"I do not have what you sent me to deliver to you," I sobbed.
Without saying a word, he turned my palms to face upward towards the sky. He placed his palms flat upon mine and I felt the warmth of his touch run through me.
"It is the essence I sent you to retrieve."
With that he took his down-turned hands from mine and placed them in cup formation below mine. In an instant I understood what he meant. Taking the cloth from my pocket I carefully poured the crystals from the cloth into his cupped hands. He gracefully poured the sand from one palm to the other while I watched in amazement. The crystals reflected the blue light of the moon with such intensity that once again, still in his hands, they sent faint pillars of light upward into the sky. We sat motionless, facing each other for some time, bathed in the light that surrounded us. Nothing was said, only felt.
While in his presence I felt absolute acceptance of what I was able to do. It was impressed upon me that the bowl, like the skin of man, is not important. It is only God who sees the spirit within man, 'the sand'. The spirit is the gift to all mankind. We far too often look to God for guidance for what He has already shown by revelation, through His Spirit, within our hearts.
After sitting on the ground for a long time, face to face, he nodded to me, 'It was time to go'.
His hands placed on my wounds brought a warmth and partial healing; enough to get me back to my feet. With no more to be done, and nowhere to go except back to where I had just come, I turned and faced the clatter behind me. Walking slowly back through the gauntlet, a sense of well-being became so intense that I no longer felt I was walking on the ground. A loud crack in the air burst through the clamor of noise, culminating in a stab of energy in my belly; I doubled over to the ground and lay there overwhelmed by the intense energy. I sensed I had been shot but felt no pain. I became bathed in total light.
TWELVE
Startled by cold droplets of rain hitting my eyelids, I awoke lying flat on my back looking up at the sky. My clothes were soaked absorbing the water from the soil and humus below. Apparently myself again, I tried to turn over and right myself. A sharp pain in my stomach reflected the last moments of the previous night, or was it moments ago? I lifted the soaking cloth of my shirt and separated the torn blood soaked folds of my under-garments to reveal a gash just to the right of my navel. It bled slightly and looked relatively fresh with very little coagulation at the edges. Not looking like a gunshot wound, it appeared more like a tear, as if I had fallen on something. Replacing the torn shirt as best I could, I held it close and struggled to get to my feet. My joints were stiff from the cold; my legs would not bend without help from my free hand. On my knees and one elbow, I rocked myself to balance and slowly stood. Dizzy and shivering, I staggered down the incline toward a clearing where a brook flowed freely. Bending low, as best I could, I scooped a handful of water and brought it to my lips; rinsing the film that had caked my teeth and tongue, I spit the water back into the stream and watched the frothy remains float and disappear into a crevasse.
“What on earth has happened to me?”
My bones were aching and I shook uncontrollably. I knew that if I did not get help soon, I would not last the night. From the moss on the trees I knew the direction north was down the slope and with the stream running close by, I was sure to reach the coast eventually, but how long? After what seemed like an hour of following its direction, slipping and sliding between the wet stones and decaying logs, the stream disappeared beneath a huge timber and fell over a low cliff vanishing into dense under-brush. Hanging on to the log and leaning over as far as I could, I caught a glimpse to the right out of the corner of my eye of tall ferns swaying to and fro as if disturbed. Struggling to push the log out of the way, I slipped and slid down the muddy decline. Gaining composure, I scanned the area to determine its cause. Seeing no trace of the culprit, I concluded it must have been a small animal alarmed by my presence.
Proceeding down the slippery path, I could not help the despair that gnawed at me like the cold that already soaked to my bones. Out of breathe and exhausted, I found a sheltered spot beside a tree to rest. Leaning with my back against a trunk, I looked up to the tree canopy and the mist that hung in the boughs like a low cloud. Closing my eyes, I doubled myself up to fetal position trying to retain body heat. Dazed, I listening to the sounds of the forest and slowly became entranced by the symphony. Perhaps, I was slipping into euphoria, that allusive state so often associated with extreme exposure to the elements. It didn’t matter anymore; I just wanted to sleep.
The snap of a twig brought me to. Unable to move, I slowly opened my eyes to see a scruffy little waif of a boy not twenty yards in front of me. Half way up the facing incline, he just stood and stared at me without sound or motion. With little strength, I lifted my arm to wave him closer, but with the motion he turned and strode up the rest of the incline, over the crest and out of sight.
“Where are you going?” I strained from my tight throat.
He was gone. Slumping back in exasperation, I closed my eyes and wondered at his attitude.
“Little bastards leaving me here to die!”
Disturbed by my lackluster, what little strength the declaration had brought on, I got to my feet, determined to catch the little beggar. Staggering to follow through the shallow ravine, I followed up the other side to the summit. Observing a tuft of jet black hair bouncing through the air, the boy made off running to the next clearing beyond. Without the strength to yell, I followed after him in the hopes he would stop and give me direction. After what seemed like forever, I entered the clearing which declined and widened into the shoreline of a large lake. Well hidden from where I had just come, there would have been no way for me to notice this lake from the ravine covered in the dense brush and foliage. In fact from this vantage point, the ravine would have taken me further into the interior away from this hopeful spot. Down by the shore close to a clump of alder brush, the young boy had taken to skipping stones on the water. Angered at his obstinacy and staggering awkwardly on the stony shore, I came to within ten yards of the boy who appeared to ignore me. It was then that I recognized him from the other day as we walked through the forest on our way to Ossette. My mind briefly wandered to the story Shawna had told me of the mischievous boy stranger who had helped her nation during times of strife.
I realized we must be close to Ossette and where we had gone for the fire and tea, but the scenery and the lay of the land were quite different. Then I remembered the boys face teasing me at the perimeter of the fire last night and how I had bolted after him.
“Why you little,” I started, and turned to scold him, but he was gone!
Looking around, then out across the still lake nestled in the valley of at least four small mountains, I could make out a thin line of smoke reaching up into the sky at the northern end of the lake. With renewed hope, but little strength, I headed in the direction of the ribbon of hope.
Night was falling fast, and the temperature dropping, when I entered the one room cabin by the shore’s edge. I remembered little of the occupants apart from wild beards, the smell of wet wood burning and a cot that appeared to fly up to meet me in the air.
The next was all very confusing. There was a lot of yelling; the feeling of me being bundled up and strapped into another cot, then carried away in noisy thunder.
When I awoke next, I was in a hospital bed with an IV in my hand and a native sitting in the chair opposite me.
“Hello.” he grunted.
“Hello,” I replied slowly. “Where am I?”
“Port Angeles Hospital.”
“How long?”
“Twelve hours.”
“Who are you?”
“A friend.”
“Oh,” I sighed. “Good!” I looked away and then back again, “Where are my things?”
“Being washed. They will bring them back in a while. The rest, keys and wallet, are in the drawer.”
“I know you, don’t
I?”
“We have met.”
I was beginning to sense this man was a man of not many words. His sober stare made me a little uneasy, but not fearful. He would not have been here if he did not care in some way. I recognized him as one of the fellows at Shawna’s parents. On the bedside table, within arm’s reach, and close to the chief, I could see my camera covered in mud and a few of my personal belongings. Looking back to my friend, I could tell he was sizing me up. After several minutes he got to his feet.
“I will be back tomorrow.”
“Ok!” giving him a nod.
The nurse came by after several minutes, “Hi, sleepy!”
With a half grin, I returned the greeting. She busied herself with my chart at the end of the bed, and went to refresh the water jug at the edge of the table that I had not noticed being there. She brought it back with several paper-wrapped glasses and a plastic cup of apple juice.
“Here, drink these. You are dehydrated.” She stuck a straw through the tin foil lid and handed it to me immediately.
“How long will I have to stay?”
“We will have to wait and see how you do tonight. You are all stitched up.”
I took a look down at the gauze covering the area next to my navel.
“You were running a bit of a fever, so you will have to be a patient patient.” She smiled.
“Has anyone else been in to see me since I’ve been here?” thinking of Shawna.
“No, only the Chief”
At that, she rushed out the room as fast as she had blown in. I could not help but wonder what had happened to Shawna. The last I remember was her cool smile and still gaze as she stood at the perimeter of the stone circle at Ossette. Her eyes sparkled as they reflected flames in the fire, a portent to the spirit she held within. She had turned back to give me a smile in reassurance, but I now wondered if that had not been her good-bye.
The next day just after lunch, the chief strode back in the room. “Feeling better?”
“Yes, much,” I replied, finishing off the remains of a carton of milk.
He sat back in the chair facing me and said nothing. After several moments of silence he asked, “Do you need anything?”
“No, not really, just for you to answer a couple of questions.”
He nodded in approval and continued to look at me.
“Do you know where Shawna is?”
“Gone.”
“Do you know where?”
“No.”
Wondering at his answer, it was hard to tell if he were telling the truth or not. His demeanor was stoic. My mind wandered to the bowl and then to the last time I had seen it just before the little boy whisked it away.
“The bowl. Did you get the bowl back?”
He paused for a moment. All your belongings and what we were able to find as we tracked you for the two days are right here.”
“No! The leather bag with the jade bowl inside that the boy stole. Did you get them back?”
“Nothing was taken. I’m not sure I can help you with your bag.
I sensed I would get no answer from him. “Why are you here? I asked with doubt in my voice.
“I am here to help you? You went through many difficulties during your dreamtime. We were not quite prepared when you took off from the circle out into the dark. We could not start searching for you till the next morning.”
“The tea was a little strong, was it?”
“No, you white folks have no stamina for spiritual matters unless you agree with them, regardless of the truth.”
“Is that what I experienced, the truth?”
“I cannot say.” He replied. “It was your dream.”
With that the day nurse came in and busied herself with the few dishes left behind. “You are free to get dressed and go, Mister Alexander. Your bill has been paid and your discharge papers await you at the nurses’ station.” She smiled acknowledging the chief, and carried the tray out of the room.
“You paid for this? I asked startled.
With a shrug and a nod the chief indicated yes.
“Why?”
“It is our way,” he replied. “You help us, we help you.”
“But how did I help you?”
“More than you will ever know. Now get dressed; you have a ferry to catch.”
The chief waited till I was on board and the ferry weighing anchor before he left the dock. He and the others must have been anxious to be rid of me. They had paid for my ticket along with all the costs of my evacuation from Ossette Lake. It must have been quite a sum. I had some money left in my wallet, but it was wrinkled and mud caked almost beyond recognition. After a stroll around the deck, I made my way to the seats at the front of the boat, just behind the glass. Putting my feet up and checking the pockets of my jean jacket, I tried to relax and give my stomach muscles and skin a rest from pulling at the stitches of my wound.
The scenes and occurrences of the last days, from leaving Vancouver till now played across my mind. Remembering Peter being shot, and how I could now relate to the pain, and where he had been shot; the exit point that was positioned almost identical to mine. It felt like ages since the night at Vincent’s, and the thought of going to see him and June again gave a boost to my spirits; it could be a short visit, on the way back to the Schwartz Bay ferry terminal. Shawna’s face floated beautiful before me too; could I find her back at work?
It was Sunday afternoon again, and a week had gone by since we’d first met at the museum. My feelings for her were confusingly passionate, yet cautious. ‘Perhaps, I should try not to think of her so much; there was still Marese to consider.’ Marese and I had been dating a long time and were expected to marry.’ I will need to see her right away and get things sorted out’. My feelings and emotions for her were very mixed up.
As I looked down at my fine leather boots that were now scarred and misshapen from the water and abuse of the last week, I could not help but consider how I must have looked on the whole. ‘Not a pleasant sight I should imagine. Not to mention my car, that may or may not be parked where I had left it.’ My camera was a mess. The bag with all the accessories was gone, thrown overboard into the ocean during our mad getaway in the harbor. How could I ever get my life back in order? At the moment, it seemed overwhelming and much too great a task for my disordered mind. My head had finally stopped hurting and the ringing in my ears ceased. The ferry ride was painfully slow.
The clanging of the bow ramp hitting the dock woke me from slumber. All the passengers began lining up prematurely at the exits as if it would expedite the disembarkment; it had always been a twenty-minute wait to hit the pavement. Perhaps it was my own impatience that made me feel a certain animosity towards them. ‘Everyone seems to be in such a hurry to go nowhere.’ Perhaps, I should have been the first in line with everything I needed to get done. Feeling totally undone, I slung my loose camera over my shoulder and joined the line of patrons waiting patiently to disembark.
Looking to the left, up Bellville Street, I could see the museum tower and the main doors to the exhibits. The urge was to immediately head that way and see whether Shawna was there, but with so many questions and knowing that she had many of the answers, it would be sensible to choose another time and place. Looking straight ahead, up the familiarity of Menzies Street towards my car, I started to experience a sense of ease. As I topped the hill, I could see my black BMW sitting faithfully at the far end of the parking lot, waiting for its master’s return. A horse-drawn carriage sat idle in the center of the lot’s huge expanse; its blonde and shapely coachman, anticipating my approach, sat at the reins. She followed me with her eyes as I slowly strode by, intent on getting to my car.
“Is that yours?” she inquired with a half chuckle.
“Why, yes.” I replied with a smile. “Beautiful isn’t she!”
“Yep,” she smirked, eyeing the dents and lack of rear bumper and then down to my messy appearance, “a lot of character; just like you.”
Withou
t another word, I made my way to the driver’s side and tried the door. It was still locked and apart from the bruising on the exterior, the interior looked fine. No one had broken in. Reaching for the key in my upper pocket, I opened the door and climbed in. Saying a little prayer as I put the key into the ignition, I turned it.
“Vroom!!!” Black responded with one try.
“Great! I’m on my way.”
Backing out and on to the street, I slowly passed the carriage and coachman with a young couple now cuddled in the back. Overtaking her on the left, she gave me a side-glance and a smile as I sped by. Passing the carillon in the Museum Square, my heart gave a tug as I thought of who might be upstairs and then passed Beaconsfield Park, I headed over to Leonard Avenue and Maryse’ home. Sitting outside, a good five minutes, trying to muster the courage to knock on the door, I could not help but feel great reluctance at the prospect and mood of Maryse. We were very close, but I had not contacted her for days. She deserved more, but I was at a loss as to how to explain the events of the last six days, not all that sure I should. The inside of the house was well lit as dusk was heavily descending. Maryse’s mother came to the door as I knocked and opened it with a startled look on her face.
“Are you alright, Brian? Come in! Come in!”
“Thanks, Mrs. Beauregard. I think I’d better wait outside. Is Maryse here?”
“Yes, I’ll get her,” she replied bewildered.
Within moments Maryse shuffled to the door in her slippers. “Brian! Where have you been? I’ve been waiting to hear from you for days.”
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