He could hardly stand for the way the ground shook. The buffalo were nearly on him. It wouldn’t’ be long until the dust swallowed him, until he felt the first beast crash against him. Doug closed his eyes and held that spear’s point towards the oncoming beasts.
And a moment later, Doug Stewart didn’t die.
A strange calm settled upon his environs. The ground no longer shook. The sound of pounding hooves silenced and was replaced by the rhythm of thousands of massive beasts breathing as their heartbeats calmed. A pungent smell filled his nostrils.
Dust didn’t sting his sight as Doug slowly opened his eyes. The herd surrounded him, staring upon him through thousands of dark orbs. He could see nothing but buffalo, for the brown and tan hides crowded him in every direction. A bubble of clean air enveloped him, but dark dust and soot obscured the sky beyond a few meters overhead, concealing any indication of the tall, glass towers that rose in the city. He heard the buffalo sniff at the air as the creatures moved slowly, languidly, about him, working to take a measure of Doug’s quality through his body’s scent. He heard no roar from a racing pickup truck or motorcycle. He failed to see any other hunter. Doug stood alone among the herd, his only protection the heavy spear Satinka had given him.
That spear taxed the muscles in his forearms, and Doug lowered the weapon as the effort of lifting the weapon’s point cramped his fingers. The buffalo closest to Doug snorted and shuffled closer. Several of the beasts bellowed, and an impulse of fear supplied Doug with new strength to again raise that spear towards those animals’ ranks. The buffalo retreated from the spear’s point as Doug swept it around him. He took a tentative step forward, clueless of his direction, and the buffalo shifted slowly aside of the point.
“Let’s see if you all can make some room for me,” Doug spoke directly to the silent creatures to help center his thoughts before his mind was overwhelmed. “Perhaps all of you have a white brother hiding in the middle of your sea of fur and hide.”
Doug pushed himself ahead, ignoring how his arm trembled in fatigue as he kept the spearhead elevated before him. None of the beasts snorted to indicate aggravation. None of those animals bellowed or stomped upon the ground to show agitation. The creatures shifted casually away from that spear, their dark eyes staring intently upon the weapon’s wielder. Doug couldn’t determine how far he travelled through that herd. His heart beat quickly for the adrenaline rushing through his body, and Doug’s thoughts couldn’t hold on to any count of passing time. An instinct in his gut occasionally whispered to Doug’s feet whenever there needed to be a change in direction, but Doug had no idea where he might’ve stood in relation to his city of glass towers. The cloud of dust and soot beyond his clean and safe bubble shrouded anything but the buffalo from his vision.
“The herd looks to be thinning.”
Doug pushed ahead as the spaces between the buffalo grew wider. He held his breath when several dark, brown animals shuffled clear of the spear’s tip and revealed a pale, white and clean mass of fur ahead in Doug’s direction. The overhead cloud of dust and soot vanished suddenly as Doug approached the white creature, throwing him into a clearing of untainted air that warmed Doug’s chest. He paused and scanned his surroundings, but Doug saw not a single tower rising from his world. Instead, the sky took a dark, bluish hue, took an alien cast as two dim, copper suns, surrounded by bright, daylight stars, burned far above him. Far in the distance, just above the humps of the buffalo, rose a range of purple mountains, topped with glistening ice caps of silver. A great shrill screeched from the sky, and Doug saw the shadows of giant, beating wings float upon the backs of the gathered buffalo.
“Where am I?”
The herd again shifted. Doug winked, and a buffalo, much larger than any of the other creatures Doug had seen in the heard, stared upon him. Its hide was white and clean, pure despite all the dirt that herd had kicked into the air since summoned from the steps of Satinka’s magical dance. The buffalo regarded Doug through a pair of massive, brown globes, and Doug thought of those eyes that sparkled upon Satinka’s face. The white buffalo didn’t blink as it stared at Doug. The buffalo didn’t snort or grunt, nor did it shift its posture. The buffalo merely stared, undisturbed by the spear Doug’s shaking arm kept elevated at the animal’s horns.
“You’re not going to do anything? You must know why I’ve come for you.”
Doug’s faith in that world of glass towers had never faltered. He had always believed that the tight suits and narrow ties best suited his frame. He had always assumed that a year would arrive when he took a place atop one of those rising spires, upon which the polishers toiled so that the glass would never lose its hypnotizing powers. Yet Doug strained to think of any justification for what he knew he must do. His soul ached as he returned that massive, white buffalo’s gaze. It was such an incredible creature, such a beautiful animal at the center of such an exotic world that was far beyond anything Doug had ever known within his dreams.
Yet he knew that the white buffalo and its alien world were incompatible with his land of rising towers constructed of fragile and shining glass. Doug reminded himself that the white buffalo’s herd was responsible for the dust that marred the value of his world. He reminded himself that the white buffalo’s herd had distracted the polishers from their duty. He reminded himself of how dangerous those polishers had become since the white buffalo and its herd had tricked those workers into believing themselves to be hunters. Doug couldn’t deny that the white buffalo and its herd would too soon bring his delicate world crashing to the ground in the jingle of shattering, glass shards.
His knuckles were white as they clutched the spear. Doug would never deny that the white buffalo was a beast more beautiful and captivating than any image ever offered by his city’s glass reflections.
Though Doug had always been fearful of the danger, and though he had never underestimated the power of that herd that stampeded along the city and its adjacent, river shores, Doug failed to appreciate the difficulty of the duty Satinka had assigned to him until he aimed that spearhead upon the white buffalo.
“I’m so sorry.”
Still, the white buffalo gave no indication of disturbance. It made not a sound. It didn’t move an inch.
Doug was amazed at how easily the spear’s tip penetrated the white buffalo’s hide, surprised at how little strength the weapon demanded from his arms. Bright, red blood spewed from the creature to ruin the animal’s pure, white hide, to stain Doug’s trembling arm. Doug’s heart hated his judgment as he watched a sigh from the buffalo’s nostrils turn to vapor before the beast collapsed, all of its brown and tan brethren making no move to come to its rescue as they watched the blood drain upon the ground. He wished he could take back that spear. He wished that he might accept the terrible wound his spear inflicted upon the white animal. He wished he might trade places with the dying creature whose breathing heaved as its life emptied. The image of those glass towers no longer seemed to sparkle in Doug’s memory. All of the faith Doug’s soul had ever invested into those towers evaporated as he watched that mighty buffalo’s eyes close and saw the body turn deathly still.
Vertigo twirled Doug’s thoughts as the stars in the dark, blue sky fell to the earth with long, trailing tales of white, silver and pearl. Dust rose from the ground and stung at the eyes before obscuring Doug’s vision and wracking his breath in fits of coughing. The herd howled and bellowed, filling Doug’s ears with the sound of their hooves striking upon the earth, sending a new round of vibration up through the soles of his feet, causing his knees to buckle and his legs to tremble. He felt the dust scrape at his face. He doubted it would not be long until that dust scraped him to a skeleton if the herd didn’t first trample him to take their vengeance for the murder he delivered to their white, pure friend.
Doug closed his eyes and sobbed.
A second later, he opened them to the sound of rumbling and roaring engines. A motorcyclist sped passed him, the pistol in the man’s hand recoiling
as it hurled bullets into the thundering buffalo herd. A brown buffalo roared and fell at Doug’s feet. Doug ducked as the din of gunfire screamed over his shoulder. He scanned his surroundings and failed to locate the carcass of the white buffalo, and so knew he had returned to the city he loved far less than he had before.
The herd rumbled beyond him, taking with it the roar of so many chasing vehicles and much of the dust that made Doug’s eyes water. The bodies of the buffalo lay still and broken everywhere he looked, and Doug sighed when he realized that new buffalo did not rise from the dust and the earth to replace those creatures claimed during the hunt. A car’s horn blared, and Doug turned around to see his driver pulling back towards him.
“You must have gotten him, Mr. Stewart!” The driver grinned from a shattered and dirty driver’s side window.
Doug slowly nodded. “I got him.”
Doug shared no conversation with the driver during the drive back across the river to return to his tall, glass tower. Doug squinted through the dirty window to watch the buffalo fall before the hunters who killed in a last, desperate bloodlust. He wondered if those hunters would ever again accept the role played by the polishers. He wondered if he could ever again fit into a tight suit and a narrow tie. He wondered if he would ever again believe that he would see the value of his country if he only stared long enough into a reflection properly polished.
* * * * *
Chapter 8 – Worshipping Reflection
“Do none of my hunters have a trophy to offer me?”
Lady Finch peeked through the Palace’s purple curtain as Satinka addressed her hunters from atop the center stage. She thought she had ample reason to be very happy after counting all the shiners Satinka had attracted into the Crystal Palace those nights when the buffalo raged about the city and the river’s shores. Yet she felt a melancholy that was deeper than any she had known. Her cherished Palace felt like a funeral parlor. The men seated at her tables were quiet, and they didn’t lift their eyes up from their drinks to gaze, longingly, at Satinka’s shape. Lady Finch wondered what would become of those men. She guessed only a few dozen of the buffalo remained, and Lady Fink suspected those surviving stragglers would be wiped out after those hunters completed another day chasing the buffalo hides. Those men had first served as polishers. Then, they had come to her Palace to stare at the girls who danced on the stages, to yearn for a thrilling touch if they were brave. Then, they had given what shiners they could spare for the pleasure of dreaming a magic might exist to spare them from such tepid lives as those the tower polishers knew.
And then the dust had delivered Satinka to the Palace. Her shape had instantly claimed whatever shiner the polisher possessed. Her figure and her sway had filled those men with fight. Her curves and swells had heated the male blood like no other Palace girl ever had. She had danced such miraculous steps, and her rhythm had lifted the herd up from the dusty earth, and all those buffalo had transformed those sullen polishers into passionate hunters. Lady Finch realized those men at the tables were changed, and she doubted they might ever return to their duties as polishers of the city’s glass spires. Lady Finch wondered if that pile of shiners Satinka had brought to the Palace would be enough when the hearts of those men no longer craved the comfort offered beyond her doors.
“Does no one have a trophy for me?”
The men remained silent as they sipped at their drinks.
Satinka smiled softly. “I know that the last of the buffalo are gone. The time has come for me to follow that herd.”
Lady Finch sighed. None of the men grumbled or sobbed. They only stared at their scarred hands resting upon the tables. They lacked the desire, or the courage, to look one last time at Satinka.
Satinka pulled the folds of her buffalo hides around her body. “Have all of you lost so much heart? Is so much of that spirit you felt while hunting the herd vanished? Has your blood turned so cold? You show the buffalo much honor in mourning for their extinction, but your drinks will not forever taste sour. I will not abandon you. You’ll only need to look into your towers’ reflection to see me.”
The Palace remained silent as Satinka retreated off of the stage and passed through the purple curtain. Lady Finch didn’t bother to call another girl to the stage, knowing it was best to let that stage remain empty. She knew the men had no appetite to watch as another girl danced. Sighing, Lady Finch turned her attention away from those men beyond her purple curtain and joined Satinka before one of the dressing room’s mirrors.
“That’s it?” Lady Finch asked as Satinka stepped into the same sundress she had worn on the afternoon the dust had delivered her to the Crystal Palace. “You’re not going to dance tonight? After those men hunted down every buffalo for you, after they’ve given you so many trophies, you’re not going to help them with their sorrow by dancing? You’re not going to try to give them a reason to smile? I would have never let you step on any of my stages had I known you would be so cruel in the end.”
Satinka shrugged. “Have I not given you, and your palace, and your girls more wealth than any of you ever anticipated?”
“You have, but what about tomorrow? All the shiners in the world cannot hold off our tomorrows. I’ve never seen men so broken. Who will now come to the Palace to watch the girls dance? How will I afford to keep my marquee glowing before my door?”
“Their hearts will return,” Satinka responded. “You’ll see.”
Lady Finch frowned. There was no denying that Satinka had made her and all of her dancers very wealthy. Only, Lady Finch still felt something had been lost.
“Have you gotten everything you wanted out of the stage? Those men worship you, Satinka, but you’re about to walk back into the dust and disappear back to wherever it was you came from. I thought you were going to find a way to live forever.”
Satinka gathered what she could into a pink duffle bag and strode to the dressing chamber’s back door. “I’ll live forever. You’ll see. My shape will live for as long as those glistening towers stand.”
Satinka opened the door, and a rush of wind delivered a new layer of dust onto the dressing room floor. Lady Finch grabbed a broom and gathered the soot into a pile. But she did not toss that ash back out the door, instead staring for many moments at that grimy pile. Even the dust seemed changed.
* * * * *
The men in the tight suits and the narrow ties again gathered in their conference chamber perched upon the peek of one of the city’s tallest glass spires. Much had elapsed in that month since their last meeting. The buffalo herd had risen from the dust, and the polishers had abandoned their duty for the thrill of morphing into hunters. But those polishers hadn’t been able to contain their zeal, and so they had hunted the very creatures that gave their hearts such fire into oblivion. The polishers had returned to their scaffolds where they rightly belonged, and the towers glistened brighter than ever before. Once again, those spires attracted the wealth required to erect such mighty monuments of glass. The world had never placed so much faith into all the shimmering reflection, and those men who sat upon such high perches had never been so happy.
Mr. Whitaker grinned after Mr. Forsyth showed how the numbers of all of their budgets were printed in black ink. “Tell us, Mr. Stewart, how’s the new projection system operating?”
Mr. Stewart sighed when he responded, and his colleagues were surprised the man was not happier after finding a way to banish the herd. Mr. Stewart couldn’t claim he had not been compensated more than adequately for his success.
“A projector is now installed for every glass tower. The figure of that magic dancer sways every hour of the day.”
Mr. Undertow winked. “And it’s a wonderful display at night.”
“Oh, but my wife so hates it,” sighed Mr. Forsyth.
Mr. Whitaker held out his hands. “Of course, there are complaints. Not everyone in the city, of course, appreciates the beauty of that figure dancing on the glass. There are complaints about the impact such a show has
on the children, but that’s to be expected. That dancer’s image is only a silhouette, and it leaves much to the imagination. But what’s important is that it keeps the polishers at their scaffolds. Gives them more of a reason than ever before to keep all the glass clean.”
Mr. Forsyth nodded. “And have we recuperated our costs for those projectors?”
Mr. Stewart snorted. “Many times over already. Many times over.”
Polish, Dust and Sparkle Page 7