Desperate By Dusk

by Alexander Salkin

  More importantly, why where they here? Ramone couldn't recall. And as he dwelled on it, he wasn't certain as to when or how he arrived either. It was as if he stirred from a daydream. Did Simon drive or did he take Black Beauty? And weren't they all doing something at Chester Winchley's old cabin not too long ago? That site wasn't anywhere near here. Regardless, he shrugged it off. It probably didn't matter. Most minor things ultimately didn't.

  Simon and Jessie were contrastingly rather animated but quiet, as if having some silent conversation with each other. "What are you two going on about? Is this about Dungeons and Dragons again?" he chuckled.

  The two paused and turned to face him. He suddenly found neither had a recognizable facial feature between them. Their heads, save for sprigs of hair, looked like white sacks of cloth stretched over a perfectly smooth melon. "What…"

  Then he noticed their hands were no longer flesh. They were sewn together twigs and sticks, crudely tied with pieces of thatch to make a suggestion of fingers. Only the gaudy toned beer canister clutched in those wooden digits was genuine. From there, they moved no more, as if they had only been pagan sculptures and life sized wicker men all along.

  Ramone eyed them back and forth, expecting movement or for their masks to be pulled, but they did not stir. Cautiously, he sat up from the log and backed away several steps, never losing visual contact with them. He wasn't sure what to think and it was about now that, putting everything together, he had to acknowledge nothing of this scene made sense. In a way he already knew, but until this moment, it was glossed over as unimportant or beyond his control to respond rationally, as if coming to terms with a dream. And yet, he did not wake.

  The modest fire from the pit in the middle of the seating logs then escaped the circle of stone boundary, as if the wind blew a flicker too far. The fire subtly crept onto the effigies of Ramone's friends, setting them ablaze with surprisingly alacrity. The puppets them convulsed and stood of their own accord, seemingly motivated by their own ignition. Ramone stepped back again and assumed a cautious stance, but the stick puppet version of Simon extended out a crude paw. And somehow, someway… he could sense it meant peace. He couldn't explain it. Only feel it. There was a single presence between the two standing effigies. And it meant him no particular harm. I am fire; it seemed to say with the crackle of flames and dancing lights.

  Although Ramone could feel his blood race and his face grew flushed, he felt a hint of calmness by this presence, if only he would let it warm him. His instincts regarded it well too, although he could not logically explain why. Animated fire seemed like something not worth trusting. And yet, he soon lowered his guard, although he remained standing all the same. Of how much of that was his own decision, he was not certain.

  "You're fire. Talking fire. I don't… I don't understand," Ramone said, calming down but still wary. He wasn't even sure what to ask. And while it hadn't actually spoken, he felt that it had communicated its very nature to him just moments ago.

  The effigy of Jessie cast a burning arm back towards the original campfire. There, a series of images manifested before Ramone. As the flickering of that fire parted, he saw himself as a younger man, playing games and sports with the neighborhood children back in Brooklyn. It showed him boldly diving into a neighbor's yard to gather back an errantly thrown football, where the overly excitable Great Dane on a generous chain leash sat and watched over a hoard of Frisbees and baseballs like some mythical dragon. It chased Ramone the entire way back from where he came. He then managed to escape into another neighbor's yard in the process just as the hound closed on him, only to jump the dividing fence into a blackberry briar. Then, there was the infamous fight with the local bullies he won at the cost of a broken arm and a full week suspension, his prized kiss with Rhetta Gardner in middle school, earning his varsity letter jackets, trophies, and so on. It was a flash back of his life, accomplishments, and moments of growth.

  It continued like this. The time he saved Scratches from the tree, learning to dance with his grandmother, street races, and so on. All images of a life well lived and done with gusto. Burning brightly, fire seemed to say to him. Even when he didn't succeed, his was a story of tackling the world head on, sometimes for him, sometimes for others.

  He managed a smile as the vision faded into grey smoke. "Well… that's a nice highlight reel, if I ever saw one. But… I'm not sure I quite understand what's going on?"

  The fiery puppets turned together and in unison, walked into the campfire fully. When they stepped upon it, they sank immediately into the earth, as if falling through the embers. Shortly thereafter, a spout of flame shot forth like a geyser, rising into the air before descending gently into sparks, smoke, and loose embers. Under the heated cascade, a vague figure appeared.

  Emerging forth burned an animated facsimile of Ramone, otherwise similar in design to the previous effigies. The flames grew brightly upon the twig matter, but it did not imminently consume itself any more than the others did. Additionally, the clone's clothing would not catch aflame, instead simply spewing hot glowing exhaust from the neck and arms of his jacket in the general shape of a head and limbs.

  To speak more plainly, I see something in you. Something I see in my core. You embody passion as few in the current world do. Your heart is alit with love, ferocity, and determination. And still, you tire so rarely. Your exuberance for life, for the warmth that it gives, I cannot in good conscience ignore.

  Ramone looked at his fiery double, first with introspection, and then a growing sense of seriousness. "Interesting. But what does all of this have to do with me? Why is the very essence of fire talking to me?"

  It is the way of Drifters, Ramone. Something of this world must vouch for you. Many have observed you. From the time of your birth, through your journey across the span of your existing life, and so forth… the world and the stars are always watching. I, as others, form that world and much more. As such, an aspect of all you know has come to visit you this day. All Drifters must be vouched for by someone. I have no face, no nature, but I am.

  Ramone thought it over. He imagined Simon would have loved to have heard this, but it was now his own trial to handle business about the Drifting. No matter, he thought. "You speak of how passionate I am about things… well, yes, I suppose I am," agreed Ramone. "But isn't that a, uh, metaphor at best for how it relates to you? I mean, we humans associate fire with something like passion, but in the end, you're a chemical process of combustion and, um, heat exchange?" When in doubt and uncertain, he found it sometimes helped to pretend to be Jessie. At the very least, he thought it sounded like something he would say.

  Fire seemed to nod. You're not wrong, but this goes beyond the mundane. I exist without a conventional presence, short of what is attributed to me. And like the world, I have many aspects. Amongst them is destruction and one who harms. But you're not a destroyer, Ramone. If anything, you're quite the opposite. My synergy with you need not be identical. Only apt and fitting. Realize that perfection as you know the word, does not exist. Not in you. Not in the stars.

  "Alright. Does this mean you or something… um, like you, will put in a good word for my friends too, for however this works?"

  Imaginably, something would. It is not my place to know such business or tell of such a specification. I may have this very meeting with your brothers. And then again, perhaps not.

  Ramone nodded to himself, letting his hands rest on his hips. "Question for ya. Why DO we need to be vouched for? Who or what requires this?"

  To describe the Drifting is difficult and such questions would best be answered by walking the endless road. It is safe to say, therefore, that this is not the conclusion of your story. But if you have many questions, perhaps you should ask them of yourself.

  The Italian man frowned. He was not fond of the vagueness they kept running into lately. Why was it that anyone who knew anything was so utterly evasive about it? How were they to find any answers if they were constantly being stonewalled, he wond
ered? It appeared that no bond with anyone else would give him an 'in' with the truth. Somehow, it just had to smack him in the face, from what he gathered. Or maybe he was missing the point again.

  "Okay. So what happens when there's critical information that I need? Something that could get me killed, only no one tells me what I'd need to know to avoid it? Is that okay? Because I've heard this self-reflection thing before and it turns out the Drifting has some friggin' esoteric rules, like how Hands can get killed for wandering off too far. Or Voices can't stay around each other. Pretty sure no amount of navel gazing is going to tell me that."

  As in life, you will stumble through. And when if you are skillful, insightful, and fortunate enough, you may surely thrive.

  Ramone's expression soured further. Fire seemed to be dodging the questions, only to offer platitudes and reiterate vague notions. "So, you don't care whether we die?"

  The fire seemed to stare through him. For his sake, Ramone couldn't read what that meant or if the being was merely thinking. It finally answered with the same even tone, nevertheless. All men and all women die, Ramone. Even Drifters are not completely beyond that. So, what do you ask for? To live a guarded, cautious life? Even I know that does not define you whatsoever. If you must be afraid of anything, do not let death be your first and foremost concern, for the journey itself is worth several lifetimes.

  "No?" Ramone asked, with an upturned brow. "Then what should it be?"

  The opposite of life is not simply death itself. Not in the Drifting, nor in a common span of years. The opposition of life is in fact, 'existing'. You can be technically alive and still be effectively without life. Those who spend their years passionless, void, and hollow… going through the motions- scream the loudest at the end. Either for pitiful regret of time spent cowering or for mercy from the waking kismet they've put themselves into.

  Ramone wasn't entirely sure how much he agreed, but at the same time, he didn't feel it was something he would explicitly argue against. He lived by doing and for that much, the man had no conflict to speak of. But it was hard to engage in what felt like splitting hairs through word play. Especially from someone he couldn't apparently get a rise out of. Somehow, he expected fire to be angrier, more reactive. Like Jessie. Of course, it was elemental living fire- it didn't have to act entirely human. Or anything as he predicted.

  I will awaken within you a gift. An unknown, unknown. It is less my assurance against your physical death and more of a tool. How you use it, is up to you. Consider it a sign of approval. You might not understand, not now and not yet, but that has not stopped mankind before.

  Against the sedentary lull of lifeless apathy, a vanguard against fear, a light in the darkness that burns everlasting, stoked from your heart's embers. And further, you shall also hear the words of distant men and women as your own. Further, from you, a hereditary curse is reduced to cinders. For you, there is but One Language spoken from the Seven.

  Ramone felt a warm acceptance within his bones, as something bright and wild entered his mind's eye. It was not entirely unfamiliar… it was that sense of inner light that quietly filled him on his best days, when the world's problems ran off of him like beads of water upon a duck's back. It was a feeling of being able to rise on the gloomiest day, the coldest morn, and the most depressing night. In his throat and in his spine, he tasted an ember of true fire. It came from no other source but himself, as if he knew of it, but had not been able to actively recall of it. 'An unknown unknown,' no longer.

  As he stood there feeling his instincts, the burning effigy of him was suddenly gone, and there remained only a modest campfire now. He felt an unknown passage of time had occurred, and he still did not have all the clarification he sought. He only knew that something awoke in him today, as if he walked down an invisible road that he could only imagine in his more fevered dreams since the Drifting infection took ahold of him.

  Observing the remaining fire with a slick sheen of sweat on his skin, he walked over to the log he originally sat upon and settled upon it once more. "There is so much I do not understand about any of this," he spoke to the flames. "But, I apologize for mouthing off. I thank you for awakening this gift and for vouching for me." They only glowed and flickered in the errant breezes whispering across the grounds. They responded to the world with a crackle upon curling tree fall. Pouting his lips slightly, he rested his right elbow upon his knees and plucked at the scruff of his chin beard like a ripe piece of fruit. With his left hand, he sipped idly from the beer can and let his arm rest tenuously down the other leg. Contemplatively, he stared at the fire, his mind wandering, wondering as his slope browed ancestor did ten thousand years ago. Therein, he saw that flicker of himself and the passage of time, both perceived and moving despite of him. In a tiny moment, he gathered a shred of understanding. And the ant saw the sky was wider than it knew.

  Sometime later, under a cloud streaked night, the boys were still recuperating in the old dilapidated hunter's cabin, along with Rio. Jessie had been given some time to rest his eyes and his bad knee. From what Simon heard, his friend had a very long day. One that was far more physical than the tinkerer liked or was even used to. Jessie was never big on exercise. It was less for reasons of exhaustion and more that Jessie was prone to boredom while dragging his heels around town. Listening to music didn't help. He really didn't have any specific tastes, aside from a radio in the now burned down Fix-It shop that regularly had smooth jazz or classical playing throughout the static and news. Neither motivated him to work out and they were probably just white noise for him.

  Similarly, Simon was a bit bored, but the unfamiliar setting kept him on his toes. He also felt he owed the guys something, since they carried him around like a sack of potatoes all day in a successful effort to keep him safe and everyone together. The Hands guarded the Voice. It was admirable.

  To his more immediate benefit, Simon's vision in the dark of the wee hours, even with his shades, was pronounced. As a man with the tendencies of a night owl, he was best suited for this and felt whatever small comfort they could get for all their trouble was surely earned. Either way, someone had to be on watch, and by now, Simon was clearly the more rested.

  Ramone had been out cold for a few hours by this point. Outside of some incoherent mumbling and turning while he slept, he showed no signs of waking up anytime soon. Simon wondered how his friend's gifts would turn out. Would he meet the sea? Maybe something else, such as the air? He imagined that his encounter with the sea was deliberate, a sort of 'they choose you' scenario. But how did the sea think? For that matter, what did it think of? He didn't get a strong sense of self from it, rather, it seemed symbolic and metaphorical, rather than demonstrating personable traits. And what did it mean to be vouched? He wasn't certain, but it felt a bit honoring the more he gave it thought.

  Ruminating within his own mind as he sat on guard duty, Simon believed it was the equivalent of a gate opening ceremony. To what or where, he couldn't say. Very little about being a Drifter made any sense, that much was evident so far. Yet despite all the strangeness, darkness, and the unknown danger, he felt it had at least been interesting. The process was not unlike discovering a new secret reality; hidden under a layer of the one he knew all his life. Even if he could not perceive whatever the truth might be, the pursuit of that truth felt noble and meaningful in itself. At the very least, he wanted to believe that. And from the handful of others he had spoken to about the Drifting, he was not quite alone in that sentiment.

  What if there was no point to it, however? Mankind had been wondering at the meaning of life since its inception, imaginably. People took stabs at an answer, sure, but no one really knew. It was just a miasma of opinions in a search for purpose. Was the Drifting something more than that? There wasn't enough presented so far as to say with any confidence. But from what he gathered from Aveirasen and Ullah, it was something to be taken seriously. Then again, perhaps the answer was deceptively honest now, and it was something a lot of people mi
ght not have been able to accept, depending on what it was. As the saying went, it was the journey that mattered, not the destination.

  In the end, all he knew were questions. And of those mysteries, there were varying degrees of relevance. Of course, some were probably just red herrings in the scheme of things. How like unto life was that, he asked of himself.

  Sometime just after dawn, Simon broke from his daydreaming by the sound of barking dogs in the area. Literally jumping from a sitting position, a feeling of nervous panic filled him and reminded him of his more mundane predicaments. Jessie had explained the situation to him earlier. And although it was only in passing, he remembered hearing about the branded Dobermans and the concern they might have left a scent trail to follow.

  Rio also jostled awaked, having had been sleeping in a folded sitting position over her book for some time now, as though she had only been resting her eyes. Her inky gaze blinked hard as her expression seemed outright spooked. She glanced back and forth in the old cabin, trying to determine the direction of the barking dogs.