Pillars of the Moon

by French, B. J. ;

  "Go!" escaped from Carlo's prone being.

  A deafening crack split the air as a rifle fired. The ringing deafened my ears as I watched Carlo's body jump into the air from the shock of his body being pierced. Trauma and fear gripped me as I witnessed the horrid scene before me. Immediately, waves of light flashed through my body and the loud buzzing in my head that seemed it would shear it in two. Not willing to let it overtake me, I fought to stay grounded and not leave. The visual panorama of the murder scene around me appeared to be running in reverse motion. The voices of those, our assailants, spoke backwards in slow and then fast motion as if someone had his finger on the turntable of the recording. There were only the four of them, with Carlos lying at their feet.

  I was now no longer with them, but stood on higher ground looking down at the five frozen in time. Turning to the direction from which we had come, I thought of the farm and within a moment I was standing in the burnt out, smoldering ruins of the lean-to where I had slept. The adobe house was smoking and still on fire in places. None of the animals could be seen and the stunted crops of the terraces were trampled and broken. The remains of a wooden fence lay in a heap at one end of the yard, its obvious use, left crumpled, after being dragged repeatedly over the crops. Sadness overtook me as I looked about. Still struggling with the alignment of my soul to the space and time about me, I tried to comprehend what had transpired. Exhausted, with the need to get protected foremost in my mind, an old blanket, probably used for the mule was left untouched hanging on the stump of tree not to far distant. Wrapping it around me, I struggled up the cliff to a protected area where I could take full advantage of the rays and heat of the sun. Sitting wrapped for the better part of an hour, dozing lightly, warmth and wholeness came back to me. The scene below me was disturbing, and concluded there was little I could do to stop any of the injustice. Whatever was happening was far out of my control, and the little I could do was to follow my instincts, wherever they might lead.

  Digging in the remains of the lean-to, the chard earth slowly gave up its sacred possession still intact and undamaged. Leaving the mule's blanket where I had found it, I tucked the precious package beneath my poncho; the one Carlos had given me days before. Going down to the riverfront, I knelt down and cupped my now almost black hands and took a drink. Standing tall, I took a long hard look at the surrounding harsh countryside and pondered the family, now fatherless and divided, that had been so peaceful till I had arrived.

  "What about his wife and children?" I shouted, as if to question the sky that canopied this wilderness of extremes?

  Troubled, I strolling back up to the path that led up and over to the east, I pulled my straw hat tight over my head and started, once again, to Flagstaff and a man called 'Moon Rising'.

  The next day was a blur and it seemed that luckily, the only unbearably hot day that I was to experience was the one three days earlier when Carlos had found me. My diet had once again returned to the delectable desert fare of cactus and roots. I watched a snake pass, but thought of what Carlos had told me and decided that if I was who I was, I shouldn't have to eat. As the day wore on, my weakness became more obvious and the thought of the snake, roasting over a fire, started to play on my mind. In desperation looking at the many forks in the dirt that led in different directions, I tried to find traces of the path we had taken the day before. All, but the weeds and the scars left from the assault of the previous day, had blown away in the wind. As the sun was beginning to set, it was obvious I was not going to find protection from the elements that evening. Gathering up a few twigs and small bits of wood, I crouched low in a protected area behind some large boulders and started a fire. Within an hour, I had found some larger pieces of wood and was sitting protected and warm. There was a deep layer of sand and dust that had collected between two boulders allowing me a hollow to sit comfortably. With hunger gnawing at my insides, I began to wonder why I could not use these strange abilities I had, to travel through space and time, to get to Shiprock. As I laid back and started to concentrate on the process, I realized I had no idea what Shiprock looked like. It was possible for me to go back to the little farm because I knew what to envision. But then again, I did not know how I got to this area from wherever I was from. None of this was making any sense?

  "I will concentrate on the sandstone courtyard of the previous night." I yelled as if the stars could hear. They appeared one by one in the ever-darkening pool above me. Standing up, I looked to the west to the orange ribbon of the setting sun as it dropped below the horizon. The infinite shades and hues of red, purple, blue, painted the sky. Blackness, the absence of all light squeezed the last traces of the day. Apart from the twinkling stars, beacons of the endless hopes of mankind, there was nothing but darkness.

  I remembered the cool emptiness in the shadow behind the eyes of the bandit that stared back at me. Carlo's fatality flashed through my mind, and I was left with the stark reality, I would be next. Returning my gaze to the fire, I tried to concentrate but could think of no other than 'Morning Moon' and 'Sees Dawn Rising'. Carlos, and Don, would not be forgotten.

  The frosty air was nipping at my legs when I awoke several hours later. Barely able to move, I knew that if I did not get warm soon I might not survive. Stumbling around in the dark for more wood, I remembered of the oven that Carlo’s wife had used to cook. Digging an oblong pit in the sand to the base rock as best I could, I lined the bottom with as many of the coals from the fire that were left aglow and covered them with the newfound branches and leaves. Burying the whole lot with a layer of sand, I laid on top hoping to absorb whatever heat would raise to the top. Eventually, I fell asleep with the poncho spread from my shoulders down to my knees. I was able to survive the night wishing I hadn't thrown my boots away.

  A new day dawned with my lips cracked once again. With the heat from the rising sun on my face, I was able to get enough courage to start the day. Facing south, I headed off down an obvious path, hopefully, in the direction of Flagstaff. By mid-day, I was near exhaustion again and wondered how I was going to continue. Skirting the imaginary boundary of the Hopi reserve, I had no idea who or what, I was going to encounter. The only ones, I certainly did not want see were the four riders of two days earlier.

  Coming to a juncture in the path, I sat for a while and pondered the likely-hood of me choosing the right one. Highly unlikely under normal circumstances, perhaps, under these conditions, things would be different. Walking to the highest point within close proximity, I looked to the south and saw, in the far distance a large town, with subtle terrain feeding down to the area. I took the creek-bed to the left. I had not walked more than fifteen minutes when a light brown bay horse crossed my path and disappeared around the bend. A few moments later, tire tracks of a vehicle appeared from the along the banks and followed the path in the same direction. A whistling sound pierced the air and the horse whinnied.

  "People," I shouted to the open air and quickened my pace.

  Stopping short in my tracks, ahead of me, not more than a hundred yards, were three other horses and the four riders of the days previous. An old, green pickup truck lay unattended just beyond the bend of the pathway behind them. I couldn't believe my fortune. Trying to console myself, I figured with any better luck, I could disappear, as before, out of harm’s way. Knowing I could not outrun them and with no-where else to go, I walked passing them to continue on my journey. Bridling the brown bay, the leader followed after me with the others close behind. Within several moments, they had surrounded me and were walking with me down the broad path. They started to laugh and spit on me as I tried my best to ignore them and proceed. Stopping directly in front of me, one of the others put out his arm almost hitting me. There was nowhere else for me to go except stop. One came from behind and started to frisk me. The heavy leather bag fell from inside my poncho landing with a thud between my feet. As I looked at the fellow in front of me, I felt a strange compassion. He was short and stocky and his eyes were red as
if burnt from the sun, or ‘high’ on something. His round face came to glow as the precious gift fell to the ground. A blow to the back of my head brought his face within inches of my own and I fell in slow motion as my vision shrank to a hollow tube of light surrounded by darkness.

  Next, as I came to, my face was flat against the plywood floor of the box of the pickup. I had been breathing dust and grass, scooping it up like vacuum cleaner for who knows how long. Trying to understand what was happening to me, I looked about with my one good eye facing upward to the back. My head throbbed and my half-naked body ached from being tossed, shoved and abused. Not moving, I tried to listen for activity round about. There was none. My arms felt burned from exposure to the sun until I saw that they were bleeding and raw with scrapes from being dragged across the ground. Bits of gravel and splinters of wood protruded from the pink raw flesh. Without any energy to do much else, I lay there falling in and out of consciousness till someone came by and banged the side of the truck. An unfamiliar face appeared over the tailgate.

  "It's your lucky day. They are actually going to get money for you."

  He threw a blanket over me, and I lay there while he got into the cab and drove down the path in the same direction I had previously come. I was not going to Flagstaff.

  The ride was excruciatingly painful. With arms tied behind my back, there was no way to keep myself upright and braced against the rocky motion of the truck. Tumbling and rolling, with only my legs and feet able to stabilize me, the ride was almost as damaging as the abuse I had suffered earlier. Why was I not able to disappear in times of stress, as before? I was certainly in distress now, and I would say in great danger of my life. These fellows had little or no regard for life and I did not expect to be an exception.

  After fifteen minutes, of the ride from hell, I was helped from the back of the truck by two guys twice my size. Each had long silky black hair down passed their shoulders. One had his tied back in a ponytail, while the other’s was loose under a headband. Each had a leather thong tied about the upper portion of their biceps, which were the size of my legs. One was leaner and mean, with veins popping beneath the skin of his arms; he kind of tossed me in the direction he wanted me to go. The black Hudson car sitting idle beside the entranceway to a building, was vaguely familiar. Once inside a large warehouse with board and baton around its perimeter walls, the goon pushed and pulled me, as if I was a rag doll. The coolness within the building was somewhat of a relief, and soothing to my burning skin. Out of the bright sunlight, my head started to ease from the throbbing. I was forcibly set down at the table and left with one of the goons standing over me. 'As if I was in any shape to go anywhere', he stood, while I sat for several minutes until two well-dressed men came in and sat down across from me.

  "Hola amigo! Como estas."

  Without a word I sat, and watched, as they shuffled paper into neat stacks before them. From a wooden crate, which he had carried in, the leather bag along with a revolver, were also placed before me. A tall glass of water was placed within my reach. All three of them looked at me with sardonic gratitude in their eyes.

  Overwhelmed with their sense of well-being, I took the opportunity to inquire. "Do we know each other?" He shook his head no. "You are pleased, I take it."

  "Si." The man stated with a grin. "You have done bueno."

  "Then why do you treat me with such contempt and disrespect?"

  "This bag has a habit of disappearing into thin air," came the reply from an elderly man just out of sight. He continued in his thick European accent, "but we have always been able to hunt it down." He proceeded to the table and gently inverted the bag exposing the bowl and a small dusting of sand. Pulling a white cloth from his breast pocket adorned with a swastika, he placed the bowl upon it and retreated a short distance.

  It was then that I noticed the insignia on his ring. The small, golden face of a jaguar embossed on black glittering from the ring table. A twinge of recognition came to my memory, but I was not able to grasp where I had seen its likeness.

  He studied the bowl and its inscriptions with glee. Taking a small box from his pocket and placing its contents, an eyepiece, to his eye, he studied the inscriptions on the top of the lid.

  "You see, Senor,” the interrogator noted, “I have only seen this once before and have waited a long time for this moment. How apt, that it should happen in the middle of the dessert so close to the people who have claimed it for their own? This treasure belongs to no man, apart from the highest bidder. It should be taken back to where its presence shall be most appreciated, in a collection or museum in Linz. This," he sighed with a glint in his eye, "represents the key to all life as we know it."

  He slowly spun the bowl and scrutinized the perimeter of the lid. The older man watched intently from a guarded distance. Taking photos of the proceedings, an assistant moved the box camera and tripod closer to the bowl, the rest of the men stood quietly, waiting for further direction from the man opposite me.

  “It seems rather ironic, doesn’t it,” he sighed leaning back into the chair. “We have something so priceless in one sense,” looking at the bowl, “but so useless in another.” Waving his hand toward the bowl “It is obvious, the mystery of its contents, that has made this bowl so precious will have to wait until we have it secured in the Motherland.” He sat and contemplated for several moments. “We need to tie up all the loose-ends before we proceed to the shipping location.”

  In bewilderment, he turned to the man behind the camera "We shall do nothing. The bowl holds nothing for us apart from the inscriptions on the outer surface of the bowl and lid which we shall photograph.” He rested his hands on the table before him, “We must erase everything! The Furor will be pleased,” and then placed the jade bowl back into the bag, leaving a small pile of desert sand on the cloth in the center of the table.

  “Leave it to me,” the older man demanded.

  "We have a date to keep, and a trade,” the younger said angrily. “Take him."

  Without even knowing his name, the man, revolver and the bowl, disappeared out the back door. It would appear that this is the person responsible for my busy, few days.

  The goon lifted me hard by my arms tied behind my back and pulled me away.

  "Don't move," he shouted in my ear, and left me to fold the sand in the cloth. Bringing it to me, he smiled as he shoved it down into my pocket, then took the cool glass of water and drank it in front of me. "You might as well take it and give it to your God; at least the trade will be worth something."

  Without any consideration, I was dragged outside and thrown in the back of the truck again. He loosened my hands and shouted, "You’ve got nowhere to go. Don't get out of this truck."

  My shirt and poncho were lying in a bundle behind the cab of the truck. I had rolled over them several times previously but was unable to do anything with them to protect myself from the sun. My Shirt, when I placed it over my chafe skin, began to stick instantaneously to my open wounds. With the sun setting and the coolness in the air, I had little choice but to bear the pain for the sake of warmth. As I leaned over the side of the box to see in what direction we were headed, I came face to face, in the side view mirror, with the battered and bloody face of a young Native American. Barely older than twenty-four, the face was vaguely familiar.

  Within the hour, the sun had set once again and we were bouncing along a dirt pathway into the rocky mesa regions of the Arizona Territory. We slowed right down and came to a narrow corridor of high cliffs. Stopping just beyond the perimeter of a long line of parked cars, facing up into a narrow ravine, I was told to get out and start walking. I could not help but feel the serenity of the moment as I looked up at the stars, possibly for the last time. The shadow of death put its arms around me and lifted me above my buckling legs. Cars, several meters apart, faced each other with their headlights on.

  "Walk!" someone barked from behind me.

  As I slowly began to walk, the disembodied voices,
behind the lights, began to chant, bang their cars with sticks and honk their car horns. Every once-in-a-while, a rock, or a stick, would fly through the air barely missing me. Several times I was struck, once in the leg, with a rock, paralyzing me momentarily. Struggling in pain, I had no choice but to keep going. Another struck me in the side of my head, deafening my right ear. With loud buzzing in my head, and blood streaming from a gash behind my ear, a warm feeling came over my body. I sensed that regardless of my pain and circumstance I would be all right. After several timeless minutes of struggle, I saw the end of the ravine, a sheer rock face. The lights of the cars faded behind me the closer I came to the cliff. In a protected area at the very end, I suddenly faced a small group of men. They were different, in stature and dress, from the previous group. All stood back in the shadows for some time without moving, till all the clamor of the gauntlet I had passed through had become quiet. Inside my head, I heard the familiar sound of machinery gently humming, something I had not heard for a while. A further peace and feeling of familiarity came upon me. A white-haired man, short in stature, came forward from the shadows. Bathed in the bluish moonlight that came from above, he could have stood barely five feet tall. But as he got closer, I began to recognize him as the man who had visited me in my visions. Unable to hold myself up any longer, I fell to my knees. Exhausted, and broken, I cried like a child.