Kate watched him walk down the path and wondered what the deal was with Paul. She never actually knew a cop. Her husband tried to keep as far from them as possible, since he was always either holding or with somebody who was. Cops in the high desert were usually just blurred faces whizzing past in an air-conditioned patrol car, or hiding behind a motorcycle helmet with dark aviator shades. Unless you were getting a ticket, or worse, as her husband experienced on more than one occasion when he was busted for holding. Then, cops were generally robotic and steely cold. But her husband told stories of guys who were roughed-up. These incidents happened decades ago under circumstances that Kate never heard described quite the same way twice, but her husband’s cop-grudge was wound tighter than a Brazilian soccer player’s man-bun. She still wasn’t 100 percent sure about Paul. It’s hard for a zebra to change his stripes, she figured, and probably even harder for a NYPD lieutenant to change his.
Paul was right on time. He was looking forward to going to an event and seeing what kind of cross-section of humanity was actually hiding in the washes, rocky hillsides, and remote homestead shacks he’s constantly passing in the distance. “I forgot to ask, what kind of event are we going to?” Paul asked, as he opened the office door for Kate to leave her shift and get into his car.
Kate explained that the event would take place at Cap Rock, the spot in the center of Joshua Tree National Park famous for its UFO sightings and vast energy-vortex synergies, and infamous for being where they cremated Gram Parson’s body. There would be music, stargazing, and – hopefully – UFO sightings. Paul nodded and listened. Being a cop he learned that no matter how outrageous a story, explanation, or alibi sounded, it was better to just hold off judgment until the suspect gave you everything they had. Sometimes what was laid on you was such an octopus ink swarm of obfuscation and bullshit that it was actually entertaining. And occasionally it was just the plain old truth.
“You know, it all sounds good to me,” Paul said as they approached the entrance to the park, “but if they start anything to do with Satanism or ghosts or séances, that’s where my deep-down altar boy fears start to kick in and I’m out of there. I’ve seen some terrible things on the job that would make most humans shit or go blind – sorry for the language – but the scariest thing I’ve ever seen was The Exorcist.”
“You witnessed an exorcism?” Kate asked while pointing where Paul should turn down a dirt road in the park.
“No. The movie.”
“A movie was the scariest thing you ever saw, even as a cop?”
“It’s all about fear. I’ve seen some horrible things in-person. I won’t go into the gory details, but as you can imagine, cops see things that go beyond the norms of human behavior. Some things you see were perpetrated by subhumans. There’s the sight, sounds, and smells of horrific crime scenes, but what really matters is the fear factor. Am I in danger? What can happen to me? Usually there’s no danger in the aftermath of a crime scene. But then there’s the active situation. You run into a chaotic, dangerous situation where your life is in imminent peril. But what’s the worst that could happen? Death?”
“Are you asking me? By the way, you’re kind of freaking me out,” Kate said continuing to point her thumb where Paul should turn, with a sliver of the sun dipping below the distant rock piles.
“Death, to me, is not the worst fear. You can only die once. But damnation? Hell? That’s a whole ‘nother level of fear that goes deep into my being. The Exorcist tapped into something that I prefer not to think about or expose myself to in any way, shape, or form.”
“This group is not into Satanism or any sort of dark arts. It’s all about connectivity and harmony and energy.”
“You ever go into a store to buy something because of a great sale? Then you find out they’re sold out, and you come out with something you didn’t really want but it cost twice as much? Bait and switch.”
“You mean like taking a personality test, and next think you know you’re emptying your bank account into a Scientology mutual fund? Been there, done that.”
“You were into Scientology?”
“I dipped in my toes. That was enough. See those cars parked ahead, pull in behind the last one, we have to hike a little bit from here,” Kate instructed him.
It was pitch-black in deep desert. In the distance there were drums beating and the flickering light of a fire was bouncing off the high piles of boulders and rocks. Kate lit the way down the dirt trail with a small flashlight. There was a scent in the air of burning wood, creosote bushes, and weed. Paul wondered what he was getting into. He thought the Integratron started out as a joke, but then turned into something real. He really did feel the vibrations of the singing crystal bowls reverberate through the space and through his body. It did make him aware of his physical self like never before. Sober at least. But this was something else. A gathering here, where a body was actually cremated. Not just any body, but Gram Parsons himself. It had all the makings of a primitive ritual: the drums, the fire, the pot.
“You’re sure this isn’t going to be some druggie-crazed satanic ritual?” Paul asked again, keeping a keen eye on his footing, hoping he didn’t step on a snake or something else that gets startled and goes for him.
“No. I’ve been to several of these,” Kate said, trying to reassure him. “It’s more about the astronomy lecture and UFO gazing than anything else. The only drug is pot. There’s a rule.”
“There’s a rule about drugs? And people follow it?”
“You’d be surprised how obedient some of these free-thinkers are,” Kate said turning off the flashlight, since the small campfire was illuminating the path for them.
“Isn’t that Jasmine?” Paul whispered to Kate.
Jasmine was in the middle of the drum circle, wearing an I Dream of Jeannie pants suit, which only Barbara Eden could get away with. She was shaking her belly baby fat in time with the rhythms of the four congas beating away. It seemed a little odd because no one was paying much attention to the drum circle or Jasmine dancing like a whirling dervish. “Yes, that’s her. This is what keeps her going,” Kate said, leading Paul to a guy sitting in a folding chair who she handed some money. She looked at Paul, “Somebody has to pay for the UFO expert. He drives all the way in from Parumph, by Area 51.”
“Of course he does.”
There were about 25 revelers, mostly women. Some looked like they might still be in high school. There was also an elderly man and woman using walkers. There was a circle of candles with the initials GP marking the actual location of the cremation. Paul looked up to the top of the rocks and there were several people up there with oversized binoculars scanning the skies.
The guy who took Kate’s money stood up and took a position by the circle of candles. He raised his arms, the drums stopped and all became quiet.
“We will now extinguish the fires of earth, and give ourselves ten minutes to prepare. Thank you.”
One of the drummers shoveled some dirt on the fire, then blew out the candles. There was a low murmur of conversations as people quietly rolled out yoga mats or sat in folding chairs.
“Prepare? How?” Paul asked Kate as she unrolled a yoga mat for them to sit on.
“Prepare your eyes so you can see. Your ears so you can hear.”
Paul thought about Kate saying she dipped her toes into Scientology and wondered what he was stepping into. Conversations slowly stopped. And like at quiet moments during a play, coughs, throat clearings, and candy-wrapper rattling became the noticeable noises.
“We’ll begin the program in two minutes,” a reedy male voice said from atop the rock where the people with binoculars were stationed.
With the lack of light, flames, and flashlights, things gradually started to become more visible. And due to the absence of light pollution from the commercial strip malls of Yucca Valley or Palm Springs the sky was a deep swath of black velvet with sprinkles of stars, planets, and yes, the Milky Way itself becoming brighter and brighter to the hum
an optic nerve system right on cue.
“Welcome one and all to the third annual meeting of the Foundation for UFO Believers Authenticators and Researchers: FUBAR,” the reedy-voiced man said from atop the rock, as he began to come into focus in the darkness.
Paul was already trying to stifle his snickering. FUBAR was the name of the bar softball team back in the Bronx at The Buckeye. It was a common WWII term used by soldiers and officers alike, just as SNAFU was. SNAFU meant, Situation normal. All fucked up. And FUBAR meant, Fucked up beyond all recognition. He thought about whispering this to Kate, but thought better of it after seeing the beguiled expression on her facing hanging on the speaker’s every word.
“My name is Ken Nicholson. Just call me Klaatu.”
Paul laughed out loud at that and got a look from Kate and a couple others. He whispered to Kate, “What? Klaatu barada nikto. “The Day the Earth Stood Still. Everybody knows that.”
Kate shushed him.
“The reason we gather here isn’t just to raise money for FUBAR. It is to know that other like-minded people are out there,” he said, opening his arms as if enveloping the crowd below. “And out there!” he added, now waving his arms to the heavens. The crowd applauded and yelled woot woots of approval. “We do have some exciting news to share, which we’ll do now so we can get to the serious business of watching the skies. First, NASA’s Venus Climate Orbiter has sent back images that have been verified as proof of a large structure across the planet’s surface. This is of particular interest to us because, as you know, George Van Tassel, the builder of the Integratron, which so many of you are familiar with, received the plans for it from Venusians. Look for some startling revelations connecting many of the mysteries surrounding the Integratron, Venus, and the greys among us. The other thing I want to mention is that G.R.I.P. of London is again selling Alien Abduction Insurance policies. See me after the program. They have some very affordable policies.”
Paul waited for the laughter from the crowd. There wasn’t any.
With eyes finally adjusted to the darkness and only a sliver of the moon providing light, it was possible to surreptitiously watch people, which is exactly what Paul was doing. There were a few people in the crowd who looked like they would be right at home with a tinfoil hat and a divining rod, but the vast majority looked quite normal: dressed in hippie style, clean, and triple-digit IQs, but with expressions on their faces that told Paul they were going for this like swans on stale bread.
Binoculars were passed around, or you could venture up to the top of the boulders to look through two telescopes that were set up. No flashlights were allowed, so the climb up the rocks was only for the more adventurous of the bunch, which included Paul, Kate and Jasmine.
“Hold my hand,” Paul said reaching out to Kate, who was already holding hands with Jasmine as they trekked up the rocky path that would lead them to the top of the boulder.
Three people were on line behind each of the telescopes when they got there. The telescope guides were explaining what they were looking at in hushed tones. Ken, the lecturer, was explaining where to look for comet 67 P. “See the bright spot in the upper-right hand? That’s Saturn. Now go down 20 degrees, and over to the left approximately 45 degrees and you’ll see what looks like a cluster of stars with a point at the top and two on the side almost like a Christmas tree….”
“Yes, yes, I see it,” said a young man wearing a knit beanie cap, even though it was still about 80 degrees in the desert night.
Ken continued, “The star on the lower left of the Christmas tree is the comet and behind the cluster, using it as camouflage, may possibly be the star craft.”
“I see it. Definitely. Amazing,” the young man with the hot head said, then walked away offering the telescope to Kate.
Kate followed the instructions of Ken carefully, and did see the cluster of stars he was referring to. “I see it. But how can we be sure there’s a star craft behind it? How is this any different than the Heaven’s Gate theory?”
“I’ll be lecturing on that next month. Are you on my email list?”
“Yes. Thanks. I’ll look forward to that,” Kate said to Ken as she gave way to Paul.
“I’ve got a lot of experience with binoculars from many years in the cheap seats at Shea Stadium, but this is my first through a telescope,” Paul said, adjusting his right eye to the unexpected brightness of the image in the eyepiece.
“Owww!” There was a commotion below as someone obviously was hurt. Flashlights came on and one of the older people who had a walker was on the ground holding her ankle. Several people were on the case so Paul kept looking through the telescope.
“What the …?” Paul said to himself. “Did you see that?” Paul asked as he looked to whoever would be behind the other telescope, but no one was looking through it. Everyone was watching the injured woman being attended to. Paul looked back into the eyepiece, but it was gone. He didn’t know if he was seeing things, but obviously nobody else saw it.
“Kate, Kate, come here,” Paul whispered to Kate who was looking down on the action below. Kate slowly backed up towards him. “When you looked through the scope, did you see anything moving?’
“Moving? Like what?”
“Just anything at all?”
“No. Why? Did you? I know you’re a skeptic. Are you getting ready to prank me?”
“I’m serious. Really. I saw something.”
“Talk to Ken,” Kate said pointing to him, now down below helping out with the injured lady. “Maybe it was a plane, or something else,” she said unconvincingly.
Paul knew it wasn’t a plane. Planes have navigation lights and move across the sky. This spherical object zigged, zagged, zigged straight up, fizzled in a cloud of tiny bright lights like the sparks from a sparkler, and then disappeared.
The event ended early because the lady seriously injured her ankle, and they had to get her medical attention. Kate, Jasmine, and Paul walked with the crowd back to the Escape, guided by the many flashlights now shining like so many beams of light cutting through the darkness.
“Tell Jasmine what you told me.”
Paul thought about keeping it to himself. He knew that people going through a lot of stress, or illness, or changes in life sometimes see things. Like his buddy Mickey used to say on long drives from the Hamptons or the Cape, It’s time to pull over when you start seeing the gorillas hanging from the trees. Because when you’re overtired, staring at the white lines in the road, trying desperately not to nod off, sometimes you see things: a desk in the road or a pterodactyl swooping down on the car, or a gorilla hanging off a tree by the side of the road. He knew he was in a heightened state of stress ever since those Ivy League protesters messed with his late-night breakfast, which set off a nuclear domino effect culminating in retirement and the death of his ex, all of which placed him at a UFO hunting expedition above the spot where Gram Parsons was set on fire so his ashes would be sent to heaven like so many Catholic school kids dropping their letters to Jesus into a fire during the Mary Queen of the May procession.
“Yeah, I think I saw something. But maybe not. I don’t know. I’m probably seeing things. I’ve been a little fakakta lately.”
Jasmine and Kate both stopped in their tracks. “Fakakta?”
“Yeah, fakakta. Crazy. Mixed up. It’s Yiddish. You never heard that?”
“Oh, I think it’s in a Woody Allen movie,” Kate said.
“Woody Allen’s picture is next to fakakta in the Yiddish dictionary!” Paul added.
Once in the car, there was some small talk between Kate and Jasmine about how the event wasn’t as good as others because of the mishap, and how Ken wasn’t as well prepared, and the only musicians were drummers and they missed having the ukuleles. But after a good distance, when they were separated from the other vehicles leaving the event, and it was again pitch black all around, things became quiet except for the rumble of the tires on the uneven rural dirt road. The washboard road ended, and they were no
w on a long stretch of smooth blacktop but still in total darkness.
Jasmine came forward from the seat in the back. “Tell me what you saw.”
Paul paused. He already thought Jasmine was kind of nutty, and now he was going to sound as nutty as she did. “It was short. Maybe five seconds. It moved fast. A spherical super bright light, almost like it had sparks around it. It went to the left, the right, the left, and then it went straight up, toward the heavens and was gone. I’m sure it was only visible through the telescope. And the other scope wasn’t being used at the time. I guess I was the only one who saw it. No way could you see that with the naked eye.”
“Shit!” Jasmine shouted loudly, startling Kate and Paul. “I want to see them! I want them to take me out of here! Off this insane planet!”
“Jasmine, calm down,” Kate said, coaxing her back into her seat. “Just take it easy. Were you puffing with those drum circle dudes?”
“Yes, but only a little. I know what I’m saying. I do want to go on a UFO.”
Paul thought perhaps he should be more selective about who he tells his desert weirdness sightings to. The majority of the people at the UFO lecture had a longing look on their faces, as though they all wanted a UFO to land and take them away. It was in their eyes. They were seeking something that would come from somewhere and take them away. Somewhere. Anywhere. Out of here. And maybe he has that same look on his face. Which is why he is thinking of getting a home in this God-forsaken land where crops won’t grow, water is scarce, the winds strip the paint off walls, and the sun sucks the life out of your skin. Even the animals know better than to stay here. And those that do stay have thick skin and sharp teeth like the snakes and lizards. Or they’re super paranoid and fast like the jackrabbits. The birds with common sense have headed down to the lush golf courses of the Coachella Valley. The ones that stay are the survivors. Kind of like the Bronx, if you really analyze who inhabits these parts. There are the ones who have a hard time getting away because of their shortcomings. And then there are those that just enjoy it the way it is, precisely because it’s not easy to stay here. You have to want it. Tough it out. Something good might pop up out of nowhere. Only the strong survive.
High Desert High Page 14