Invasion at Bald Eagle

by Kris Ashton

  “It’s gone,” Derek said.

  Sharna stopped in mid-slice and looked up. “What’s gone?”

  “The silver thing, the egg or whatever it was. It’s gone.”

  “Are you sure? You weren’t looking in the wrong place?”

  “There aren’t too many scorched lettuce plants out there. I tell you, Sharna, it’s gone.”

  “Well it can’t have just grown legs and run away.”

  “How do you know?”

  “I took it,” Guy said. He had not turned around and he might have been talking to the row of cupboards above the bench.

  “What do you mean you took it?” Sharna asked, alarmed.

  “I got up early this morning and I went and threw it down the mine shaft on the other side of the field.”

  “Jesus, Guy,” Derek said, “you picked that thing up again?”

  Guy stopped what he was doing (which appeared to be using a spoon to mash a bowl of porridge) for a few seconds and then swiveled to look at them. “I used a shovel. I got a shovel from the shed and carried it with that.”

  Derek looked at Sharna and then back to Guy. “Well, I suppose down a mine is as good a place as any for it.”

  Guy gazed at Derek as if waiting for him to say something else, then picked up his bowl of porridge and left the kitchen. A few moments later there came the sound of his bedroom door closing.

  “Does he seem a bit strange to you?” Derek asked.

  “He’s always seemed a bit strange to me. I don’t think he’s said more than a hundred words since he arrived here. I sometimes wonder if he wasn’t…you know…abused as a child or something.”

  “No, I know he’s always been very guarded, but there was something seriously weird about how he looked just then. It was like he had a couple of dead batteries for eyes. You know”—he tapped his head—“lights on, nobody home.”

  Sharna recommenced slicing her carrot. “If you’re concerned, why don’t you go and talk to him? Make sure he sees that doctor. That silver thing broke the skin on his finger—maybe it poisoned him somehow.”

  Derek scratched his beard and said, “Hmm,” then nodded and walked out of the kitchen and along the small hallway that led to the bedrooms. Guy’s room was first on the left. Derek was about to knock when he heard the giggling of a girl’s voice—he thought it belonged to either Daisy or Del. He tilted his head closer to the door and listened. The giggling subsided and metamorphosed into small grunts and sighs of pleasure, these punctuated by the occasional smack of a kiss. A pursed frown molded Derek’s lips, and then he shrugged to himself and left Guy to his privacy.

  “I guess there is nothing wrong with him,” he said to Sharna.

  “I didn’t hear you talking to him.”

  “I didn’t. I didn’t even go into his room. Let’s just say he’s not alone in there.”

  Sharna laughed and said, “Really? He’s not the most sexual being I’ve ever met.”

  “That’s what I thought. Maybe—”

  At that moment the telephone rang. It didn’t ring often and Derek and Sharna exchanged a surprised glance before Derek trotted into the lounge room to pick it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Hi, Derek, it’s Hank.”

  “Hank, man! I didn’t expect to hear from you so soon. Something the matter?”

  “Not exactly. Not yet, anyway. Can you meet me at the Eagle Eye in about half an hour? It’s probably better we talk with a jukebox to drown us out.”

  “Sounds ominous. Okay, man half an hour.”

  “See you there.”

  Derek replaced the phone’s clunky receiver (it was an antique left behind when the previous owners passed on) and stared out the lounge room window. Hank’s secrecy could only mean one thing: increased heat from the fuzz, more commonly known as Sharna’s dad. Grayson had seemed to lose some of his teeth during his confrontation with Sharna at the nuclear reactor, but perhaps he had reconsidered. Well, there was no sense worrying about it until he knew for sure what Hank had to say.

  Someone else would have to till the new garden bed. Technically Gary had Monday off (they were all allocated a single rest day along with Sundays) but he wouldn’t gripe if he knew Derek’s unscheduled errand was in the commune’s best interests. Gary seldom griped about anything. Most likely he would be sitting in the swing chair on the porch smoking a joint and sipping a beer, which was how he spent most Mondays.

  As Derek left the room to enlist his replacement, something on the coffee table caught his eye. It was Guy’s copy of The Lord of the Rings. A stamped leather bookmark poked out from the center of its pages like a brown tongue. Derek stopped to regard this for a second, then hurried on, not wanting to be late for his meeting with Hank.

  When he arrived at the Eagle Eye Tavern the drizzle had matured into rain and it drenched him in the short scoot between his car and the bar’s awning. He stepped inside wringing the ends of his dripping hair and looked around. Red Jakes had a newspaper spread out on the bar, an indication of Monday’s typically slow patronage. Off to the left Hank had claimed the table nearest the jukebox and two beers kept him company. The juke’s speakers broadcast an Elvis song, one of his oldies.

  “Your selection?” Derek said as he sat down.

  “You don’t like?”

  “More of a Dylan fan. I don’t mind some of Elvis’ newer stuff, but my mom used to listen to this song.”

  Hank laughed and raised his beer. They drank to one another’s health. Hank placed his beer on its coaster, looked briefly in Red’s direction, and then cleared his throat. “The law paid me a visit this morning,” Hank said. He had a gleeful glint in his eye.

  “You mean Sheriff Grayson?”

  “That’s right. He asked me all about Peace Out.”

  “Oh, man,” Derek said, quailing at the portent of such a conversation.

  “Don’t worry, he didn’t get a thing out of me. I told him to read it in Rolling Stone like everybody else.”

  Derek uttered a nervous laugh. “Why do I get the feeling that’s not the end of the story? You wouldn’t have got me out here just for that.”

  “No, you’re right, I wouldn’t.”

  Hank sipped his beer as the jukebox switched records. The unmistakable wailing of Jimi Hendrix’s guitar began. Derek had to hand it to Redmond Jakes—most hotel proprietors in the sticks had not updated their collections since Eisenhower was in power.

  “Our friend Sheriff Grayson sits on the horns of a dilemma,” Hank went on. “He’s dead sure that you’re corrupting his daughter and the commune is up to its ears in illegal activities. On the other hand, he doesn’t want to meddle with Sharna’s life because he knows that will just drive her further away.”

  Derek nodded.

  “This handy contradiction is the only reason Grayson isn’t at the commune right now knocking on the door. If he goes in wildly and can’t find so much as a roach clip for evidence, he’s afraid he won’t even see his daughter once a year at Thanksgiving. But trust me, he will make a bust if he sniffs out even the smallest scent of probable cause. Say if he passes Gary in the street and he smells a faint aroma of marijuana, or someone’s car has a bald tire or someone makes a complaint about those weird hippies up on the hill. You get what I’m saying? Grayson is a mound of gunpowder just praying for a spark.”

  Derek sipped his beer and stroked his beard as he took all this in. “So we need to be on our best behavior. And stay as far out of Grayson’s path as we can.”

  “I’d go further than that. Much further. For the time being, you need to make your drugs disappear. Smoke them, eat them, bury them, mail them to a friend for safe-keeping—anything, just so long as you can’t be found in possession. Second, I’d avoid accepting anyone into the commune for a while. A ‘strange character’ from out of town is all Grayson needs to go off. Third, stay out of the town center. That’ll decrease your chances of running across him and into trouble…real or artificial.”

  Derek rubbed his face
and nodded. “I really hope we don’t have to leave. Bald Eagle Hill is perfect, man. I couldn’t believe how cheap I got the property. It was half the price of everything else I’d checked out and twice as beautiful. You can scarcely get an apartment for the same money in San Francisco.”

  “You know, Sheriff Grayson’s not a bad man,” Hank said. “He’s not one of these fascist, authoritarian cops our country seems to be breeding these days. I really think he would have left you all alone if his daughter hadn’t come into the equation. But what he said to you that day at the reactor wasn’t some idle threat. He’s not a concerned daddy giving a stern lecture to keep his daughter’s new boyfriend in line. He’s looking for any legitimate excuse he can to arrest you. That way he’s absolved of blame and gets what he wants. ‘Sorry honey, I know you loved him, but I was just doing my job.’”

  “I thought he knew,” Derek said woefully.

  Hank scratched his head. “You mean Sharna lied to you?”

  “No, no—she just never mentioned it. She told me she was his daughter, of course, she just left out the part about how he thought she was with some feminist group up in Boulder. I should have known, in retrospect. She was always reluctant to go into town. God only knows what would have happened if the sheriff started talking to me one day and I blurted out her name.”

  They sat in silence for a while, contemplating such a fallout.

  “So,” Derek said, “did you get the third degree from your wife when you got home?”

  Hank tried to speak but the words caught in his throat. For a second he looked like a grouper fish staring out of its tank. Then began studying his knuckles. “Let’s just say I’m currently a resident of The Eagle’s Nest Motor Inn.”

  “What? She chucked you out, man?”

  “Something like that.”

  “Oh, Jesus—I’m sorry, Hank. I feel like—”

  “It’s not your fault,” Hank said, looking up sharply. “She didn’t believe me, that’s all. I tried to explain that I didn’t do anything remiss, but she had a week to convince herself of all the debauched antics I was getting up to and nothing I said to the contrary could alter that.”

  “Hey, man, I’ll speak to her if you like. Let her know—”

  “No offense, Derek, but I think that’s the worst possible thing you could do.”

  Derek gave him a wry smile. “Yeah, I get it. If I show up at the door protesting your innocence, it’s only going to make you look guiltier.”

  The jukebox changed again. This time Little Richard began to wail about someone called Long Tall Sally.

  “You know you’re more than welcome to stay with us,” Derek said. “You’re already in the shit with your wife, so a few more days won’t make any difference. Better than giving your money to Marge Bennett.”

  “No—thanks anyway, but I could use the solitude right now.”

  Derek’s face brightened. “How’s the masterpiece coming along?”

  Hank seemed to consider his response at some length. “Fantastic, my friend. The editors at Rolling Stone would be fools to turn it down.”

  They spoke about other things until their beers were gone. Hank looked at his watch. “I guess I should really be keeping to a schedule if I’m ever going to get this done before I’m due to front up at the Truth. And I think as owner of the Peace Out commune, you have some matters to attend to yourself.”

  Derek smiled and shook Hank’s hand. “Thanks, man. Forewarned is forearmed as they say.”

  “Let’s hope the warning came early enough.”

  Tuesday, August 5, 1969

  All members of the Peace Out commune were convened in the lounge room. Derek sat at one end of the sofa and Sharna sat beside him, her hand gently caressing his back as if here were a sick infant that needed soothing. Derek took a sip of tea and then put the mug on the coffee table.

  “I know we had the Vietnam protest organized for Wednesday, but due to some unforeseen circumstances I’ve had to change our plans. As you know, I spoke with Hank yesterday and he said we can expect some serious heat from Sharna’s dad—especially me, for obvious reasons. Sheriff Grayson is looking for any reason he can to shut us down and if we go out in public, especially to stage a protest, we might as well keep marching right into a cell.”

  “It’s you he’s really pissed at,” Milton said. “We could stage the protest without you. It seems stupid to waste all our hard work over one grumpy cop. We’ve got those students coming in from Denver—”

  “Not anymore,” Derek said. “I called them yesterday afternoon and told them the march was off.”

  “What the fuck? Why would you—”

  “Use your brain, Milton. Even if Grayson’s vendetta is aimed mostly at me, a group of rowdy, marching Peace Out members is all the provocation he’ll need. If someone gets arrested and spills the beans during an interrogation, he’ll have what he needs to drive up here and shut us down.”

  “He wouldn’t get a peep out of me!”

  “Maybe not, but can you vouch for a hundred college students, most of whom you’ve never met before?”

  Milton blew air through his nostrils and looked away.

  “We have to lay low for a while, it’s as simple as that. If Grayson sees that his daughter has lived with us for a couple of months without turning into a dope fiend or the devil’s whore she might be able to bring him around. And if that is how it works out, we might even end up with the law on our side. I don’t need to spell out how useful that could be, do I?”

  Most people nodded or murmured their agreement. All except Guy, Derek noticed, who appeared to be stoned out of his gourd. Daisy too, actually. Her face seemed somehow…unfocused. He put it out of his mind and went on.

  “We also need to get rid of everything incriminating. If Grayson decides to show up for a friendly visit, I want to be able to show him around the place and point out how wholesome the Peace Out lifestyle is.”

  Gary looked pained. “You mean…get rid of the drugs?”

  “We have to,” Derek said, nodding. “Think of it as a bit of sacrifice for long-term gain. I don’t want to have to relocate, do you?”

  Gary shook his head, but he did not look happy.

  “So that means pulling up all the marijuana plants and mushrooms, searching the house for any bags of grass or joints we might have left lying around, and burning the lot.”

  “This is just pathetic!” Milton burst out. “We’re letting the man dictate terms to us! If we burn our drugs we’re playing by their rules.”

  “Milton, it’s one step back to take two steps forward,” Jenna said. “It wouldn’t be for long—”

  “Not for long? How long is not long when you’re bending over so the cops can cornhole you? I don’t like it. We’re compromising ourselves, no matter how you try and dress it up.”

  “Maybe we could speed things up,” Sharna said, a crafty look in her eye.

  “What do you mean?” Derek said.

  “First, we do what you said. We get rid of all the things that Daddy might be worried about—we might not have to burn them, just hide them. Then once we’re satisfied that we’ve left nothing suspicious around, I can go and see Daddy and invite him up to the commune to see he has nothing to worry about. He’ll see us painting and harvesting vegetables and playing music.”

  Derek grinned. “And see us preparing anti-war posters, just for authenticity.”

  “Right on!” Gary said. Milton looked thoughtful, if not appeased.

  “We only have to abstain for a few days and then we won’t be under scrutiny anymore.”

  Derek kissed her. “Is this girl a genius or what? Let’s get started. We clean up today, give the place a couple of days to air out, and then invite Mr Grayson up to make an inspection. Everyone turn the house upside down. Don’t miss anything—behind drawers, under cushions, jacket pockets, everything. I’ll go outside and start harvesting everything. We can decide what to do with it later.”

  Most sprang to their feet,
eager to put the plan in action, but Guy and Daisy peered around at everyone as if unable to understand their sudden kinetic tendencies. Derek furrowed his brow and cocked his head at them. “Are you guys all right?”

  Guy turned his eyes up to Derek. He appeared to have trouble keeping them open. “Fine man. I think we must have smoked some dodgy weed or something, that’s all.”

  “Yeah, old weed,” Daisy said. “That’s all.”

  “You don’t look okay,” Derek persisted. “Maybe you should both go and see the doctor. If you’ve got something, we don’t want it spreading to everyone else.”

  Daisy and Guy gazed at him, apparently in thought. Then, with considerable effort, Guy extricated himself from his beanbag. “We’re fine, don’t sweat it.” He gave Daisy his hand and picked her up off the floor. “Come on, we’ve got work to do.”

  Daisy allowed herself to be led into Guy’s room. Derek half-expected them to shut the door, but he heard faint squeaking of drawers being wiggled off their runners.

  “Maybe we should burn all the weed,” Derek said to Sharna. “If they wound up like that from smoking something, I don’t want any of it.”

  “If you burn everything, I think Gary will be in analysis for months.”

  Derek laughed. “Yeah, you’re probably right.”

  He pulled her close and kissed her, enjoying the sweet softness of her tongue as it swirled and darted around his own. All his adult life he had shied away from monogamy, dismissing it as just another way organized religion sought to control people. His own parents had gone through a messy divorce and most of his memories as a nine-year-old involved an unwilling audience at their screaming matches or being a resident in a new house every other week as his mother and father tried to settle their affairs. Yet somehow finding Sharna had altered his attitude, as if she was a gentle acid that had burned away his iron opposition to committed partnership. He still retained his political beliefs and a held a fire to change society, but his views had softened to grays in places. And somehow this weakened stance did not disappoint him. It made him feel more human, as if he was experiencing the true fabric of life instead of cutting it to fit his ideals.