THE HUNGRY PLANET

Copyright (c) 2013 by Randall R. Peterson ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The interminable hum began to lower in pitch coming into audible human range as the dark-matter fields that powered the massive deep-space engines shifted to standard nuclear energy sources. The G-Class Earth ship AM419 became visible as it slowed to just under the speed of light. A 1.5 kilometer diameter translucent sphere filled with oxygenated sea-water, provided primary living quarters for the 360 passengers and crew members and occupied the center of the intergalactic craft. It was 986M848164.11.26.18.00.00 Earth time when the ship’s Captain woke from hibernation-sleep. Guena, one of twelve health attendants, floated before him.

            “How was your sleep Lens? Did you dream?”  Lieutenant Commander Lensford Cook rubbed his eyes as he stared at the brilliant colors emulating from Guena’s sparkling caudal fin. His subordinate wiggled her body just enough for him to catch a glimpse of the seductive toes she kept hidden beneath the hair-like barbels covering her adipose.

            “I’m fine, a little slower to recover than last time. Age must be creeping up on me.” He stared at her again. Guena’s clear blue eyes held just a hint of mischief. She was pleased with the effect she had on him. “I dreamed about Earth again. It must have been all the ancient history data placed in my brain during travel-sleep. I still find it fascinating that at one time our most erotic sexual nodes, our toes, were used for navigating on land and that as a species we were able to survive out of water.” Guena looked down to see if she were uncovered, then back at him and grinned.

            “Yes, before we had caudal fins our ancestors kept their “toes” covered as we do, with what they called shoes. But as I understand it, the apparel was meant as protection, not as a form of modesty. Although I’m sure an occasional shoe slipped off, when lovers were together.”

            “I should like to travel to Earth one day, to see the origins of our species. How very strange it would be.” Captain Cook mused. He was still unsteady and allowed Guena to take him by the hand and lead him outside his sleeping compartment into the garden. Sea flora of every color and description swayed in the gentle water currents as schools of fish played in oxygen bubbles emulating from hidden nodes at the outside edges of the enormous globe. Guena laughed. “There wouldn’t be much to see unless you were in a historical re-creation. I have studied ancient Earth history myself during travel-sleep on several voyages. The Earth is now charred-rock orbiting too near its star. The average temperature is 2500 degrees centigrade. All water has long been burned away; it has been that way for more than 400 million years. The only usefulness we get from the planet of our origin is as a clock, an ancient timepiece, each revolution marking a year.”

            “Thank you for you insights Doctor, my mental capabilities are returning according to my own crude time measurement.” He glanced at the digital readout glowing just under the skin on the palm of his hand. “I’ve been awakened at least forty years too soon. Is there a problem?”

            “I was stimulated by Life Support Monitoring and ordered to bring you to Navigation. Crayton in Engineering received new orders. We are to investigate a phenomenology in this sector of Galaxy CR275A. A planet with an elliptical orbit of almost a billion Earth years has approached its birth-star in the last ten-thousand millennium to theoretically support the origination of life. Science Command on Eva 6 wants us to explore and send data before we resume our voyage.”

            “Strange, Eva 6 doesn’t usually concern itself with Natural Science matters.”

            “The transmission came directly from The Intergalactic Organization of Species. Doctor Zendar made the request in person. Eva 6 Command does of course wish us to assist him in any way possible.”

            “Keeper, contacting our humble ship! I should like to one day meet the Universe’s most honored collector of exotic genera.”

“Who wouldn’t? Right now we have to concern ourselves with making the famous doctor happy.” Guena ran her hands across the tips of several giant, yellow-spotted underwater plants. Green spores clung to her fingers. “The Bemoncha should be ready. Are you hungry?”

            “Not right now, although I could use something to help me to wake-up.” Captain Cook picked a hollow spine from the inside of a large flower growing on the sparkling sea-bed. Pure carbon was compressed, faceted and spread like sand on the bottom of the sphere reflecting light  back through the water. The result was a sea-scape rich in almost limitless life-forms. “Coral Nectar does wonders for my vigor, but if I drink too much I get edgy.”

            “Better let me have this one then.” Guena took the tube from Lens and then selected one from a flower that was lighter in color. “You need to watch what you drink. Look for the tiny red spots. If they are present choose another. You’ll ingest so much stimulant you’ll be churning the water like a whip snake.”

            “It doesn’t bother you?”

            “I have a metabolism that can burn it. I don’t know about you, but I could use a little exercise and perhaps a little adventure. Too much sleep is not good for humans.”  She wigged her fins and allowed her toes to flash naked for an instant then giggled as she swam toward the command center located in the center of the garden. Captain Cook chased after her. His caudal fin propelled him through the liquid atmosphere with renewed vigor. As they passed through a thick area of swaying vegetation, Guena wiggled her fingers above a spiny plant allowing the spores to filter through the water onto the closed petals. The petals opened and a yellow produce popped out. “Mm mm, this Bemoncha is at perfect ripeness,” she said as she popped the fruit into her mouth.

            “I’m not good at choosing food,” the captain confessed. “Mine always come out a little bitter or else too sugary.”

            “It has everything to do with the pollen you use to entice the females. You receive according to what you give. A little care selecting insures the plant gets what it needs and you get what you want. Florae will take care of us, if we take care of them.” She broke off a piece of the banana like fruit and handed it to him. After eating they moved to the edge of the garden and stuck their hollow spines into a cluster of round pulsing globes. They relaxed and watched as the gardens filled with newly awakened crew-members conversing in a stream of refreshing bubbles as they sucked out the colorful liquid.

 

            Lens followed Guena into the pressure chamber that condensed and filtered the sea-water canceling any current and making the atmosphere crystal clear. Crayton stood before a huge console made of three dimensional light images moving his tentacle-like fingers over clusters of auras and data.

Guena allowed Captain Cook to stand next to the bug-eyed Aquandian preferring to put distance between herself and the alien. She wasn’t comfortable floating next to his species. The hundreds of flagella he had instead of a tail bothered her, as they ran across the flesh of her adipose emitting tiny electrical questions.

            “How soon before we enter the atmosphere?” Lens stared out the massive curved portal. The blue-green swirls of the wandering planet grew larger by the second.

            “We should be able to maintain our current speed until just before splashdown.” The Aquandian gaped at Guena then turned his gaze on Lens as he made adjustments to the navigation display spread before him. “The vapor rich atmosphere of 446A117 will slow our descent as well as cool our superstructure to sustainable levels.”

            “What exactly are we looking for?”

            “Anything unusual, especially new or unknown life forms. Keeper wasn’t specific in his instructions. I think the old man is starting to lose it. He has to be over eight hundred years old. He was involved in many extensive voyages in his younger years. Rumors say he even traveled to Earth about a million years ago, while the planet was still inhabited and during the million or so years when humans lived on land. Why our ancestors ever left the sea is anyone’s guess. This was before Science Command restricted time travel, but I’m sure even now if Keeper wished to return he could get clearance to go back. If not, he is old friends with lots of politicians like Jefferson Milliard Cooper. They worked together for centuries. Jeff was Keeper’s assistant on many voyages and his old friend could pull lots of strings on Eva 6. This planet we are approaching has been forgotten and is off everyone’s radar. The elliptical orbit of 446A117 made it out of the way of all trade routes. There was just no reason for a visit until now.”

            “Could you connect me with Keeper, so I can get more information? I need to know what we are looking for, if I’m to keep our superiors happy.”

“Dr. Zendar’s transmission was eighteen months old when we received it. He is off somewhere collecting on the far side of the galaxy. He rambled on about misplaced data, and he is sure he has visited this planet in the past. I think he’s hoping that your report will jog his memory. He did say something strange.”

“What was that?”

“He said be careful.”

“That’s an odd thing to say.”

“Like I said, the man is getting old. He may have one of the Universe’s greatest minds but even rocks crumble. If you really need to contact him, we’ll have to return to travel-sleep while we wait for a reply, then petition Eva 6 for time adjustments after we reach our destination.”

“I don’t think that will be necessary.” If we uncover any life-forms not in our computer archives we’ll tag and bag and bring them back. Now that I’m awake I don’t want to return to cold slumber.”       

“The atmospheric data is coming in now. Looks like you won’t need to suit-up. The nutrient rich water is just what we’re used to - perhaps a little cleaner. Keep your eye out for Gwekonlian berries, they’re rare but if we could find a source on an unvisited planet like Crepos we could all go home rich.”

“Crepos?”

“Oh yeah, Keeper likes to use the old names he gave planets when he discovered them. I share his sentiments. It is a bit easier to say than 446A117.”

“You’re being quiet.” Crayton looked at Guena who had thrust her fingers into a light array and was swaying to vibrations from a popular musical performer.

“Your words don’t interest me,” Guena said. “Except for your mention of Gwekolian fruit. I was eighty-five and just out of school the last time I dipped my fingers in some. I swam around for weeks singing with my spines lifted and my toes uncovered, until I was arrested for indecent exposure on one of Calais fourteen’s moons.” She gave Captain Cook a hard shove. “I remember you were there and never said a word.”

“I couldn’t spoil everyone’s fun. The other students would have killed me.” Lens grinned.

“That’s why they were made illegal on almost all the inner planets and the thing that makes them so valuable.” Crayton made adjustments to his scanning display inputting emissions data to look for the illusive berries. “I know a trader who can meet us in route and take a ton off our hands if we get lucky.”

“Your luck has run out. I don’t need a tanked-up half-naked crew gallivanting through space navigating into a black hole because they’re high on Gweko-berries. We do a quick sweep of Keeper’s planet and its back to sleep for forty years for all of us.”

 

Thirty Earth minutes later, the AM419 plunged into the liquid surface of the planet 446A117 discovered more than a million years before and named Crepos by the illustrious explorer. An error in the navigation system sounded alarms throughout the crew compartments as the depth of the ocean was found to be less than detected by the ship’s sonar. The front sections of the intergalactic craft plunged into deep silt, but without damage on the ocean floor.

“Both my heart pumps are racing,” Crayton exclaimed. “It’s been more than two-hundred years since I docked a ship on anything other than pressed-carbon bedding.”

“Looks like even the main computer systems are confused.” Lens pointed to the wildly fluctuating light displays. “I believe it’s time we shook-up our perfect little world and discovered something more exciting than sour sea-fruit.”

Filters on the outside of the ship had already begun to clear the mud and silt from the water. The crew of the AM419 stared at a wonderland of sea-flora and strange fishes.

            “I’m getting requests from every department for rest and relaxation time. Do you wish me to authorize planetary leave for all who desire Captain?”

            “Why not? The more people we have moving around and exploring the quicker we can finish this interruption and return to our scheduled mission.”

After another quick computer analysis of the water composition and temperature levels all 360 passengers and crew members ventured into the refreshing clean seabed. Laughter and shouts of exhilaration filled the ocean around the ship with bubbles as eager new plants were examined, documented and covenanted with. The flora species seemed starved for any kind of attention and rewarded interested parties with exorbitant gifts. Colorful but strange acting fishes oddly kept their distance. Many of the crewmembers marveled at this peculiarity. Communications officer Brianna Kent obtained a root from a sea-carrot that caused the spines covering her toes to emit light from inside after she chewed the rubbery substance. Every male within swimming distance was attracted to her.

 

Captain Cook discovered Guena caressing the petals of a large flower that resembled a sea-orchid with her eyes closed.            “Have you learned to speak their language?” he asked.

            “I’ve learned much more than that,” Guena told him. “I helped to thin out this large root-bound clump and made sure seedlings found currents and were carried away. This was my reward.” She held out a glowing red fruit orb that had been nibbled. “This food grants strange psychic powers. I watched you appear minutes before you arrived. I heard you ask your question for the second time just now.” Lens took the glowing ball from her and turned it in a stream of bubbles.

            “I have heard of certain hallucinogens giving the imbiber those kinds of abilities but I’ve never actually held one in my hands.”

            “It’s been several minutes since that first bite and I’m still picking up things that are and things that will be.” Guena moved closer to her superior, allowing the spines covering her Adipose fin to brush against his lateral line.

            “What have you discovered or think that you know?” Lens stammered.

            “I now know that my desire for you is not mine alone. You feel the same way about our mating.” Guena moved closer.

            “I admit that I find you very attractive,” Captain Cook reasoned. “But I have responsibilities to my ship and my crew.”

            “You have the responsibility to make sure all your crew members are happy and fulfilled.” Guena moved closer. Lens could not take his eyes off her sparkling eyes. He paused for a moment then with a shrug took a bite of the fruit. Guena placed her lips over his and they began to melt together.

Loud shouting pulled them apart. They followed churning currents to a clearing next to the ship. Crayton had used a piece of vine to lasso a sea cow and ride it, a common feat on any number of watery worlds. The animal had whirled as he mounted and raked its teeth across the upper part of the Aquandian’s torso. Crew members stared in astonishment, surly this had to be a wild accident no animal species had harmed another for almost a half a million years. Blood clouded the area around the navigator red as the two hearts pulsed. Captain Cook took charge of the situation as the sea-cow swam away trailing the vine. “Find all medical personnel and have them bring lifesaving equipment and spill containment supplies at once. We won’t move this patient, unless we have to. He’s losing too much blood. “Guena helped him apply pressure to the wounds as they lowered the alien crew member to the sea floor. Crayton’s cluster of tentacles thrashed the water as he gaped at his wounds. “What have I done?” he stammered.

            “I think we are both getting too old for adventures,” Lens joked, trying to negate his friend’s fears.

 

An underwater wave thundered across the ocean floor. Crew members tumbled helpless before its wake. Giant eyes peered from behind a mountain sized head as the monster approached. A mouth wide enough to swallow a spaceship opened revealing rows of razor sharp teeth. It followed the scent of the blood spreading in the water sucking crew members into its thrashing mouth as it fed. More dark shapes appeared on the horizon, the beginning of a feeding frenzy. Lens fought his way through the swirling carnage and found Guena. He pulled her into a Gwekonlian thicket everyone had overlooked. Her trembling form melted with his.

            “Is this what death is like?” she asked. Captain Cook paused; the red fruit he had consumed began to fill his mind with insight.

            “For many but not for us, not today,” he assured her.

The monster’s tail crashed into the side of the AM419 dislodging it from the sea-bed and listing it onto one side. A transmitted voice boomed over the underwater speakers.

            “This is Doctor Keeper Zendar; please disregard your previous instructions. I have discovered my lost data. The planet Crepos is an evolutionary catastrophe that still hosts flesh eating beasts. The underwater flora though containing strange and powerful intoxicants is nothing to trifle with. The waters on this dark planet are home to the unstoppable Hellispool.”

There followed several minutes of underwater static punctuated by the screams of crew members then Keeper’s voice returned for the last word. “I wouldn’t go there if I was you.”

 

The End?

I DATED A WITCH

Copyright (c) 2013 by Randall R. Peterson ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

I pledged Phi Sigma Kappa Fraternity, I couldn’t say no. I didn’t bother washing my ’67 Pontiac GTO, if Tabuela Jones needed her sorority sisters to score a date for a combined activity she had to be a pig. Sorry I don’t mean to sound chauvinistic, but I’ve been burned before. My last blind-date was with Erma Jean Maxwell. She was a friend of my buddy’s sister and was either a man with a successful sex change operation or a woman in desperate need of one. Two years later, my ribs still ached where she/he/it forced me against the door post of my car for a good-night kiss. Her sandpaper chin took the top skin layer off my neck. Erma’s tongue tasted like the floor under a pool table.

I was driving past Herb’s Mini-Mart when I saw Porky Jr.’s ’63 Chevy careen onto Fifth Street behind me. That ape had been after me since halfway through my senior year at Cloverdale High. Our new principal’s name was Delbert Morris. He was short, round and had a habit of squealing in fury as he chased terrified Sophomores and Juniors through the halls. Twisting captured necks between his thumb and fore-fingers was a common punishment for such offences as running or talking too loud. I didn’t invent the nick-name it appeared everywhere at the same time. I was in Mrs. Dern’s fourth-period English literature when she introduced Lemont as the son of our just hired principal. I snorted “Porky Junior” from the back row and the entire class burst into laughter. I wasn’t in a position to see his face just a red mop of hair perched on hunched shoulders. When he rose from his seat, turned and pointed a fat finger toward me, all the blood drained from my face. Where his father was roly-poly he was rippling muscles. The only thing they had in common was mean little pig eyes. “You’re dead,” was all Lemont said. I believed him. I stayed after school until the halls emptied not just because I was afraid of the gorilla but because I had wet my pants.

It was easy to stay away from little Porky while walking to school. I grew up in Cloverdale and knew every bush, shed, and covert, a chicken like me might hide in from a monster like him. When we advanced to driving automobiles, first our parent’s then our own cars, it was a different story. I spent most of my time making sure my goat could hit sixty in nine seconds. Lemont sat  inside his primer-gray Nova polishing a pair of brass knuckles and feeling-up a six-pack of Coors beer. He only caught me once leaving Gary’s All Night Café. He had me face-down eating gravel in the empty lot when a city cop pulled in for coffee. Porky Junior strolled away, after a hard kick to my ribs. “We’re not done,” he promised.

I noticed the student parking sicker on his windshield through my rear-view mirror as I hung a sharp left on Hill-Street. My God! The killer-ape and I were going to the same University. I would have pulled over and ended everything right there, but Lemont now carried a switch-blade knife in a tooled Mexican scabbard on his belt. I wanted to finish my first semester of college before becoming a pin cushion. I saw the green light go yellow on the intersection ahead and I floored my car. Running the red light at fifty-plus miles per hour I  missed a lurching Greyhound Bus. I heard screeching tires and saw Porky’s car slide sideways. I took the first right then another. I ran up two blocks and pulled into a stranger’s driveway under a ground-reaching Weeping-Willow tree and shut off my lights. Fifteen minutes later, I was once again prowling the streets, cautious but proud of my quick thinking.

 

Tabuela Jones lived off-campus in a house four miles north of Cloverdale. That meant one of either two things: She was so repulsive no roommate would stay with her in a dorm, or her parents were rich and she could do whatever she wanted. When I pulled in front of the rock and cedar house I still wasn’t sure. Rotted beams on a sagging front porch trembled from the sound of distant thunder. The ragged lawn looked like weedy swamp muck. An oily salamander slithered away as I skulked down a broken stone path. I passed everything off to my recent brush with death. Fear is the greatest hallucinogen and it’s there for a purpose. My hand brushed a spider-web as I reached for the brass knocker in the form of a snarling Gargoyle. The figure was crouched to leap at any door-to-door salesman foolish enough to risk his life for a sale. The metal made almost no sound on the heavy oak planks and I was turning to leave when the door groaned open.  It was worse than I thought. She hunched in the doorway inches taller than me. A bulbous nose extended over her round wrinkled chin like a last year’s dried apple. She had to be at least forty. “Tabeula?” I asked, praying Porky Junior would pull into the yard and I would welcome death without this added torture.

“I’ll get her,” the old woman giggled. “Come in please,” she cackled and did a little dance as he turned and vanished into the darkness. The room was lit by a single Tiffany lamp that had to be at least a hundred years old. The soft light showed nineteenth-century furniture covered with woven tapestries and a fine layer of sift. A black bird that looked like a crow stared at me from the inside of a suspended cage as its long beak reached for a sunflower seed. “Beware or die,” the creature warned with a rusty caw. I turned away and coughed I didn’t think dust would kill me yet.

The law of averages said the night could not get any worse. It was right. The moment Tabuela descended the stairs, her long legs straining against a tight-fitting low cut-to-heaven black dress, my bottom-of-the-barrel world turned upside down. Shining shoulder-length ebony hair framed a flawless sweet-cream face. Large green eyes glowed beneath dark lashes like emeralds cut with infinite facets. She moved toward me and my hands trembled.

“You must be the one they coerced into taking me to the party?” Tabuela smiled and I swallowed my tongue. “Don’t worry we can make this quick and I promise not to damage your virtue on the way home … unless you really need it.”

“I won’t,” I stammered then hated myself for saying something so stupid. She was the most beautiful ravaging creature I’d ever seen. “I mean …” I tried to save myself. Tabuela leaned in and gave me a quick peck on the lips. A tornado spun around in my head and exited from my ears taking my brain for a ride. I smiled like a hungry dog locked in a butcher shop. We were almost out the door when the caged bird called out “You’ll be sorry!” I turned and shook my fist at the crow. “No I won’t,” I yelled. Tabuela laughed and poked me in the ribs. “It’s just a talking bird … a feathered piece of meat … tastes just like chicken,” she laughed. “He doesn’t know what he’s saying. No reason to argue with him.” The full moon slipping from behind dark clouds illuminated rose bushes of impossible colors bordering the intricate stone pathway. The manicured lawn ripped like a tranquil lake with not a single blade of grass out of place.

 

I selected the best of Jefferson Airplane and slipped it into my eight-track as we drove. The electrifying sounds of Gracie Slick singing “Somebody to Love” opened for Garbled Noises as my machine ate the tape. I moaned as I pulled the cassette from the player; yards of magnetic ribbon were tangled inside the mechanism. It would take hours to remove. Tabuela reached over and flicked on the FM radio. Like magic, the same song began to play. My date was more interested in the charm bracelet hanging from my rear-view mirror. She flicked it with her glistening silver fingernails. I could see the delight in her eyes as the light from passing cars made the tiny glass and metal figures dance. She put her other hand on my leg and I slowed down to thirty five. The endless string of honking traffic had no effect. I wanted the night to last forever.

Phi Sigma Kappa held their annual mixer with the Delta Phi’s in a private country-club just outside town. Luxury cars and an occasional Limo unloaded tuxedo clad boys in black ties and girls wrapped in formal gowns before the massive oak doors. I revved the GTO to redline then turned the ignition off and on to get the Quadra-jet carburetor to backfire. It worked, several girls screamed and a senor named Brent Twiggs dove onto the cement as the sound resembling a gunshot echoed off the buildings surrounding the golf course. All the infuriated looks directed at me shifted to Tabuela as I opened the passenger door and escorted her into the foyer. The frat brother’s anger turned to awe and the girl’s virulence intensified as they gazed at my stunning low-cut beauty. A gaping pledge taking tickets next to the dining room, knocked a metal box containing dinner choices onto the floor. He was on his knees picking up the cards when Tabuela told him she wanted “Abalone”, a seafood item I was sure wasn’t on the limited menu. The Freshman opened his mouth and started to say the selections were either steak or Lobster when she pointed a sparkling silver fingernail toward the wall behind his table. I swear the sign changed to include her desire right before my eyes. The pledge’s face reddened as he wrote her choice and attached it to our tickets. We stood at the side of a large open hall with others watching the band tune their instruments. I went for drinks. Tabuela asked for milk; if the man tending the well-stocked bar didn’t have any I would have to make a quick run into town. When I returned, Rex Page had taken off his jacket was talking to my date. The Montana State football quarterback’s muscles rippled as he bragged of his many victories. A furious Gloria Swenson lingered nearby. They had been going steady without a breakup since high-school.

“You won’t mind if Tabby and I have one quick rumba will you?” Rex was already dragging her onto the dance-floor. Tabuela looked at me and crinkled her nose. Gloria stood with her skinny arms folded across the front of her Pierre’ Dorset designer dress ignoring my attempts at small talk. We watched as Rex ordered the band to play a slow song. I looked around the room, all eyes were on Tabuela. Love-sick drooling puppy-dog faces dripped from my frat-brothers while burning poison-dart stares hurled from livid sorority sisters. The band was halfway through “Blue Velvet” when I saw Rex’s roving hand slide onto Tabuela’s flawless bottom.

The shriek was loud enough to cause the band to stop playing. Rex shoved several people out of the way and knocked one girl to the ground as he rushed toward the refreshment table. His flaming hand waved above him like a torch. A cloud of steam erupted from the crystal bowl as the jock plunged his burning appendage into the punch. Gloria strolled toward him a smug look of satisfaction on her face shifting to sympathy as she pushed her way through the crowd and examined his blackened palm. Tabuela was grinning beside me. “Let’s leave before the fire-truck arrives and find somewhere we can be alone,” she cooed. We walked out together, fear and sexual-desire cage-fighting to the death for my panicky virgin soul.

 

Clouds covered the sky as we waited for the parking valet. Tabuela turned her face away from me and insisted on opening her own door when the car and a clap of thunder arrived at the same time. She wouldn’t look at me as I drove through light drizzle. The moon appeared again as I turned off my headlights at the top of Promise Point overlooking Makeout Lake, the tranquil water dancing with raindrops. My date smiled and flicked her tongue across glistening teeth as she looked at me with the eyes of a predator. The rain stopped. “Let’s get wet,” I suggested. I kicked off my shoes and was out of the car peeling off my shirt before she could answer. “I don’t do well with nemesis vapors,” she said as she followed me down the steep bank. She stared at the dark water gripping the rough limb of a cottonwood tree with clamped fingers. “This lake water is friendly.” I assured her.  “Don’t you know how to swim?” I asked as I removed my pants and hung my clothes on a clump of mulberry bushes. “I know the technique, but it has irreversible consequences for me,” Tabuela whispered as she watched me dive into the water.

Rolling storm clouds once again covered the moon as sweeping headlights and the sound of giggles and laughter proceeded the arrival of the party we had left an hour earlier. I wasn’t the only one who knew about the lake and its erotic pleasures. Four Delta Phi’s were already stripping when they emerged from the trail and saw Tabuela hugging the tree. “What’s the matter, afraid of the water?” Regina Lewis spat; Gloria Swenson glared at my date from beside her sorority sister.

“You’ve got some kind of toxic chemical spilled on your butt  that blistered Rex’s hand,” Gloria said as she and the other silhouettes advanced toward my trembling date. “You and your slutty dress both need to be washed, before you burn someone else.”

“Please, I am not made for water,” Tabuela begged.

“You won’t look as tempting to our boyfriends dripping wet with a little mud smeared in your hair. Gloria slapped her hard across the face. You’re all Rex talked about all the way here even with his bandaged hand. You little bitch!” The four girls were dragging my squirming date into the water as I swam furiously toward the shore. Rex and three other fraternity brothers appeared in the shadows but refused to intercede. “Everybody must get naked That’s Makeout Lake rules.” Gloria’s jock boyfriend yelled. He licked his lips and watched with lustful eyes as the girls tugged on my date’s dress.

A loud clap of thunder shook the ground just as a gust of wind uncovered the moon. Light from distant stars reflected off the dark water as a waterspout appeared next to me on the churning surface and turned into a cyclone as it raced toward shore. The tornado expanded as the Delta Phi’s lost their grip on Tabuela and lifted into the air. Four screaming girls blended in a swirling vortex of bare tangled flesh and rippling underwear as their boyfriends looked on in horror. The monster wind carried them to the middle of the lake before disappearing and dropping them like pebbles into the shimmering water. I had my arms around Tabuela hugging her as the bawling and dripping girls clambered onto the shore. Car engines roared to life and the party fled leaving behind a cloud of dust from frantic tires spinning in gravel.

I whispered “I’m so sorry I wasn’t here for you,” and tried to wipe away the tears. The torn dress slipped from her shoulders and we sunk into the deep grass. An easy rain sprinkled our naked writhing forms but I didn’t care. That night I knocked on the entrance to heaven, and a magnificent ethereal door was opened by an angel.

 

It was after midnight when we left Makeout Lake, I was soaring into the stormy skies above, my newfound wings moving beside me. Storm clouds blocked the lunar spotlight and we plunged into darkness and hard rain as we passed Gary’s all night café. The battered gray Chevy Nova screeched onto the highway and roared up behind me. I would recognize that evil car anywhere. I floored the GTO and we raced out of town on old Motha Road doing more than 100 miles per hour with Porky Junior brushing my taillights with his rusty front grill. I started to swerve throwing up dirt and spraying gravel. I thought I might lose the maniac until I saw him through the rear-view mirror lean far out his driver’s window clutching the handle of a sawed-off shotgun. The blast tore the rubber off my back tire and we plummeted off the embankment rolling end-over-end through clusters of old cedar and into the southeastern end of Magician’s Canyon. The churning waters of the Cottonmouth River swallowed us into a throat of foreboding gloom as I fought to exit the car. I gave up trying to open the doors against the strong current and kicked out the glass on the passenger side just as I found myself submerged. I reached for Tabuela but she seemed to vanish in my hands. I grasped the torn shards of her satin green dress. I searched the floorboards and the backseat till my lungs began to burst. I broke the surface of the water gasping, as the dark form of my car swirled below and plunged into the chasm famous for making Comanche County’s Cottonmouth River disappear.

Dawn was breaking when I dragged myself onto the highway, hitched a ride back into Cloverdale, and cried when I talked to the police. We spent the rest of the day searching but could find no trace of Porky Junior or my date.

I showed up at her ramshackle home a week later hoping without hope that she had somehow escaped the catastrophe and returned. There was no answer to my pounding. The front door opened easy so I entered. The empty bird cage in the living room swung from a chain. Black feathers dangled from the twisted wire door and littering the floor. I searched the house and was about to leave after calling her name when a faint sound came from behind a tapestry covered couch. A thin half-starved cat mewed up at me with pleading eyes a familiar yet forgotten shade of green.

“At least I know what happened to the crow,” I said as I swept the feline into my arms.

Neither I nor the authorities were ever able to locate any relatives or the old woman I claimed had greeted me on my date night. I didn’t want anything associated with my memory of Tabuela to end up with a death sentence at an animal shelter so I decided to keep her mangy cat.

            I was on my way back from the vet driving my father’s pickup, with his old hound-dog howling in the back, musing over a bit of unusual if not surprising news. The cat was pregnant and would deliver in a few weeks. I watched as my new pet Tabuela batted a ring of farm keys hanging from the rear-view mirror with her silver claws.

“I’ll never let anything happen to you again,” I promised.

The way she looked at me with those stunning emerald green eyes, cut into infinite facets, and rubbed her silky dark fur against my thigh assured me she understood.

PUPPETS part 6

Copyright (c) 2013 by Randall R. Peterson ALL RIGHTS RESERVED

The healing woman pushed to the back of the crowd where Eric Bowles the Miller bled from his head and a spear-wound in his side. At her demand, several people brought linen for bandages and a large bowl of fresh water. They carried the unconscious man to the shade of a small tree, where she washed the injuries before wrapping. The Miller was starting to stir and opened his eyes briefly when the Spanish Commander returned with the Lord Mayor Jules Vant, Boggs and two soldiers. Several people grumbled that Boggs was unrestrained and appeared to swagger.

            Captain Negras pushed his way through the crowd then stood on a tree stump and held his hands in the air to get everyone’s attention.

“I have learned the veracity of this unfortunate accident as I promised you I would. The young girl, an untalented puppeteer, fell by an arrow from archer Boggs. From conversing with those involved, it came to light that to liven up her weak performance the foolish girl contacted our famous archer in secret. She persuaded him to shoot the puppet from her hand to impress the audience and give flavor to an otherwise dull program. The poor misguided girl trembled and swooned at the moment the arrow flew from our archer’s steady hand. Thus she was responsible for her own death. You can all go to your homes knowing truth has been established.”          

            Captain Negras hopped from the stump and a secret smile passed between him and the Lord Mayor. Many wondered why Annie would involve Boggs in her performance. She showed no fondness for the braggart. Others fumed in grim silence, no strangers to political lies.

            Negras and his soldiers marched to where Eric Bowles staggered to his feet helped by the healing woman and others.

“As for this man and the other attackers, by the laws of the realm no assault on the King’s soldiers shall go unpunished. Bind them and bring them to the keep, for it is my pronouncement that they will both hang on the morrow.”

            The crowd gasped as two soldiers dragged the Miller, leaving a trail of blood in the dirt, to a cage mounted on a wagon-bed pulled by two black horses.

 

“Where is the rogue bowman who plans these assaults on my soldiers?  Bring the scoundrel to me at once … for justice waits.” Negras nodded toward the Lord Mayor and Carnival’s official looked about the crowd with a smirk on his face.

“It seems the coward has fled my lord, we shall now have to track him down like an animal as well as other collaborators I will shortly make you aware of.”

            Jules Vant looked to where grandmother sat on the ground clutching Annie in her arms and turned to speak to Negras when an arrow passed almost through his flapping mouth. The hilt of the shaft caught in his sparkling teeth and it looked as if he were eating a mouth full of feathers. Lord Mayor Vant’s eyes bulged outward and he collapsed to the ground in a pool of blood. The captain and his men turned just as Hamel Van Camp lowered his bow and disappeared into the shadows.

            Several Spanish soldiers clutching long spears chased the hunter but Negras called them back with a frightened cry,

“Get back here and protect me, you fools…there may be other assassins.” The soldiers formed a circle about their leader walking with him like a shield till he had mounted his horse. “Stay close,” he ordered as they mounted and again covered him from all sides. The Spanish rode toward fortifications on the skyline built into a cliff above the village, pulling the caged wagon containing the poor Miller.

            In his eagerness to leave, Negras forgot his cape which lay folded on a bench. The old farmer who had been to the secret meeting with grandfather walked past with his two sons and knocked the cloak to the ground. The garment was torn and spit-on by those who awaited the death-wagon to remove the body of the treacherous and now dead Lord Mayor.

 

-------*-------

 

Will found himself jostled away from Annie’s body by the vast amount of relatives that began to gather. He picked up the Alice puppet from the dirt where it had slipped from her hand and placed it with the donkey and wolf under his arm. He stumbled from the alley and through the streets of Carnival, oblivious to the stares and whispers of onlookers. A woman screamed and ran as she stared at the boy's hands covered with blood. A racing wagon almost struck him from behind and caused him to stagger backward. He bumped into a man loading boxes into a wagon. The merchant cursed as the contents of a crate spilled onto the street. Will noticed the carved box with the strange recipes. He reached down to pick up a card fluttering in the breeze. He had but an elementary knowledge of Latin but he discerned the words Life to leftovers printed on the face. Will turned over the strange card and started to read the instructions. For the first time since Annie’s death, he began to have hope.

 

-------*-------

 

            At noon the day after Annie’s murder, grandfather and grandmother sat at the worn wooden table in their humble cottage. Sid worked outside with neighbors. Silence reined except for sawing and hammering, they were putting together a coffin. Grandfather kept looking at the empty chair where Annie had always sat; they would never see her perch there or hear her laughter again. A tear rolled down his cheek and fell on the table among others making a small pool on the polished wood. Grandmother busied herself by the fire. She had more energy than she had felt for a year. There were no tears washing her cheeks, she wondered about this strange phenomenon. She tried to thing about her beloved granddaughter but her mind refused, when she tried to imagine Annie‘s face she saw darkness. It was grandfather who was slow and depressed, almost catatonic; someone had to keep living, to make life continue. Grandmother soon had water boiling in a pot and after allowing it to cool to a simmer she poured cups for tea. She handed one to her husband. He had just taken a trembling sip when a knock came on the door.

            Grandmother sat her tea down and had risen toward the door when it opened.  Tom Boggs walked in holding a large strangled goose by its legs

 

-------*-------.

 

Will searched through the streets until he found his uncle, bartering with a tanner for leather goods. “I need a loan of twenty Dutch dollars,” Will told his mother’s brother.

            “That’s a great deal of money!” His uncle looked stunned as he fingered the bag tied to his waist. “Is it a matter of life and death?”

            “Death is cheap,” Will told his uncle. “But there is an exorbitant price for life.”

 

-------*-------

 

            Grandmother Vander stood gaping at the man who had taken the life of her granddaughter, too astonished at his appearance to speak. Grandfather noticed the anxiety in his wife of thirty years and blurted “Who is it? before rising to his feet and staring at the brutish bowman with the killing bow still hanging on his back.

            Boggs removed his hat and clutched it along with the legs of the goose as if praying. He looked down and then mumbled “May I come in Madame?”

Grandmother stared in silence until she remembered her manners, and then spoke too soon.

“Yes please do sir,” she said, then stepped back to allow the large man to enter.

“I’m sorry for what she done at the village,” Boggs stammered “I don’t like for accidents like that to happen even though it was no fault of my own.”

Grandfather stared at the table his fists clenched at his side, but his wife looked into the archer’s eyes trying to imagine what soul dwelled there.

Boggs held the slain goose toward grandmother. After a moment she took it.

“I killed this Gander for a supper for you and your family, a good shot it was … on the fly and no less than two hundred yards.”

Something he said he found embarrassing; his round portly face turned a deeper flush of red and he turned away.

“Thank you,” grandmother muttered still trying to look into his eyes.

The old woman’s soft reply seemed to embolden Boggs, old malice seeped back into his violent pig eyes.

“That is one fine goose,” he declared as he wagged a stubby finger at the old woman. “It should feed six people.”

Grandmother Vander nodded, her lips pressed together.

“Ganders taste good if they’re cooked up the right way!” Boggs harangued. Looking at the fat goose was making his mouth water.

“This is too much goose for just you, your man and that young whelp!” He gestured toward the yard where Sid and the neighbors built the coffin.

 “I didn’t mean for you to have this whole goose for yourself. It’s too much for you to eat, small as you all are. I done the hunting, it’s right that you do the cooking. This will feed six so I’m bringing a couple of friends with me, soldiers like myself, for supper tomorrow after the burying.”

Grandmother was so astonished she could do nothing but gape. Grandfather rose to his feet and ambled into the next room his old weathered body rigid.

“You mind you don’t overcook that bird, I like it done up just right, brown on the top and red where it counts.”  Boggs laughed at his vulgar joke.

“And taters and squash would go real good with it.” He winked at grandmother. “After we’ve ate, you folks can help yourself to what’s left. Don’t be worrying, I’m sure they’ll be plenty.”

Boggs turned and left, happy that the unpleasant task his commander had forced on him had been done.  Captain Negras worried about agitating peasants. Boggs had made his amends and he and his friends would enjoy a nice supper too. Everyone was happy. Boggs whistled a clumsy tune as he sauntered away from the workmen smoothing the new coffin with handfuls of sand. Everything was turning out fine.

Grandmother stared at the open doorway her face pale and worried. A moment later, Sid ran inside.

            “Was that the archer Boggs? The one that…”

“Yes,” grandmother said. “He brought us this bird for our supper on the morrow.”

“That goose looks familiar,” Sid said as he took the bird from his grandmother.

“It’s one of Eric Bowles’s,” grandfather said as he walked into the room. “Its neck has been wrung.” He pointed to a twisted part below the head. “It’s not hard to hunt a bird when its owner is locked up in jail and his wife bedridden.” Two hundred yards grandfather thought, is that how far he had to chase it before he caught it?

“Did I hear him say, he’s coming here to eat tomorrow?”  Sid looked at his grandparents hoping and praying for a negative reply.

“Yes they are,” Grandfather looked out the open door, two neighbors lifted the oblong box onto a work table and were examining it for defects, “And we will offer a prayer to God for delivering our enemies to us.”

 

-------*-------

 

            “Just after dawn on the day of Annie’s burial, a Spanish soldier named Rafael made his way up the winding path to relieve the front guard at the Keep’s entrance gate. He scowled when he didn’t find a sentry at the post. Thinking the man had slipped inside for a short nap and then forgotten to wake up; as he himself had done at times when he worked the night shift he stormed inside the fort. Within the dimness beyond the huge oaken doors he slipped on something and almost fell. Rafael was starting to regain his balance, when he received a blow from behind and collapsed on the floor. Just before he fell unconscious, he noticed the face of Palos whom he had come to relieve. The soldier’s eyes stared vacant and unseeing. His throat had been slashed and he lay in a puddle of blood.

Hamel Van Camp emerged from the shadows leading the Miller who had been beaten in captivity, and stumbled. Two men wearing dark hoods flanked the rescued man. They each carried long knifes that glistened in the light from the doorway. It had been a long night, the hunter and two of his companions started after the midnight-watch change and killed each guard posted through-out the keep from the entrance to the small cell where Eric Bowles hung from a wall. The Miller’s eyes, bruised and swollen stared into oblivion. He could not see his rescuers and had to be persuaded to trust them.

As the men slipped out the huge entrance doors and to the safety of a thick patch of trees bordering the path Hamel Van Camp looked back.

At least twenty enemy soldiers lay dead inside the Spanish fortress. He remembered the oath they had sworn, to wait for the forces of William the Orange to support the insurgency. It was too late now; things had gotten out of hand. They must go forward; there would be no turning back. He hoped that the people of the valley shared his resolve and would fight to throw the invaders from the Netherlands.

 

-------*-------

 

            Grandfather walked past the table where Boggs and the two Spanish soldiers gorged themselves on huge platters of food.  Grandmother, with her tired arthritic hands, continued to attend them. Gone now was any pretense of being polite. Boggs and his friends ordered the old woman about as if she was a servant. They even struck her with open palms when she was slow bringing gravy which they devoured like hogs. The brown liquid ran in rivulets down the front of their filthy shirts.

            Grandfather was reaching the breaking point.  He considered leaving, until the soldiers left. There would be no point in attacking at this time. It would get his poor wife killed along with Sid and himself. He walked into the barn and beat his fists against a stall wall and sobbed as he thought of his helplessness. Overcome with agony, he collapsed to his knees. After a few moments he began to pray.

 

-------*-------

 

            From a group of trees next to the road the hunter sighted with his bow and shot the huge black bird from a branch where it perched.  The raven fell to the ground spreading a cloud of feathers like an angry rain cloud settling to Earth. Its dark wings spread like fingers as if trying to grasp the road.

“I’m glad to be rid of that dark demon,” the Miller said. “It was almost as if the bird followed us. I was afraid it would give us away.”

 

-------*-------

 

            After an hour on his knees in the barn a quiet calm swept over Grandfather Vander. He rose to his feet and looked across the valley to the east.

 A cloud of dust from many riders filled the sky; three men on horseback rode into the yard ahead of a large army and one dismounted.

            Grandfather knew him; he was one of the sons at the meeting they had attended.

“We must fight,” the farmer declared. “Our good Lord Orange is but a mile away coming fast with two thousand men, we must all work together now to rid our lands of the Spanish.”

“Then I shall wait no longer,” grandfather said.

            Grandfather picked up a rusty pitchfork from where it leaned against the wall next to the barn, feeling its sharp prongs with his finger.

With the three Dutch soldiers drawn swords following, he walked back into his farmhouse.

 

-------*-------

            William stared at the small mound of dirt that covered the grave; no tears rolled from his cheeks. There were none left.

            Eric Bowles, satisfied that the horses were still and would not run, walked up to William from the wagon.

He had agreed to haul the young boy and his luggage to the nearest seaport, there to board a ship to England.

“I’m sorry to see you go William, the Spanish are being defeated in this part of the country, but they will be back.  It’s going to take many years until we are as free as we should be.” The old Miller put an arm on the young boys shoulder. William smiled but moved away.

“My father’s fortunes have improved and he has need of me in England, besides there is nothing for me here but an inheritance of heartbreak.”

“That reminds me, if your good father’s fortunes have indeed improved he’ll need this for his coat of arms application.” He pulled rolled parchment from his wagon box and handed it to the boy. “I had a local artist “Peter Brugel the younger” sketch it.  It’s a good representation for your family name.  The young man has talent.”

Will unrolled the paper, it showed a shaking spear thrust across an elaborate crest.

 “I’m sure my father will appreciate it.”

They started walking toward the wagon when William turned back.

“Give me a moment,” he said.

Will ran to the grave and pulled two objects from a bag on his back. He laid two items upon the grave, a figure of a donkey and one of a little yellow haired girl both made of cloth and wood. A part of him would always linger in this place and in this time, after a moment he felt lighter.

The Miller stared at the puppets William left on the mounded dirt and looked at the boy, his eyes asked why.

            William said, “Things lie here unfinished, a play and a young life. Words woven for King’s ears have been brought down by a fool's arrow. An exquisite-crafted ending would be heard now by only me, you and what creatures listen in these woods. The words I still remember, but the life must be forgotten lest we both perish. The play ends with a bounty paid for the wolf, but a hand takes the coins rather than the donkey. His voice echoed as if from a distance.

 We are all puppets, unseen hands guide our actions, birth, life and death are the three acts, and the world is our stage”.

Eric Bowles thought for a moment then nodded.

William rose and walked toward the wagon, as he did a single tear rolled down his cheek and fell on the Dutch soil. He was wrong about his tears. They were not all gone.

            As the wagon carrying the Miller and William made its way to the coast, it rounded a bend in the road and there opposite a bank of trees a black bird lay in the dust. An arrow stuck through its breast. Eric Bowles reigned in his horses, and then drove around the kill. William stared at the dead bird for a moment as the wagon moved past, its wing feathers splayed like fingers as if it sought to grab the ground it had always soared above in the sky. He smiled to himself. The bird reminded him of Spanish Captain Negras.

 

--------*-------

 

            The two puppets lay on the grave through-out the night and in the morning they dripped with heavy dew. Three days later, a light breeze blew, leaves began to fall and the puppets were almost covered. A month later cold rains fell and the leaves stuck to the puppets in a small mound atop the grave. Two months later, winter brought heavy snow that did not melt and the puppets hid under a blanket of white. In the spring the ice melted, but the puppets remained half buried in the soil above the grave. In the fall the leaves fell again and the snows came and in the spring more of the puppets decomposed. They lay colorless and covered by soft grasses.

            The years went by and the puppets began to disappear, to return to the soil.

            A decade later, on a hot mid-summers night the last particle of the puppets above ground changed to earth just as the last fragment of the body underground did the same, and they became as one.

            And at this very moment on the London stage of the Globe Theater, William kissed his new wife Ann and placed the strange box with Ombre carved on the front into her hands. He strolled out onto the rostrum viewed by Lords and Ladies and even the King with a donkey’s head perched on his shoulders …. And the audience laughed.