Speak Rain
By P. Edward Auman
Copyright 2013 P. Edward Auman
ISBN:
Dedicated to my Native American friends in Iowa, Arizona and Utah and for the remembrance of their amazing and ancient cultures.
Prologue
Rains in the western desert were by definition rare, of course. But during winter at least the mountain ranges of the Rockies collected feet and feet of snow upon them. In summer thunderstorms would move through and provide some moisture at times, cooling the dusty valleys and turning the northern and eastern faces of the mountains dark green. Despite the previous years of drought, it was this very variety in weather and terrain that attracted Daniel Tremon to the small town of Woodland Hills after the death of his wife.
Indeed, it was then strange when the second fall he’d spent living in the shadows of the Rockies turned from a particularly dry and worrisome summer to a swamp of hard rains separated by periods of heavy drizzle and fogs. From the end of September until December the clouds never left. The sun never shone. People began to fade into the shadows and their humanity seemed muted from Dan’s perspective.
During the first two weeks, the residents of Woodland Hills rejoiced that rain had finally begun. Predictions of a wet winter and plenty of snow pack for the summer watershed started immediately. By the fourth week of straight rain people had to work a little harder at being chipper. But mid-November attitudes had changed, and many wondered when the snow might start falling. Temperatures were unusually warm for the season, but the rain chilled and kept many indoors all the time. The townsfolk themselves seemed to be disappearing. Fewer and fewer dogs were walked down Dan’s street. Almost no one raised a friendly hand when passing each other on the road. Spirits were depressed so much that Dan felt a thick blanket was smothering him as he tried to continue with his life. And then his employer laid him off.
By December Daniel’s attitude wasn’t much different than those around him, and he felt he understood why there seemed to be more domestic disputes and down right odd behavior to which the sheriffs were having to respond almost nightly. The rains imposed on every activity, and Dan decided he was ready for a change.
December 2
Dream
Sleep didn’t seem to come well at all for the last couple weeks. When the rains first started months earlier it was something that lulled Daniel to sleep. He liked the patter against the windows and as it collected or rained a little heavier he loved listening to the sound of the water running through the gutters. But lately the rain only seemed to worry him and tended to keep him up until the early hours of the next morning. Wind frequently joined the rain, sometimes banging loose pieces of siding on the house adding to the tension. Since he’d been let go from the manufacturing plant with a very healthy severance he had determined he wasn’t working this holiday season, and meant not to until the spring, so late nights themselves didn’t necessarily hurt. But not ever getting sleep except for dozes in his porch chair was indeed hurting. Both physically and mentally.
On the evening of December 2, about a week after Thanksgiving, Daniel made preparations for bed yet again. He was hopeful on this particular night and so he’d turned off all the lights, set his alarm for the next morning and brushed his teeth before climbing into bed. Then an odd thought struck him: perhaps he should say his bed-time prayer?
He hadn’t said a pray since his mom stopped making him do it at age nine. This was indeed a very unusual idea he had. What would he say? Did he even think someone was listening? Because he felt like he wanted to “spice things up a little,” and because a little zombie induced bite of one of the neighbors as the solution not only seemed like an inappropriate way to break the monotony of rainy weather but was also unappetizing, Daniel sat up in bed, legs folded together and said a prayer.
“Dear God.
I’m actually not sure why I’m doing this. But I figure since we haven’t talked for a while, maybe I should. …Maybe if I had been praying all this time I might still have a job.”
Daniel hesitated. It was difficult for someone to really know how to start a polite conversation who, although not atheist, hadn’t really believed in a supreme being of any kind before and had never had an inclination to communicate with him or her either. He wasn’t even sure what he wanted to get across, and so the idea of praying started tuning up the alternate voices in his head to object. It might be a lot like learning of a long-lost Auntie and being told a friendly phone call was in order: conversation doesn’t flow even though as family you might think it should.
After a lengthy pause he figured he’d better say something, so as not to be rude.
“You know, God, …I think we really need to stop all this rain.
If you can hear me, we could really use some snow around here too. It’s not right. Something seems like it’s messed up.
…Maybe a little more rain in the summer would be good so we don’t have another drought. But I’m thinking it’s probably time to turn off the sprinklers for this winter and start the ski season.”
Another hesitation. Many thoughts poured through Daniel’s brain. Some of them coalesced into complete ideas his other selves might want to converse with him about. The leading indication from these seemed to be that perhaps God doesn’t take people seriously if they hadn’t really thought out what they were going to pray about. Then, it hit him. Daniel didn’t really know how to end the prayer. He tried to remember what his Mom had taught him three decades earlier. He knew you’ve got to put the Lord’s name in there somewhere…that’s sort of what seals the deal.
“Anyway,…I hope you can help us all out.
In the name of Jesus.
Amen.”
Perhaps not the most graceful of prayers, but it certainly was a humble one. He took one more trip around his bedroom, flushed the toilet to finish business there, and then as a habit poked his nose through his bedroom blinds.
Of course there was no moon shining, or if it was it had hidden behind a thick layer of storm clouds as it had almost non-stop for the last couple months. Still, a few lights from neighbors reflected off of wet surfaces, and sure enough a light drizzle continued into the night. He was just about to turn around and make the final effort to lay his head on a pillow to attempt sleep when something caught his eye in the back yard.
There were shadows moving along the back property line moving eerily across the aging cedar fence. The fence seemed to provide the greatest contrast in the gloom but Daniel certainly couldn’t make out shapes. A nice new contemporary white vinyl fence ought to take care of that…a project to be put off now that he had no steady income. Because the front and one side of his property had not had a fence ever installed deer frequently moved about his yard looking for food. It was a somewhat less common occurrence this late Fall because of the rain and because there seemed to be plenty of food up in the higher elevations free of snow where the deer normally bed down. Yet something did not seem quite right about these shadows and, while he tried hard to convince himself they were indeed deer, that’s not the impression they gave. These shadows appeared to move in awkward, deforming shapes rather than the slow, graceful and intent movements of deer simultaneously looking for food and keeping an eye on the houses and streets around them for danger. They were also fleeting. No shadow seemed to stay long, sometimes one bubbling up from the side of another, but in the darkness and gloomy drizzle Daniel began to lose focus and couldn’t make out much that could be identified at all. They were just blobs swarming about slightly more dark than the rain-soaked gloom around them.
Just, as he made a determination that is was either trees blowing mildly or deer pecking around for some of the out-of-season blossoms and weeds
that had begun showing up, a pair of eyes very quickly turned and then rushed at the window Daniel stared through. It shocked him and he let out a grunted curse. As he pulled back quickly from the blinds he thought for sure something or someone was going to be crashing through the glass momentarily.
Nothing did. Daniel’s heart raced though, and he could hear it pounding in his ears. Maybe I’d better check the doors again, he thought. Something about the pair of eyes…no…it was an entire face, but so dark only the eyes really caught his attention initially, seemed so human. It would be better safe than sorry to ensure his locks were in place if nothing else.
Finally a short, but nervous few minutes later, Daniel was in bed, trying hard to keep his eyes closed while also convincing himself that all the noises from outside were just rain and deer, and those inside were just his imagination. Indeed, relatively speaking he had an easy time going to sleep for some reason. He dreamed many colorful dreams, most of which he couldn’t entirely remember, but he knew they were generally pleasant.
In the last few hours of sleep Daniel dreamed he was standing in a meadow he could tell was still high up in Woodland Hills, overlooking the forest on this side of the mountains, the valley and lake below and he smelled fresh air and caught the sight of the first brightening signs of blue sky on the horizon behind the mountains across the valley. It smelled of fresh rain and a spring breeze and it was a welcome change from the sour, dank experience he’d had in the rain these past months.
While he stood taking it in, someone beside him spoke. It didn’t surprise him and barely caught his attention initially.
“I think you should go on a trip, Daniel,” the familiar voice said.
“Uh huh,” Daniel replied. “Where to? It’s almost Christmas.”
The voice then placed a hand on his shoulder and leaned in to continue the conversation. Daniel rolled his eyes to the right to catch the speaker standing there with lazy interest. The speaker was one of himselves. He was smiling at him invitingly, and the experience was neither shocking nor confusing. Daniel let himself continue to speak.
“You should go to the old canyon lands and mesas. Go see the parks…” his self cooed convincingly and smiled as he did so.
The doppelganger maintained his touch on Daniel’s shoulders as he stepped around his back and then smiled into Daniel’s left ear. This time however, the voice was deeper…and older. It sounded much like an interview he’d heard a very old Native American give on television recently. It sparked of wisdom and was soothing, while the voice became raspy at the same time. Daniel’s eye rolled to the left and caught the glimpse of a tall Indian wearing a black cowboy hat replete with eagle feathers in the band and some dull rancher’s clothes.
As the Indian gestured to the left, the south, Daniel’s mind clarified for him, his vision was whisked through valleys and then into canyons rapidly, as though flying in a plane at incredible speeds. The terrain was changing from the softened and forested Rockies he lived in to red rocks and odd crevices in the earth. As his vision moved on towards grand peaks just beyond the canyons and rifts it seemed to swerve and swoop from side to side and then delve in amongst the ridges and fins of rock standing up from the earth in defiance of gravity. It was a beautiful and inspiring view of places he’d only seen in post cards and magazines before; places he thought must be in the Goblin Valley, Canyonlands National Park, the Grand Canyon and other places nearly inhospitable to humans, yet comforting for that very same reason.
The moving vision had not yet found a place to rest, nor to focus on when it came to an end.
“You should go see the Mesas and canyons,” said the Indian. “You should go find her…”
At that moment Daniel sat bolt upright in his bed and said rather loudly, “Who?!”
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