FICTION |
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THE ARCHER It was a bad fiction night, lit only by the stars hanging in their positions of record in the night sky. A slight breeze blew from the mountains to the west, barely visible by starlight, outlining a deeper darkness below the jewel-studded fabric of space. The hunter crept silently from beneath pinon pines to the barely discernable bunch grass and opuntia between. His moccasined feet made no sound on the sandy soil; his dark, soft clothing absorbed light and sound, making him a black silent hole in the deep gray background. If he were to look up, which he never did, only the whites of his eyes would betray the presence of a human being disturbing this satiny night His prey stood on the near horizon, invisible for now, its exact position known to the hunter through long stalking and planning. The ground between hunter and prey was bare of vegetation, making it easier to avoid detection and alarm. He stooped forward and began to crawl, holding in his left hand a complicated arrangement of strings and wood, pulleys and cams, with a large hoop attached thereunto. Keeping the tool from scraping across the ground was a challenge, but he had had hours of practice at maneuvering the awkward thing, practice that paid off now in a silent approach. Sounds began to penetrate the silence, sounds the hunter knew came from beyond his prey, hissing and rumbling sounds as of large objects moving swiftly across hard packed surfaces, sounds occasionally accompanied by a broad sweep of lights across distant mesas. So much the better to mask the tiny whispers of his inevitable approach. Soon he came to the base of a slight rise on which his prey waited. He looked up briefly and could see the dark outline obscuring occasional stars beyond. He was in place. It was time to act. In a practiced effort, he removed a long iron spike from the folds of his clothing and pressed its pointed end into the yielding, sandy soil. It penetrated a good six inches and then stopped as expected. He removed another bulkier, cloth-wrapped object and with several well-placed muffled blows, drove the stake deep into the bosom of the soil, making firm and loving contact with the moistness held therein. Rising to his knees he quickly fitted a slender shaft to the string of the complicated device in his left hand, an aluminum shaft with imitation turkey feathers at one end and a gleaming, sharpened point at the other, catching the distant glint of approving stars. He rose fully to his feet, raised eyes, hand and shaft to the heavens and drew back the string to its knock point at the corner of his moustached mouth. And held... For moments he stood like a statue of an ancient god casting prayers to the heavens, indistinguishable from the constellations above, at one with the Earth, content at the task at hand, focused, relaxed and alert. Then the smooth, practiced release of string and shaft. The coiled forces in the bow threw themselves through wooden limbs, curving cams and rolling pulleys, the shaft sprang forward with an almost audible cry of joy, leaping for the night sky and freedom. Or nearly. For as the shaft rose into the cold desert air, a slender but strong thread followed its path, uncoiling from the reel on the face of the bow, tracing a hissing curve of the arrow's trajectory, up into the sky, over the top of the towering prey, to the peak of its path, the apex of its ambition, the denouement of its escape from the bounds of material being. Suddenly the thread drew taught, anchored as it was to the iron stake firmly imbedded in terra firma, at the archer's feet. The arrow stopped abruptly and fell toward Earth, captivated once again by immutable gravity, it's stellar ambitions thwarted, redirected to a nobler cause. As the arrow fell, the thread followed after, downward toward the prey, the tower, the bristling antennae, the circling girders, the electricity pulsing through wire and cable, the radiation broadcast outward in scintillating concentric waves. The archer leaped back just as the slender aluminum line contacted the tower. Sparks flew out into the night, lightening flared in a clear sky, electricity, freed from the confines of aluminum and steel and insulated cable, suddenly found an open path to its unrequited love, the ground, the Earth, the ultimate destination of coursing electrons, deep into the bowels of the earth. The tower shook with instantly released power, quivered, vibrated and was quiet. On the highway below, a sleek, dark automobile purred smoothly along the Interstate, it's lone occupant holding a small plastic device to his ear. "Damn," he said to the empty interior, "my cell phone's gone dead." March 24, 1992 THE FABLE Long, long ago, in a land called Allyaksingfree, the people, who were called Allyaksingfree-ans, became restless. The Chief of Allyaksingfree, who lived in Mistingford, declared across the land, "You must tighten your belts. You must do without. For the Great Giver of All Things, The Oyle of Holies, has foresaken us and gone away across the sea." The people of Allyaksingfree were afraid. What would they do? What would become of their three-legged Hondorses and four legged Yamadaries? How could they fly to the land to the south, to Hawatedates, to fun and frolic on the great bandy seaches? On the south central coast of Allyaksingfree was the tiny village of Vallingdaseases, where lived the tribe known as Piwascca. The Piwasccans were a happy people, sure in the grace of the great Oyle of Holies, twice blessed by his beneficence. They were a people of many gods, worshipping Tanka, the bringer of fortune from the south and Toustira, goddess of freedom and wonder. The shores of the Bay of Vallingdaseases had been rent and gouged to make an alter to the Oyle of Holies. And the breath of the alter formed an ever-present yellow cloud over the heads of the Piwasccans, and the bile and the filth of the alter clouded the waters on which they traveled and played. But this bothered not the people of Vallingdaseases, because they all wore tinted glasses so all that they saw was green. They had long ago forsaken Fee Sheeng, goddess of the waters, the plants and animals, as being slow and smelly, turning instead to the Oyle of Holies, who offered sweet smelling unguents, such as marezona and colcayne. But best of all gifts was the manna from on high, the source of all wisdoms, the mightiest of all flowings from the Great Being, TeeVee, bringer of truth and wisdom. There were a few, a very few of those living in Vallingdaseases who rejected the gods of the Oyle of Holies, of Tanka and Toustira, and especially TeeVee. They continued quietly, in their own way, to worship Fee Sheeng, and they hoped and prayed that some day She would return to bring sanity back to the world. When the Chief of Allyaksingfree announced the departure of the Oyle of Holies across the sea, the Piwasccans were struck dumb with astonishment. They tore their teeth. They gnashed their hair. They turned to their TeeVee alters and implored the gods to hear their cries and restore the Oyle of Holies. But TeeVee had no ears to hear. Worse, the god of TeeVee became sick of their mewling and crying and began to vomit it all back to them, pouring forth disgusting torrents of putrid filth that filled their eyes and ears and made the Piwasccans blind and deaf to truth and beauty. But when the Piwasccans were at their lowliest, groveling in the filth and mire, sore afraid at the thought of life without the Oyle of Holies, a savior came to lead them back from the depths of despair. From her exile across the sea came Fee Sheeng, sweeping into Vallingdaseases on sun-gilded clouds of singing birds, born by schools of silvery fish, bearing animals of tooth and claw on beds of grasses and ferns. In a voice as smooth as seaweed, coming from everywhere and nowhere, she said, "Children of Vallingdaseases, do not be afraid, for I have always been with you. Even when you forsook me for the false god of the Oyle of Holies, I have been here, waiting for your return." With that she swept the mountains surrounding the Bay of Vallingdaseases with her cloak and the land and the seas were transformed. The alter to the Oyle of Holies melted into the waters and evaporated into the air, carrying the yellow cloud with it. The waters of the bay of Vallingdaseases cleared to blue loveliness and the fish surrounding Fee Sheeng returned to their liquid homes. The trees thrust toward the clearing skies with renewed vigor and Otter, Bear, Wolf and Coyote ran among them laughing with new found joy. "You see, my children, it was ever thus, your home, and will ever be. Seek not the false happiness of material things, the empty promises of worldly gods. All that you need, I give to you freely, in abundance." Then she turned with a rustling of winds, to those who had remained loyal through the pain and the turmoil. "As for you, my favorite of human children, your task has only begun. For though I have returned to Vallingdaseases, I am still not welcome throughout Allyaksingfree. You must go forth and prepare the way, for many still seek the return of the Oyle of Holies, and plot against me and wish my destruction. For you, most loyal humans, I have given a never-ending task, and with it, my never-ending gratitude." With a whirling of great clouds, she was gone, and the Keepers of Fee Sheeng quietly packed their few belongings and set out across the land of Allyaksingfree to continue the work. Michael Lewis Boreal Forest Interior Alaska |