They sat silently in the still desert air until Rhodes asked, “Do you know the story of Samson and Delilah?”
The Onondaga Chief was well-read and knew the tale but had a particular distaste for the Bible. With a frown he lied, “If I do, it's been a long time... Maybe if you refresh my memory.”
Finally daring to meet the Chieftain’s eyes directly, Rhodes said, “You used to call Jeffery Hercules, but I always thought of him as Samson. Part of that was because Jeffery’s never married, but Hercules plods through his trials to spell out whatever virtue or strength they were trying to promote, whereas Samson has to–”
“You don't have to sell me on it,” the Chieftain interrupted, surprised by his own hostility. “I'm listening.”
They both knew this was going to be a hard conversation, and there was an uncomfortable pause before Rhodes continued. “Samson had been blessed by a god in order to defeat their mutual enemies. But as a condition of his strength, he had to continually prove his obedience by not cutting his hair. The longer it grew, the more the god could trust him, and the stronger he became.” Rhodes wanted to ignore the Chieftain’s smirk, which he correctly assumed was due to the pride he and Pathos placed in the tightly kempt buns atop their head, bound by a fine leather strap and single feather stuck through it. Instead, he snapped, “So you remember the story now? Do you want me to tell it or not?”
The Chieftain kept smiling and waved him on.
Impertinently, Rhodes continued, “By the time he came of age, he was totally unstoppable. His tribe was at war with another and they were both super racist towards each other. Even though his side was losing overall, Samson was decimating, but he ends up falling in love with one of the foreigners, a prostitute no less, named Delilah. Neither side was happy about it, but the god blessed the marriage, and they had a big wedding. But at the party afterwards, some jagaloons from the bride’s side ended up getting drunk and acting like fools. Samson wanted to kill them, but couldn't because they were his new in-laws. But he couldn’t let them ruin their wedding either, so he issued them a challenge, and knowing their god would be on his side, Samson even let them choose what it was...”
Obviously excited, Rhodes leaned forward on his mat. “Now, this part is interesting because it implies that both tribes believe in the same god and that it was going to help Samson... It seems a little inconsistent, but the bad guys tell Samson to tell them a riddle, so that their mutual god can’t help him...” He shook his head, perplexed. “Apparently though, that was a good idea because the god warned Samson that it couldn’t help him, and Samson decided to cheat! He made up some bullshit question that wasn’t even a riddle, something he and Delilah had seen out on a walk one time and–”
“Yeah,” the Chief interrupted again. “I remember now. That’s why I hate this story. It’s a bunch of misogynistic propaganda. They ask her, she tells them the secret, and his trust in women gets him locked up in chains.”
“Yeah, but there’s more to it than that,” Rhodes laughed, although it hurt to do so. After an awkward pause, the Chieftain rolled his eyes and waved him on, so he continued with dampened enthusiasm. “So, they win, and Samson is supposed to pay them a piece of linen each, but he’s pissed off because his new wife betrayed him, so he kills them all and pays his debt with the shirts off their backs!” Rhodes laughed with what little energy he had left, coughed, and had to stop to catch his breath.
The Chieftain picked up the story again, “She’s mad, so she tells her remaining relatives about his hair and helps cut it all off. They burn out his eyes but they still can’t kill him, so they chain him to the walls of their temple.” Unable to conceal his contempt for biblical storytelling, the Chieftain gestured angrily towards the sky. “By the grace of their conflicted god! His hair grows back and gives him the strength to pull the whole temple down upon himself! As well as Delilah, along with all his debtors...”
Rhodes gave him the finger and said, “Pretty much.” His eyes sunk back down to the desert floor. After a long silence he said quietly, “In my visions, I pulled that cathedral down upon myself at least a thousand times.”
As Rhodes recalled the pain of his innumerable deaths and the Chieftain feared that the young tribesmen had lost the will to live, both of them cried. Neither of them had the strength to speak, so they sat and watched the horizon continue to change colors for a while.
Only once he was sure his voice would not waiver, the Chieftain said, “Martyrdom is a powerful thing... I remember you being fixated on that story as a child. Your brother too. I imagine it was written by old men who wanted young men to go kill and die for cause and country.”
Taking the accusation personally, Rhodes replied hotly, “So you think I’ve been brainwashed? The fact that I want to keep looking for Pathos makes me crazy?”
“I didn’t say anything like that,” his Chieftain replied calmly.
Rhodes was visibly fighting back new tears, which gave way to another long pause in their conversation.
“Onondaga are not like the heroes we read about in Old Earth mythology. Samson killed the enemies of the people who wrote about him. It’s propaganda. No one is trying to manipulate you. There is no conspiracy surrounding your brother’s disappearance.” The Chief was careful not to say death. “We don’t have answers, and I understand that you’re not done searching, but my point, or question rather, is what are you so eager to die for?”
Inwardly, Rhodes was silenced, but his Chieftain’s question echoed his own and involuntarily he shouted, “I’m not talking about killing myself!” Hearing how defensive his words sounded, he hung his head and collapsed again into tears.
Without waiting this time, the Chieftain replied angrily, “You didn't have a drop of water waiting for you outside that tent! You said it yourself, you couldn’t even catch a lizard right now. Did you expect me to abandon the rest of the tribe to come down here and rescue you?”
“No!” Rhodes insisted.
“Then like Samson, you are blinded!” The Chieftain was almost shouting. “Despite having had that vision, you cannot see that you are pulling another man’s temple down upon yourself! Only unlike your hero, there will be no scripture written about your victory. No audience applauding from on high. You’d just be dead. So, if you weren’t trying to die in there, what in the world were you trying to do?”
Rhodes brushed hot tears from his face with the back of his forearm and tried to regain as much composure as he could before saying with a chuckle, “Y’know, Lincoln basically asked me the same thing. We were scaling some really steep cliffs, looking for caves, and he said we were risking our necks for nothing. I get that you think Pathos is dead, but at least Lincoln never stopped climbing with me. I know I might not find Pathos, or even his body if he really is dead, but that’s not an excuse to stop searching!”
“What did you tell him?” the Chieftain asked coolly.
“The same thing I just told you!” Rhodes replied hotly. “Why do I have to repeat myself? There is more to this search than finding him!”
“Like what?” the Chieftain replied, more condescendingly than he intended. “Your investigation was a lot more thorough than mine. What are you still hoping to find?”
Rhodes took another minute to compose himself but the words burst from his mouth. “Anything! Knowing anything about what happened to him would make me feel a lot better. I’m not like you. I can’t just say ‘he’s dead because he isn’t here’. If I had found anything that I actually believed could have taken down Pathos, or anyone who talked to him out there, then...”
“Well, you’re not going to find anything new in a tent–” the Chief said sharply, and he was clearly going to go on, but Rhodes cut him off.
“I know! But the big difference between when Lincoln asks me a question and when you do is that he actually cares. He is on my side. You just want to placate me and tell me to give up.”
“The reason we both ask,” the Chieftain said, completely cool again, “is
because we worry about you. Everyone wants answers for Pathos, but nobody wants you to waste your life searching for him. That being said, I think going back to the Starrlett herd would be good for you. It’s a much more constructive use of your time than pursuing your conspiracy theories, and it’s less likely to get you killed.”
The Chieftain’s tone had been honest and loving but Rhodes resented it. He liked the idea of going back to the herd, to see Lincoln and Marion, but he did not want to be sent away. Not knowing what to say, he found himself sitting incredibly still.
“First, I think we should eat a little down here,” the Chief glanced up at the darkening plateau behind him, “and then we should climb up Grand Mesa together.”
They had made the climb without light before, and it was as enjoyable as it was challenging. The mountain’s magic seemed even stronger when he closed his eyes, and Rhodes was filled with pleasant anticipation thinking about the feast that would be waiting atop the plateau. Nearly crying as his will was tested, he said through the strain in his throat, “I want to... I really do. But I have to keep looking for Pathos.”
Hurt, the Chieftain said, “I can’t play these games any longer. Unless you can tell me exactly what it is you’re looking for out there, I don’t know how to help you.”
“I don’t need your help!” Rhodes almost screamed. “My twin brother is missing, I’m the only one who cares about finding out why, and that’s fine with me!”
The Chieftain sighed. “We want to help you. We all want answers, but this is the circular pattern that I can no longer be a part of... I encourage your search but you refuse my help. You get frustrated doing it on your own then refuse all consolation. And in the end, you accuse me of working against you. I’m tired of it. What is it you want, Rhodes?”
“Look, I’m sorry I didn’t come up Grand Mesa this morning. I should have. I love and honor the pilgrimage, the Onondaga, and the Dakota, and I have been selfish. I know that. But I am my own man. I have my own needs. I should have come better prepared for the tent. It was reckless. It was the closest I’ve come to death. I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.”
“Let’s go to dinner then,” the Chieftain said with confidence, despite knowing they were still stuck on the same slippery slope. “Grand Mesa will sustain you as we climb, then you will eat plenty of good food, and sleep a long night.” The Chieftain’s voice was warm, but it was clearly not a request.
“I can’t be with all those people right now,” Rhodes said, sounding rattled. “I have to find Pathos. I'm not going to stop until I know what happened to him.”
There was another long pause as the Chieftain considered what he was about to do. Despite having completed his rite of passage, Rhodes was still very much a boy. The Chieftain remembered being young, and having lost so many beloved tribesmen over the years, he recognized Rhodes’ affliction. Love was what made loss so difficult, and the tribe’s love was inflaming Rhodes’ weeping heart instead of comforting it, and the emotional wound would continue to bleed until staunched.
“You’re a natural leader, Rhodes. Given time, you'll find that you care about each and every one of the tribesmen sitting atop Grand Mesa just as much as you do your brother... But Pathos is gone, my boy, and they’re right here.” Rhodes bristled but his Chieftain continued unfettered. “He will never return to fulfill the destiny you had together... But your life goes on. It pains me to see you so trapped by your compulsion and I have no desire for you to stop searching, but I can no longer abide you wasting your manhood and ignoring your responsibility to the tribe. You will always be an Onondaga, but you are not yet a man. Until you are content with your brother’s failure to return from his rite, you will remain a boy with him. Go back to the wilderness and do not return until you find the peace you have left there.”
With that, the Chieftain reached into the pit filled with dead grass, lit the fire and turned to climb back up Grand Mesa.
Chapter Six
The Lecture
Beams of purple and orange light shot up through distant clouds as the sun began to set. There were still a few stragglers clinging to crags around Grand Mesa’s upper perimeter, but all Onondaga had now been accounted for, so Jeffery was relatively free of responsibility until the ceremony began. With a sigh of relief, he turned to walk back towards the buffet line. It had taken hours to prepare but the heavenly spread was worth the effort. The food had been set out across two hundred long rectangular tables that were now surrounded by hungry tribesmen.
Many of the climbers hadn't even bothered to remove their tethers, and were still bound together as they toddled through the queue on swollen toes and aching muscles. Dakota rarely cooked their food, so the smell of breads, pastas, stews, and rice kept them full of enthusiasm. Piling their placemats high with the otherworldly delicacies bestowed upon them by the Matron, they exchanged tribal gossip and bragged loudly about the routes and techniques they had used during their ascents. After collecting their bounty, they joined the expanding ring of people around the buffet area, quieting as they shoveled much-needed sustenance into their mouths.
Grabbing a mat for himself and balancing it across his massive forearm, Jeffery began a slow procession through the corral. He was tall enough to reach over most people to grab whatever he wanted, and normally he didn’t hesitate to do so, but while serving as the Chieftain’s alternate, he was especially mindful of his manners. Well aware of how his sheer size could frighten, intimidate, or offend, he did his best to greet people on both sides of the table with a broad smile and excessive thanks. Many of the younger tribesmen stopped to stare at him with a mixture of awe and disbelief, and even though it had been a long time since he participated in tournaments or lectures, plenty of older Dakota called out to him by name. Whether out of fear or respect, this evening’s crowd acknowledged Jeffery’s massive presence and moved to help him pass through the line more quickly.
While everyone else was setting up, young Dante had stolen a mat full of food and had already finished eating. Even though he had been assured that he did not have to put his clothes back on, and was offered all the easiest jobs, he had thrown a serious tantrum at the mere prospect of being helpful. Now the scamp was hiding underneath one of the banquet tables getting great enjoyment out of grabbing unsuspecting ankles. Recognizing one of Jeffery’s tree trunk legs, he dove and latched onto one with both arms.
Pretending not to notice the hitchhiker, Jeffery began hamming it up for the crowd. Dragging Dante’s tiny body across the sandy rocks with an exaggerated limp, he said, “Careful folks! Seems like one of those lazy ole lizards is lurking ‘round here. Don’t anyone trip on it! If you do see the little creature, give it a good squish with your heel...” Onlookers laughed and cleared out of Jeffery’s path even faster, a few of them jumping over the increasingly dusty ruffian.
Once clear of the table, Jeffery picked up his pace and Dante shouted, “OW, you big bully! Have some consideration!” He used a neat dynamic movement to climb up his towering guardian and perched on one of his broad shoulders.
Unfazed, Jeffery said flatly, “If you make me drop a single piece of my dinner, I’m going to throw you off the mountain.” When he finally found a place to sit, the giant man set his meal down gently and Dante dismounted over it with a front flip. After brandishing a fist at the boy, he plunged it down to snatch up some savory pastries and deposit them in his mouth.
Dante laughed, side-skipping in a wide ring around his famished friend. “Bet you can’t wait for the lecture to start.” Dante widened his circle a little before making some loud kissing noises. “Then you can make eyes at your beloved.” Not getting the reaction he had been hoping for, he looked down at his chest, then started brushing dirt and pebbles out of the cuts and scrapes that he had earned in transit. “I'm just going to sit there and make fart noises the whole time.”
Through a mouthful of food, Jeffery chuckled and quipped back, “I don't care if you pay attention, most of it will go over your tiny little hea
d anyway. You can’t even figure out why we wear clothes. Go wash off. Get yourself some bandages or something.”
“BAHAH! You’re just mad because she doesn’t love you back!” Dante protested before making even louder smacking kissy noises.
“I’m not mad... I’m trying to eat,” Jeffery said as he downed more food.
“I don’t know why you’d want to marry the Matron anyway... You know robots can’t have kids, right? Isn’t that the fun part of love?” Dante darted in and snatched a square of cornbread from Jeffery’s quickly diminishing pile.
Jeffery’s roar silenced thousands of nearby tribesmen. “IF YOU’RE STILL HUNGRY, GO GET SOME MORE!”
Dante laughed triumphantly as he took a bite from the giant block of bread, sending chunks flying everywhere as he jabbed, “I thought you said you weren’t mad?”
Looking up at the rapidly darkening sky, Jeffery shouted less loudly, “Heavens protect you!” Fast as lightning, he leaned back and snatched the boy up mid-stride. Spinning him around above his head, he continued to yell, “She is not a robot!” and pretended to break the shrieking child over his knee. “She’s a hologram of a real person! And I am not in love with her! How many times do I have to tell you!” Twirling the boy again, he tossed him straight up into the air. “You never listen to anything I say! I swear, I am going to throw you off this mountain someday!”
Both of them were laughing hysterically as Jeffery tickled Dante, but somehow the boy managed to squeeze out the words, “Methinks... thou doth... protest... too much!”
“You don’t even know who you’re quoting!” Jeffery yelled as he flung the flailing youth into a cluster of nearby tribesmen.
The crowd had also been laughing at the duo’s antics and they caught Dante with care, then managed to throw him back nearly a quarter of the distance he had flown. After taking an exaggerated bow, he asked sarcastically, “At least I’m listening?” Then he ran at Jeffery full speed and slammed into his shin with a lowered shoulder. A harmony of pained voices came up from the audience as the giant didn’t move and Dante bounced off. After a tumble and a groan, he sprang to his feet and said a little too quickly to believe, “I’m fine!”
Under the Shadow of the Plateau: Frontier Forever Page 5