“Can I stop them from thinking what they think?”
“You inflamed them.”
“How do you propose I put out the fire?”
“Just don’t let it consume them.”
The talk from Sammy, the rebellion from Russell, antagonism in Leeda, they were not what he originally intended, Nathan thought. He did not blame himself. Blame wasn’t the issue. And stopping it, that he could leave to Gus to pounce on out of urgency to his centuries-old beliefs of what constituted their yulenness. Why should he intervene to dampen their spirits, Nathan kept thinking walking with Gus. Gus had consented to a defined and limited arrangement he thought acceptable to his yulenhood, and that which stirred in the others was unacceptable to him. However, Gus always knew there was a chance the others would steer beyond the boundaries he’d insisted on before coming. He knew, yet consented to join anyway. Arousal that licked flames of liberation in them, Nathan thought, was it really for him to dampen when his own urged spirit rebelled by the day?
“You know,” Gus said, as if to make amends for his harshness, “baiting us is part of Conrad’s tactics. He knows that as walking and toil rob us of calories that we need to make it through our late season to our takings, argument and mental tossing take their toll on our stores of energy as well. Every exertion, physical, mental, and emotional makes it harder for us to make it through late season. He was delighted to see Russell practically churn reserves before his eyes. Thrilled he will be when any of us die on our knees, starved and destroyed, unable to heed our final call to survival. Punishment is obvious his plan. Yulen-not-man, don’t help punish the others or yourself with wild imaginings of change that is impossible.”
XV
Two days drive out of Saint-Tropez, Macon Early and his boys entered their destination, the town on Nathan’s postcard. Having been delayed by several mechanical breakdowns in France and Germany, the Earlys drove their regal though noisy “vintage” Cadillac—basically, old and broken—onto the modest main street of Tundleworshinblaw.
Macon had refused to rent “a dag blasted European foreigner car.” An enterprising used car dealer offered him the American dinosaur sitting on his lot that an American movie producer had traded it in for a dag blasted European foreigner car, and nobody wanted. The road yacht kept breaking down and guzzled prodigiously, but its plush roomy comfort was Macon’s idea of traveling in style, and “the way The Good Lord meant Americans to travel.”
“Don’t they have any street lights in this town?” Macon said, of the dimly illuminated street their car slowly rolled along. “How we supposed to find anything?”
“Just stretch your neck out the window, Pa,” Josiah said behind the wheel.
“Car’s drivin’ real good now, Pa,” Joseph said, sitting in the back with Joseph Henry.
“Should, after all I just spent at them thievin’ auto mechanics. You think they’d never seen an automatic shift before.”
“Strange country they don’t have pickups,” Joseph Henry said.
“Stop, Josiah,” Macon said. “This looks like the picture postcard Mrs. Nols showed me. What’s that sign there say?”
“Gast-haus . . . ,” Joseph Henry pronounced, reading the lighted sign of Hans’ inn.
“Gasthaus,” Joseph said. “Sounds like gas-house, or guest-house.”
“That must be it. Some kinda guesthouse. Everybody out. We’re stayin’ here.”
Three days walk away from Hans’ gasthaus that the Earlys were checking in to, Nathan and his gang sat around a campfire resting from the day’s long march.
“You know, I heard that we come from stardust,” Russell said, lying on his back looking at the starry sky.”
“I’ve heard that too,” Sammy said.
“What do you think, Gus?” Russell asked him, his voice having turned friendly.
“I’ve heard every speculation you can imagine, including that one,” Gus said amicably. “All I can be sure of is that we don’t truly know our origin.”
“But we come from human don’t we?” Leeda said.
“That’s certain.”
“A virus, I heard,” Russell said.
“A virus or a visitation or genetic mutation or even something divine, I don’t know,” Gus replied.
“I think divine,” said Russell. “I mean, we’re divine.”
“I won’t argue that,” Gus said. “However we evolved from man, we certainly all were human once, each formed from a young host, slowly changing to become killkin, and then yulen. This I expect most of you can vouch for because we have vague memories of our change from human to who we became.”
“I can remember,” Sammy said.
“Me too a little,” said Russell.
“And what about a heart, Gus? Do we have hearts?” Leeda asked.
“Nathan would know better about this, I think.”
“Why him?” Leeda asked, curiously surprised.
“He spent some time on the subject. Nathan?”
Nathan, dallying with a twig, hesitated answering. “No, we don’t have hearts.”
“What makes you the expert?” Leeda said.
“Not an expert, just a matter of fact, Leeda. We do not have hearts, or at least not ones that function. There’s a clump the consistency of dried mud that was our human heart. And it’s white. White as death.”
“And is that why we cannot love?” she asked.
He paused. “That’s why, or at least like the speculations about our beginnings, that’s the reason why we cannot love.”
“Doesn’t matter to me any,” Russell said.
“It does seem an inconvenience,” Sammy supposed.
“I’ve done alright without it,” said Gus, “although plenty have loved me.”
“And you, Nathan?” Leeda asked.
“I agree,” he said, but he saw that she didn’t believe him, and he added, “I agree now.”
“And Gus,” Russell continued, “you think The Book of Yulen’ll answer these questions like where we come from and all that old stuff?”
“I’m hoping it does, Russell. I’d very much like to know.”
“I don’t much care if it does,” Russell said. “Right, Ace? All that old stuff about origins and love, and, who cares.”
“It wouldn’t hurt to know, Russ,” Nathan said. “Sometimes you need to know what you’ve been and where you were, to know who you are and where you’re going.”
“How manful,” Sammy said. “I mean, how manlike you sound, Nathan. It’s like something they would say. You’re not turning treasonous to your race are you?”
“And that sounds just like something you would say, Sammy,” Russell said, his tone antagonized.
“I don’t know much more than any of you on these subjects,” Gus interjected. “But I can tell you that we’ve had a long day and we should rest.”
“I think we can all agree on that,” Nathan said.
“Are you tired out,” Russell said to Gus, “or just old?”
“Listen to him,” Sammy laughed, “calling people old. You just came from taking, you’re feeling your oats and brimming with audacity, but we can’t be tired.”
“I think you came from an egg, Sammy,” Russell laughed.
“Alright, alright,” said Nathan.
“Just one more thing, Gus,” Russell said. “The one who wrote The Book, do you know what happened to him?”
“I only know from hearing over the years when I sought to know of The Book, that he went the way of all prohibition, that is, insane. If he wasn’t already.”
“Or was he smote?” Nathan said to Gus. “Eliminated.”
“By?”
“Well, persecuted by those who feared the revelations he wrote and would reveal.”
“And those being?”
“Those who fear all prophets.”
“And who were they, Nathan? Not yulen. We could not harm.”
“We cannot harm. Was it always so?”
“That’s the sprit, Ace.”
“Why else write it down, and not just speak it to others? Speak The Truth, unless he feared he could be cut down?”
Gus took a deep breath. “Let’s be careful that if we find what we seek, we keep it within the reasonable laws of nature, and not countervail them. I do not know what happened to the one, except that if he attempted to surpass from whom he came, then he was consumed by and on the bonfires of his vanity’s overarching ambition. No yulen was necessary to destroy him but the very yulen who sought to transfigure beyond what could be.”
Everyone remained silent, variously looking within themselves, at one another, and eventually to Nathan.
“I think we can agree that we know little about any of this,” Nathan said. “Each of us seeks enlightenment. What we learn from The Book of Yulen will enhance our ability to survive, and no more. I think that’s what you want, Gus, and no more, unless you’ve changed since we left.”
“I haven’t changed. Have you, Nathan?”
“I haven’t yet changed, Gus.”
“I have a feeling that if you do, as our young yulen here exhibits through his reckless change of mind, then we may all meet the same fate as the one we’ve just discussed. Goodnight all. This old yulen needs his rest.”
At Hans the innkeeper’s guesthouse, the Earlys registered for lodgings. Macon having ascertained from Hans that there were no other guests at the only inn in town, he’d leave it to the next day to query him about who he sought.
To Hans the big lanky men acted too gruffly to be gentlemen, and he thought to settle them in a bunkroom at the back of inn, but then their talk of money changed his mind.
“Ahhh, Pa,” Josiah complained, when his father asked for one room with two beds for the four of them. “We got plenty of money. Why can’t we have our own beds?”
“That money is just passin’ through, boy. It ain’t ours. That money belongs to The Lord, on whose mission we’re on. Whatever I have is His, and I ain’t about to squander His money on comforts and pleasures.”
“Oh God, Pa,” Josiah responded, to what he saw coming from the Reverend.
“Our mission for treasure is in and for His name. I am not the head of this church for my own personal gain. I do not have the right to spend on our personal greed and comforts that what is His.”
“Just a couple more beds, Pa.”
“We, disciples, of His eternal sacred blood, we chosen ones, we, his Later Early Day Re-incarnated Church Disciples of The Benediction of Our Lord The Savior and The One and Only Church, we have no need for comforts and money but as we sparingly need to make it through to get what we come for Him and in His name!”
“Okay, Pa. Two beds.”
Macon breathed heavily, exhausted by the evangelism he was directed to announce and spread in whatever way he was so challenged to define.
“How-do, frauleins,” Joseph Henry said, smiling to the inn’s young housekeepers and barmaids, Hans’ daughters, who arrived after Hans buzzed for them.
“These are my daughters, gentlemen. They will help you with your things and show you to your room, where you may freshen up to later come down for an excellent meal at modest price.”
“Sounds good to me,” said Josiah.
“Me too,” said Joseph Henry.
“Pa, that sound good to us?” Joseph asked.
“Sounds like devil’s work, boy, but I’m too worn out to fight with him tonight.”
“Thanks Pa,” the older boys said, going to the young smiling blond women.
“Which means only . . . ,” Macon added, “that you be showed our room, where you’ll wash behind your ears, later get a meal of them wieners and sauerkraut they eat here, and finally retire to our beds. You older boys in one, Joseph and me in the other.”
“Okay, Pa. No problem. That’s just what we was gonna do. Right Joseph Henry?”
“Right, Josiah.”
“See, Pa?”
“Then go up, but you can carry your own satchels.”
“Are all of you priests?” one of the daughters said, showing their guests up the stairs.
“Yeah, but the marryin’ kind,” Josiah smiled.
“An breedin’ kind too,” Joseph Henry added, moving closer to one of the giggling girls.
“Sure is a clean place you picked out, Pa,” Joseph said, looking around and walking behind with his father.
“I hope so, boy. I hope so.”
The Earlys washed, settled in at the inn, and the whole time during dinner, the older Early boys flirted with the innkeeper’s spirited daughters.
The evening found Macon sharing a bed with young Joseph sound asleep, and Hans up to his exploring ways wandering through their bedroom. He had removed his shoes to be quieter, but he believed that the hurricane blowing from the Reverend’s mouth would mask a wild pig charging through the room. He was wrong. As he bent to slide out the nightstand draw beside his guest, the snore jammed, a gun cocked, and he saw its barrel rise to his nose, Reverend Early’s finger on the trigger. “Now don’t you make me shoot you, mister innkeeper feller,” Macon said, rising out of bed while keeping the barrel against the obedient interloper. “Get up Joseph, and get your brothers up,” he said, eyes on his apprehended burglar.
“I, please don’t shoot. I just was wanted to know if you needed something.”
“You are a liar and a thief, sir. Josiah, get a cord to tie up this muskrat.”
“They ain’t here, Pa.”
Macon turned and saw the other bed empty. “Josiah! Joseph Henry!”
The call boomed as if cannon fire into the adjoining room where the bedridden bucks hosted two of the inn’s daughters in sweaty swamps.
“I don’t know what temptations your daughters cast over by boys, but if they ain’t here in five seconds, I’m gonna blow your head off.”
“Hanna!—”
“Not your daughters you damn fool, my sons.”
“Boys! Boys!”
Practically falling through the door and into the room, the boys hurried in, buttoning their pants, barefoot, and in mild shock. “Sorry, Pa. We was jus—”
“Stop your fibbin’ an’ come here and hold his hand. This thievin’ accursed messenger from hell come to steal Our Lord’s belongings.”
“Sure thing, Pa. Which hand?”
“Mister, I’m a-gonna let you keep your thievin’ hand on account of us bein’ travlin’ through your country, and it wouldn’t show a proper sense of decent respect.”
“Oh, thank you, sir.”
“Josiah, take his left hand.”
“No—please. Please. I will give you anything, please. Please don’t shoot my hand. Please, sir.”
“I’m not gonna either. Just a little piece of your finger.”
“Oh no please, no.”
“And I’m gonna let you pick what finger.”
“No please, please.”
“Okay the thumb.”
“Got it, Pa,” Josiah said, holding Han’s left thumb while Joseph Henry curled an arm around Hans’ neck, and pulled back his scalp.
“The pinky, sir, not the thumb.”
“Pinky . . . ,” Macon practically spit. “What kinda fruit are you? We don’t shoot pinkies off where I come from lessin’ you’re some kinda baby. Take his forefinger then before he starts blubberin’ all over my nightshirt.”
“K—Pa.”
“Hold it steady.”
“Ohhhhh, please nooooo,” Hans sobbed.
“Hold his mouth shut before he distracts my concentration and I blow his and one of your heads off.”
John Henry’s hand covered Hans’ crying mouth while Josiah tightly held his hand. “Okay Pa. Got it good. Go ahead an’ shoot.”
“Don’t rush me teachin’ this thievin’ coon a lesson.”
“Aim good, Pa,” Joseph said, beaming from behind. “Shoot it good.”
“Just goin’ for the tip . . . Don’t shake mister or I’ll take it all . . .”
Hans continued crying, tears streaming onto Joseph Henry
’s forearm.
“Just the tip . . . ,” Macon said, aiming the gun. “Just the—” Blam! The tip of Hans’ forefinger gushed red, he looked at it, carbon around the stub, and fainted.
‘Great shot, Pa. Great shot!” his sons proclaimed. “Just a little biddy piece missin’. Hardly know it’s gone. Great shot, Pa.”
“Wake the feller up, the baby,” Macon said, going back to his bed, sliding his piece back under his pillow.
The boys put a towel around the innkeeper’s hand, slapped him back to consciousness several times, and gave him a drink of water, which he accepted, all the time lightly sobbing. Then they showed him the door.
“And where do you think you two are goin’?” Macon growled to his older boys.
“Ah, no place, Pa. Right back to bed here with you an’ Joseph.”
“And see that you stay there.”
“Yeah, Pa.”
“Goodnight Pa. Goodnight Joseph. Pa.”
“Goodnight, boys. You know I love each one of you like you was the Blessed Sacrament of The Lord Himself. ‘Night and sweet dreams.”
When day would break, neither Reverend Early and his flock nor Nathan and his could imagine what waited ahead for them.
XVI
Hans kept the injured finger he claimed he’d hurt chopping cabbage, wrapped in a bulbous gauze dressing. The Earlys did not ask about his wounded condition or even seem to remember the harrowing event that Hans felt he’d undergone. No one in town paid it much attention either. His task from the crazy pastor was to visit his neighbors and their stores for word on the other crazed Americans who recently came through his inn. At breakfast, the insane patriarch had asked him where the Americans had gone. The mad cleric claimed he was a friend of theirs.
Hans had hoped never to know more about them, but if finding where those monsters went could get these others out of his inn, he would not stop inquiring about them until he found out. At the town’s hunting purveyor, a group of visiting hunters said they’d come across a group of men and a woman on foot. They were too far to speak with but they traveled west, they said. Using the purveyor’s map, they determined that the group traveled to the head of the forest.
Yulen: Return of the Beast – Mystery Suspense Thriller (Yulen - Book 2) Page 16