Once-Other

by Lawrence M. Nysschens

  My first knee jerk reaction says this is much better than being eaten. But when I meet her eyes an emotion deep inside my heart explodes—one I know well. One that has been missing for a long, long time. She feels it as well and I nod yes.

  Benwarr smiles as if I had just now saved his life instead of he’d saved mine. He waits for her approval, she smiles it to him and I dare say beams of light began to shine from her eyes.

  He steps forward and shakes my hand, which lights a pain all the way to my other hand and down to my toes. He pulls me to my feet with the greatest of ease, holds me steady as I sway and gives me to her.

  “And thus you are committed,” he declares sounding happier than his face reveals.

  So I’m committed and no one-two-three—here we go. But this is much better than being eaten if eating people, they indeed do. Now, what of Maggie?

  As wonderful as she is, she and I never experienced a moment such as this. I can only hope she will understand.

  Benwarr steps aside and she takes my hand and kisses me.

  Well now! With my being shot several times, those two attacks of poison upon me one more recent than the other. The pain-on-pain of a broken arm, the solidifying nighttime cold and murderous daytime sun. One dislocated and again relocated ankle. Then as well there’s the hunger I suffered with exceptional toughness.

  All these, along with the descent down Iron Rock Ridge, hit me one-two-three and more between the eyes. And so I am robbed of the meager strength I’d recaptured during my recent sleep and I pass out standing up.

  The last impression as I fall, is of them laughing and commenting on how powerful my committed one’s kisses are seeing as a single one has knocked me out cold.

  Even I chuckle some.

  They fall silent as Benwarr recites in an official but welcoming tone, “He’s a fine man as well as an excellent tourist guide and a magnificent campaigner. Rest well Once-Other. We must plan as we have much to do. For these, we need your input.

  “Though you haven’t been told, as of last week you’ve been promoted from Captain to the rank of Colonel. This we’ve done in honor of your conduct and dedication to duty and the damn fine execution of your functions in the Here-Born Army. And allow me to add...not a small jump and well earned...despite Madsen’s contrary reports and failure to inform you.”

  “Which is exceptional especially for one who believes we are going to eat him,” Dew muses.

  They all laugh a happy, carefree laughter.

  The shuffle of shoes upon carpet as they turn to leave and a thought crosses my mind right as darkness takes me utterly and one-two-three altogether.

  What is my committed one’s name? Why has no one told me? Is it something terrible?

  As night progresses, I sense her warmth next to me and the cold air around us. Her hand takes mine and she curls up alongside me as the Healer of Wounds.

  From far away come the beat of drums and the strumming of guitars along with many voices in song. Inside the lyrics, the name of Once-Other is mentioned. But when the night’s deepest cold arrives, that morning hour when the old and sick die, a freeze creeps deep into my bones.

  She returns and lies with me and a unique warmth flows out of her and into me. Her voice communicates she loved me the moment they found me out in the desert. That I shouldn’t worry, she will give me all the life she harbors. And with that she will help bring me through this encounter with death I must now face.

  Her arms are strong, her breath sweet upon my cheek. Her natural perfume tastes of what legend and bottled perfume says is the scent of roses. Her hair tickles and down near Death’s door I chuckle a little.

  But hammering pain returns.

  And Death’s door swings open.

  Once-Other sways towards forever darkness.

  Her hand grips mine harder and I realize how cold I am.

  The warmth of her travels up my arm and into my heart and all my pre-owneds scream their pain at me right where they were joined and glued.

  Which pain commands me to die.

  Faster-n-faster the pain-on-pain rushes back-n-forth until her touch recedes and her hand slips from mine and I’m alone in the dark and very, very cold.

  CHAPTER 62

  Of A Visit With Pre-Owned And Death

  In that eerie zone between life and death, the air seems solid with cold. Distant sounds ring familiar, others thud, but I’m unable to identify what they are. A sharp flash of silver. How can it be? I see no light. The clink of metal on metal.

  A scalpel appears and slices across the darkness.

  In my peripheral, something edges closer.

  I glance over to find a ribcage hanging in midair.

  Ribs detach one at a time and fly away, spinning like boomerangs, though destined never to return. I recall my pre-owned parts business and the cruel criminal tourist calling himself Peter Wernt. I growl at Ozerken and Pe’truss, two bad-on-bad Desert Drivers with their four dead eyes.

  At my ear, Wernt whispers telling me to die some more. I smile with grim humor wishing Wernt had been awarded Deidre as well—she’d make life on Earth-Born a worthy misery for him.

  I drift along featureless tunnels. Beneath me, black sand slithers across black rock its dry, eerie shuffle sending shivers through me. Yet I feel no emotion. No pain. No fear. I am content, numbed by cold into indifference despite the ominous dark.

  I angle left sensing a bend in the tunnel. I drift aimlessly, mind numbed yet drawn onwards by an invisible guide. I emerge upon a blackened plain. Soft lights turn on overhead and pulse.

  I ride a gentle breeze upwards.

  Questions embrace me.

  What do I trust self with?

  Is persistence a worthy trait?

  Isn’t it wise to know when to end all endeavors...even that of living?

  A sluggish mind struggles to comprehend them.

  Something distracts me.

  I examine the dark beyond the pulsing light to find only emptiness.

  I sense a something, though, and check once again. Nothing. I listen instead. Yes, a sound. A soft distant one. A voice.

  One I’ve heard before.

  A voice laced with concern calling across a vast distance.

  I search for the source but cannot find it.

  The groan of a hatch opening, a bright white light switches on with a violent electrical snarl.

  I turn to find someone standing at a door alongside the edge of Death’s tunnel. White light shining from behind hides the person’s features. Yet I sense we are kindred. I move closer and recognize her but cannot recall a name.

  In her eyes, shadows reveal an internal struggle. Quivering emotions say it is fear she fights. In her hands, she clasps a pre-owned ribcage—a strong looking and handsomely muscled one.

  I reach out, but my arms won’t move.

  Shocked at this, she swallows hard and smiles her courage and whispers as one does when wishing another back from the grave, “My name is Roses D’elti, daughter of Benwarr and Dewana D’elti. Everyone calls her Dew.”

  She waves and blows a kiss.

  It touches my cold lips leaving a trace of herself, a sampling of warmth.

  I reach out and fumble about.

  Her warm-n-soft fingers find mine.

  Her warm-n-strong hand grasps mine and tugs me gently, firmly.

  I slide forward as though escaping quicksand and slowly pass by Death’s Door and it swings closed behind me. Death’s Scream of anguish follows me, demanding I return.

  I flounder, but Roses is close, warm. Her arms hold me tight but gently. Her life flows through me warming my body and spirit from the inside outwards. A peacefulness born of assurance invades my mind and I sleep.

  I awake to find her breath sweet upon me, her hand wrapped around mine. I am in pain yet content. It appears that Once-Other’s life goes on as goals and purposes beckon.

  My eyes close and deep down at the center of sleep, I sense she’s here and so I am safe and can sleep without
fear.

  When I again awake the world is a painful glaring light but immediately a cool-n-soft darkness gentles over my eyes.

  I smile and sense her one in return for we are upon our canvas where no distance intercedes between thoughts and emotions, nor between the inner life we all cradle knowingly or unknowingly within ourselves.

  Her voice tells me not to open my eyes for I’ve been gone far too long and the light may blind. The cool softness of the wet cloth over my eyes grows cooler and water trickles down my cheek.

  I lick at it.

  She whispers telling of how she’d kept me clean altogether, which includes my birdcage mouth and we chuckle over that. She further hopes I’ll be happy with what she did and can’t wait to find out if I approve of the pre-owneds they’d fit me with.

  For an instant boomerang ribs flutter by.

  She tells me further that there had been no need to change all my body parts. My head is still the same one along with my legs. What changed were my ribcage and an arm. She whispers that I must be thankful Peter Wernt didn’t use hollow-point ammunition for had he done so I would not have survived.

  Her sweet mouth kisses me, I groan, she laughs, sits back and touches my cheek. With her hand on my cheek and her smile upon my senses, I sleep.

  Later when I awake, Roses still holds my hand and still smiles.

  I communicate with intense urgency, but she shushes me and says, “We understand about Wernt and Karrell. My father has gone to check on Karrell.”

  A sliver of hope flickers to life.

  “I hope you like the pre-owneds we fixed you with?” she says.

  “I will be happy with most all that you are and what you do,” I reply.

  She kisses my cheek and pours water into the cloth and whispers, “I hope that that most is true. The last thing I need is endless agreement with all I say and do.”

  I nod agreement and she says, “Sleep now. One I love”.

  She lies next to me and places a comforting arm gently across my chest. I sleep in a dedicated fashion and no dreams wander upon sleep’s landscape.

  Later when voices awaken me, night is about.

  Soft lighting shines easy upon my eyes.

  Looking around I find Benwarr returned.

  “Live by Neatness alone,” he says.

  And I smile for Neatness is One and One is All.

  He rubs his eyes and says, “In this lucid moment allow me a question, Once-Other.”

  I agree.

  “Did you manage to reach this Wernt’s Foundation?”

  “Yes indeed,” I answer.

  “There’s Hope then but...we are about to harden our response. I...we need you fit and strong as the moment for defensive action—both here and on Earth-Born can wait no longer. Rest please—no further questions at this time. There will be hours enough for that later.

  “The way ahead will be difficult, more dangerous. You must recover. We need you ready and able. Until then...rest well friend. Oh! You recall being told you are now a Colonel?”

  I nod yes but cannot rest easy until I impart some of what I’ve found. “I need to debrief. I’ve critical information. I....”

  “Rest Colonel Once-Other,” Benwarr commands.

  Roses pushes me back and says, “More tourists than before are coming. It’s a good sign.”

  I’m not so sure it is. Not if they are like Peter Wernt. But I hold my peace. She looks to the entrance as a tall Nomad enters.

  His face is a younger Benwarr and he carries himself with the same grace, dignity and sense of power. Roses rises, walks to him, hugs him. She steps back and checks over his dark brown and black leather suit, tugs at a sleeve, adjusts his shirt collar and checks him once again nodding her approval.

  He looks at me over her shoulder. “Welcome, Colonel Once-Other. I’m Droght, Roses’ brother, Dew and Benwarr’s son, needless to say.”

  Roses steps aside.

  He bows and seats himself next to Benwarr.

  Next, all those beautiful sisters enter. Benwarr smiles with pride as they seat themselves.

  Roses’ mother coughs and says, “Those new ribs you have there Once-Other—they sure do look tasty.”

  And all of everyone laughs.

  Roses comes over and takes my hand kisses it and in her eyes a playful pixie dances.

  And the lights go out but for me alone.

  CHAPTER 63

  Of Betrayals And Revelations

  Wind-driven sand stirs me awake. With eyes closed I listen as it drums against the tent. And as I did when a child I imagine it sounds much as rain does. The freezing temperature says night is about, rampant pain means healing is about.

  Across the subdued howl of the wind, Jenk’s voice wakes me fully. “My honored friends, a trying time these past weeks,” he says.

  I glance around the tent.

  Dew and Benwarr sit facing me, their daughters huddle close by. To one side, Madsen sprawls a grim grin in place, part of a cookie in hand the balance busily chewed on. Next to him sits Jenk, who expresses his pleasure at seeing me alive with a faint nod. He then smiles in acknowledgment of what transpired out upon sand—and coming from him hits home as one damn fine compliment altogether.

  To my surprise, Maggie is here as well. Her face glows with calm and love, her eyes shine brighter than ever before.

  She checks the entrance then says, “Dear me Once-Other—you sure do seem fine despite....” And she checks the entrance once again.

  “Hello, Maggie. Surprised to...,” I reply.

  She waves me silent and says, “I’m pleased you won against sand an’ all,” and she shares a look with Roses, a secret one. One I hope is not born of conflict. Again, her eyes find the entrance and linger a moment.

  Roses opens a cooker. Ceramic clinks against metal to foreshadow the intoxicating aroma of lamb stew. My stomach comes alive and growls worse than Peter Wernt’s ever did.

  Everyone laughs.

  A sudden silence and what my attention is stuck upon takes control of me. “What of Karrell?” I ask into the silence.

  Benwarr nods, looks directly at me. “To be short and clear Once-Other. Seems a road traveling in directions we are not sure of. I’m afraid we may be navigating quicksand. I cannot confirm this with any certainty. I...we sense a danger as none before. We’ll come back to Karrell later when I’m sure.”

  “Thank you Benwarr,” is all I can find to say. I swallow the foul seeds of fear whelming up to choke me and turn to Roses.

  With a spoon in hand, she frowns a question at me. I reach for the bowl, but she waves my hand aside, kisses my cheek and feeds me ensuring I do not eat too much nor too fast. She allows me small sips of water but pulls the glass away when I try for larger ones.

  Maggie watches with joy, leaving me a little puzzled.

  I note the absence of conversation. A glance around confirms all attention centers on me—my armpits start to itch. I wiggle my arms attempting to rub the itch away but to no effect, and tribulations come knocking.

  Is something wrong? Are they withholding crucial news about Karrell? Something else? Worse! Am I still dying? Am I just delusional?

  A scuff of sand at the entrance and Droght D’elti enters. A large smile breaks across his face the instant he spots Maggie. She comes to her feet and walks urgently to him. They hug long and hard. Maggie pulls back, turns to me, chuckles and says, “Friends no matter what Once-Other?”

  “Friends,” I respond, relieved and happy.

  “They are committed,” Roses says and fills my mouth with delicious food taking my attention off troubesome questions, but now all of everything makes sense.

  I nod yes in response to her smile and she feeds me another spoonful of stew. I chew slowly, savoring every nuance of the not too spicy sauce, vegetables, and lamb.

  When I’m done, and with my raging thirst somewhat in abeyance, I sit up higher on the cushions. Roses remains next to me, attentive though neither sympathetic nor intrusive.

 
Benwarr clears his throat.

  “Once-Other we await—” at the sound of footsteps from outside he turns to the entrance.

  The tent flap swings open.

  I jerk-n-spasm and lurch upwards intent upon a violence I cannot command. Ozerken and Pe’truss step inside, stop up and assess me with their four dead eyes. They nod, in a satisfied fashion mind you, and take seats.

  Roses digs her fingernails into my arm and forces me to lie back.

  “Allow me a minute one-n-all,” Benwarr commands and glances at each of us in turn.

  With his attention back on me, he says, “I understand this is sudden Once-Other. But! Time and circumstances don’t allow for gentle gradients. We here today...are all Patriots. Patriots alone. Wait. I’ll explain. We are the unofficial, unelected, campaign leaders of our three Here-Born groups. Each one of us elected for him or herself a duty much as you’ve taken on the functions of a campaigner. Our responsibilities are different, though. What we do is monitor aggression towards us keeping our fingers on its pulse...at all times.”

  Everyone nods understanding. Roses as well.

  Benwarr looks a question at me.

  I glance at the Desert Drivers but hold to a hard face.

  Madsen nods as though he understands something others don’t and says, “I informed him...we’ve nothing other than questions and doubts about him.”

  And my anger explodes.

  “I’ve about had your....”

  “You gone an’ betrayed us?” Madsen shoots back.

  Benwarr holds up a hand and silence ensues.

  Without comment nor reprimand let alone disdain, he says, “Dew and I represent the Nomads. Madsen and Maggie the Free Marketeers. Pe’truss and Ozerken the Desert Drivers and the Highlanders are represented by Jenk and his brother Hansen, who’s on his way.”

  Stupefied by the after-burn of Madsen’s attack, my mind races to integrate what Benwarr had just said, and I break out sweating. Roses wipes my brow. Her fingers brush across my forehead and stir alive my current, though meager, mental faculties.