In self-defense I brew a cup of strong tea. Seated in Della Comfort and sipping contentedly, I stare out the window.
Sand drifts upon a distant dune following the sun. Wind gusts sand against the window pane to pitter-patter like I imagine rain does. The grains float down the panes in hypnotic patterns and puzzles.
I imagine real rain, slipping in mud, stamping snow covered boots in the entrance way, picking up mail as hail pelts me. Ideas of other places and things and none part of my life.
Suddenly new ideas find their way into my thoughts as though born upon drifting sand. I close my eyes and the ideas entwine, clasp one another and tighten into a ball. The ball evolves into a clenched fist and executes a quick ninety-degree turn. The fingers unfurl, spread wide and waggle like bait on a sand-snail’s tail.
I cannot resist so obvious an invitation and plunge my perception inwards to inspect this strange apparition. It dissolves upon sensing my scrutiny. The tiny fragments I do contact smack of Crier poison. I flinch at the taste of them.
Nevertheless, I reach back in and again the hand darts off swimming now with the strokes of a jellyfish. It stops a short distance away and chuckles with evil glee, then fades into a translucent oval. A finger pops up and beckons.
I reach across and touch it and voices from my past come alive. I drift closer and individual words find me.
“Hear me. Heed me.”
I nod in acceptance.
First, Peter Wernt leaps to view. His appearance as vivid and robust as though he is actually here beside me. In the same instant, something dark and snake-like slithers by and tucks itself into a corner, hidden, yet a presence felt.
Poison’s bombs continue exploding, marching onwards at a staggered pace. Cymbals clash then skitter across jangled nerve ends. The tempo changes to a marching beat. The voices grow stronger and more demanding as they question me. “Can an EB calculate the arrival underfoot of an empty canister?
“If yes, such skills are stunning. On Here-born, only Nomads possess such unbreakable concentration. On the other hand, Desert Drivers can take Nomad calculations and act instantly upon the findings.
“Desert Drivers are, if nothing else, people of action.
“You, the Free Marketeers are renowned for your skills to plan into the future with the greatest of ease. You of Here-Born know full well it takes two to tango—but it takes three to create or to resolve.”
I mumble to self, “Therefore, Peter dropping his empty canister must have been accidental.”
But the clouds of doubt roll back in, spread outwards, and turn into thunderclouds. They form up as though a firing squad. As one they bellow, “What you, Once-Other, don’t know about Peter could fill countless tomes in a size six font at that.”
Personal revision...perhaps it was not an accident.
I sigh exasperated and park ponderous reasoning.
Done, I turn inwards and track down the dark something that slithered in along with thoughts of Peter. When I find and touch it, it breaks into tiny drops of gold colored water. They drift closer each one vying for my attention.
Faces appear as I caress one. Some smile, some frown, others laugh. I catch a drop and a collection of data falls into my virtual inner-palm. I caress a few more to discover that each holds bits of information.
I slide closer and they change into squares. I spot one with unique characters on it—time stamps. I check them over.
Nothing but dates and times from the past, from the present, some from out my Foundation and many places I cannot recall. Yet all are familiar as though I lived back then but cannot now remember where nor when.
They group together and fuse into a golden ball.
I grasp it and a scroll drops out and unfurls to become a yellowed newspaper dated many centuries ago. My viewpoint finds the headlines then the story below. I read quickly and analyze once done.
Using generalized statements, individual priests on EB were accused of molesting young children. With no evidence presented in support of these accusations the case moved forward.
The, so-called, guilty were condemned with ferocity not only in this article but in the general news media as well. By the end of the piece, a whole religion was destroyed based on unproven accusations against a few individuals.
“Should those reporters have generalized as much?” I ask of no one in particular.
Another newspaper begs my attention and outlines how religion was ultimately destroyed. This was done using a calculated progression of condemnation by association.
Well thought out it went: Seeing, as priests are bad, their religion must be bad. And if one religion is bad then all religion is bad and if all religion is bad so too is Religious Freedom bad.
And goodbye to Religious Freedom whether the priests were ever guilty or not! An atrocity I say. Here-Born’s Constitution—the Freedom of Religion section drifts into view. I read it despite that I know it verbatim.
It reminds me why Freedom of Religion was and is so important to us. It also reveals that Religious Freedom alone ensured EB reporters and comedic commentators the right to condemn. Giving them the very Freedom of Speech they practiced in their condemnation of religion.
Without a religious background and its role in the Constitution of the United States of America—such vitriol as their condemnation of religion would not have gone unpunished. In other lands people were beheaded for far, far less.
How I wish I could be present if and when one of these so-called comedians or reporters came to understand where their Right, their Freedom of Speech that they so strongly insist upon, truly came from. I must get Peter Wernt to take a copy of our Constitution home with him.
Another article appears and intrigued, I make myself comfortable but the chime of the front door bell jerks me out of my thoughts. Which chime also comes without real world audio.
The front door swings open to reveal Deidre, my ex-wife, standing on the welcome mat looking as she always does. Her mouth cuts a tight thin line, the Fires of Hate burn in her blue eyes, her nostrils flare spraying Eternal Damnation three-hundred and sixty degrees and five miles deep.
Other than that, she is quite attractive.
Blonde hair flows over an elegant tight fitting blue suit. Her pale beige-pink lipstick offsets clear nail polish. Her high cheekbones are a delicate prelude to dainty hands with long thin fingers reminiscent of a piano player despite that she is essentially tone deaf.
At the sight of her my first impulse is to shoot Madsen in the foot without warning nor any explanation thereafter. Happily though, standing next to her and holding her hand is Karrell our son. But to be more accurate she has a firm grip on his hand.
“Once-Other,” she says pronouncing my name as though spitting out foul syllables present in her mouth by circumstance alone. “We were concerned. Very concerned. Weren’t we Karrell?”
Karrell nods yes looking as though he means no. She glares at him but says to me, “Business Once-Other? I hope you aren’t suffering financial loss...in any way.” And there you go—reason enough for her to be here.
I make her wait as I consider any advantages to be had. Her smile freezes in place when I make her wait some more—then to wait further.
Soon it’s iced in place possible only with someone as cold as Deidre taking into account the average Here-Born temperature. Just before she explodes, I say, “I see you’ve brought Karrell over for his Moment in Time with me, his father.”
And the ice of her smile cracks. “That wasn’t....”
I cut in and say, “It’s perfect timing...with business going well.” Her eyes light up and the ice melts a little. “At the same time here I am, a touch injured but with the whole weekend ahead. And here you are inquiring after my personal...health. What could make more sense or be more perfect?”
“Well Once-Other,” and she gags on my name once again, “I was only interested in...if you...would be able to have him this weekend due to your...you know?”
“Yes, I know,” I say and sh
udder without visible evidence of one. She reminds me in certain ways of Wernt, nothing save for unpleasantness lives in the open.
She turns to Karrell and with forced cheer says, “Karrell honey, aren’t you as glad as I am that Dad’s well and able to have you spend the weekend?” Karrell looks at her as though she had spoken in a foreign tongue. “Karrell honey?” she insists her voice hardening.
“You said it’s time to assume ownership of Dad’s business,” Karrell says.
“Oh Karrell, you are such a tease. Isn’t he just Once-Other?”
“I don’t remember anything about the weekend,” Karrell insists.
“You should pay more attention sweetheart!” she says.
“We didn’t bring a change of clothes,” Karrell says.
“You have some. Don’t you Once-Other?” she asks.
“I do,” I say.
She swipes a case closed gesture and says, “There you go—kissy me bye-bye-bee Karrell baby.”
He takes a step backward in self-defense. Deidre follows, grasps his hands, yanks him close and plants a kiss. “You see Once-Other. He thinks twelve is too old to be kissed by his Mommy.”
She sets about tickling him as though he is a baby. Pulls at his cheeks, pinches them, leaving red spots. Abruptly she strides to her SandRider, mounts, starts up, kicks into gear and races off.
We watch her pink painted and pink-chromed SandRider throw up dust. She waves without looking back and it seems more the signature of Deidre the Attorney closing arguments than a farewell.
Karrell relaxes as Deidre slips from view over an eastern dune.
I close the front door hoping to save myself an unscheduled dusting with a Fragger.
Not likely on Here-Born.
CHAPTER 37
Of A Moment In Time And Promises Made
“How do we do a Moment in Time, Dad?” Karrell asks.
“Strange happenings taking place, Karrell. Minutes ago I experienced something akin to a second Moment in Time for myself. But let’s get to you. We’ll head into the desert and spend the night under the sky, the stars, the Half-Day Moon and of course, the Star-of-Hope.”
“Tonight?” he asks.
“Yes—tonight.”
“I’ll get clothes and warm stuff,” he says.
“I’ll get everything else.”
We head in different directions, moments later I hear him rummaging about in his room. I’m sure it misses him as much as I do. Perhaps, I should have been more attentive to Deidre.
Her face appears before me and I realize it would have made no difference; we were traveling life on disparate paths with conflicting ideas of what is important and of what a family is for.
In my opinion, she sees children as an inconvenience and at best, something owned but of no exchangeable value—then maybe my own pet peeves from times long gone are here being recorded. But! Too often to recall she expressed misgivings about having Karrell but never to his face, but assuredly to mine.
For me, children are the tomorrow of a nation. They carry forward what we teach them—the right, the wrong, the crazy, the calm and the sane. Therefore, we teach them well—I hope.
I sigh, fill and pack water bottles.
Half an hour later, outside the front door lies a far from neat men only kind of pile. Karrell glances around the desertscape and asks, “Where to Dad?”
Abruptly, I’m back at my own Moment in Time. A smile eases in on me, an old glow warms from within and my father’s words return as mine. “A place peaceful and quiet. Where the night sky is black, no city lights wink, the stars and moon shine and nothing reflects upon a dark desertscape.”
“Sounds good, Dad. I wish grandpa were still alive. I miss his words. They were always filled with good stuff to know and that smile which never left his face. Dad, why did he dress as though he had one set of clothes?”
“Here-Born Karrell, is tough. Lives are mostly short courtesy of sand and sun—for all of us. He was a simple man, Karrell. Lived to do for others what he was able. He lacked an urge to own. Your grandmother was often driven to distraction by that. Granddad would sometimes wander off into the desert for weeks and reappear without warning nor fanfare. She cried at night. We lived in a tent. I’d hear.”
“Yes. I was born in it, remember.”
“May they rest in peace,” I add.
“Amen. You remind me of him, Dad.”
I smile a thank-you to him and head into the garage, drive Hellbent II out and watch smiling as Karrell jumps up and down. “Wow-wow-wow. Will Bordt...and Mom be jealous? You have the latest one Dad. Oh wow wow. Hangdog-garb. Oh wow, wow, wow six-wheel drive!”
“I’ll take that as approval,” I say.
“Oh yes,” he replies.
We laugh as one, my joy at his joy tightens my throat and regrets of a marriage long gone sour stab me once again. I sober and slap his back.
He walks around me and slaps mine. “It’s the beauty of it, Dad.”
“I understand Karrell,” and my joy mingles with his and we hug for a long time. He pulls away and I can tell from his eyes he misses being hugged. I fight regret for several moments.
She comes alive beneath us. I slip her into gear and we race across hard-packed sand. Karrell holds on tight and looks back at the dust plume hugging our tail.
I mention what I should have long ago. “My main hope for you, Karrell, is for your heart to beat in harmony with a mind at peace.”
He thinks a moment and says, “As long as you are here and I can reach you...all I need.”
“If you need me I will come—no matter what,” and he tightens his arms around me and lays his cheek upon my back.
“Keep in mind Karrell, a Moment in Time is illegal under EB’s laws. We don’t want to be caught and charged with the crime of exercising our own education.”
“My thoughts are sealed, Dad. Hangdog-garb.”
Miles on, I pull to a stop atop a towering dune some ninety floors high, and it’ll do perfectly.
CHAPTER 38
Of Karrell’s Moment In Time
My mouth hangs open in utter amazement. Karrell has eaten two hotdogs and three hamburgers faster than anyone I have ever witnessed. Ketchup and mustard dribble down his chin.
He licks at it and smiles broadly. “You’ve not experienced the gradual increase of my appetite,” he says and chuckles. “I eat less when I’m down.”
“You’ve grown into a sound and vital young boy, Karrell.”
“Hangdog-garb,” he whispers speaking across time to all our ancestors.
“Yes Karrell, as you said, it is so, so let us begin.”
“Okay, Dad. Let’s.”
I glance around at Hellbent II then eye the edge of the dune. Tiny waves of sand tumble over as Arzern’s Delight casts about in hopes of joining with another wind so as to grow stronger. The heat lessens and the wind whispers quietly promising sand a restful gully in which to spend the night.
I take a deep breath and begin. “From the first moment you studied it...recollect every instant spent on the new EB curriculum and their parrot fashioned tests.”
“You want what?” and he spits each word.
“Please, just follow my lead one-two-three altogether.”
“Well...okay.” He considers for several moments and nods yes.
“Excellent. Create a burning sun trapped inside a bucket. Toss EB’s education into it.”
He chuckles, bursts out laughing and says, “Wow. What a relief.”
“Now! Let’s address your Here-Born education. As you are aware, on Here-Born your primary education covers the basics of EB’s and our history, political systems, and life and living skills. Later when you’re around fifteen, you’ll be getting into your career choice, the doing of it and study of it. Then comes further study but only when and as you need it and if you so choose, altogether.
“So. Till now you’ve done the basics of manners, our history, reading to a high level, handwriting. Now handwriting you did until
fast but legible. Then there’s the basics of mathematics for life and living, literature, and creative writing, listened to music, learned an instrument, and played some music.
“You will also have covered all the general forms of government and, of course, our Constitution, Bill of Rights and the Letter to all Citizens. So! I figure you’re at Level G or H given you’re already twelve. Right?”
“I,” he says.
“Oh. Damn fine. Damn, damn fine altogether. Only two more Levels to go. To begin then, examine A from start to finish over-n-over. Until you get a conceptual understanding.”
Several minutes later, he smiles as the dawn of greater insight grows within him.
“Excellent,” I say. “Now. Address Level B through I one at a time, do the same.”
He grins wryly and sets to his task. Two hours later he looks up at me and the smile of a Moment in Time sparkles in his eyes.
He hugs me beaming like a newborn sun. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Okay. As you know Level J and K will slot in when you do those. So you won’t need to do this again. Now. Using all concepts, A through I, create a circle in front of you.”
He takes but seconds to complete.
“Loop strings from the circle’s center through each of A through I.”
After a while, he nods yes.
“Next. Examine each concept A through I from the center until full conceptual understanding unfolds for your entire Here-Born education.”
I wait in silence. After some time, he turns to me with light shining about his face. And I am moved to repeat the words of my father. “Good evening young Man,” I say.
Karrell smiles a million or more lifetimes’ worth of joy.
“Wow, Dad. And you had me wait this long. Damn.”
We chuckle.
“Now Karrell. Give me two ideas from the outer circle of A through I and one or two from the inner concept. Okay?”
“Okay. At Level G. Perceive what is not what you think you should be seeing.”
“Right.”
“At Level H. First, imagine a new future. Next, use actions and data from the past and present plus new ideas and create a future.”
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