"Uhhh..." Ramone slurred, still a bit caught off guard. "Yeah... well, er... no. Not technically."
The tan skinned man smiled with bemusement. "Okay, better question. You boys lost?"
"Um. Yeah, something like that. Sorry, we didn't hear you pull up."
"'Course not," he said with a chuckle. "They rarely do." Simon and Ramone shot each other a cautious curious glance. It seemed like a strange aside to make.
"I'm gonna take a wild stab and say you're not from around here. Kind of like us." Ramone asked. "Right?"
"Mrm-hmm. It's a lil complicated. By the way, name's Ullah. Ullah Siestere. You fellas have mighty fine coping skills, by the way."
"Oh, uh... thanks. I'm Ramone. And this here is Simon. So, what, uh... what did you mean by that? There are other people from... ah, not here?"
Ullah sighed restfully. "Sometimes. Sometimes they don't come back from here, either." Ramone could only blink in response.
"Oh! Sorry, I didn't mean that as a threat or nothing," Ullah said, waving his hand apologetically, as he stood up straighter. "I just mean sometimes people from Point A don't come back from Point B. They can't handle it. Or they do something stupid. If'n you follow."
"Stupid, sir?" Simon inquired politely.
"Ullah's fine, friend. I'm not a bureaucrat," he said with a slight chuckle under his breath. "See, when people get out of their element, they sometimes go on a bender. Or come to all kinds of dumb conclusions. Last I checked, people here have as many guns as they do where you came from. So treating them like they're not there is usually tantamount to getting your ass handed to you. Or shot. Y'know how it is, all depending on a man's individual stupidity. It's a free country in concept, after all."
"So basically, don't be a prick," Ramone appraised.
"The golden rule, friend. I know that's an absent idea in the modern day, but that doesn't make it any less relevant by my count." Ullah took a glance around and then looked back to them. "So, you guys okay? Nobody got hurt?"
"We're fine. Probably better now that you're here," Ramone spoke. "Saw the clone of our friend all red eyed and we had ourselves a scare. We've been sitting here trying to figure out what's going on. Don't suppose you'd let us in on the little secret? It seems like you might know a thing or three."
"I'm sure I do," nodded Ullah. "But, that's not really too helpful in some ways. This isn't a place for textbooks or riddles. Just think of it as somewhere else. There's more than one way to learn something. Occasionally, there's better ways."
"I'm not really sure I understand," Simon began as he scratched his head trying to make heads or tails of the situation. "What is this place, exactly? Why are we here? Are you here for the same reason?"
Ullah sighed again and looked westward. "I'm sure next you'll be asking me for the meaning of life. O' Spirit, everyone wants everything spelled out. Look- why you're here is your business, regardless if you understand it or not. As for what this place is, well, it's Dresden Port. Just not the one you're familiar with."
Simon muddled that for a moment. "Oh, I think I get it. So, an alternate dimension or something like that? Woah… well, let me ask you this much, then. Do you know what the Setting Sun Carnival has to do with any of this?"
Ullah tilted his head for a moment as if he misheard Simon. "Setting Sun... carnival? You ran into them?"
"Uhh, yeah," Ramone uttered. "Is that a bad thing? I won free tickets. I took my friend Simon here and then things got kind of confusing afterwards. We met some unusual people, individually speaking… a pale girl in black and a fat potentially psychic guy. And then we were here at the 4 H campgrounds with no memories of what happened after meeting them. Or this version of it, at least."
The Native American studied their faces for a moment and glanced thoughtfully off to the side before looking back to them. "I don't know about those people like the back of my hand, but I can tell you this much; Setting Sun is... well, it's like an organization. The carnival's an interesting approach and a new one on me, I must admit."
"How best can I put this?" Ullah thoughtfully pondered aloud. "Imagine you're young again. Like, real young. You're waddling around, playing with your toys and what not. And then, your mother's friend comes by and drops off a playmate. So, you play trains and cars together and even more children show up. It's a good old time to be a kid. Well, everyone goes home and the next day or so, and now you're not feeling so well. Feverish, weak, itchy."
"You got the chicken pox, see? Your mother and her friends wanted you to get exposed early, so they brought a sick kid along and he gets everyone else ill- not that you'd necessarily know beforehand. Then, you spend the next week or two covered in itchy spots. Eventually, you get better and you're mainly immune to the virus though it always sticks with you invisibly. And in a nutshell, the Setting Sun is like your mother and her friends."
"Wait, so we're infected with something?" Ramone asked suspiciously. "What's gonna happen to us?"
"Well, yes. Basically. Infected would be a word for it. As for what happened... you're here, aren't you? The Setting Sun is basically a group that goes around separating the chaff from the wheat, typically with some subtlety or obfuscation. And this is where the chicken pox analogy falls apart, I'll admit. Not everyone gets infected. Don't ask me how it works, that's just how it functions. As for what happens to you? I doubt anyone really could say for sure."
"Going back to my previous point, what I'm saying is, not everyone you walked by yesterday is here. In fact, I imagine it would only be a handful. Or maybe it's just you two, as I haven't seen anyone else from outside of here today. Heck, I only learned you were here because I know what to listen to on the local police band." He winked knowingly.
"This.... this is a lot to take in," Simon said. Ramone quickly nodded in complete agreement. "And I'm still not sure why all of this happened. What was the point of the Setting Sun sending us here?"
"Again, my friend, meaning of life question. The Setting Sun... They're not bad people, per se. They're just an aim or a motive. A philosophy, even. They're there one day and gone the next. They get you 'infected' or they don't. Maybe someone else would have infected you down the line, maybe not. Setting Sun just makes the opportunities for it to happen sooner than not."
"With all due respect, Ullah- you're dodging the question. Why are we here?"
The tow truck driver groaned a little. "Friend, I told you, I don't know what your individual story or future is. No one does, I'd think. What is the meaning of life? You gotta decide that or just write it off as 'what you make of it'. Not everything is answered so directly."
Ramone raised his pointer finger for a moment. "I feel like we're talking about two different stories here. Simon's asking what the reason for the Setting Sun sending us here is- and you're implying the reason is interpretive. Do I have that right?"
"I reckon so. Or to some degree, at least. You can call it a mystery too, if you wish. The thing is; there is a distinctive and often personalized answer. Maybe even several. You just don't know the questions yet. And I certainly can't ask them for you. But I'll give you this much. Every man who is truly a man, must walk his own path, no matter how many others have tread that same direction in passing. His experience will be different from those who travel with him, those who proceed after, and those earlier than himself. He'll notice a certain rock or a tree. Others will pass by that tree, but they'll ignore it as inconsequential. He'll remember the color of the leaves a certain way, while he doesn't see the grasses and insects. No matter what, his trip is different from his brother's journey, no matter how closely they share the same trail."
Ullah sighed serenely and looked to the sun past some trees, his face seeming to express the nostalgia of a rose colored year. "We're called Drifters, you and I- I can give you that much. It is ours to wander. Take it all in. Learn. Mm, that's what the Setting Sun did for you. And if you ask me 'why' again? I might just slap the taste out of your mouth in the nicest way possible."
He turned back to them, watching the confusion in their eyes for a moment. "Being a Drifter is the infection itself. And you'll probably notice that infection grows some teeth over time. Nothing I can really do to prepare you for it beyond telling you this. And it's not right for me to jinx another man's outlook in this situation." He studied their faces, but they looked on blankly with nothing to offer. "Nothing at all, eh?" he asked, finding Simon and Ramone quiet and unsure of their words.
"I'll ground you a little- where you are now isn't where you'll be later. You can count on that. But you'll be visiting this side of things again soon enough, mark my words. Once it starts, it doesn't stop. And it doesn't tell you when. Your soul will drift as it sees fit to wander. Maybe you'll see signs to tell you its happening. Then again, maybe not."
"You want to get back to Dresden Port? Just wait, I suppose. But keep in mind what I've said. And here, take this phone number," he said, reaching into his pocket for a pen and scrap of paper. "If I'm available, I might just answer it. Act like an ass and you'll never hear from me again, though. I've got no patience for the ecology of the modern day douche bag and I'm a busy man for the decent types even when they have a problem. That might mean sipping a tall lemonade in the sun on a fold out chair while you're at the end of your days. Never piss off the lifeguard at the pool."
Ramone looked silently at the number. It was nonsensical for what was said to be a phone number. The sequence was only partially numeric with decimals included and the rest consisted of geometric shapes. Additionally, the writing above it was also unrecognizable, although it seemed within the context that those foreign letters might have somehow spelled his name. That was his impression, anyway. "Uhhh…"
"One last thing, friends," Ullah said, heading back to his truck. "You can't read between the lines if you're moving fast all the time. That's something to keep rattling in the old brain, maybe. Well, have a good one. Adios and what not."
They sat there quietly for a moment as the truck puttered off, processing just what exactly they were told. Ramone tried to will himself to tell Ullah to wait so he could ask more about the phone number, but he felt a little too overwhelmed by all the information, weirdness, and vaguery. Simply speaking, he was just confused. "Uhm... well. That was different." He rubbed his forehead. "Drifters, huh?"
Simon took his sunglasses off and stared blearily at the text on the note. "This is a phone number? I don't even know what language this is supposed to be. It doesn't resemble anything I've ever seen. Maybe... Jessie would know."
"Yeah. Yeah, maybe," Ramone mumbled. "So, what do you think the deal is? Does that Ullah guy live here?"
"Well," Simon began. "He certainly doesn't look like it. Or at least, I didn't get the idea he was native to this Dresden Port. Under those glasses, he had no red eyes and he basically stated he was like us- whatever that might be. So, perhaps he goes back to our Dresden Port... and then here? That's what I got out of it, anyway. You know, I'm pretty sure I heard there's a Native American reservation somewhere due south of town. It's sort of its own thing. He could easily be from there."
"Oh yeah... I guess. Hmm. Still, why do you think he told us all of that? He mentioned he knew how to listen to the local police band to hear about outsiders... speaking of which..." Ramone put the car into gear and started driving. His destination was anywhere.
"I can't say for sure, Ra. We have a lot of questions and not a lot of explanation to follow with anything going on. He was kind of helpful and folksy, but salty too. Like he expected us to do something wrong as soon as he left. Or... wait, you know what? He reminds me of someone who spent a long day working at the motor vehicle agency, trying to be polite while listening to stupid questions from people who didn't bother to get their forms right when they showed up. Maybe he was having a bad day, in other words."
"Okay, I can see that. Yeah, I got the impression the things he said weren't spur of the moment, but something he's recited a few times. So, maybe he's trying to help people who show up here, but the job is a bitch. Still, kinda odd, don't you think? Why would someone do this in their own time?"
"Maybe while he's here, he doesn't have anything better to do? We didn't choose to be here. Maybe he doesn't either. Well, whatever the story is, I'm just hoping we get out of here soon. 'Just wait', he said. I don't know if that means we have to pass out again. But if that's the case, I don't think we want your cruiser in motion."
"Yeeeah, good point. Let me duck this thing back to the 4 H grounds and we'll just sit for a spell over there. I need time to think about all of this. And what we're gonna tell Jessie. Maybe he'll have some insight on all of this. Because I sure as hell don't."
Simon contemplatively watched the pseudo Dresden Port scenery pass by him as Ramone tried his hand at navigating back to the camp grounds based on roads he thought might still be there. Going back through town seemed a less keen idea, since Ullah all but indicated local enforcement was seemingly aware of them. Someone on the wayside easily could have thought the boys were suspicious looking and reported them. Neither wanted to find out why they were interested. It could have been a crime to be white eyed, for all they knew. Or 'evil' Jessie put in some unfavorable word, perhaps.
What did it mean to be a Drifter? Ullah implied this would not be their only time over here. What would trigger it to happen? Or was some ambiguous passage of time needed, such as what might cause them to leave? What would happen if they didn't have a vehicle to stay mobile with? There were many questions; some far reaching and several more that were simply mundane. All of them seemed important, however.
So, this is what I wanted. That constant 'thrill' of the unknown. I might just have that now. But maybe I'm not ready for it, either. Our little weekend adventures can't really be compared to winding up in a parallel world. They end and we go back to work during the week. What's to prevent me from winding up here alone while I'm delivering my circulars? Or Ramone from working on Peterson's cars only to find the customer communicating in gibberish and red eyed?
Maybe that whole thing with the Men-in-black or whatever they were... was a warning. 'Stop here, you're pissing in the eye of things you won't understand in the first place'. Maybe some things are meant to be clandestine and secret.
Then again... maybe someone needs to know that the secrets are there to begin with. What good are all the answers if you can't get the questions you need? The questions evolve and then demand new answers to sate them. One feeds the other. And maybe, like many things, the journey to find those answers will prove far more enlightening than the certainty of knowing them.
Simon sniffed, half daydreaming. It's been a heck of a couple weekends.
CHAPTER 10
When Jessie returned home from the bar, he took a small painkiller and then slept heavily. His knee was bothering him something fierce. Come Saturday, he was barely awake for it. He arose long enough to check in at Chang's store for a few hours and then immediately went back home. The boss really needed to hire a handful more people. It was bordering on every day that Jessie had to keep up with the place. But Mr. Chang, in the occasional phone call, would just say there weren’t a lot of qualified people to run the counter for his shop. At least not for what he could offer between his medical bills.
Jeffery Chang would say that people never bothered to fix things anymore; they'd just toss them out and buy something new at a big box department store or order online. Everything was becoming disposable. And there were less people who knew how to do anything in this profession. So, it became a supply and demand situation. And even fewer he could trust not to simply take a little out of the till. Jessie might have had a cranky personality but he wasn't a thief. He had ethics of a sort, regardless if anyone knew what they were. Getting work done was important enough. That was something anyone who knew him for even a short time would quickly realize.
Sunday came along when Jessie heard the electronic buzzer for his basement going off. Someone at the door? He grimaced groggily, rising off the couch he p
assed out on with a sloppy pile of Popular Mechanics and Wired brand magazines scattered on the floor next to him. He could only guess who it was. Jehovah's Witnesses again, maybe. They didn't understand his ten in the morning was equal to their twilight hours spent sleeping.
The buzzer went off again. "I'm coming! Gods..." he swore. Wearing only a grease stained undershirt and white boxers, he quickly threw on a bathrobe and some well-worn jogging pants. Irritably, he trudged across the basement and up the concrete stairs to the door. After undoing several redundant locks, he opened it. "WHAT," he stated with the strength of a fact being declared rather than anything resembling a greeting or question.
Viewing the guest through squinting half awake eyes, he recognized the man standing on the sidewalk before him. He dressed as a chauffeur with a neat navy blue coat resembling that of a Cossack. "Master Jessie?" came a polite voice indicative of a British private school. "Your uncle would like you to visit for lunch today, if at all possible."
Jessie could taste the bitterness of the morning in his mouth. It was Neilson, his uncle's gopher and every bit the acting equivalent of an Alfred Pennyworth, albeit it with short bruin dyed hair tucked under his driver's cap. Cranky as Jessie could be, it was hard to be rude with Neilson. He just had some way about him that asked you to meet him in an even manner. Something Jessie knew his uncle used to his advantage- Neilson was great for screening both wanted and unwanted visitors.
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