by Jeremy Finn
Then, the sheep dog suddenly disappeared. It was as if the earth swallowed him entirely. Immediately, lambs and then sheep began to follow – seemingly vanishing into thin air. Now there was only one ring of sheep between Little Lamb and the spot where the dog disappeared. The outer ring pushed back desperately, aware that some danger lay before them. A few were lost, and the rest along with Little Lamb would have soon followed if not for the sudden release of pressure form the mass of the flock behind. The wolves were saturated with blood and dizzy with content after eating their fill. They were trotting unhampered back through the rocks unafraid and smug in the knowledge that they could return again unhindered when hunger clawed at their bellies once more.
Little Lamb was left standing at the spot where he last saw the sheep dog. From this vantage, he could see the small rise gave way suddenly to a sheer precipice hidden from the sheep's low view point by the lay of the land. Far below, the broken bodies of dozens of his kind lay motionless and distorted. At the center of the chilling scene, the sheep dog lay still atop a large boulder, his fur bloodied and torn by the wolves, his bones shattered by the fall and his heart forsaken by those who would not understand.
Insight
The spark for this story came from an illustration given by a speaker at one of the guest speaker lectures I attended as part of the majors’ education program at Fort Leavenworth (CGSC). Though some of his views were a bit eccentric, I was struck by his claim that we, Soldiers, and others in emergency services professions were like sheep dogs. We were trained and capable of defending the flock of civilians against the wolves of this world. Of deeper interest, he suggested we were born that way. He showed a picture of a Soldier walking alertly toward an area where an explosion just occurred. Everyone else was running away from it. A small boy was hunched behind him for cover. This story is an attempt to convey that idea. It also addresses some of the misunderstandings people have about “good” Soldiers (for of course there are bad ones). From my point of view, we do not seek reward or even lavish thanks. We do what we do because we believe it is right and because we are born with that spirit in us, perhaps.
LA TIERRA DE LOS CHUPACABRAS
Antonio Santera was exhausted. Traveling was not his forte and he was at the tail end of a very long day that began with a red eye flight, continued with a whirlwind of meetings and ended right here at the front desk of another cookie-cutter hotel. The witching hour approached and it seemed like the front desk attendant was typing a novel on the screen before him rather than checking him into his room. With such fatigue came a short temper, and Antonio found himself growing irate with the man who was just doing his job. In his mind he silently scoffed at the man's thin neck wrapped in a tight suit coat and strangled by a bright red tie. The black of his coat clashed with the man's pale, pasty skin. Antonio was about to crack a rude joke about night shift, pale complexions and the lack of a wedding band when the man looked up with a terse smile.
"All set Mr. Santera. You will be in room 242 tonight."
"Thanks," he mumbled and grew suddenly ashamed of his immature musings. "Oh, by the way, could you put in a wakeup call for four thirty?"
The thin man raised a jet black eyebrow inquisitively.
"I know, why even get a room. Truth is, I wouldn't if it wasn't being paid for by the company. I have a pretty early flight out, and since I didn't have time to grab dinner tonight, I want to at least grab breakfast on the way out."
The man nodded thoughtfully but remained silent.
"Actually, I doubt if there is anything open around here at five in the morning, huh?" he questioned.
"Well, you are in luck," the man said raising a tall, thin finger with a nail longer than a man's should be. "There is one restaurant three blocks down the street in the Mercado. It's open twenty-four hours and has some pretty authentic Mexican fare."
"That would be nice, I guess," Antonio grunted. "I didn't get a chance to absorb any culture yet. Though, I'm not so sure Mexican is the best choice for breakfast before a flight. Oh well, no choice I guess."
With that he slung his travel pack over his shoulder and headed for the elevator. Within minutes of entering his room, he was showered, changed and fast asleep.
Seemingly only a few minutes after he drifted off, the phone rang rudely in the darkness. Antonio fumbled for the receiver and listed for the expected recorded message. After slamming it back down into the cradle, he forced himself to the edge of the bed and sat in the darkness for a minute as his mind fought desperately against his body.
He had unpacked little, so there was little to get together. He figured he could walk down to the restaurant in his shorts and t-shirt, grab a quick bite to eat and be back in time to change and catch a taxi to the airport.
The hotel lobby was bright but vacant at this hour. He passed through the sliding glass doors, which whisked open and released him into a wall of thick, humid air. There was a small river running through a low corridor parallel to the street in front of the hotel and a narrow sidewalk lined each side. It provided Antonio with a direct path to the market free from crosswalks and driveways. At the early hour, it was a bit ominous, but frequent lights lit his path and nothing stirred in the occasional patches of shadow.
Finally, he arrived at the market. The waterway opened to a large area sunk into a depression in the cityscape, and the dark water flowed around a block of little shops huddled together as if they were cowering under the skyscrapers towering above them on all sides. All the shops were closed. Through the dusty windows he could see paper mache skeleton masks, brightly painted clay lizards and other such nonsense. This was clearly a tourist trap.
As he crossed a little footbridge speckled with a mosaic of broken tiles, he noticed pinpoints of colorful light peeking out of the windows on one corner of the block of low buildings.
Rapid movement to his right drew his attention. He squinted in the darkness and a party of birds fluttered erratically in the dim yellow light cast by a lone lamp. As he watched curiously, he realized they were not birds, but in fact bats. What better place for an early morning snack than under the glow of a lone light in a dark corner of the city? At least they were doing their part to keep the area free of bugs.
At first, he could not find the entrance. It was hidden in a little alcove. When he stepped hesitantly into the small space, he was surprised to find a display more ornate than a department store window or an exhibit in a modern art gallery. Every imaginable kind of candle was represented scattered among gaudy picture frames and statues of skeletons and religious figures all layered like an obscene chorus on rising tiers in the corner of the entryway. Christmas lights shaped like peppers and little sombreros hung from the ceiling above the cacophony.
Antonio peeked through stained glass windows set in the double doors leading into the restaurant. He did not see anyone inside, but a cautious pull on the door handle was successful. He stepped into the lobby and realized the alcove was conservative in comparison to the room in which he now stood. Every color of Christmas lights seemed to grow on the walls like rampant ivy. Large decorative shapes made from a foil-like material added to the visual carnage. If he did not know better, it would be difficult to tell this was even a restaurant. He was able to make out a cash register behind a mural made from beans and seeds, and a long wall of glass cases ran down one side of the room displaying a plethora of fascinating breads and pastries.
He almost jumped when he noticed he was not alone in the room. A small figure stood near the entryway to the closed bar opposite the bakery cases. He felt silly when he realized he was just looking at a statue. The figure was not much more than four feet tall, had leathery brown skin, formidable white buck teeth and was dressed head to toe like a rhinestone Elvis. Antonio approached for a closer look. The hair was big and the multicolor lights of the room reflected in his dark sunglasses.
Suddenly, the creepy little figure moved and Antonio yelped in shock. It had suddenly shifted with a quick little jilt re
sembling Elvis strumming a guitar and ended pointing toward the cash register. Again, it remained frozen. Was it human? It was hard to tell and something inside him hoped it was not.
"Sir, would you like a table?" a slow voice asked from behind him.
"Oh, yes," Antonio fumbled and turned to face a Hispanic waiter standing patiently beside the register.
Without a word, the man turned and walked deeper into the restaurant. Antonio assumed he was supposed to follow and quickly left the shriveled Elvis behind. The waiter led him through room after room of ridiculous decor. One room had a bluish theme and signed picture frames covered the walls in random fashion as if they were just nailed wherever a blank space offended the decorator with its normality. Another room actually had little Christmas trees, stars and miniature gift boxes. And yet another had a whole wall painted with caricatures of a wild variety of people. He did not recognize any of them. Finally, they settled in a room with red, white and green lights laced around a mob of paper piñatas.
"Isn't this a bit of a fire hazard?" Antonio joked. His host assessed him silently for a moment and then just handed a menu to him. He flipped through the menu, which was in Spanish. There were some pictures, but most of them looked like something he would hesitate to eat for lunch much less for breakfast.
In all the rooms they had passed through to get here, he had only seen one other group of people - a couple older men sitting around a table with no food on it. They were drinking coffee and talking animatedly about something. There was one other group in this room - a family with two young daughters. Antonio was surprised to see little kids up at this hour, apparently wide awake and enjoying their burritos.
"Have you decided?" the waiter asked over his shoulder.
"Oh, yeah. Not really. Um, how about a cup of coffee and whatever your house specialty is?"
The waiter jotted something down on his pad and slipped away. Antonio spent some time inspecting the accouterments on the walls. Little seemed to make sense or match. There was probably some story behind the panoramic picture of a broad waterfall framed across from him, and some special memory was probably tied to the dried iguana perched atop a ledge over the tables and adorned with a striped bow around its neck.
Before he knew it, the waiter returned with a large steaming bowl and a side plate.
"What is this?" he asked as the pungent vapors struck his nose.
"The house special," the waiter replied, slightly offended that the question had to be asked. "It is goat intestine and blood stew with a cow tongue taco on the side."
Antonio considered reordering, but the waiter was gone before he could raise the petition. In the end, he decided a little adventurous eating wouldn't be so bad and lifted a spoon of the broth to his lips. It did not taste as he expected - salty and thick - rather it was somewhat palatable. He had never been a fan of internal organs, though, and the ribbons of intestine were difficult to consume. He tried to eat them quickly, but they were so chewy he was forced to savor them thoroughly. With only a quarter of the bowl consumed, he surrendered to his protesting stomach and decided to try a bite of the taco that could taste him back. He was shocked to find it quite delicious - spiced with a tangy marinate and marvelously tender. It was wrapped in a soft, fluffy bread shell still warm from the oven.
The waiter must have known he did not intend to finish the stew, because he appeared with the check on a small plastic tray. Oddly, several other waiters or cooks seemed to be hanging around the room replacing salt shakers or dusting picture frames. Antonio glanced down at the receipt to see how much he owed and a bright red drop splattered onto the paper. He looked up at the waiter, from where the liquid apparently originated, and the man was sucking his lower lip.
"Uh, I'm going to use the bathroom," Antonio said as he slipped his credit card onto the clean portion of the bill tray and made a bee line for the restrooms near the front of the restaurant.
All the other workers watched him as he wound his way to the door and disappeared inside. For such a gaudy place, the bathroom was a bit of a disappointment. It could almost be considered normal if not for the collection of brightly painted skeleton masks hanging around the walls with lights glowing from within. As he washed his hands, though, and splashed a little water on his face to help with his drowsiness and growing concern, he noticed one more odd thing - there were no mirrors in the bathroom. It was the kind of thing you just take for granted until it is gone. Come to think of it, he had never been in a bathroom without a mirror of some sort. For the first time that morning, he started to feel a creeping discomfort based on a number of oddities about the place that were subtly beginning to make connections in his subconscious mind.
Antonio shook his head and headed for the bathroom door. It was time to get back to the hotel and catch a taxi to the airport. The early hour and the erratic deco were playing games with his mind. When he emerged into the bakery/lobby, more workers than he had seen all night were hanging around the large room trying unsuccessfully to look as if they were busy with some menial task or just carelessly minding their own business. All of them looked a bit similar, now that he thought about it, and must have been working all night since they all had bloodshot eyes. Three of them stood blocking his path back to his table. One of them was his waiter.
"Do you have my card?" Antonio asked, anxious to leave the freakish establishment.
"Oh, yes," the man fumbled in his apron pockets. His words were jumbled as he continued to suck on his lower lip. "Here you go," he said holding out the card, but as he opened his mouth to speak, a rivulet of blood slipped down his chin. He tried unsuccessfully to suck it back into his mouth, but the action parted his lips and Antonio caught a brief glimpse of two terrifyingly long canines lapping over his bottom teeth.
"Jumping Junipers!" Antonio exclaimed and took a step back. He turned immediately for the door, but two other men suddenly sidestepped to block his escape. He forgot completely about his credit card and darted for the only obstacle-free path leading back into the kitchens behind the bakery displays. The kitchen was tight, though, and a surprised cook lifted a knife he was using to chop goat intestines. It was smeared with blood and it caused Antonio to start and slip on the tile floor. As he clambered to regain his footing, several of the men from the lobby burst through the doors with hungry looks on their faces. Antonio was effectively surrounded and was backing himself into a wall when one of his desperately flailing hands hit a spice rack and caused it to crash to the ground. Several bottles of powders and seeds burst open and scattered on the tiles. The approaching mob inhaled sharply, hissed and then jumped down onto all fours surrounding a little spray of mustard seeds strewn at Antonio's feet.
For a moment, he remained frozen, gawking at the odd men who appeared to be intently counting the thousands of tiny seeds as if their life depended on it. Finally, he managed to pull himself together and vault over the metal counter beside him. The knife wielding cook had joined the obsessed group, so he had no difficulty reaching the back door.
Antonio pushed hard on the crash bar and the door swung open in a flash. For a shocking moment, the bright light of the kitchen illuminated the dark, narrow alley just outside. Some ghastly form was hunched against the far side of the narrow corridor between buildings. It suddenly moved and a terrible face glared back at him. It was humanoid, but beastly as well. It looked almost like an overgrown frog with spines on its back, large reflective eyes, and an oval mouth ringed with tiny teeth. It had arms and legs more like a man, but stood no taller than four feet. Blood dripped from his sucker-mouth and something lay motionless in a heap at his feet.
Before Antonio could scream like the helpless little girl he felt he was, the creature turned and launched out of sight down the alley in an amazing bound. He could still hear the clamoring of the restaurant workers behind him, so he forced himself into the alley and let the door shut behind him. The creature had disappeared, so he took a minute to inspect the heap at his feet. In the pale light of the bir
th of dawn he could make out fur and a muzzle. It was a large dog - limp and lifeless.
Antonio took off down the alley at a running pace, nearly tripping over his own feet several times in his haste. He emerged at the edge of the mercado island and quickened his pace across the bridge and all the way back to his hotel. When he entered the lobby sweating and panting, the same attendant who had checked him in looked up and tilted his head. He looked surprised, not so much because Antonio looked as if he just ran a marathon in jeans and a t-shirt, but somehow because it seemed as if he did not expect to see him again.
He wasted no time gathering his things and skipped a shower. When he came down to the lobby, he asked the attendant to call him a cab to take him to the airport. The attendant smiled and explained he had already anticipated his needs and a cab was waiting for him outside at the curb. Antonio nodded his thanks and strode out the revolving front door.
A single cab sat humming at the edge of the street, so he jumped inside.
"To the airport, please."
"Certainly," the cabby replied.
Antonio watched the hotel slip past and then laid his head back on the chair. What a crazy morning this had been. No telling what that animal was he saw in the shadows and reflected light of the back alley, but probably something distorted by his mind.
"Hey, are there any odd wild animals that ever get into the city," he ventured to the cabby.