by Gary Foshee
Dr. Gary Warren Foshee
The Augur created you for a special purpose and designed you to
do great things,” bubbled Toby.
“I don’t believe that and I don’t believe in The Augur. Besides, even if he was real, he obviously doesn’t know what he’s doing,”
grumbled Caboose referring to his short leg. “Great Things, I
can’t even run in the Little Round About. How can I do, Great Things?”
Tyku remained silent. Those words had once echoed from
his own past. He remembered when times were tough and he
blamed The Augur for all the troubles he had endured. “Things
don’t always happen the way you want, Caboose,” responded
Tyku final y gathering his thoughts.
“They sure don’t. For me, they don’t ever happen the way I
want them too,” snapped Caboose.
“I waited patiently for him to lift me out of the muddy
dried-up pool of water I was in,” replied Tyku. “He came for me
and brought me to The Redmadafa. He placed a new song in my
mouth, and ever since that day, I have played a new melody.”
Toby swam around and jumped out of the water. “Caboose,
you have a great family that loves you very much. I know many
people that wished they had a Dad like yours.”
“Great things...you know; I think you may be right.”
“Good, I’m glad you are feeling better,” answered Toby feel-
ing good that his words of wisdom had helped.
“Yes, I’ll show everyone. I’m gonna find the gate everyone
talks about. That will be something great.”
Stunned, Toby stuttered, “Caboose, I don’t think that’s a
good idea.”
“Good idea? That’s a great idea,” voiced Caboose, feeling confident about his decision. “My mind is made up. I’m going to find that gate if it is the last thing I do.”
18
THE REDMADAFA
“Caboose, don’t go. Come back!” yelled Tyku. “It may very
well be the last thing you ever do.” It was too late. Caboose faded from the bank and out of site.
Caboose set off in search of a gate that the younglings sang
about at school. At recess, the younglings played hop-addy-hop
on rocks and sang:
“Over the mountains, over the hil s,
through the val ey, better watch your heels;
Diamonds and pearls, gold and fate,
there you will find a magical gate.
Listen to the air, listen for the click,
better beware, or you’ll be tricked.”
He didn’t know where the gate was but he didn’t care, he was
tired of Mack and the lixoars and he real y wanted to do some-
thing great. Trying to find the gate sounded like an adventure too good to pass up.
Caboose was in no hurry to embark on his spontaneous quest. He
dawdled through town using back alleys and deserted streets to
remain unseen. He avoided the markets not wanting to run into
anyone from the temple that might recognize him. He skirted
the shaded arches of the central square and took to the tree line behind the university. He followed a narrow dirt path that sloped underneath an aqueduct around to a canal and came out not far
from the gatehouse on the north side of town.
Trudging up the stairs he noticed the afternoon sky rap-
idly changing. Herds of clumped blueberries tiptoed across the
sky crowning the mountains in a dark veneer; the drowsy canal
19
Dr. Gary Warren Foshee
underneath him reflected raspberry as blue mixed with red and
dimly rippled downstream.
“I cut off your hand,” shouted a brittle voice bounding down
the steps.
“No you didn’t. I already chopped off your arms,” argued
another youngling whizzing pass him dueling valiantly with a
stubby wooden sword.
Caboose stepped to the side and smiled. He envied their
joyful enthusiasm. A light drizzle squelched the moment as the
pitter-patter of raindrops cadenced the anger still throbbing
inside his chest.
At the top of the steps, sitting on a small stool underneath
a ramshackle roof held up by two flimsy poles that looked like
they would col apse at the slightest touch, was a plum-cheeked
old woman with bushy grey eyebrows and crow’s feet furrowed
deep beside her eyes.
She looked up.
Stacked in bundles at her side and feet, were thin amber stalks
of wheat—she ground them slowly on a small quern into flour.
The stone quern had a notch on the bottom edge of the upper
handstone that “clicked” every pass as she turned the wooden
handle. Little creep tails scurried beneath the bundles as if they were listening to the tune she hummed quietly to herself.
For a brief moment, their eyes locked. It was like he could
hear her speaking to him—“Don’t do it… Stop… Turn around before it’s too late…” He paid the voices no heed.
Caboose blended in with a large caravan of vagabonds leav-
ing town after a brutal day of trading in the markets. He passed under the gate with his head low making sure not to make eye
contact with the guards posted above. He knew this was his last
chance to turn around. Exiting the gate, he looked back at the
20
THE REDMADAFA
eagle’s head mounted high on the wal . He thought for sure it had twisted toward him.
That’s strange he thought. He shrugged it off and disappeared
down the road drifting out of sight.
* * * * * * *
The ram’s horn sounded ending another long day of school.
Pepper, Caboose’s little sister, collected her things, straightened up her writing tablets, and pushed her chair under the table,
then waited in line as everyone bustled about, scrambling to get their leaf packs.
Pepper bounded outside in her own, little world. She knew
Caboose was in big trouble but was surprised to see her Papa
still waiting outside. She said goodbye to a couple of friends and ran over to greet him.
“How was school today princess?”
“Fine Papa, how is Caboose? I heard it real y wasn’t his fault
that he got in a fight with Mack and Oka, and he got suspended.”
“What! He got suspended?”
“Ah…oh, I thought you already knew,” she hesitantly replied,
confused about the matter.
“No, I haven’t seen him.”
“That’s strange he left school after lunch. Didn’t Mr. Hammer
send you a wing message?”
“I did receive a message that he needed to speak with me,
but I was delayed at work. Why don’t you walk home with Helio
and Splint? I need to have a talk with Mr. Hammer.”
Disturbed and concerned about his son, Chesty plodded
up the stairs and proceeded down the hal way to the princi-
pal’s office. Vague memories flooded his mind of times past. He
21
Dr. Gary Warren Foshee
remembered walking the long hal ways, which echoed softly
with each step, when he was young. He also remembered vis-
iting the principal’s office on more than one occasion himself.
Chesty spotted Mr. Hammer coming out of a classroom.
“Mr. Hammer, do you have a second?”
Mr. Hammer slowed his pace. “Chesty, good to see you
again. I sent you a m
essage, did you get?”
“Yes, I got it. Sorry I took so long. I was detained at work.”
“Don’t be too hard on him—I know it wasn’t his fault. Mack
and the lixoars are always getting into trouble. I hated to sus-
pend Caboose, but school policy is no fighting.”
“I understand. I will talk with him when he gets home. Do
you know where he is?”
“No. I told him to wait outside my office until you arrived. I
assumed you had already picked him up.”
“He probably went home. I’m sure he’s already there.”
“Please let me know when you find him.”
“I’ll let you know.”
Splint’s bel y churned at the smell of fresh baked bread wafting down the old cobble-stoned street. He searched his pockets for
a few spare coins only to find a secret tunnel leading covertly to his leg. His finger slipped through the hole igniting the attack.
Hunger bugs, salivating intensely in his bel y from the intoxi-
cating aroma of fresh bread, launched three-pronged grappling
hooks, which attached to the upper cavity of his stomach. In
protest, they kamikazed through the protective layer of mucus
and splattered themselves against his inner stomach lining.
Splint buckled over in pain and grabbed his side.
“Hey, can I borrow two tachmas?” he asked Helio.
Helio, completely ignoring Splint, seemed to be on another
22
THE REDMADAFA
circle as he observed the town’s people busy with their daily
excursions. The outdoor market was filled with carpenters,
builders, masons, stonecutters, miners and lots of foreigners
buying and trading goods. Old wooden hoof-drawn carts lined
the streets and alleys; fresh herbs, vegetables, greens, spices, and all kinds of baked pies and breads lined the bottoms of carts,
crates, and storefronts.
“I don’t have any coins,” responded Helio quietly, not want-
ing to alert his hunger bugs to their own misfortunes.
Splint, realizing his hopes of fresh baked bread would have
to wait until he got home jabbed Pepper in her side and asked,
“Did you see your brother take out Mack today?”
“I’m so glad someone final y stood up to Mack,” piggy-
backed Helio.
Pepper, with a fiendish look on her face from the unex-
pected jab, replied, “No. I can’t believe he actual y fought him.
That’s not like my brother to get into a fight.” Pepper searched her thoughts. She wondered what could possibly have driven
Caboose to fight Mack and Oka. Then again, she had witnessed
his anger first hand.
“I don’t think he meant too,” said Splint. “Mack and Oka were
bul ying Caboose at lunch after he failed to meet Oka behind the wood shop. Oka pushed him and took a swing. Caboose blocked
it and made his nose match the color of his hair. Then one of the lixoars bashed him from behind causing Caboose to crash into
a girl holding her lunch—it splattered all over the crowd, it was great. Caboose turned as red as an apple-stick on the fire…I’ve
never seen him so mad before.
When he reeled around his tail accidently knocked Mack
right off his feet, flinging him face first right into the mud.”
“It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen,” said Helio.
23
Dr. Gary Warren Foshee
Splint smiled and looked up toward the sky. “He’s my
hero. Anyway, Mack got up and they all beat the tar out of him
after that.”
Pepper didn’t respond. Her eyes told the story of a little sis-
ter that loved her brother and the concern she had for him. Like most little sisters, she blew everything way out of proportion
when it came to her big brother and his mischievous ways. She
placed her thumbs underneath her pack straps. “That’s not like
my brother.”
24
C H A P T E R 2
The Temple
Better is the end than the beginning.
Chesty hurried home. A hundred different things raced
through his mind as he walked down the road past Feathered
Friends Gatehouse and then around the square. He cut through the alley behind the markets and came out across from the stables.
The thoroughfare was crowded with people and creatures strol -
ing with small bundles tucked under arm or carried on head or
back. Others stood bartering with shopkeepers as small groups,
watched close by learning the tricks of the trade. He crossed the street and, without realizing it, was halted by a loud clanging.
Deep in the shadows, il uminated by a small ray of sunlight
gleaming upon a broad sweaty brow, stood the gruff silhouette of the town smithy. Draped around his thick muscular neck, rippled
two blue veins, with a leather bib covered in black soot. Standing 25
Dr. Gary Warren Foshee
at the edge of a pile of charcoal, he reached over with his tongs and pulled out a short iron rod from the fire. The rod glowed yellow at the end and then tapered to red. He laid it on a stone anvil and raised his hammer.
Chesty hesitated outside his door which was latched back by
a small frayed rope hooked onto a wooden peg; it was as if the
whole circle had stopped for a moment and he was stuck some-
where between dimensions. He watched the smithy strike the rod
with his short stubby hammer into a curved sickle. Each strike
sent small firebal s crackling into the air. The tiny sparks faded black mid-air and ricocheted off his bib before dancing around
his feet.
The smithy raised his head and spit a dark sappy stream of
tobacco onto the ground; it splattered at the feet of his young
apprentice wearing a green dappled long-sleeve shirt.
He nodded at Chesty and continued.
Chesty drifted back from his hypnotic trance. He glanced at
the apprentice blowing a long-drawn breath through a hollow
copper tube into the base of the hearth.
Unsure why he had stopped, he continued.
He bypassed the mil , where he worked with his older
brother, and climbed old, worn-out steps under a stone archway
that wound up to a gatehouse. At the top, the guardsman stood
arguing with four travelers dressed in strange attire. As he walked by, Chesty overheard something about water and a wel .
Chesty lived around the corner from the gatehouse. He
opened the gate outside his house and walked up the dirt path
lined with orange and yellow mums. Mrs. Puller heard the squeak
from the gate and met him at the door; her face bore the worry
piercing her heart. She looked over his shoulder and asked, “Is
everything ok? Where’s Caboose?”
26
THE REDMADAFA
“I was hoping he was here. Have any of the neighbors seen
him?” he responded, his suspicions gradual y becoming reality.
Mrs. Puller wiped the back of her hand across her forehead
and held it there for a moment as if she was hot or going to faint.
“No, Pepper already asked. I think you should gather the elders
and ask them to pray. Something isn’t right; I can sense it.”
Chesty, trying to block the memories from his troubled past,
trudged over and sat down. He searched his thoughts and replied,
“This is not like Caboose. Mr. Hammer said he told him to wait
outsi
de his office until I arrived. I think you are right. I’ll send a message to the elders right now.”
* * * * * * *
Caboose followed the awkward looking creatures down the
road into the mountains, which grew taller around each bend.
They stopped at a grove of olive trees after several miles and set up camp.
He kept his distance at first.
He watched them set up camp and kindle a fire in a grassy
flat under the trees. He watched younglings collect firewood.
Others climbed high in the trees picking olives. He watched
women dance around the fire. They twirled round and round,
spinning their dresses into the crackling fire—he got dizzy just watching. The men walked across coals and held torches to their
lips. Filling their mouths with thunder juice, they spewed flames high into the air.
Caboose sat under a tree listening to the sounds of laughter
filter through the thick grove. He reached up through a screen
of leaves and picked a couple of olives. He nibbled on them for a second, and with a sour look on his face, spit them out. Driven
27
Dr. Gary Warren Foshee
by hunger, and enticed by the hand of a beautiful girl that walked through the trees and invited him to dance, he joined them
around the fire.
He listened to stories about adventure, danger, fame and for-
tune. He ate and drank and laughed so hard his stomach ached.
Meeting new people and exploring relationships turned out to be
exciting—an adventure in itself he thought. For the first time in his life he final y felt like an adult. His confidence swelled making his decision to leave feeling better.
* * * * * * *
After school, Brook went straight home and locked herself in her
bedroom. She sat in the corner of her bed writing in her diary—
she didn’t have any homework.
“He didn’t look at me again. I walked right pass him in
the hal way and he didn’t even see me, it’s as if I’m not
even there—it would probably be better if I weren’t. I’m
so fat he must be embarrassed to be seen around me. I
need to lose more weight and fast. Rachael came over
again. I get so nervous every time she hugs me and
looks at me; I wonder if she knows? I like her. There is
something different about her, something inside—she’s
different, but in a good way. Oh no, I hope she doesn’t
come by, surely she will forget. Why would anyone want