Opalescence

by Ron Rayborne

  Through the oak, she could see, in the fading light, the ocean, five miles or so distant. It was a lovely, charming sight, and again made her yearn for the company of her husband. Ache and hope for his companionship. Julie prayed that wherever he was, whenever he was, he would not give up until they were reunited, impossible odds though they were.

  This was the first real rest she’d had in a week and already she was getting sleepy again. She ate Luisian fruit and acorns. The latter definitely needed something, maybe if she pounded it into a flour and added some honey to make bread — if she could find it. Apis nearctica, the only species of honeybee ever known to be indigenous to North America, just happened to live during the middle Miocene and should be hereabouts. She’d have to keep on the lookout for a hive, but she knew the proteins and fats from the acorns would do her good. She guessed that she’d lost about ten pounds since she left the Strong Box.

  It had been a tough week. Luckily, she’d not personally met any of the larger predators, though on the third day, as she was coming down a dark, overgrown path to get a drink from a river, just as she stepped out of the vegetation, she noticed an animal previously invisible to her searches, lapping at the water. In point of fact, they noticed each other pretty much simultaneously, each yanking a head in the other’s direction. There followed a brief moment, which seemed to last ages. It had a wild, distant, almost crazed look in its burnt orange eyes, giving no indication of its much later importance to her own species, no recognition of her form. And why should it? Instead it hissed, quickly turned its head, then darted into the undergrowth, never to be seen by her again.

  Julie shivered with excitement. Oh my God! she thought, Pseudaelaurus, considered one of the first, true, primitive cats! A huge smile spread over her face. It looked between a bobcat and mountain lion in size. Its fur was a mottled brown base, incorporating darker, leopard-like circles, while its rear legs were striped with black. Though its fur was rough, it looked clean, as if it bathed often. Like a lynx, it also had a tuft of black fur on the tip of its ears. Mottled black fur also framed its face. Unusually, a long stripe ran lengthwise down the top of its tail, ending in a black tip. It was the eyes that struck her though, fierce and no-nonsense, an animal very much at home here in this raw wilderness. Raw wildness. It, and its descendants, would play a large role in shaping it.

  Even in her day, there were still cats, and though he tried, never had man been able to tame its savage heart. Feral cats were just as prehistoric at the end as now, at their beginning, nature’s Miocene programming apparently just too strong to break.

  Are you the first? Julie thought wistfully after it, realizing that it was a nonsense question.

  Still.

  Now as she sat in her cave, its entrance suffused with moonlight, she drew the cat from memory, not having had the opportunity to photograph it. She dearly hoped she’d see more of them.

  For an hour, Julie recorded, struggling to keep her eyes open, but it was too much. Having almost finished the cat, her hand dropped the pencil, while slowly she lay down in the soft sand, unconsciously hoping that she wouldn’t sleepwalk.

  When she awoke, morning light was streaming in. Julie stretched and grunted. The sand had been a perfect bed, she found, conforming itself to her shape, the trapped air in between the grains holding warmth next to her body. If it had been solid ground, though, the effect would have been reversed: warmth drained and muscles aching.

  Through the opening in the cave, she could hear the river below. Birds were also active, singing and alighting at the entrance of her new home, seemingly to get a glance at this new wonder. One, two or three would land on the branchlets outside, jot in and dance about, chirping loudly, then zip out, only to do it again soon thereafter. It made her laugh.

  “Hello there,” she called to them sweetly, “and who are you?” One hopped a few paces in her direction, but when she moved, they all dashed out in a flurry. Seconds later, they were back. The closest one regarded her with quick, appraising looks, as if trying to understand what she was. Julie rummaged around in her pack for something to give them, then found some small red berries and rolled them toward the aves. The bravest hopped toward it, hopped back, then forward again and grabbed one, taking to wing in the same instant right out the cave, followed by the others twittering noisily.

  Now that there was some light, Julie looked around inside. The cave appeared sizable, stretching back into the darkness beyond. She got some food and drink for herself, then went to its mouth and sat, legs dangling over the side. A cool breeze brushed her bare skin, for she was still shirtless. Julie looked down; she needed a bath. In spite of her earlier rinse, long stains of old sweat and dirt nonetheless stuck to her usually immaculate body. She felt embarrassed, yet also foolish for her embarrassment.

  Through gaps in the oak bough, she scanned the horizon. It was forest, and beyond, mixed wood and grassland. It called her from her sanctuary to come and investigate. Indeed, the urge to explore was strong. She could do it and use the cave as her base camp.

  Something moving slowly out at sea, but not too far out, caught her attention. A wisp of something dark, curling up into the air, then dissipating. She studied it, wonderingly, at first thinking there might be fire somewhere, possibly caused by a lightning strike. Something about it nagged at her though. Then, squinting, the answer began to dawn on her. Quickly she rose and found her binocs, then sat back down and looked out while making adjustments. There was a small rise in the water where the wisp originated. A bit of red. Red, flaring up a short way and oozing down. Julie caught her breath. A VOLCANO!

  She thought hard now, trying to recall. “Volcano. I know I’m in southern California. So what was there here...?” She scratched her head, frowning, then suddenly remembered. Yes! How stupid of me to forget. There were volcanoes here. In the areas that later became the Los Angeles and Orange Counties. In Palos Verdes, Pomona, Glendora, El Modeno and other places, flows of basalt, andesite and rhyolite were deposited. In fact, they continued there until the end of the Luisian. She thought about that, “There? I mean here!” she said aloud.

  With nary a thought about safety, she could barely contain her joy. It was wonderful to be living through everything she had learned about this special time, from the literature and in the field, to see all that hard-earned research come to life before her eyes. There were — are — lots of other volcanic episodes in this general period, she reflected, the largest being the Columbia River Flood Basalts, when very large, hot, fluid and fast-moving basaltic lava flows, rich in magnesium and iron, spilled from tears in the earth’s surface and flowed through Washington, Oregon, Idaho and possibly even California. One of the largest to ever appear on the surface of the earth, the lava fronts will be up to 100 feet high! In time, at some locations, the lava will grow to two and three miles thick! Eventually, it will cover 63,000 square miles! With a total of 300 flows, there should be major eruptions there occurring every 13,500 or so years, and smaller ones roughly every 75 years. One could be happening there right now, she thought excitedly.

  Julie tried to further narrow things down. “The Wanapum Basalt, Roza member specifically, should be current, that lava flowing from 15.5 to 14.5 million years ago... I mean, about now,” she corrected again. “It will only account for 5% of the total Columbia flow though, while the earlier Grande Ronde accounts for 90%. If only I could see it.

  “There are other volcanics occurring as well. There’s arc volcanoes in Nevada, and the Mehrtens in the northern Sierras. Wow!” She gazed at the smoke again. There wasn’t a real explosive threat from many of these flows. Though large, their lavas mostly exuded from fissures in the ground, oozing out like toothpaste from a tube. Julie knew she was going to have to get a closer look at that volcano.

  She peeked down at the river now, so tantalizing, a hundred feet below. Then she remembered that she’d have to climb the eleven feet on that shaky branch to the top again. The prospect made her spirit sink. But there was no other c
hoice, and realizing that, she was able to put self-recrimination and other distractions out of her mind. It was a trait that Tom admired.

  Julie put on her shoes, then dug in her pack and found the rope, slinging its loops over her head and one shoulder. She did the same with her camputer. Then she walked back to the rim and looked down. It was a long way. She gripped the branch in front of her and pulled. It held tight as yesterday. She retested the side branchlets she’d climbed down on. The same. And so, mumbling a quick prayer, she grabbed two of them and began to hoist herself up. Branch by branch she went, always trying to make sure that she had at least three contacts on the tree at any one time so as to more evenly distribute her weight.

  The rope caught a few times and she had to carefully disentangle it. When finally her head was at the level of the ledge, she stretched out a hand, somewhat impatiently, to clutch at a branch a little too far away, simultaneously lifting her right foot. This placed most of her weight on the branch under her left foot.

  It snapped and she dropped, shrieking, holding on by one hand. Her feet dangling in the air, Julie screamed and flailed about, trying to reach another branch. Then, abruptly, the tree itself moved, sending an electric jolt of fear through her. Dirt and gravel cascaded to the ground, the bigger rocks bouncing off a boulder at the bottom, ringing out in the riverine canyon.

  “Oh no!” Julie yelled involuntarily, panic in her voice. The tree moved again, sending more gravel hurtling downward. Heart racing and pulse pounding in her ears, she willed herself to stop thrashing, then grabbed another branch, gripping gently, but firmly. She hung on now, trying to still her movement, while glancing below. The tree held. Gulping, she wondered what she should do: continue the climb, or try to toss the rope one-handed around something and hold on. Uncharacteristically, she cursed her lack of foresight the day before in not using the rope. That slight oversight might cost her her life. She again submerged the thought and scrutinized the tree. It barely held, yet there was nothing close by enough to toss the rope to, and even if there were, the very act of hurling might be enough to bring the tree, and her, down. She had no choice but to continue.

  Studying each branch she would use, mentally discarding some, she ever-so-carefully grasped a branch above her head without putting too much weight on it. It complained anyway. Pressing on, she again ever-so-carefully lifted a foot and placed it on the branch just above. There was no reciprocal movement from the tree. Two more feet up, until her waist was now level with the top. One more and she leaned over, laying her weight upon the ground, legs hanging. This took most of it off the tree, the cliff edge, though, responded by crumbling, sending another shower of rocks down. Julie stretched out her hands and painfully inched herself forward, scooting again and again until finally she was there. Her stomach hurt from the rocks, having gained a handful of cuts, but she had made it!

  Julie sat now and scooted back yet further, then dubiously standing, wiped herself off, breathing hard.

  “That was close,” she breathed in shaky understatement, a tremor in her voice. She looked around now for something to tie the rope to. There were other trees that she could use, and that big boulder off to the right. She decided on another tree, as the possibility of the rope slipping off the boulder, slim though it might be, made her too nervous. There was a smaller oak, about seven inches in diameter, which stood back about ten feet from the edge that should work though. Tying the rope around it with several square knots, she pulled tight. It was strong. Then she tied loops down its length, spacing them a couple of feet apart. Done, she walked near the edge and coiled the rope there, ready for use.

  Nerves still a-flight, Julie turned now and headed downhill, oak leaves crunching underfoot, stepping around rocks and being careful not to touch the poison oak. When she got to the bottom, she stopped still. A group of seven tapir-like animals were eating from the stream. Miotapirus. They were medium-sized and roughly pig shaped, with stripes diagonally across their sides and on their short tails which now stood erect. Typical of tapirs, they also had an elongated snout, like a mini proboscis. Seeing her, a few of the closest ones lowered their heads and grunted. This, she surmised, was apparently meant as a warning. Others, snouts flexing with surprising elasticity, dug into the stream bank with their front feet, pulling up plants. The rest, though, just stood and gazed, mouths in mid-munch of some river vegetation. After a few seconds, they began to back away.

  “It’s okay,” she whispered, fascinated, “Don’t be afraid.” Silently she lifted the camputer and snapped some pictures. Later she would add comments.

  After the Miotapirs disappeared, Julie decided to follow the stream a bit. Dappled light shone in from above, moving with the motion of the leaves and branches high overhead. As usual, there was a nippy morning breeze. Later, the day would grow hot, she knew, but, if she stayed near water and shade, temps should remain pleasant. Microscopic droplets of water, sightlessly, soundlessly evaporating from a billion leaves fluttering in the gentle winds, cooled the air, keeping it fresh and fine.

  With care, Julie stepped on boulders in the stream, trying not to slip. After a while, she could hear a sound of rushing beyond, which spoke of a waterfall; it increasing in resonance as she grew closer.

  It was a lovely one, eight feet high. When finally she stepped around and below the place where it fell, past the obscuring leaves of a maple, the sight took her breath away, for even more lovely than the waterfall was the pool it splashed into. Large, perhaps twenty feet across, and deep, with overhanging ferns.

  These were Woodwardia, the giant chain fern, ten feet tall and as wide. Their fronds moved gracefully in the mists and breezes of the falls. There were plenty of other shrubs too, that, except for the chain ferns, seemed to be staged smaller toward the front and larger back including Madrone, Holly, Barberry and Horsechestnut with its characteristic large, smooth seeds. Mexican Buckeye, Karwinskia and Moonseed too. On the right side grew mounds of wild rose.

  Trees of sundry varieties also lay claim to a place near the sacred pool, their thinner branches and leaves likewise moving in and out with the cool gusts. Maples, green leaves faintly tinged with red/orange foliage near the upper part of the fall, Hickory, Hackberry and Yellow-wood, Ash, Sycamores and Wingnuts, Poplar, Elm and lovely Locust with their deliciously scented wisteria-like flowers in bloom. To Julie’s left was a Madrone with its almost Manzanita smooth, red bark. A large specimen of California Laurel, Alder and Liquidambar also jostled for space.

  In the pool, Julie saw scores of small fish and a few large ones. They darted in and out of obscurity. Ocher and burnt umber salamanders just inside the waterline moved with the ripples, perhaps lulled to sleep by the tender current. There were turtles as well. Seeing her, two dove into the water with a splash that sounded like a musical note. On the back and left side of the pond from where she stood was a bank of sand, dry with the sunlight and shadow that bounced in and out of it. A nice place to lie down.

  Colorful finches were flitting in and out here, singing loud as they could, their tiny voices, barely heard above the rush of the water, yet a melodious compliment to it.

  Julie beamed, then wept. She didn’t know why she was crying. They weren’t unhappy tears. That is, until she thought of Tom.

  Come to me, my love..., she prayed, saltiness wending to the corners of her mouth. Her words ephemeral, evanescent on the wind.

  Julie walked to the sandbar, removed her shorts and stepped lightly into the pool. She drew in her breath, its coolness making her skin prickle. Slowly, she stepped forward, soft sand under her feet. When she was up to her knees, she launched herself, creating a small wave that went before her. Then she turned on her back and floated there, sunlight checkering her face, her closed eyes.

  This is heaven, she thought, better than heaven. She felt a tiny tickling on her thigh, looked down to see a small fish sampling her, tasting her. It made her laugh. On the bank, at eye level, a turtle watched her stoically. It’ll be this way forever, she though
t. A familiar tune of Tom’s played in her mind. Something from his board piano. La la la. La la la.

  La la la. Julie took handfuls of sand and rubbed it on her body, washing away a week’s worth of grime. When she was clean, she gazed at her form in the water. It was turquoise/blue/white. Full, sensual.

  She swam slowly to the other side. Something she wanted to see. Was it? Closing in, she saw that it was. Vitus californica... Grapes! There were wild grapes growing here, both at ground level and high into the trees above! Thirty feet up she saw them, clusters of the small, green and purple orbs. She wondered how they would taste when they’d not yet been “improved” by man. They certainly looked good.

  A light passed through, making each translucent, a promise of sweetness within. Stepping out of the water and onto the opposite bank, she walked a few steps to a poplar, its leaves spinning, turning in the now warm breeze, its branches supporting loads of the fruit. Reaching out her hand, she held a bunch, caressing them, squeezing one. It was firm, yet also gave. But just a little. Smiling, Julie picked it, held it up to the sun. Inside she beheld a tiny seed, the assurance of more to come, of future betoken. Seeds, little miracles, precious gifts of nature, later made sterile by selfish men with profit motives. But that was far off.

  She placed it on her tongue and rolled it around. Spherical, like the earth. It reminded her of something the Russian Astronaut, Aleksei Leonov, had once said about viewing the earth from space:

  The Earth was small, light blue, and so touchingly alone, our home

  that must be defended like a holy relic. The Earth was absolutely

  round. I believe I never knew what the word round meant until I saw

  Earth from space.

  She bit down. The world exploded, though this was an explosion of flavor, of tang. It was better than she had hoped, the small size concentrating the sugars. In her day, when there were still grapes available, the large size they were bred to tended to dilute the sweetness with extra water. What was our issue with size, anyway? she wondered, then laughed at that.