans and I mean Texans! I was the best in the whole damned state of Texas! The whole south for that matter!”
Sam laughs to himself, thinking, Well, that settles it I guess. Cal is really passionate and loud so he must be telling the truth, right?
No.
Wrong.
People who are telling the truth do not feel the need to scream and yell and make even more outrageous claims the first time someone questions them.
Sam snorts at the ridiculous claims and then has an idea. It takes Sam 20 seconds to pull out his iPhone and look up Eli Manning, the first name that popped into his head.
Sam reasons: “If Cal were really the best football player in the history of Texas, he could have easily verified it by finding his own entry on the web (likely on Wikipedia) and shown his table mates the entry. He would not have had to scream and yell and pound the table.”
Sam thinks: Okay, but no-one’s going to fall for a con man like that.
{Really? Don’t be too sure, Sam}.
Cal says to the approaching and attractive server: “Hey, darling. You look yummier than anything on the menu. Do you know who I am? Do you know what I did before I became a billionaire? Go ahead guys. Tell this lucky sweetheart who’s going to be leaving someone a very big tip!”
Andy and Bob may think: Well, at least he’s going to leave the tip.
So, Andy and Bob outline Cal’s biography in the football hall of fame (where his name definitely does not appear should anyone actually look it up).
Andy and Bob feel pretty sheepish about joining in this pack of lies. But Cal doesn’t think they have been anywhere near lavish enough in their description of him. Cal says: “Oh, on, guys! Make this girl’s day! Tell her she’s had the pleasure of serving the greatest football player in the history of the game! I don’t say that. That’s what everyone says! Right, guys?”
Now Sam looks over and can see that Andy and Bob are both a bit embarrassed. They’ve gone along with Cal’s lies, but they don’t want to admit to that now because it makes them out to be liars too. So they go along with the bigger lie.
Andy says, “Yeah. Something else, right? He was OSU’s best player ever. Yep.”
Bob says, “Uh-huh.”
Cal shakes his head at Bob. “Come on! God, that’s the damndest weakest most candy-ass description I’ve ever heard, Bob. Tell her how many touchdowns I had. Just me. At OSU!”
Bob looks bewildered. He knows it’s all a lie. People all over the restaurant are starting to look over at the table and more than a few are looking admiringly at Cal.
Bob thinks to himself, Quite a few cute chicks here. Cal can’t handle all of them.” He feels inspired. He takes out his iPhone and says, “Damn. Battery’s about gone. Let me just … here … fifty touchdowns. My God! That is amazing!”
Cal rolls his eyes. “Give me that damned phone! That’s not right! It’s two hundred and fifty. Not fifty. Yep. There it is. I’m going to look up how many interceptions I had. Oh, crap! Battery dead. Hey guys, I gotta skedaddle. Here’s your crap cellphone back Bob.”
By now, Andy and Bob are both too embarrassed to come clean. Cal makes a big show out of taking out his wallet and thumbing a large pile of cash. He makes it look as though he’s leaving a big tip but actually only leaves a couple bucks. Andy and Bob split the entire bill.
Sam shakes his head slowly as he watches the three waltz out. Their server looks in awe of Cal and stares him out of the establishment. She even stares with some desire — despite the fact that Cal is grossly overweight and barely able to wobble his way out of the restaurant. But she imagines how once he must have been quite a specimen and it’s that image that is the real target of her desire.
She also looks forward to finding out just how giant of a tip he left her. A few moments later, she walks over to the “billionaire’s” table and before opening up the placard, tries to guess how much it is. Several of her colleagues have come over as well. She turns around and tells them to back off. “It’s my tip, thank you very much” she says. “Just remember, I’m the one who tried to convince you all to share tips but you wouldn’t have any of it.”
They back off, slightly miffed. Now, the young lady has made up her mind it will be at least a hundred dollars, but she dares to hope that maybe he did something crazy and left her a thousand!!
She notices her hands trembling as she opens up the placard and sees three bills.
She blinks. She sets her jaw. She’s not going to let her colleagues see her disappointment or that he stiffed her, especially after he felt her thigh. All the way up. She forces a gleeful tone into her voice and jams the outer corners of her lips up towards her ears. “Oh, boy!” She shouts with intended but pretended joy. “This will buy me a new iPhone!” As she said this, each successive word increased in loudness and pitch. She sounded a lot like someone desperately peddling costume jewelry on channel 666 at 4 am.
Her colleagues glance at each other. She fooled no-one. They all realize she got stiffed. Each is torn between comforting her, making fun or her, or just pretending along with her. For the sake of keeping a reasonably happy work environment, they all choose to go along with her.
Sam shakes his head and looks down at his melted coffee ice cream with hazelnuts. Now it’s just cold coffee with a lot of wet nuts.
And, then Sam realizes that that is the least tragic thing that happened here today. In the length of time it took his ice cream to melt, one liar became seven liars.
Same took a deep breath. This is what’s happening inside me, he realized.
Many Paths trotted over to the location specified by the drum rolls. Her eyes skimmed over the path ahead, skipping from one good landing spot to another. She gave a little chuckle as she reminded herself that there was no need for another sprain in the family. Images of her brother Tu-Swift and her lover Shadow Walker both loomed into her mind’s eye. She missed both of them so much. She believed it likely that Tu-Swift was fine but Shadow Walker was another matter. She felt he was okay, but being surrounded by ROI and Z-Lotz…? That was inherently dangerous and unstable. She really wanted both of them to be with her.
Then she sighed and thought to herself, If I am really going to attempt to bring peace to the tribes — or bring the tribes to peace — I must be able to master my own feelings. Trunk of Tree is not the person whose counsel I most wish for, but still he does have a different perspective on things and I should tell him that I value that. But …
She stopped in the path and listened to the drum signals. There were four people approaching. So far as Many Paths knew, Trunk of Tree had stomped off by himself. Who were the other three? She frowned and bit her lower lip, but she took a deep breath and waited for the drumbeats to signal who his companions might be. Soon, she knew, the signal drums would inform her of names for known people and transmit descriptions for unknown people.
Her eyes widened. The drums did not speak of Trunk of Tree. No! It was Shadow Walker! She began sprinting toward the spot the drums indicated. And, Eagle Eyes! And two more Veritas! Her strong legs now propelled her forward even faster, fueled by a mixture of gratitude, longing, joy, and curiosity. At last, she came around a bend in the path, went up a slight rise and saw a party ahead on the path. Shadow Walker!
She screamed his name, “Shadow Walker!”
Shadow Walker saw Many Paths and began running as well. They came together in a rib-bruising clasp. They closed their eyes and kissed each other wordlessly. Many Paths chided herself for forgetting how wonderful her partner smelled. And tasted. She pushed him away at arm’s length to allow herself a good long look at him and then hugged him to her again. “Shadow, Shadow, Shadow!”
She again pushed him away and smiled at him. “You have no idea. What? We thought… Dear Eagle Eyes.” She embraced her as well. “Who —? I’m sorry. Forgive me, visitors. I am Many Paths of the Veritas tribe.”
Shadow Walker’s smile of joy seemed to illuminate the nearby sheaves of grass. “Many Paths, allow me to introduce Tree Vines and Gathers Acorns. These are the parents of Cat Eyes! We — there is so much to tell, but we must save much for another time. We must — I am afraid that we suspect the Z-Lotz may come after us. I am sorry to say, we must be prepared for another attack.”
Many Paths greeted Tree Vines and Gathers Acorns with a genuinely warm smile. “I am very happy to meet you. Come. Let us go to our Center Place where we may prepare guards so that we may tell each other our stories in peace and safety!” Many Paths took the hands of Eagle Eyes in her own and then hugged her. “I missed you too! I could really use your advice on so much. There is so much. But wait! Are you sick? Are any of you sick? You don’t look sick. But very recently we have had a plague here.”
Shadow Walker quickly explained that he believed all four of them to be well though there were many among the Z-Lotz and ROI who were quite sick and many had died. As the small group proceeded toward the village, many other Veritas came out to greet them as well for all had heard the drum signals. By the time they came to the Center Place of the Veritas, a great crowd had assembled.
Many Paths strode up to the speaking stone that stood at one end of the clear open space in the middle of the village. She called out in strong, happy voice: “As you can see, Shadow Walker and Eagle Eyes have returned! And, these two companions are Tree Vines and Gathers Acorns and all have tales to tell. But first, we must make sure the guards are on alert. Although they do not believe they were followed, they have reason to think we must be ready for another attack by the Z-Lotz, the people who steal children.”
When she had finished her short speech a thousand questions began to be whispered while the drummers pounded out their message of caution to the guards that had been posted at the outskirts of the Veritas lands. When the drumbeat signals stopped, Many Paths held her hand out to Eagle Eyes. Many Paths desperately wanted to hear what Shadow Walker had to say, but she felt that Eagle Eyes should likely tell her tale first.
She ascended the rock and described how she and Shadow Walker had quite easily tracked the recent envoys from the Z-Lotz. She told how the men they tracked had all fallen quite ill with red dots and how they had buried their bodies in rocks. She began to describe how unclean she and Shadow Walker had felt after. As she thought back on that, she felt the color rising in her neck so she quickly skipped ahead. “In any case, we snuck into the city of the Z-Lotz and thought we were unseen. We were captured and held separately. We had all been on the verge of being murdered in public by the King of the Z-Lotz, NUT-PI. He had a killing stick which he was going to use to torture and kill us along with many other prisoners. As she looked out on her tribe, she could see that they were spellbound. She nodded briefly and went on. “I looked up into the sky and saw eagles. I closed my eyes and imagined their calls.” By now, Eagle Eyes animated every aspect of her story. When she closed her eyes, she saw eagles right here and now. So did most of her audience.
She continued, “I called them to me. They began to circle and then swooped down in a flash to attack NUT-PI. He tried to kill them with his killing stick but he was too slow. And…we had another weapon!”
She paused, enjoying the expectant looks on the faces before her. “Not so long ago, some of you may have seen that we were playing with reflections and found that enough reflections of the sun, concentrated on one place, could cause small sticks to catch fire. The Z-Lotz put a shiny collar on us. While we were imprisoned, Gathers Acorns and I hatched a plan that, if we had a chance, we would shine the sun into the eyes of our enemies. Shadow Walker and the other men prisoners had similar collars. He quickly caught on to what we were doing and added their reflections. Since NUT-PI was the immediate threat, we all reflected our little suns onto him and his head burst into flames!”
The eyes of the Veritas widened as they pictured someone bursting into flames. She let this image sit for a moment in the collective imagination of her tribe. Then, she resumed.
“Different tribes choose their leaders in various ways. The Z-Lotz choose by assassination! Since Shadow Walker, so we claimed, had killed NUT-PI, he should become their leader. As you might imagine, many objected to this, but, at least initially, since it was their habit, and the people were afraid, most accepted him — us really — as rulers. I can tell you more about how that went later, but first, there were several attempts to overthrow Shadow Walker by assassination. Last night, Tree Vines came at night and told us there was going to be an attack by many in the morning so we had to leave immediately. We came here. Obviously, the Z-Lotz already know where we are. But we didn’t see any signs that we were being followed. Still, prudence would say that we need to be careful. From the Z-Lotz standpoint, Shadow Walker is actually still king…so long as he’s alive, that is. But even apart from that, it’s clear that they would not mind exploiting us and possibly even destroying us.”
Many Paths spoke next. “Did you bring NUT-PI’s killing stick back with you? Were there more?”
Eagle Eyes glanced at Shadow Walker. Then, their eyes locked. It was clear that Eagle Eyes wanted him to explain why he had made the killing sticks inaccessible. He nodded, almost imperceptibly and ascended the rock, unafraid to take a helping hand from his friend. “By sheer accident, we discovered a stash of killing sticks. By the way, I destroyed the one NUT-PI had. It was a thing of much violence, clearly, but beyond that, I knew nothing about how to operate it. So, I destroyed it. If I had kept it, it might have been used against me. I could not picture myself killing a human being in such a way with such a thing.” He paused as though reliving how difficult the decision had been.
Then, Shadow Walker continued his narrative.”We found a stash of killing sticks. By accident. We don’t know who among the Z-Lotz knows of its existence. We had not yet decided what to do with them when Gathers Acorns and Tree Vines told us we must leave with as little as possible. I made it so the Z-Lotz could not easily get to these killing sticks. If they know about them, they will eventually get them but, Gathering Acorns also poured a combination of fermenting acorns and sewage atop the killing sticks. She believes this will render them useless, not to mention disgusting, but we are not really sure.”
Many Paths regained the gray granite stage, and said, “Now, here is another thing. These helpers of Shadow Walker and Eagle Eyes — Tree Vines and Gathers Acorns — are the parents of Cat Eyes. They have been apart for many years. And, as soon as these two are rested from their journey, we will have a group quickly take them to their village on the other side of the mountain so they can be re-united at last with their daughter.”
Many Paths frowned. She looked down at the wrinkly old lady who had been — and still was — her mentor, her shaman, her friend. She Who Saves Many Lives was drifting off to sleep but with a smile on her face, despite the difficulties and discomfort of the Red Spider Plague. Many Paths herself smiled. Even in sleep, the old Shaman made her feel better.
She decided to let her mentor sleep. Many Paths had been about to ask for a hint about the puzzle she had just been given. Many Paths laughed to herself thinking, Just as well. Her “hints” are just as likely to lead the student astray as they are to bring sunlight to the right path.
Many Paths left the old shaman’s cabin and walked about the Center Place of the Veritas. She greeted various members of the tribe warmly, and once she had greeted everyone in sight and reassured them that she was cured and that The Old Grandmother was resting comfortably. She had discovered that greeting everyone and having a short conversation with them allowed the maximum chance for uninterrupted thought. So, she settled herself at the porch of her own cabin. She reviewed what the old shaman had said to see if there was a clue to this seemingly impossible problem.
“There are two locked boxes. Each contains the other’s one and only key. Yet, I am able to use the keys to open both boxes. How is that possible?”
First of all, why had she brought this up? Was it just something that bubbled up in the overheated brain because of the fever? Perhaps. But Many Paths reckoned it more likely that She Who Saves Many Lives had intentionally chosen this puzzle because it held something useful for the problem at hand.
Well, thought Many Paths, to be more precise — not the only problem at hand — there were so many. But the one she had shared with her mentor was how to bring together all the nearby tribes and broker a peace deal amongst them. Fires. Wars. Killing Sticks. Stealing children. It was all madness. And the Z-Lotz? Bringing the Red Spiders Plague on purpose? Giving them a gift which was really meant to sicken them? How could there peace with such as that? And yet — and yet, somehow her lover Shadow Walker and one of her closest friends, Eagle Eyes had become the leaders of the Z-Lotz! If, she reminded herself, the note brought by the Eagle could be believed.
Many Paths sighed. She wished she could talk it through with someone. Yet…she had a feeling that She Who Saved Many Lives didn’t give her the puzzle because she wanted the answer. The old shaman already knew the answer. It was specifically designed to move something within Many Paths. Many Paths laughed aloud at her own train of thought. She shook her head and muttered to herself, “Here I am. I can’t solve the puzzle she gave me so instead, I’ve given myself a still harder problem — trying to read the mind of She Who Saves Many Lives! I think if I know why she gave me the puzzle, it would help me figure out the answer. The much more sensible approach is to solve the puzzle and then it will be much easier to solve why she gave it to me.”
Many Paths closed her eyes and put her fingers to her temple. With her eyes closed, she became much more aware of the warmth of the sun on her face. She quite consciously relaxed her muscles and slowed her breathing.
She thought: Inventory. What do I know? There are two boxes. There they are. Many Paths pictured two large wooden boxes side by side. They were identical. What are they made of? Are there holes? Is it still a box if there are holes? Maybe it’s still a box, but they are locked boxes. Locked boxes are not really locked boxes if their are large enough holes for me to slide my hand through and simply grab the keys. They are supposed to be locked boxes. But why are they made of pine wood? No-one said anything about pine or even wood. They could be carved out of stone, I suppose or even of ice. The boxes could melt! But she said ‘use the keys’ — well, I suppose you could take the keys and warm them in a fire and then, use that heat to melt the ice…but no, I wouldn’t yet have the keys. I could wait till they melt naturally. Then I could grab the keys, but I wouldn’t be using them to open the boxes. Is melting a box really opening it?
So, how do I know the boxes are identical? Suppose I am one of the boxes? I am in the tribe but I am also myself — my own person — even though I lead the tribe. Something is nearby. I can hear the answer rustling in the bushes but it is still too dark to see it clearly. Two boxes. Not necessarily the same. One could be the tribe. One could be me. If I had the key to the tribe … and the tribe had the key to me….they could me the key I need to open me and I could give them the key to open them.
In the mind of Many Paths, the two boxes began playing with each other. She made them mentally chase each other in circles. Then, when she grew tired of that game, she had them continue their roles to the end. One of the boxes opened its giant “mouth” — a hinged side — and “eat” the other box.
Many Paths stopped breathing. Her eyes snapped open. “Of course!” She said aloud. Her first inclination was to run back to continue her conversation with She Who Saves Many Lives. But she shook her head. She’s likely still asleep, thought Many Paths, and besides. There’s the other half of the problem. Why did she…? Ah, of course!
Many Paths saw that the second puzzle — why she had been given this puzzle when she had been telling She Who Saves Many Lives how much she wanted to bring peace to the tribes but she couldn’t even control Trunk of Tree — that wasn’t a puzzle at all. It was obvious. If she wanted to change the external world to be more peaceful, she herself would have to be changed — perhaps more peaceful — perhaps not. The puzzle didn’t specify exactly what about herself she would have to change. A puzzle merely illustrates a principle. It never dictates real world action. All the Veritas were taught this early, including Many Paths.
Her intuition led her to believe the two “keys” were different in her dilemma just as they had been in the puzzle. But —she also believed that they would be closely related. Many Paths wanted to the tribes to be more peaceful, more truthful, kinder, more cooperative. She sighed and issued a short laugh.
Many Paths said to herself, I want all the tribes to be more like the Veritas. I want them all to be Veritas. But — I can’t bring six tribes together and explain that they should all be just like me … or even more like me.
Again, Many Paths had a sudden impulse to run back to She Who Saves Many Lives to share her new insight. And, once again, she immediately suppressed that sudden urge. Instead, she sighed. She did wish that she could discuss this with one of her friends. It was clear that she needed to make a change, but it also seemed obvious to her that it was just the sort of change that friends could help with.
She thought, My friends will see in the moment that I am assuming everyone wants to be a Veritas and point it out. Eventually, the new way will permeate my thinking. But which friends? My most trusted friends were all unavailable at the moment. I’m not ready to allow the spread of rumors about a meeting with all the tribes. It can’t be just anyone. Could I talk about it with Trunk of Tree?
Many Paths took a deep breath. She reckoned she could talk about it with Trunk of Tree, but first, she needed to really see and understand his point of view.
She thought, Prior to seeing him, I need to make a guess at his perspective and then I need to check it out with him. I can’t just assume it’s right, but I might make a start. He’s always thought he should be the leader because he’s the strongest. In his mind being strongest is the most important thing. I need to make him see that we all do think it’s important. We value his strength and all wish we had more of your strength. We also believe that other things are also important. And, it may be the case, that in some instances, being the strongest is the very most important thing for a leader to have. And, it may be the case, that in some other instances, being able to see the best, or hear the best, or speak the most convincingly, or think the most creatively. Who knows? We have a way to choose a leader. And in that way, I was chosen. It doesn’t mean that you are not the strongest. It does not mean that we care nothing about you or your strength. It just means that for now, the shaman judges that the seven rings of empathy were the best trials. Of course, the people are the final judge and if everyone wants to change the way we choose leaders, so be it. Perhaps everyone will decide a wrestling match should determine the leader — or, as with the Z-Lotz and Cupiditas, — a fight to the death. If the people decide that, then so be it, and I will support you. And so will Shadow Walker and Eagle Eyes and Tu-Swift. But as it is, I am the chosen leader. That doesn’t make me your ruler. I come to you as a friend and I need your advice precisely because you and I don’t always see eye to eye. Here’s what I’m thinking….
Her thoughts continued: Of course, I must be open to many paths of conversation. Perhaps I should suggest that I speak uninterrupted for a time. Trunk of Tree could be a good confidant if he will hear me out first. It requires so much work though to work with him. Of course, the same can be said of getting the six tribes together. It’s like trying to weave…yes…it is like weaving! The tribes can all be different. We can do things differently. But the question is, what do we want to work on together. And let us move in different directions and make the whole basket stronger.
Many Paths felt relieved somehow and looked forward to having an honest conversation with Trunk of Tree. She circled through the village looking for him but he was nowhere to be found. She wondered if he had gotten so made that he had injured himself or even left the tribe. She shook her head. She was having a bad day of fishing or hunting. She chuckled to herself and thought: I was actually looking forward to talking with Trunk of Tree and he’s not here. Oh, I miss Shadow Walker!
Just then, the attention of Many Paths turned to the air. She heard a distinct drumbeat pattern that someone safe was approaching. She thought: It looks as though I will have my conversation with Trunk of Tree after all.
Shadow Walker sat in silence at the edge of the dimly lit “Royal Chamber.” It was his turn to “stand watch” and though he had trained his mind to concentrate, his mind nonetheless wandered from time to time. He thought of many things, but mainly of Many Paths. Despite the myriad talents of Eagle Eyes, he wished Many Paths were there instead. The mind of Many Paths was well suited to thinking through the current dilemma. Shadow Walker and Eagle Eyes had agreed to provisionally treat his three chosen ministers as confidants. He had hated to do it, but he fed each one of them different “confidential” information which he asked that they not share with anyone else. In this way, he could eventually success whom he could really trust.
In the “Royal Bed”, as it was known, they had folded extra blankets to make it appear that two people were sleeping cuddled together. Meanwhile, he and Eagle Eyes had agreed to take turns watching to see whether any assassin would appear. This much, at least, seemed like a good plan for now, but they needed their sleep. It wasn’t sustainable to stay alert on short sleep indefinitely. And besides, it wasn’t only in their sleep they could be assassinated. Even if they managed to avoid death at night, could they be on their guard sufficiently to protect themselves the entire rest of the day? Day after Day?
At least being potentially beset on all sides helped Shadow Walker stay awake for his shift. He could see the form of Eagle Eyes lying asleep on the floor near the opposite wall. He cared for her. She had already saved his life at least twice since arriving at the City of the Z-Lotz. For now at least, the Z-Lotz as well as the remnants of the ROI treated him as king and bowed down deeply to him. This was a move which invariably sickened Shadow Walker inwardly, but he tried to portray the face of someone who would find such actions pleasant. For this image, he chose his memory of Trunk of Tree whom he imagined would like it if people bowed down to him.
Trunk of Tree. There was another dilemma. Trying to convince Many Paths that I was dead? Trying to take her for his own mate though — what about Eagle Eyes? He was good in a battle. That much was so. Perhaps, he … he takes actions that might lead to war because that is what he’s good at? This will not help me here though…although, it does relate to trust. Trust.
Trust is hard! That much seems certain. Trunk of Tree and I have been friends our whole lives and yet…
Suddenly, Shadow Walker stopped breathing to listen better. He had thought he heard a commotion outside. This “City” as the Z-Lotz called it, was always noisy, even at night. But the noise was not a harmonious, peaceful song as given by the birds, bugs and bullfrogs of night. For a moment, it was too quiet and then … a disconcerting noise. So, maybe it was nothing. He heard nothing more and gradually relaxed his muscles. His mind turned back to trust.
(Weaving in different directions makes it stronger.)
He did actually trust Tree Vines, and to some extent, Tree Vine’s wife, Gathers Acorns, as well. And, that degree of trust may have slowed his hand just enough as he leapt to his feet and nearly beheaded her. In an instant, Eagle Eyes was awake and on her feet as well, bow in hand and drawn.
Shadow Walker was so taken aback by his nearly killing one of the few people they could trust, he stood speechless. Eagle Eyes hissed, “What are you doing here? You sneak into someone’s chamber in the middle of the night? You could have been killed! How would that be? How would we explain that to Cat Eyes? How … “
Gathers Acorns held up her hand and shook her head slowly. “Stop! Listen! You must hear my tale and then you can decide whether I acted stupidly.”
Shadow Walker and Eagle Eyes looked at each other a moment and sighed. Shadow Walker calmed his breathing but his mind was still not totally convinced she wasn’t there to assassinate him. He tightened his jaw and nodded for her to speak.
“No time for long explanations, but many, many Z-lotz are coming to kill you tonight just before dawn. You must leave now. Immediately. Tree Vines and I will accompany you if we may. We have provisions. Take whatever is close to hand. Your weapons. We must go quickly!”
Shadow Walker and Eagle Eyes again looked to each other for guidance. Then, they realized they were both doing it and it struck both of them as funny. In different circumstances, they might have laughed. As it was, however, Eagle Eyes spoke, “We don’t have time to destroy — or take — all the killing sticks! Should we take a few?”
In Shadow Walker’s mind a picture flashed: As a young brave, he had been looking over the edge of a deep well. His dad held him tight across his waist. Far below, he thought he could see a reflection of himself, but it was dim. He wasn’t sure. So, he waved to the reflection to see whether it would wave back. In his excitement, he had forgotten that his waving hand held his favorite rock — a gray crystal of galena — lead ore. The rock slid from his hand. He realized in an instant it was gone forever. Inaccessible.
Shadow Walker looked at Eagle Eyes and said, “We don’t need to destroy them. Let’s make them all inaccessible.”
“How?” Eagle Eyes shook her head and shrugged her shoulders.
For all we know, no-one but us actually knows how to move the partition or even that the weapons are there. It would be just like NUT-PI not to tell anyone about it. He would have that special lever made and then likely killed the carpenter who did it. Or, perhaps, the threat of death would be enough. In any case, we can likely destroy the link between the knob and the partition. We can’t count on no-one knowing. Or, breaking through the wall if necessary.”
Gathers Acorns drew near and put one hand on each of their shoulders. “We can also make them inaccessible another way. It won’t take long. I’ll see to it while you pack up. Don’t make a disturbance and keep whatever you take to a minimum.”
Shadow Walker strode to the knob on the back of the bed. He thought it possible that yanking hard might break the connection. He didn’t feel it had actually broken, but a narrow wooden rod now stuck out a few inches. Shadow Walker drew his sword and hacked straight through the rod. He could hear a clattering down below the floor.
Eagle Eyes looked at Shadow Walker. “You realize, we can’t get them either.”
“I know. I know that I made a decision for the whole tribe.”
Gathers Acorns reappeared with Tree Vines. She said breathlessly, “It is done! Let us go!”
For a brief moment, it occurred to Shadow Walker that it could all be a trap.
“Trust”, he whispered to himself, “a difficult puzzle. For another time and place.”
Out into the night, lit only by a few oil lamps, they sped to the edge of the city, whereupon they vanished into an even darker night lit only by stars. Traveling fast at night held its own dangers, but they wanted to put as much distance as possible between their party and, what they imagined would be, much larger search parties.
When Cat Eyes had finished reading aloud the story of The Wobby Man, she put aside what the ancients called a “book” and looked expectantly at Tu-Swift. He seemed lost in thought — tortured thoughts filled with thorns — by his visage. Cat Eyes stood and grabbed a nearby water pouch. Reading made her thirsty. She sat back down across from him. She smiled. She was happy to see him again; happy to be reunited with her parents; happy at all the things that the tribe had learned from their discovery; happy that it had taken both of them working together, with their mutual friend Suze, in order to discover how to read. The joy of Cat Eyes felt a sharp edge though because Tu-Swift seemed anything but happy.
“But, I don’t — .” Tu-Swift didn’t finish what he said to Cat Eyes because he didn’t know what he himself meant to say. Instead, he shook his head from side to side. “Why?”
Cat Eyes took his hands into her own and looked at him with love in her eyes, a love that he did not see because his head bowed down and his eyes were only upon the ground. After a few moments she put one of her hands under his chin and lifted it up. They looked into each other’s eyes and she could see that his eyes were tearing up. “It’s okay. It’s to learn from, like all the stories here.”
Tu-Swift shook his head from side to side and bit his lips. “But why?” His voice was plaintive as though he had a thorn stuck painfully under his fingernail and pled for her to remove it.
Cat Eyes sighed and asked gently, “Why what? What are you struggling with? Maybe we can work it out together. Often, life is a fight, but it doesn’t mean you have to be alone in every fight.”
Tu-Swift nodded. After a pause he said, “Why did The Wobbly Man do all that evil? And why did they let him?! Why couldn’t they see what he was up to?”
Cat Eyes nodded. “There are people who do things — evil things — such as steal children. Perhaps there always will be. But I don’t think they think of it as evil. To them, it’s their way of … living … or of having fun. They like destroying life and love in others … I guess because they cannot experience it themselves. I don’t know.”
Tu-Swift sighed. “You are right of course. Within the Veritas where I grew up, there was one such. The Wobbly Man sounds much like him. He manipulated others. He was cruel. Yet, he was such a good liar that he almost fooled our leader, the wise She Who Saves Many Lives. He actually betrayed the tribe to NUT-PI. And here’s the worst part. He got several other braves to go along with his schemes. Without ALT-R, I don’t think POND MUD or KAVANUT would have even been evil.”
“Yes.” After a pause, Cat Eyes added, “It’s much like that Red Spotted Death. It can spread from person to person. And, just as there are evil people even in societies based on truth and trust and love, so too there are people who act in good ways even among the Z-LOTZ and the ROI. It’s much like the story about the two wolves inside someone and which one you feed. The customs of the tribe can make it easy to feed the good wolf — or easy to feed the bad wolf.”
Tu-Swift let out a long sigh. He stood up and held out his hand. Cat Eyes took it and, for a time, they walked in silence. Without intending to do so, they ended up at the entrance to the now dysfunctional tunnel. They stood for a time, holding hands in silence staring at the tunnel. At last, Tu-Swift voiced what both were thinking.
“How could a people know so much as to build a tunnel through a mountain — and yet be so ignorant as to let a liar destroy their village?”
Another long silence ensued until Cat Eyes sighed and spoke again. “We still have many books to read and understand. Many books are filled with words whose meanings we have yet to understand. It appears that it wasn’t just a village here and there. The plague of evil lies destroyed everything. I know you have struggled with whether to use the fire sticks….”
Tu-Swift wondered why Cat Eyes stopped speaking. He looked at her and saw that silent tears were streaming down her cheeks. He squeezed her hand and asked gently, “What is it, Cat Eyes? Why are you so sad?”
“Actually, I was just thinking a little while ago how happy I am about so many things. Yet … we had so much. We knew so much. But we destroyed it. If the books are true, and if our understanding is correct, weapons were developed that … weapons were created that were far worse than fire sticks. Far worse. Yet, there were also treatments for every disease. But the people forgot that they were part of the Tree of Life. People forgot that they were all one. People — not everyone — but enough — just began to grab everything they could for themselves. Lying became commonplace. Once the truth meant nothing, decisions were made by power alone. That is bad enough in the Z-Lotz or, from what you told me, among the Cupiditas. But imagine that they had — not just fire sticks — but horrible weapons that could destroy many villages and all the people in them. Of course, in doing so, these weapons killed birds and butterflies and trees and no-one even seems to have noticed! Maybe … perhaps, we are not really understanding. Maybe they are just stories to prevent people from becoming what the books say that they became. Maybe.”
Tu-Swift bent down and plucked up a small flower that had grown in the cranny of the wall that held the now defunct controls for the tunnel door. He gently braided the stem into the silky hair of Cat Eyes. When he was done, he said, “Well, the tunnel is real. Yet, no-one really knows how it works. How could that be? I mean, unless there was some great loss of learning. I don’t know. Perhaps, we can learn from these stories, whether real or not, how to … how to ensure that we do not fall so far again. From what you said, it sounds…it sounds as though the people became sightless and witless. How can the people not see that they are a part of the Great Tree of Life? How can they not hear the song of the bird or the murmur of the stream? How can they not see the beauty of the trees and flowers all around them? How can they not taste the sweetness of honey?”
Cat Eyes nodded. “That is one of the main question that we — those of us who are studying the books — keep asking ourselves. But when this question is asked, none of us answers. Not yet. Each of us is hoping someone else will explain. But what comes to our ears is only the silence and the cedars sighing in the wind.”
“Tu-Swift, we are learning so much from the library we uncovered. Just as you came, I was putting the final touches on a translation of a story about Stoned Soup, Would you like to hear it?”
“Yes! What’s it about, Cat Eyes?”
Cat Eyes smiled. “Well, I’ll tell you the story and you tell me what you think it means. Here. Come sit beside me.” She patted the rough-hewn bench she sat upon. “You can watch the words as I tell them. How would that be?”
“That,” replied Tu-Swift, “would be wonderful. I love hearing your voice.” He sat beside her and took her hand in his and peered at the runes that he had helped decode. This is the story she read him:
Once upon a time, long ago, there was a village blessed with enough for everyone. The village, named Acirema, was located near ancient beautiful forests of beech and oak. The forests abounded with plentiful game. Long ago, the people of Acirema had cut down part of the forests and turned it into rich farmland capable of producing abundant food. Beyond the forests lay snow-capped mountains. From the mountains, several clear beautiful rivers ran to the plains near the village of the Acirema.
These villagers, like most villagers, had developed many customs. Among them were their shared evening feasts. Except when the weather was exceptionally bad, the villagers gathered in the evening to share a feast. They built a huge fire beneath a large cauldron. When the water finally began to boil, villagers began to contribute what they had to the community soup. Some brought potatoes and turnips; others brought large yellow squash, Jerusalem artichokes, and bright orange carrots; still others brought nettles, blackberry leaves, and hickory nuts. Others, who had been lucky at hunting or fishing or gathering eggs brought those contributions and added them to the soup. Each time the villagers made this soup, the first ingredient that they added was invariably a clean stone, though no-one knew exactly why. Many simply accepted that this was the proper way to make soup. Some theorized that the stone made it tastier. Others believed it helped the flavors circulate. Some thought it was a sacrifice to the god of the fresh mountain water, the sun, or the spirits of the forests.
When the soup was ready, everyone partook and everyone was satisfied. After the meal, they would take turns telling stories or reflecting on the events of the day. Sometimes, they would dialogue about why they began their recipe with a stone.
On occasion, strangers would wander by and they would join in the evening meal. Some of these strangers taught the Acirema new dances or songs or showed them new ways to make things. Some were strangely silent. All of them thanked them for the soup and most continued on their way after a day or two but some liked the village so much that they joined with the Acirema. Those who joined soon found a way to make their own contribution to the village and its soup. Although some harvests were sparse and some flush, the Acirema always had enough to feed everyone in the village. They worked in harmony and enjoyed life.
One hot summer day, it so happened that a fat old man wobbled unsteadily into their village. Despite his obvious extra folds of fat, he demanded a very large portion of soup. His appetite seemed nearly insatiable. He didn’t say much at his first few evening meals, but he observed carefully.
The Wobbly Man noticed that some people ate more than others. The Wobbly Man noticed that some people were taller than others; that some had blue eyes and some had brown eyes. The Wobbly Man noticed that some villagers put a large quantity of carrots in the soup and others only put in a few nuts. The Wobbly Man noticed that some people were old and some were young.
Although the Wobbly Man said little during the evening meal for the whole village, he spoke throughout the entire day, at first, only to one at a time. The Wobbly Man spoke to a strong young man thus:
“Well met, my strong young lad! You must be the strongest man I have ever seen! Surely, you are the strongest in the village! Am I right?”
The strong man answered modestly, “I may be.” He shrugged.
“Of course you are. And, yet, I know that you could be much stronger still. You are not really getting your fair share of the evening soup. Your grandfather eats as much as you do! How is that fair? I’m sure you’re a much better hunter.”
“Grandfather? My grandfather no longer walks this earth. Perhaps you saw my father? He often sits next to me.”
The Wobbly Man acted surprised. “Oh, that old man is your father. I wonder…he doesn’t seem nearly so strong as you do. Well…who knows? But anyway, he certainly eats a lot for his size. And, yet, he isn’t half the hunter you are, I imagine. I don’t really know. I’m just guessing from how little he adds to the soup.” The Wobbly Man smiled.
After a few moments of awkward silence, the strong young man said, “I’m going hunting. Do you know how to hunt? Do you wish to come too?”
The Wobbly Man replied, “Oh, no. I don’t hunt. You go ahead. And don’t pay any attention to what I said. It’s none of my concern. I like to joke a lot. That’s all. It means nothing. Sometimes a maple tree springs from an acorn, you know?”
The strong man shook his head. “No, that never happens. What are you talking about?”
The Wobbly Man replied, “No. Perhaps you are right. I’ve never actually seen that either. Well, you go hunting. Happy hunting!”
Next, the Wobbly Man spied one of the beautiful young maidens of the tribe. Long silky blond hair framed her smooth skin and her bright blue eyes. He followed her down to a nearby stream where she bathed herself. He watched with pleasure from behind some bushes. At last, she emerged, quite refreshed; she lay on a warm slab of shale to allow the sun to dry her front and back. When he judged she was about to re-robe herself, the Wobbly Man walked by casually placing himself between the young maiden and her robe.
“Oh! Well met, young maiden. I didn’t realize anyone was here. Nor did I realize it was your custom to go naked in public. I shall join you then and learn more about your ways.” In a flash, he dropped his own clothes in a pile at his feet.
The young maiden blushed and this excited the Wobbly Man even more; so much so, that his excitement was nearly visible. He strode up to her wondering whether his great weight would be sufficient to force her to do what he wanted regardless of her wishes.
“Sir, put your own clothes back on and hand me mine! You are a guest here and it will not do well for people to see you naked. They may misunderstand your intentions.”
“Oh, me, oh, my,” said the Wobbly Man. “I’m just having a little fun. Is that such a bad thing? It’s of no concern to me if you prefer other women instead of a handsome guy like me. I’m sure another young lady will be along shortly. Maybe this is where you congregate? Ah, but I’m a stranger. What do I know?”
As he spoke, the Wobbly Man reclothed himself and sauntered back toward the nearby village. Here, he spied a group of youth having a spear-throwing contest. After he spied a particularly long throw, he spoke up again.
“Nice throw! Back in my village a throw like that would earn you the right to a maiden such as the one lying naked by yon stream.” The Wobbly Man pointed in the direction he had just come. “Even now, she is quite — what is the right word? She is quite desirous of having pleasure with someone. She even begged me to have sex with her. She complained that none of the young men hereabouts were interested in wooing women. A shame really. But what do I know of your customs? But if I were younger and stronger, I wouldn’t wait so long to make my own desires known.”
The young men looked at each other and left off their spear throwing contest and ran down the path toward the river, each hoping to win the young lady’s heart.
The Wobbly Man smiled and chuckled to himself. He closed his eyes and imagined all of them forcing themselves on her. At least, he hoped that’s what would happen. If she were broken and exhausted, he would try his own luck again.
Now, a new opportunity presented itself and required his attention. The father of the young man he had spoken to earlier was sitting alone and cleaning fish. The Wobbly Man walked over and sat down on a nearby log. “Good afternoon, dear sir. I believe I spoke earlier today with your son. I’m still learning the names of the people here. What is your son’s name again?”
“Rigel.”
“Rigel! Rigel! That’s a fine name. And your son seems healthy and strong as well. I must tell you that my own son, named Junior, is every bit as ungrateful. More so. I’m sure they’ll grow out of it. That’s just the way youth are. I wouldn’t worry about it. Speaking of Rigel, where is he? Why isn’t he helping you clean the fish? That seems the least — I mean, it’s none of my business, of course, but it seems as though if he’s going to complain about you getting more of the soup than he gets, he would have a stronger argument if he did more to prepare the soup.”
The man stopped cleaning the fish and looked at the Wobbly Man. “What? Rigel said I eat more than my share?”
“What? Oh, no! No, no, no, not at all. Not in so many words.” Here, the Wobbly Man paused, tilted his head, and pretended to be thoughtful. He clicked his tongue, leaned closer to the slender old man and whispered in a conspiratorial tone.
“If you ask me, he should be very grateful that you agreed — you know — to act as his father. Not everyone I know is man enough to do that. Right?”
The fish cleaner stopped his work again and looked at the Wobbly Man with a frown. “What do you mean, ‘to act as his father.’? I am his father.”
The Wobbly Man nodded his head up and down vigorously. “Of course you are. Of course you are! You are the man who raised him. I’m sure beneath all that resentment, he has great respect for you. I’m sure he does. Right? You are sure too, right? All that resentment in his tone and so on — that’s just — he’s probably angry at his mother, really.”
Every day, the villagers of Acirema hunted, fished, gathered food, or worked their farmland. Every day, the villagers made things, observed things, added to the general well-being, the food stores, or the knowledge of the Acirema. Everyone, that is, except for The Wobby Man, who never hunted, never fished, never built or crafted anything with his own two hands.
That is not to say that The Wobbly Man was not busy. He was very busy each and every day. He told the tall people that they should received more soup because their tall bodies needed it more than short people did. He told short people that they were short because they had not received enough soup. He told blue-eyed people that the brown-eyed people thought blue eyes were a deformity and he told brown-eyed people that the blue-eyed people thought brown eyes was a deformity. The Wobbly Man set husband against wife; he set father against son; he set men against women; he set the elderly against youngsters and he set youngsters against the elderly.
At first, the Acirema remained peaceful and kept to their own ways. But gradually, just as the sand in a river bank eventually becomes sandstone or shale, the people began to mistrust each other. As the elderly began to mistrust the young people, that made the young people suspicious of the old people.
Day after day, week upon week, month upon month, the Acirema tribe grew ever more suspicious of each other. When the autumn harvest came, many kept back a good proportion of their food for their private consumption. The community soup grew thinner in consistency and lesser in quantity. The fire needed not to be so large. People often ate in silence. Instead of sitting around the fire sharing songs and stories, the people retired to their own dwellings. When the cold winds of autumn turned icy, they stopped bothering to make soup at all, at least as a group.
The Wobbly Man had left. No-one seemed to have noticed exactly when he left. He did not tell them that he was going, nor did he share why he was going, nor where. No-one noticed him walk away from the Acirema, turn back and look from afar upon the village of Acirema and smile a broad grin. His last words to the Acirema, he muttered far out of earshot of the Acirema.
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