Welcome to Is(sue) 8, kinfolk! The ninth regular is(sue) will go live on June 15, 2020. See Sub(missions) in the menu (for more information). 
We are absolutely thrilled to announce AvantAppal(achia)'s 2nd Special Is(sue), titled (Yes)ABLED! This is(sue) will be dedicated to the work of disabled poets, artists, and short story writers. Subject need not be related to the experience of being disabled, but is open. The usual guidelines apply, with the exception that "(Yes)ABLED" must be included in the email subject line since the submission period for the regular Is(sue) 9 will be open at the same time. This Special Is(sue) will appear and remained archived under Special Is(sues) in the menu for as long as this website continues. EDIT: The Special Is(sue) has been postponed due to lack of submissions and ongoing tech issues caused by the overloaded internet as a result of the more or less global quarantine. As a result, the deadline is fluid for now. We are still taking submissions for it and the regular issue. Thank you!
|
"Circles"
Larry Smith, Ohio "four sheets"
Sacha Archer, Canada
|
|
"Mix-tape For Expatriate Fantasy"
Stephen Scott Whitaker, Virginia A: Gauloise side: Dystopian Pairs B: Kronenbourg side: Hair of the Dog
1. Stray cats rack under the yanked up shed 1. The city of cats purr, drowsy wisdom where steel walls curl up like a lash. 2. Sweatshop buckle and fold. Throat the 2. It is upon the back of a woman that a family gets by. howl, throat the howl. 3. How many winters for your liver? 3. Elephant swagger, whiskey sour, pills going up and down. 4. Press the switch, reverse your birth. 4. For love I stay 5. Blue flowers like blown confetti, in the field, 5. Clover swelling purple, dew web spun, aye-mi-o, aye-mi-eye in the field. 6. Cigarettes, a jagged line of Christmas lights 6. Darkness turns upside down like a river. "Fireman Down. For Two Voices"1
Stephen Scott Whitaker, Virginia 1. How to read: The second voice is the primary speaker, speaker one is the chorus, so to speak. The Chorus uses nonce words, or idioglossia to mimic the sounds of fire, or resuscitation. Stage directions are given with ( ). 1. 2.
(inhale--pause--exhale) Licolett, licolett, ah, ah, O----- Cackle, cackle, o, cackle kay, licolett, licolett. (exhale) Driving a dark so deep, in silence, speeding, the roads descent and ascent, rising, falling, becomes a dream road where we barrel against physics, our silence holding the illusion that up and down are the same. Unmoored, air damp with adrenaline, a charge so crisp a snap would set it off. (inhale, pause, exhale) Fire tattled, wood crackled and made a dragon of his house. Dragon teeth, the jagged junipers above the eaves in shadows looked. Wings of heat pulling up orange over orange over red Licolett, licolett, fire tattle. Crinkle uh, Tattle ah, tattle. Ah, fire ah, licolett. Fire, fah. (softly) Push Push No more lips, just a bloody hole, his eyes melted Push Push shut, his body swollen, heart exploded. Push Push Push Push Dragon teeth, the jagged junipers Push Push above the eaves in shadows looked. Push Push Fire tattled, wood crackled and made a dragon Push Push of his house. Wings of heat Push Push pulling up orange over orange over red. Push Push Unmoored, air damp with adrenaline, a charge so crisp a snap would set it off. Driving a dark so deep, in silence, speeding, the roads descent and ascent, rising, falling, becomes a dream road where we barrel against physics, our silence holding the illusion that up and down are the same. (inhale, pause, exhale) tatle, ah The exhalations were not the breaths of a dying man. tattle, ah Rat scratch, rat scratch, rat scratch, it sounded, from the inside tattle, ah of his throat. tattle, ah a wet and hollow, wet tattle, ah and hollow noise. tattle, ah tattle, ah. His burned tissue expanding and cooling, his body no longer a body but spent scorch. Close, come closer calls the flicker & ash. It beckons with bright fingers.
|
Avant(Stories) |
"Copee Town"
Linda Hudson Hoagland, Virginia
Linda Hudson Hoagland, Virginia
“Evelyn, I actually saw your twin at the gas station today. She looked so much like you that I waved at her. When she didn’t wave back, I walked over to her to ask her why she didn’t acknowledge me. It was really weird,” said Sandy, Evelyn’s best friend.
“Well, I didn’t go to the gas station today. I wouldn’t ignore you; I promise you that. What was so weird? According to the scientists we all have a look-alike, maybe more than one,” said Evelyn.
“Everything about her body that I could see, or that was exposed, was exactly like you. Even the scar you have on your left hand. It was exactly like yours,” said Sandy.
“Really? How can that be?” Evelyn asked.
“I don’t know but like I said, it was weird,” Sandy answered and added, “See you later.”
Sandy moved on and Evelyn was left to think about the fact that she had a twin roaming around in the same neighborhood. That wasn’t the first time she had head the very same remark. One of her co-workers at Stillwell Insurance Company had told her about running into her own exact double, face-to-face. That was more than a coincidence in Evelyn’s opinion.
Evelyn wanted to meet her double and she probably was going to have to visit the gas station where Sandy caught sight of her. Being footloose and fancy-free as a widow, she had all the time in the world, when she wasn’t at work, to do whatever her little heart desired.
The first thing Monday morning she visited the gas station. She ran inside to make a quick purchase so she could check out the employees, then she sat in her car at the side of the building so she could watch those who entered the store or pumped gas. She only had about an hour to spend watching before she had to be on her way to work.
There were a lot of customers in and out of the place, but her duplicate did not make an appearance.
When she arrived at the insurance office, she looked up Mary, the co-worker who had seen her own double.
“Mary, where did you say you saw your twin?” Evelyn asked.
“Oh, it was at the gas station. I was so shocked to see myself walking around inside the store. I mean we even had on the same clothes,” she whispered.
“Was it the gas station on Walnut and Main?” Evelyn asked.
“Yes.”
“Have you run into her again?” Evelyn asked
“Come to think of it, no I haven’t but I did get a strange phone call. I think whoever called me was looking for her, my duplicate,” said Mary.
“What did the caller want?” Evelyn asked.
“It was a man who said it was time to go back,” said Mary. “When I asked back where, he hung up on me.”
“Do you have any idea of where back is?” Evelyn asked.
“Why do you want to know?” Mary asked.
“Someone told me she saw my twin at the same gas station. I don’t have a twin as far as I know,” Evelyn answered. “I was hoping you might know where your duplicate came from. It might be the same place where my double is located.”
“You’re in luck; I did follow her when she left. She got into a car with a couple of other people and drove toward Thompson Valley. I followed them for about ten miles, but I had to stop and turn around before they got to where they were going. It’s got to be out there somewhere on one of those big farms,” Mary explained.
“Okay, thanks for telling me. I think I will take a ride out that way when I get off work,” Evelyn said with a mischievous grin appearing on her thinning lips.
The workday passed quickly because Evelyn remained busy but as soon as five o’clock made an appearance, she was out of the door in a flash.
She drove to the gas station again where she took a quick look around before heading to Thompson Valley. She drove and drove, glancing at each side of the rural, isolated road, taking in as many sights as she could before darkness started to fall.
Fighting disappointment, she turned her car around and headed for home. She didn’t want to be in unfamiliar territory in total darkness. She was getting tired and the dark, moonless night made it difficult for her to see any of her surroundings. The fact that she seemed to be the only person driving along the long, lonely road didn’t help with chasing away the fear of the dark that was growing in her mind.
In the distance, she could see headlights, shining brightly, heading towards her. Evelyn ducked her head a bit to try to avoid the excessive glare.
“He needs to click off his brights,” she mumbled as she struggled to see the road that was disappearing in front of her. She slowed her speed to a crawl because she was afraid she would run off the road and go over the side of the mountain she was trying to navigate. There wasn’t any berm large enough to pull her car off the road, so she had to keep driving.
The brightness kept coming and it blinded her so much that she came to a complete stop.
“Jeez,” she mumbled as she waited for the brightness to drive on passed her.
When the vehicle behind the brightness started to pass her car, she saw the driver and her mouth opened in complete shock. It was her duplicate, hair, clothes, everything was the same. When Evelyn finally closed her mouth, the car had completely passed her and she saw a driveway up ahead on her left. She turned into the driveway so she could turn around to follow herself, her double.
Again, she was driving down Thompson Valley Road. She drove passed the spot where she had originally turned when she was heading home. She knew the driver of the car she was following must have known she was on her tail. The driver made no effort to lose her by speeding up or making an unexpected turn off the road. After a half hour of driving, she saw the brake lights flash and the right turn signal flicker to life.
Fear suddenly flooded her thoughts.
“What should I do?” she mumbled as she glanced upward to the darkened sky.
She turned right. After driving another mile or two, she saw town lights springing up ahead of her. The closer she got to the town, the more surprised she became. The streets were the same, even the names were the same, and the store fronts looked identical.
“What is this?” Evelyn shrieked as she swiveled her head from side to side taking in the sights.
She drove to where she thought the gas station would be and it was there. She continued driving further to Valleyview Street to locate her white house with red shutters, and it was there, complete with two red rocking chairs on the front porch.
She climbed out of her car taking special notice of the streetlight shining in front of the house. That was the only thing different that she was able to see. The streetlight in front of her house had been broken, burned out, for months. Call after call to the town authorities had done no good and it was never repaired. The town personnel who answered the call kept telling her that they would notify the power company of the problem and nothing ever happened.
She walked up the sidewalk looking for the crack that had been located in the middle of her sidewalk traveling from one side to the other, since she moved into her little home.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “The crack is exactly the same.”
She continued to walk up the sidewalk to the porch where she raised her hand to knock at her door. She paused with her knocking hand in the air. The door opened and she was looking at herself. It wasn’t a mirror image; it was an exact replica of Evelyn Tatum.
“Hi, my name is Evelyn Tatum. I’m lost and I saw your lights so I thought I would ask you how to get back to Stillwell. I didn’t see any road signs. Can you tell me what town I am in?” she said as she forced a smile to her face.
“Come in, please,” said the replica.
Evelyn hesitated for a moment. She stepped forward and entered her house.
The sofa, chairs, and pictures on the walls were identical to her own in her little white house with red shutters.
They must have been inside my house, she thought as she walked into the living room. She caught a glimpse of a cat as it ran to hide from her, the stranger in the house. The cat looked just like her Cloudy who was one of four felines filling her house.
Does she also have Wild Child, Jughead, and Blackie? She wondered.
“Please sit,” said the replica.
“No thank you. What is the name of this town and how do I get back to Stillwell? I’m lost and I need to go home,” Evelyn said apprehensively.
“Coppee Town and you can’t leave,” answered the replica.
“I most certainly can leave,” Evelyn said as she turned to walk to the door.
She felt a hand grab her shoulder and felt a shock pass completely through her body. She collapsed to the floor and her world went black.
When she roused herself from the dark slumber caused by the shock, she was alone except for the cats congregated around her. The cats sat perfectly still, staring at her with luminous eyes blinking, but no purring and meowing.
She tried to move but found herself unable to do so.
Are my hands tied? She asked herself as she struggled to pull her arms up in front of her. When she tried to speak, she realized she couldn’t open her mouth. It had been taped with what appeared to be duct tape.
With her head becoming clearer with each passing moment, she discovered her feet had also been tied.
Help! Help! She tried to scream but the only things that came from her taped mouth were muffled moans. She tried to arch her back to see if she could move her body. All the bindings were tight and definitely uncomfortable. She tried to move her hands a bit to loosen the grip of the plastic zip ties that were notched to the tightest possible notch. The sharp edges of the zip ties began to cut into her tender skin.
That doesn’t work, she thought as she started moving her feet to see if she could find a little space to wriggle them around in order to work them free. She arched her back again to see if there was anything that would help in working herself free in any way possible.
She appeared to be in what looked like her bedroom. She had not been placed on the bed where it would have been a lot more comfortable, but she was plopped down on the floor between the bed and the wall.
That might be a good thing. She thought as she pondered the possibility of using the wall as a brace to get up from the floor.
She remembered watching a commercial on television for a cartoon movie where a dachshund stretched its body across the opening between two sets of shelves and worked its way to the top. Evelyn didn’t want to get to the top of anything; she wanted to be free of the zip ties. If this house was an exact replica of her house, there should be a pair of scissors behind the lamp on the bedside table. She forced herself to move closer to the table. Every agonizing inch of movement was painful because she had to force herself along like an inch worm. When she felt her feet touch the table, she braced herself to lift her legs and give the table a shove. The table fell forward on top of her because when she shoved it, it hit the wall and the momentum knocked it forward. That was exactly what she had hoped would happen. She felt the lamp fall onto the bed and the scissors slid forward, landing on her belly.
Thank you, Lord. She thought as she tried to work the scissors over to her hands. She felt them brush against her fingers. She knew she had to move slowly to avoid them sliding off her body onto the floor. She hooked a couple of fingers into the handle and started working them around to where the cutting edge would be next to the zip tie. Maybe she could press the zip tie against the sharp edge enough to get it to cut.
Evelyn knew the sawing action would be painful but there was nothing else she could do. When she started the sawing, she felt her hands become wet from blood. She knew the zip ties were cutting deeper and deeper into her skin. When she felt the zip tie give a little, she pushed and pulled until she felt it pop and her hands were free. She pushed herself up from the floor and used the scissors on the zip ties that bound her feet. Next, she started peeling the tape that held her mouth closed from her skin. That was the most painful part of it. She finally gave up and gave the tape a fierce jerk.
She was finally free. She was going to find out what was going on and especially why she was detained.
The cats were sitting and staring again. They showed no real life and the ‘real’ was what she stressed in her mind. Those cats appeared to be fake, robots, mimicking the movements and action of live cats. The movements were smooth, not jerky, as she would have thought; but they appeared to be programmed for certain reactions to contact with human beings. Evelyn wasn’t quite sure she was believing what she was seeing or thinking. She stepped over the cats and tried to open the front door of the room. It seemed to be locked but when she tried to release the locking mechanism, it didn’t work.
“I can’t use that door,” she muttered as she made her way to the back door which opened to the outside with the three cats trailing behind her. It occurred to her that they were only three of her four cats. Blackie, the newest acquisition was not represented.
The back door didn’t cooperate either. She was locked in.
“Not for long, I won’t be locked in for long,” she shouted as she picked up a chair and took aim at the bedroom window that looked out on the back porch. The first try of hitting the window only caused the chair to fly back towards her body.
“I’m getting out of here!” she screamed as she hurled the flying chair again.
The window didn’t break but a crack appeared on the clear pane of whatever was supposed to be a window. Again, she crashed the window with the chair and a spider like web was woven through the clear pane.
“Almost, one more toss should do it,” she muttered breathlessly.
One more toss didn’t create the opening she needed. She kept tossing and tossing until a good-sized hole appeared that was big enough for her to crawl through to the back porch.
She was surprised that no one appeared to find out what all the noise was about, but she was alone on the back porch with no sign of any of the neighbors. If it had really been her house in her town, she knew the neighbors would have called the police, no questions asked. From her spot on the back porch, she saw the garage. She checked to see if her car was parked inside and it was there. It was her car, not a replica. They must have taken the replica.
She found the button that needed to be pressed to activate the garage door. She pressed the door opener after she found the key she had hidden in the wheel well inside the magnetized box she had purchased long ago for just the purpose, when she had no access to her regular keys. She climbed inside her car, turned the ignition switch, put it into reverse, and backed out of the garage. The door started to lower, and she punched the gas pedal to clear it.
She backed off the driveway onto the street and immediately saw blue lights flashing.
“They don’t want me to leave. Okay, I get the message, but I AM LEAVING!” she screamed.
Again, she mashed the pedal to the floor. She was driving like a lunatic, but she knew that was what it would take to leave Coppee Town. The cop car with the flashing blue lights and screaming siren followed her to the turn-off to the main road. She blasted down the main road as fast as she dared to drive.
Next problem, how do I go home when I’m already there?
As she got closer to town, she decided she needed to make a stop at the police station. When she pulled into the police station parking lot, she sat in her car and tried to puzzle out her next step.
Evelyn entered the police station without any idea of how she was going to explain her situation.
“Is Brian here?” she asked in a barely audible whisper.
“Yes ma’am, he is in his office. What is your name and I’ll let him know you want to speak with him?” said the professional, young officer.
“Evelyn Tatum,” she answered.
“May I tell him what this is about?” asked the officer.
“No sir, I need to talk with Brian first before I tell anyone else my problem,” she answered.
“Have a seat and I will tell him you are waiting.”
Evelyn sat on the chair to which the officer had pointed where she had to fight to stay awake. She was exhausted, and the adrenaline rush left her totally drained of energy.
“Evelyn, what can I do for you?” asked Chief Brian Leemaster.
“Can I talk to you in your office?” Evelyn whispered in response.
“Sure, let’s go in there. Why are we being so secretive?” he asked as he displayed a big, friendly smile.
“This is sort of hard to explain and I know you are going to have trouble believing me,” Evelyn said as she looked into his eyes. She wanted him to believe every word she had to say, and eye contact was a way that would help to convince him.
“Just start at the beginning, Evelyn.”
“My friend thought she had seen me at the gas station and when I would not acknowledge her, she went over to talk to me. It wasn’t me. I didn’t go to the gas station that day. Then, I had a different co-worker tell that she had the same thing happen to her. She located her duplicate and followed her up Thompson Valley Road.”
“Did she find out who it was?” asked Brian.
“No, she had to turn around and go home but she told me how far she went so I took up the chase on the following Monday, which I guess now was yesterday, when I spotted my duplicate driving a car headed further up Thompson Valley Road.”
“What did you discover?” asked the chief.
“There is a place called Coppee Town out off of Thompson Valley Road. Have you ever heard of the place?” Evelyn asked.
“No, can’t say that I have,” he answered.
“It is a real place and I have been there. I had never heard of it until I was tied up and told I would never be able to leave. They were wrong. I escaped and I’m here. I want you to see the places I have on my wrists and ankles where the zip ties cut into my skin,” Evelyn emphasized her statement by pulling up her sleeves and pants legs so Brian could see the dried blood and deep cuts.
“Who did this to you?” Brian asked as he held her extended hands while he looked them over slowly.
“I did, that is to say, my duplicate did this. She looks exactly like me - even down to the clothes I’m wearing. She is living in my home and she is me,” Evelyn said as she burst into tears. The dam had finally burst, and the tears gushed.
Brian sat there dumbfounded by everything he had heard. He believed her. He had known Evelyn Tatum for many years and knew her to be an honest, truthful person. He waited for the tears to subside before he suggested a road trip.
“Do you think you can show me where the place is located, this Coppee Town?” asked Brian.
“I’ll try,” answered Evelyn.
By the time Evelyn climbed into the police car she was awake and ready to go. She wanted to go back to Coppee Town and confront her captors with the help of Brian.
“Has anyone else in Stillwell mentioned to you that they had a double walking around in town?” Evelyn asked.
“Yes, they have. A few of the local residents, including the mayor and a couple of nurses and some of my deputies, have mentioned that happening,” answered Brian.
“Good, I didn’t want to be the only kook walking around spouting off about strange look-alikes,” Evelyn said with a sigh.
“I didn’t pay particular attention to what the others were saying because most of them had been out partying when everything happened. I just chalked it up to having a good time with the added attraction of pulling my chain. But when you tell me you had been tied up and showed me the blood, I had to believe everything they had been saying was true,” Brian said excitedly.
“Did any of the others get tied up and told they could never leave?” Evelyn asked.
“I don’t think any of them were sober enough to follow anyone anywhere, so I guess you were the only one brave enough or strong enough to get it done,” Brian explained. “I didn’t mean to ignore them, but the story seemed a little far-fetched.”
“Yes, I guess it does,” said Evelyn as she glanced at the passing scenery.
The police radio was active with communication noise every time they would reach a ridge top. When the vehicle descended down into the valleys, the noise disappeared.
“How far out is this place?” asked Brian.
“I didn’t check the mileage. I just kept driving until I saw the car I was following make a right turn. Then it was a mile or so further after we turned. I was concentrating on the lead car, not the odometer,” Evelyn explained.
“I didn’t realize I had driven so far out here in the middle of nowhere. Oh, oh, up ahead on the right, turn there,” Evelyn said as she pointed to an unpaved road that wound its way through the fields and pastures belonging to farmers.
“You said it was about a mile up this road?” asked Brian.
“Yes, give or take a little. Like I said, I wasn’t watching the odometer,” said Evelyn.
Evelyn’s adrenaline was pumping again. She wanted to confront her keepers with Brian, the Stillwell Chief of Police, standing at her side. Even though he was pretty far out of town, his badge still carried a little weight. All he had to do was radio the county cops and they would come running.
Evelyn strained her eyes trying to find Coppee Town. They had driven long passed where she thought it had been located.
“Brian, there is something wrong here,” Evelyn said as she continued to look for Coppee Town. “Somehow I’ve managed to miss it.”
“Maybe we turned at the wrong place,” suggested Brian.
“No, I don’t think so. Maybe we should turn around and go back a bit. I’ll keep looking,” said Evelyn.
As soon as Brian could find a spot wide enough, he carefully u-turned the vehicle and drove slowly back toward town, allowing Evelyn to scan the countryside.
“Look, over there!” shouted Evelyn as she pointed toward the empty countryside.
“What is it?” asked Brian as he strained to see where she was pointing.
“Pull over a little so we can get out and walk,” said Evelyn.
“Why? There’s nothing there.”
“Yes, there is. See where everything, the grass and weeds, have been mashed down flat on the ground. That’s where it was,” Evelyn said excitedly.
“Yeah, I see that but there is nothing else. Where is the town?” asked Brian.
“It’s gone. I can see that. But it was here, and they tied me up telling me I would never leave,” Evelyn said with exasperation.
“Evelyn, I can’t arrest anyone if I can’t find them. What did your captor look like?” Brian asked.
“Me, she looked exactly like me,” Evelyn said with a sigh.
“I’ll put the information out so if anyone else has this happen, they will let me know and we can check the culprits out,” said Brian. He was trying to appease Evelyn.
“So that’s it?” asked Evelyn.
“For now. These people appear to be like a band of gypsies. They moved on to avoid the trouble you were stirring up,” said Brian.
“They are not gypsies. They are clones, Brian. They cloned an entire town with the people living in that town. They will pop up again. I’m sure of it,” said Evelyn.
The drive back to town was quiet and Evelyn’s captors had moved on.
All they could do was wait to see if and when the same problem occurred to the inhabitants of another small town. Evelyn did not think they would ever find out about it. She had escaped from her captivity, but if another person in the next town did not escape, no one would know they had been cloned. The replacements would replace the real people who would mysteriously disappear. Evelyn wondered how many towns had already been replaced. She knew she had to keep those thoughts to herself until she had proof.
All she could do was wait.
“Well, I didn’t go to the gas station today. I wouldn’t ignore you; I promise you that. What was so weird? According to the scientists we all have a look-alike, maybe more than one,” said Evelyn.
“Everything about her body that I could see, or that was exposed, was exactly like you. Even the scar you have on your left hand. It was exactly like yours,” said Sandy.
“Really? How can that be?” Evelyn asked.
“I don’t know but like I said, it was weird,” Sandy answered and added, “See you later.”
Sandy moved on and Evelyn was left to think about the fact that she had a twin roaming around in the same neighborhood. That wasn’t the first time she had head the very same remark. One of her co-workers at Stillwell Insurance Company had told her about running into her own exact double, face-to-face. That was more than a coincidence in Evelyn’s opinion.
Evelyn wanted to meet her double and she probably was going to have to visit the gas station where Sandy caught sight of her. Being footloose and fancy-free as a widow, she had all the time in the world, when she wasn’t at work, to do whatever her little heart desired.
The first thing Monday morning she visited the gas station. She ran inside to make a quick purchase so she could check out the employees, then she sat in her car at the side of the building so she could watch those who entered the store or pumped gas. She only had about an hour to spend watching before she had to be on her way to work.
There were a lot of customers in and out of the place, but her duplicate did not make an appearance.
When she arrived at the insurance office, she looked up Mary, the co-worker who had seen her own double.
“Mary, where did you say you saw your twin?” Evelyn asked.
“Oh, it was at the gas station. I was so shocked to see myself walking around inside the store. I mean we even had on the same clothes,” she whispered.
“Was it the gas station on Walnut and Main?” Evelyn asked.
“Yes.”
“Have you run into her again?” Evelyn asked
“Come to think of it, no I haven’t but I did get a strange phone call. I think whoever called me was looking for her, my duplicate,” said Mary.
“What did the caller want?” Evelyn asked.
“It was a man who said it was time to go back,” said Mary. “When I asked back where, he hung up on me.”
“Do you have any idea of where back is?” Evelyn asked.
“Why do you want to know?” Mary asked.
“Someone told me she saw my twin at the same gas station. I don’t have a twin as far as I know,” Evelyn answered. “I was hoping you might know where your duplicate came from. It might be the same place where my double is located.”
“You’re in luck; I did follow her when she left. She got into a car with a couple of other people and drove toward Thompson Valley. I followed them for about ten miles, but I had to stop and turn around before they got to where they were going. It’s got to be out there somewhere on one of those big farms,” Mary explained.
“Okay, thanks for telling me. I think I will take a ride out that way when I get off work,” Evelyn said with a mischievous grin appearing on her thinning lips.
The workday passed quickly because Evelyn remained busy but as soon as five o’clock made an appearance, she was out of the door in a flash.
She drove to the gas station again where she took a quick look around before heading to Thompson Valley. She drove and drove, glancing at each side of the rural, isolated road, taking in as many sights as she could before darkness started to fall.
Fighting disappointment, she turned her car around and headed for home. She didn’t want to be in unfamiliar territory in total darkness. She was getting tired and the dark, moonless night made it difficult for her to see any of her surroundings. The fact that she seemed to be the only person driving along the long, lonely road didn’t help with chasing away the fear of the dark that was growing in her mind.
In the distance, she could see headlights, shining brightly, heading towards her. Evelyn ducked her head a bit to try to avoid the excessive glare.
“He needs to click off his brights,” she mumbled as she struggled to see the road that was disappearing in front of her. She slowed her speed to a crawl because she was afraid she would run off the road and go over the side of the mountain she was trying to navigate. There wasn’t any berm large enough to pull her car off the road, so she had to keep driving.
The brightness kept coming and it blinded her so much that she came to a complete stop.
“Jeez,” she mumbled as she waited for the brightness to drive on passed her.
When the vehicle behind the brightness started to pass her car, she saw the driver and her mouth opened in complete shock. It was her duplicate, hair, clothes, everything was the same. When Evelyn finally closed her mouth, the car had completely passed her and she saw a driveway up ahead on her left. She turned into the driveway so she could turn around to follow herself, her double.
Again, she was driving down Thompson Valley Road. She drove passed the spot where she had originally turned when she was heading home. She knew the driver of the car she was following must have known she was on her tail. The driver made no effort to lose her by speeding up or making an unexpected turn off the road. After a half hour of driving, she saw the brake lights flash and the right turn signal flicker to life.
Fear suddenly flooded her thoughts.
“What should I do?” she mumbled as she glanced upward to the darkened sky.
She turned right. After driving another mile or two, she saw town lights springing up ahead of her. The closer she got to the town, the more surprised she became. The streets were the same, even the names were the same, and the store fronts looked identical.
“What is this?” Evelyn shrieked as she swiveled her head from side to side taking in the sights.
She drove to where she thought the gas station would be and it was there. She continued driving further to Valleyview Street to locate her white house with red shutters, and it was there, complete with two red rocking chairs on the front porch.
She climbed out of her car taking special notice of the streetlight shining in front of the house. That was the only thing different that she was able to see. The streetlight in front of her house had been broken, burned out, for months. Call after call to the town authorities had done no good and it was never repaired. The town personnel who answered the call kept telling her that they would notify the power company of the problem and nothing ever happened.
She walked up the sidewalk looking for the crack that had been located in the middle of her sidewalk traveling from one side to the other, since she moved into her little home.
“Oh my God,” she whispered. “The crack is exactly the same.”
She continued to walk up the sidewalk to the porch where she raised her hand to knock at her door. She paused with her knocking hand in the air. The door opened and she was looking at herself. It wasn’t a mirror image; it was an exact replica of Evelyn Tatum.
“Hi, my name is Evelyn Tatum. I’m lost and I saw your lights so I thought I would ask you how to get back to Stillwell. I didn’t see any road signs. Can you tell me what town I am in?” she said as she forced a smile to her face.
“Come in, please,” said the replica.
Evelyn hesitated for a moment. She stepped forward and entered her house.
The sofa, chairs, and pictures on the walls were identical to her own in her little white house with red shutters.
They must have been inside my house, she thought as she walked into the living room. She caught a glimpse of a cat as it ran to hide from her, the stranger in the house. The cat looked just like her Cloudy who was one of four felines filling her house.
Does she also have Wild Child, Jughead, and Blackie? She wondered.
“Please sit,” said the replica.
“No thank you. What is the name of this town and how do I get back to Stillwell? I’m lost and I need to go home,” Evelyn said apprehensively.
“Coppee Town and you can’t leave,” answered the replica.
“I most certainly can leave,” Evelyn said as she turned to walk to the door.
She felt a hand grab her shoulder and felt a shock pass completely through her body. She collapsed to the floor and her world went black.
When she roused herself from the dark slumber caused by the shock, she was alone except for the cats congregated around her. The cats sat perfectly still, staring at her with luminous eyes blinking, but no purring and meowing.
She tried to move but found herself unable to do so.
Are my hands tied? She asked herself as she struggled to pull her arms up in front of her. When she tried to speak, she realized she couldn’t open her mouth. It had been taped with what appeared to be duct tape.
With her head becoming clearer with each passing moment, she discovered her feet had also been tied.
Help! Help! She tried to scream but the only things that came from her taped mouth were muffled moans. She tried to arch her back to see if she could move her body. All the bindings were tight and definitely uncomfortable. She tried to move her hands a bit to loosen the grip of the plastic zip ties that were notched to the tightest possible notch. The sharp edges of the zip ties began to cut into her tender skin.
That doesn’t work, she thought as she started moving her feet to see if she could find a little space to wriggle them around in order to work them free. She arched her back again to see if there was anything that would help in working herself free in any way possible.
She appeared to be in what looked like her bedroom. She had not been placed on the bed where it would have been a lot more comfortable, but she was plopped down on the floor between the bed and the wall.
That might be a good thing. She thought as she pondered the possibility of using the wall as a brace to get up from the floor.
She remembered watching a commercial on television for a cartoon movie where a dachshund stretched its body across the opening between two sets of shelves and worked its way to the top. Evelyn didn’t want to get to the top of anything; she wanted to be free of the zip ties. If this house was an exact replica of her house, there should be a pair of scissors behind the lamp on the bedside table. She forced herself to move closer to the table. Every agonizing inch of movement was painful because she had to force herself along like an inch worm. When she felt her feet touch the table, she braced herself to lift her legs and give the table a shove. The table fell forward on top of her because when she shoved it, it hit the wall and the momentum knocked it forward. That was exactly what she had hoped would happen. She felt the lamp fall onto the bed and the scissors slid forward, landing on her belly.
Thank you, Lord. She thought as she tried to work the scissors over to her hands. She felt them brush against her fingers. She knew she had to move slowly to avoid them sliding off her body onto the floor. She hooked a couple of fingers into the handle and started working them around to where the cutting edge would be next to the zip tie. Maybe she could press the zip tie against the sharp edge enough to get it to cut.
Evelyn knew the sawing action would be painful but there was nothing else she could do. When she started the sawing, she felt her hands become wet from blood. She knew the zip ties were cutting deeper and deeper into her skin. When she felt the zip tie give a little, she pushed and pulled until she felt it pop and her hands were free. She pushed herself up from the floor and used the scissors on the zip ties that bound her feet. Next, she started peeling the tape that held her mouth closed from her skin. That was the most painful part of it. She finally gave up and gave the tape a fierce jerk.
She was finally free. She was going to find out what was going on and especially why she was detained.
The cats were sitting and staring again. They showed no real life and the ‘real’ was what she stressed in her mind. Those cats appeared to be fake, robots, mimicking the movements and action of live cats. The movements were smooth, not jerky, as she would have thought; but they appeared to be programmed for certain reactions to contact with human beings. Evelyn wasn’t quite sure she was believing what she was seeing or thinking. She stepped over the cats and tried to open the front door of the room. It seemed to be locked but when she tried to release the locking mechanism, it didn’t work.
“I can’t use that door,” she muttered as she made her way to the back door which opened to the outside with the three cats trailing behind her. It occurred to her that they were only three of her four cats. Blackie, the newest acquisition was not represented.
The back door didn’t cooperate either. She was locked in.
“Not for long, I won’t be locked in for long,” she shouted as she picked up a chair and took aim at the bedroom window that looked out on the back porch. The first try of hitting the window only caused the chair to fly back towards her body.
“I’m getting out of here!” she screamed as she hurled the flying chair again.
The window didn’t break but a crack appeared on the clear pane of whatever was supposed to be a window. Again, she crashed the window with the chair and a spider like web was woven through the clear pane.
“Almost, one more toss should do it,” she muttered breathlessly.
One more toss didn’t create the opening she needed. She kept tossing and tossing until a good-sized hole appeared that was big enough for her to crawl through to the back porch.
She was surprised that no one appeared to find out what all the noise was about, but she was alone on the back porch with no sign of any of the neighbors. If it had really been her house in her town, she knew the neighbors would have called the police, no questions asked. From her spot on the back porch, she saw the garage. She checked to see if her car was parked inside and it was there. It was her car, not a replica. They must have taken the replica.
She found the button that needed to be pressed to activate the garage door. She pressed the door opener after she found the key she had hidden in the wheel well inside the magnetized box she had purchased long ago for just the purpose, when she had no access to her regular keys. She climbed inside her car, turned the ignition switch, put it into reverse, and backed out of the garage. The door started to lower, and she punched the gas pedal to clear it.
She backed off the driveway onto the street and immediately saw blue lights flashing.
“They don’t want me to leave. Okay, I get the message, but I AM LEAVING!” she screamed.
Again, she mashed the pedal to the floor. She was driving like a lunatic, but she knew that was what it would take to leave Coppee Town. The cop car with the flashing blue lights and screaming siren followed her to the turn-off to the main road. She blasted down the main road as fast as she dared to drive.
Next problem, how do I go home when I’m already there?
As she got closer to town, she decided she needed to make a stop at the police station. When she pulled into the police station parking lot, she sat in her car and tried to puzzle out her next step.
Evelyn entered the police station without any idea of how she was going to explain her situation.
“Is Brian here?” she asked in a barely audible whisper.
“Yes ma’am, he is in his office. What is your name and I’ll let him know you want to speak with him?” said the professional, young officer.
“Evelyn Tatum,” she answered.
“May I tell him what this is about?” asked the officer.
“No sir, I need to talk with Brian first before I tell anyone else my problem,” she answered.
“Have a seat and I will tell him you are waiting.”
Evelyn sat on the chair to which the officer had pointed where she had to fight to stay awake. She was exhausted, and the adrenaline rush left her totally drained of energy.
“Evelyn, what can I do for you?” asked Chief Brian Leemaster.
“Can I talk to you in your office?” Evelyn whispered in response.
“Sure, let’s go in there. Why are we being so secretive?” he asked as he displayed a big, friendly smile.
“This is sort of hard to explain and I know you are going to have trouble believing me,” Evelyn said as she looked into his eyes. She wanted him to believe every word she had to say, and eye contact was a way that would help to convince him.
“Just start at the beginning, Evelyn.”
“My friend thought she had seen me at the gas station and when I would not acknowledge her, she went over to talk to me. It wasn’t me. I didn’t go to the gas station that day. Then, I had a different co-worker tell that she had the same thing happen to her. She located her duplicate and followed her up Thompson Valley Road.”
“Did she find out who it was?” asked Brian.
“No, she had to turn around and go home but she told me how far she went so I took up the chase on the following Monday, which I guess now was yesterday, when I spotted my duplicate driving a car headed further up Thompson Valley Road.”
“What did you discover?” asked the chief.
“There is a place called Coppee Town out off of Thompson Valley Road. Have you ever heard of the place?” Evelyn asked.
“No, can’t say that I have,” he answered.
“It is a real place and I have been there. I had never heard of it until I was tied up and told I would never be able to leave. They were wrong. I escaped and I’m here. I want you to see the places I have on my wrists and ankles where the zip ties cut into my skin,” Evelyn emphasized her statement by pulling up her sleeves and pants legs so Brian could see the dried blood and deep cuts.
“Who did this to you?” Brian asked as he held her extended hands while he looked them over slowly.
“I did, that is to say, my duplicate did this. She looks exactly like me - even down to the clothes I’m wearing. She is living in my home and she is me,” Evelyn said as she burst into tears. The dam had finally burst, and the tears gushed.
Brian sat there dumbfounded by everything he had heard. He believed her. He had known Evelyn Tatum for many years and knew her to be an honest, truthful person. He waited for the tears to subside before he suggested a road trip.
“Do you think you can show me where the place is located, this Coppee Town?” asked Brian.
“I’ll try,” answered Evelyn.
By the time Evelyn climbed into the police car she was awake and ready to go. She wanted to go back to Coppee Town and confront her captors with the help of Brian.
“Has anyone else in Stillwell mentioned to you that they had a double walking around in town?” Evelyn asked.
“Yes, they have. A few of the local residents, including the mayor and a couple of nurses and some of my deputies, have mentioned that happening,” answered Brian.
“Good, I didn’t want to be the only kook walking around spouting off about strange look-alikes,” Evelyn said with a sigh.
“I didn’t pay particular attention to what the others were saying because most of them had been out partying when everything happened. I just chalked it up to having a good time with the added attraction of pulling my chain. But when you tell me you had been tied up and showed me the blood, I had to believe everything they had been saying was true,” Brian said excitedly.
“Did any of the others get tied up and told they could never leave?” Evelyn asked.
“I don’t think any of them were sober enough to follow anyone anywhere, so I guess you were the only one brave enough or strong enough to get it done,” Brian explained. “I didn’t mean to ignore them, but the story seemed a little far-fetched.”
“Yes, I guess it does,” said Evelyn as she glanced at the passing scenery.
The police radio was active with communication noise every time they would reach a ridge top. When the vehicle descended down into the valleys, the noise disappeared.
“How far out is this place?” asked Brian.
“I didn’t check the mileage. I just kept driving until I saw the car I was following make a right turn. Then it was a mile or so further after we turned. I was concentrating on the lead car, not the odometer,” Evelyn explained.
“I didn’t realize I had driven so far out here in the middle of nowhere. Oh, oh, up ahead on the right, turn there,” Evelyn said as she pointed to an unpaved road that wound its way through the fields and pastures belonging to farmers.
“You said it was about a mile up this road?” asked Brian.
“Yes, give or take a little. Like I said, I wasn’t watching the odometer,” said Evelyn.
Evelyn’s adrenaline was pumping again. She wanted to confront her keepers with Brian, the Stillwell Chief of Police, standing at her side. Even though he was pretty far out of town, his badge still carried a little weight. All he had to do was radio the county cops and they would come running.
Evelyn strained her eyes trying to find Coppee Town. They had driven long passed where she thought it had been located.
“Brian, there is something wrong here,” Evelyn said as she continued to look for Coppee Town. “Somehow I’ve managed to miss it.”
“Maybe we turned at the wrong place,” suggested Brian.
“No, I don’t think so. Maybe we should turn around and go back a bit. I’ll keep looking,” said Evelyn.
As soon as Brian could find a spot wide enough, he carefully u-turned the vehicle and drove slowly back toward town, allowing Evelyn to scan the countryside.
“Look, over there!” shouted Evelyn as she pointed toward the empty countryside.
“What is it?” asked Brian as he strained to see where she was pointing.
“Pull over a little so we can get out and walk,” said Evelyn.
“Why? There’s nothing there.”
“Yes, there is. See where everything, the grass and weeds, have been mashed down flat on the ground. That’s where it was,” Evelyn said excitedly.
“Yeah, I see that but there is nothing else. Where is the town?” asked Brian.
“It’s gone. I can see that. But it was here, and they tied me up telling me I would never leave,” Evelyn said with exasperation.
“Evelyn, I can’t arrest anyone if I can’t find them. What did your captor look like?” Brian asked.
“Me, she looked exactly like me,” Evelyn said with a sigh.
“I’ll put the information out so if anyone else has this happen, they will let me know and we can check the culprits out,” said Brian. He was trying to appease Evelyn.
“So that’s it?” asked Evelyn.
“For now. These people appear to be like a band of gypsies. They moved on to avoid the trouble you were stirring up,” said Brian.
“They are not gypsies. They are clones, Brian. They cloned an entire town with the people living in that town. They will pop up again. I’m sure of it,” said Evelyn.
The drive back to town was quiet and Evelyn’s captors had moved on.
All they could do was wait to see if and when the same problem occurred to the inhabitants of another small town. Evelyn did not think they would ever find out about it. She had escaped from her captivity, but if another person in the next town did not escape, no one would know they had been cloned. The replacements would replace the real people who would mysteriously disappear. Evelyn wondered how many towns had already been replaced. She knew she had to keep those thoughts to herself until she had proof.
All she could do was wait.
"Yellow Nose"
Stephen Scott Johnson, Georgia
Stephen Scott Johnson, Georgia
The tall Native American stood in silence as the flames crackled, lengthened and engulfed his brother’s house. He watched as his brother kneeled beside a fallen son, chanting and weeping. The attack lasted only a few minutes, but now the ground lapped up the blood which drained from the lifeless body. The small streams snaked around leaves and debris, carrying them to nearby depressions.
The raging fire reflected off the bloody pools. Black smoke filled and overshadowed the scene like a dark spirit. Beaver Tail's wife and two daughters left their hiding place to join him, and together, they mourned over their loss.
Another casualty, a white man, lay contorted, skewered to the ground with a large knife. His two partners had retreated and fled back to town. As they galloped off, the men cursed and pledged they'd be back with the rest of the Hounds. This gang of vile, unruly men had constantly taunted and terrorized the Cherokee, attempting to push them off the land.
Beaver Tail sighed deeply and wiped the tears from his eyes. "There was no sign of their coming."
"I know. The birds gave us no warning.” The tall man wrapped Beaver Tail's son up in his blanket. He then handed Beaver Tail a beautiful eagle feather which he had pulled from his white bandana.
"I'm glad you were here, Cloud Walker," said Beaver Tail. "You saved my life. I will return the blanket."
"Keep it. I'm sorry I could not protect Crazy Bear. He fought bravely and will live on in the memories of our people. Even now, he nourishes the ground, and his spirit travels on the wind."
"A great son, he was. But how many more of our sons must fall?"
Cloud Walker walked over and knelt beside the white man. "No more. Too many have died already." He studied the cold, pale body for a while and then noticed the shiny stone still clutched within the stiffening hand of the thief. “I remember when the white men first discovered the yellow stone.”
“Ah, yes,” said Beaver Tail. “Seems like yesterday. When was it: ’28 or ’29?
“It was 1829. I remember it distinctly. A decade later they still can’t get enough of it.”
“It seems to have cast a spell on them,” said Beaver Tail.
“It is a beautiful stone,” said Cloud Walker. He freed the gold nugget from the dead man’s hand and stuffed it back into Beaver Tail’s pouch, where it belonged.
"What now?" asked Beaver Tail as he picked up his son's body.
Cloud Walker pulled his knife from the white man's chest and wiped the blade. He then stuffed it in his ornamental sash. "Go. Bury your son. Take your family to the caves. I will meet you there."
Beaver Tail stared at the wrapped-up corpse. "And what about avenging my son? These murderers must pay. This is our father's land, our land."
"It is time to be moving on brother. The white men grow in numbers and strength. We can no longer trust them. A way has opened to the West and, we must step through it."
**********************
The cabin door creaked open, releasing the aroma of simmering beans and freshly baked cornbread. The porch decking squeaked and buckled under the weight of Tom Simmons as he moved toward his favorite rocking chair. His hand slid along the smooth porch rail, the remnant of an old tree branch. Next to the chair, a boy sat atop a wooden pail and whittled on a small stick, bringing it to a sharp point. Tom concealed something in his right hand.
"What ya making there, Son?"
"A spear," said the boy. "I'm goin' frog giggin' down by the river."
"You don't look very excited. What's with the sad face?" Jimmy Simmons worked on the stick more aggressively. Chips were flying now a good four or five feet.
"Pa, why couldn't Uncle Bill take me with him up Castle Mountain?" He flung his knife hard into the porch plank.
"Son, we've talked about this before. Your uncle Bill's on a dangerous journey. The mountain's not a safe place to be right now. There's been an incident, you know. Bill's going to try and patch things up."
Jimmy eyed his father's right hand. Tom noticed this and concealed it under his left armpit.
"What happened up there, Pa?"
"Well, I don't rightly know. I reckon Cloud Walker had something to do with it. That Indian's no good. Don't know what your uncle sees in him."
The boy's eyes lit up when Tom mentioned the Cherokee’s name. "Tell me about Cloud Walker. What's he done?"
"All I know is that Indian is trouble. Hope your uncle knows what he's doing. They just won't listen to him."
Jimmy set the spear down and buttoned up one of the straps on his raggedy overalls. "Why won't the Cherokee listen, Pa?”
Tom slowly moved his right hand down to his side. Then, he wrapped it around the back of the rocking chair. Jimmy craned his neck a bit to peer around the chair.
"Not sure why. First, he tried to save their rights to the land. That didn't work. Now, he's trying to tell them to get while the gettin's good. The government's making them move west. Cloud Walker's been the most stubborn of the lot. He won't budge."
"But what about the mission?" asked Jimmy.
Tom looked out over the compound. The schoolhouse was empty due to his brother's absence. Bill was the schoolmaster, and he ran the mission. The Cherokee-donated land had been in his possession for nearly a decade.
"Pa, did you hear me?"
Tom looked back to his son. "I heard ya. You see, times are changing. Some people just don't want the Cherokee here anymore. The greedy buzzards want their land. Think they're going to find more gold, I guess."
Jimmy's eyes ratcheted wider. The mere mention of that four-letter word brought a tingling sensation over his whole body. The same sensation one feels when about to open birthday or Christmas gifts, only this was a hundred times stronger.
"I wish we could find gold," said the boy. “So we can be rich!” The overall strap had come loose again and flopped down across Jimmy’s stomach. Jimmy’s father couldn’t help but notice his son’s protruding ribs.
"Jimmy, I know times is tough right now. But God'll provide. He always has. Don't put your faith in riches. What would your mom—God rest her soul—say if she heard you saying such?"
Tom's mustache would develop a peculiar twitch anytime he talked of his late wife. Slowly, he moved his right hand from behind the chair to his lap.
"Pa, don't you think Mom would've wanted us to live a better life? Just look at this place. My shoes have holes and my stomach does too. That wasn't thunder you just heard. Couldn't God just see fit to give us a little more?"
Tom lifted his hand and slowly unfurled his fingers. "Look here, Son. Five little corn seeds. Look at them. I’m gonna put them in the ground and watch God do his magic. But we're going to need more. Your uncle's been blessed with some fertile land. With his missionary duties and all, he hasn't had time to work it. I see cornstalks and ears of corn all over the place. The only gold we need."
The young boy frowned at the kernels, but his mind kept wondering about Castle Mountain. He thought about the adventures he was missing and what other parts of the world he hadn’t seen. Where would farming get him? Those five kernels—nothing magical about them.
"Jimmy, I need you to do something for me. Take a few of our best laying hens to town, sell them and buy some more corn seed."
Jimmy's eyes shot from the kernels to his father's smiling face. Deep down inside, a flame had been lit, and he could feel his excitement growing. "You mean you want me to go by myself?" asked Jimmy.
"You betcha. At sunup, you take Old Tut and the wagon. Keep your eyes and ears open. And stay clear of any troublemakers. Now let's get some supper into ya so ya can go about your frog giggin'."
********************
The road to Dahlonega jolted and shook the wagon something fierce. Jimmy's hind end took a beating. His face destroyed numerous spider webs, and he shook off that creepy, crawly sensation with each encounter. However, this didn't stop his whistling. His glee even drowned out the hen's cackles which erupted each time the wheel found the next hole.
An hour later, Jimmy pulled into Dahlonega and stopped in front of Roger's General Store. An old toothless miner passed by, his wagon piled high with supplies: pickaxes, gun powder, tobacco, food and whiskey. The hammering of the blacksmith competed with the chorus of dance hall girls in an adjacent saloon. Across the way, the town sheriff leaned against a post and lit his pipe. The lawman jumped to attention and made his way toward two men who had just started a fist fight. Probably over a girl or a poker game gone bad.
Out of curiosity, Jimmy walked over to join a gathering crowd of spectators. The sheriff jogged toward the two men with his right hand on his pistol. He quickly broke up the fight.
"You folks go about your business! Nothing to see here," said the sheriff. He then proceeded to scold the two drunken miners.
On his way back to the store, Jimmy noticed that the old church was still boarded up. Weeds were pushing their way through the steps. His father had tried to start a congregation there, but with little success. No, it wasn't for a lack of trying, or because of a scandal, or due to incompetence—Tom Simmons outshined most preachers of that area. Mainly, it was from a lack of interest. People were obsessed with another god, the yellowish, shiny one. Naturally, the miners spent the little gold they did find on women and whiskey. They lived it up on Saturday night. That amounted to just a few sober people at church Sunday morning. Just try preaching to a grand total of ten people each week.
"What can I do for ya, young man?" Mr. Rogers, the store owner, smiled as the ten-year-old stepped into the building.
"Pa needs some corn seed. I got six hens in back of the wagon. How much will that fetch?"
"Oh, I s'pose that'll be enough to fund a mighty nice cornfield. You come all that way by yourself?"
"Yessir, all the way!"
Mr. Rogers stepped to the back room to get the seed. With hungry eyes, Jimmy scanned the food supplies behind the counter. He wasn’t great at reading, but he knew very well the shape and contents of one container in particular. Ah, there it is and right in front of him on the counter—a licorice jar. He loved the red ones, the sweet flavor and chewy texture. Just thinking about it made his mouth water.
Jimmy's stomach growled and broke the spell. "The hens," he whispered.
As Jimmy walked to the back of the wagon, he looked over again to find the two men and the sheriff, but they were gone. Jimmy's eyes then fell on Guy Jackson talking to his mother in front of the City Hall building. Jimmy stared long and hard at the man. He admired Jackson's polished shoes and white silk shirt. He also admired Jackson's hat and striped three-piece suit. So much so, that he accidentally let one hen escape.
The bird headed straight for the Jacksons. Ms. Jackson gasped as the hen squawked and scurried between her and her son.
"Sorry ma'am." Jimmy rushed by the lady and pinned the hen against the wall. Dust and feathers hovered about as he picked up the bird.
"Boy, what's the meaning of this? Keep your distance with that foul creature! One speck of dirt on this dress, and I'll be paying your father a visit." Guy Jackson folded his arms and sneered at Jimmy. The businessman stood there like a chiseled statue.
Jimmy swallowed hard. "Sorry, Ms. Jackson. Didn't mean no harm. I'll be goin' now."
Jimmy tucked his chin down and headed back to the store. As he did, he couldn't help but overhear the mother and son finish their conversation.
"Mother, I'm not sure we need him anymore," said Guy. "Besides, it only worked that one time. No guarantees he'll do it again." Guy worked on rolling up a smoke. He rarely met his mother's eyes. They always bore into him with a devilish scorn.
"You don't know that for sure," said Ms. Jackson. “If you've hurt him in any way, I swear ... I swear you'll pay dearly. I've seen how you treat him. What happened with you keeping him locked up?”
"I told you, Mother. He gave me the slip and ran off. It’s just been two days. Don't worry. He'll remember the hand that feeds him." Jackson wasn’t telling his mom the full story. He rarely did.
"What about my idea?" asked Ms. Jackson. "All we have to do is find a good, honest soul. Someone he’ll trust at first. You know how it works. Then our little luck charm might just lead us to the mother lode."
"Too risky. Do that too many times, and our luck charm won't be a secret anymore. Then what if Cloud Walker finds out?"
"You might be right, but maybe it's worth trying once," said Ms. Jackson. "Anyway, see to it that you get him back. Or else ...” She poked her finger firmly into her son's shoulder and then glanced over at Jimmy. Jimmy turned his head forward and picked up his pace to the store.
********************
The back-jarring ride home was a lot less exciting. Jimmy thought more about the weird exchange between mother and son Jackson. Those thoughts were soon replaced as he reflected on their stately appearance and their lifestyle. He pictured himself in an expensive hat, wearing a fancy silk shirt. He was now riding a shiny sleek carriage, packed with cases of licorice. Young ladies swooned as he rode by. Young men saluted him. Presently, the whole town cheered his name and showered him with roses.
When he opened his eyes, the harsh reality lay bare. The young ladies had become trees, and the cheers were only the calls of birds. The roses—spider webs.
He looked down to his overalls and the mosaic of patches running down the legs. He thought about his future and wondered if he would ever be more than the son of a poor preacher turned farmer.
Seconds later, the woods fell silent. Old Tut came to a halt as they rounded a bend in the road. A steady throbbing worked on Jimmy's eardrums. He slowly reached for his knife, only to remember it was still stuck in the cabin porch. "Who's there?" asked Jimmy.
There, he heard it again, only a little louder. Jimmy watched the mule for signs of panic. The animal stood frozen, head fixed straight forward.
The sound came a third time. Jimmy strained to look around Old Tut. Heaped in the middle of the road was an ant pile, one that moved. Upon further inspection, Jimmy determined it was an animal—no, a small dog. Just a little bigger than a Beagle, the black and tan struggled to slide his body forward, inching his way to who knows where.
Jimmy leaped from the wagon and crouched over the dog. He examined him, but no clue what to do next. The left hind leg was bloodied, as was the right foreleg. A goose-egg knot crowned his forehead. One eye shut, badly swollen.
"Poor, boy. What ... who did this to you?" He tried stroking the dog, which brought the poor animal more pain. He rushed to the back of the wagon and grabbed an old blanket.
"I'm sorry, boy. This is goin' to hurt, but there's no other way." Jimmy wrapped the dog up, cuddling him back to the wagon. The dog wailed as Jimmy lowered him in. He wedged things around the dog so he wouldn't slide about the bed.
"You'll be okay, boy. We'll get ya back home and take care of ya."
Old Tut pressed on, back to the mission nestled deep in the North Georgia hills. At least for now, Jimmy had abandoned his earlier dreams of fame and fortune. But— another dream had come true. Rural Georgia was a lonely place for a young boy. That day, Jimmy found his new best friend.
****************
"Jimmy! That dog's going to eat up all our food," said Mr. Simmons. "I can barely keep your mouth fed. Is he well enough to do any hunting?"
"It's been three weeks, Pa. I thought about takin' him rabbit huntin' tomorrow. He sure seems to be gettin' around well."
"Good! Then he can earn his keep. Fresh rabbit meat sounds mighty good!"
When Speckled Snake, one of the old chiefs at the mission, saw the dog, he started spouting something in Cherokee—dalonige kayvsoli. The words translated to English meant Yellow Nose. In his excitement, Speckled Snake almost passed out. Word quickly spread, and just about all the Cherokee from the mission gathered to see the injured dog.
Speckled Snake chanted a prayer for Yellow Nose and treated his wounds with a special ointment. Another chief walked around Yellow Nose, smoked a long pipe and shouted out different Cherokee phrases. What seemed like a ceremony ended with the crowd singing. The song’s tones were hopeful and celebratory.
When Tom Simmons asked Speckled Snake about the proceedings, the chief remained silent. Tom didn't push the matter.
About that same time, Uncle Bill returned, but he wouldn't say much about the trip to Castle Mountain. A miserable mood had replaced his normal optimism and humor. Hope for the Cherokee was dying out. Under law, they were being forced to leave Georgia and move west.
Tom and Bill shared some whispered conversations about Cloud Walker and the incident. All Jimmy could make out was that a white man had been killed during an attempt to take over some Cherokee land. Beaver Tail's son was also killed. And somehow the Hounds were involved.
"Uncle Bill, why can't you tell me more about Cloud Walker and what happened?"
"Cloud Walker's a complicated man. The whole situation is pretty complex. Might bore you.”
“Is he a troublemaker like Pa says?”
“Well, I think the trouble finds him. He’s something of a legend around these parts. A very stubborn man. Wealthy too. Some say he's got a stockpile of gold in that fort they call a castle."
Jimmy's face glowed. "A castle. So that's why they call it Castle Mountain?"
"You guessed it. But it's more like a fort, built with logs. Up on the very peak of the mountain. When the clouds come around, it looks like it’s floating up there.”
"You've seen it?" asked Jimmy.
The clean-shaven missionary folded his arms and leaned over his lesson plans. "I've not only seen it, I've been in it."
Jimmy basked in his uncle's attention. "I heard he's a giant!"
Uncle Bill leaned forward with a curious squint. "Who told you that?"
"I'm not stupid. I've heard the Cherokee talk about him." He was referring mainly to Speckled Snake.
Bill leaned back in his chair and removed his spectacles. His bushy eyebrows lifted with the furrowed brow. "Oh, and what else have they told you?"
"They say he hunts the bad white men down and kidnaps their wives and children."
Bill erupted with a laugh. "Hogwash! Can't you see they're just messing with you?"
Jimmy squirmed in his chair and avoided his uncle's eyes. "You mean he's not a giant?"
Uncle Bill smiled and leaned forward again. "Well, that part’s true. You see, he's about 7 ft., 5, which is a giant in my book. But Jimmy, you should really watch out for a couple other giants who roam these hills."
Jimmy's eyes opened wider.
"Yes sir, two mean, nasty giants! I call them prejudice and greed. These two are hard to stop. So be on the lookout!"
Now Bill was messing with him. Jimmy threw his hat at his uncle, and they both laughed. He was relieved the giants weren't real, physical giants, but how quickly he’d brushed aside his uncle’s metaphor.
***************
The next morning, Jimmy took Yellow Nose hunting. For two hours they meandered through the woods, looking for rabbits, squirrels or whatever they could scare up. He walked with his chest out and chin up. This was important work—foraging for his family. He felt grown up and alive.
"Okay, boy, we've been huntin' a while now. I need ya to push somethin' out. We can't go back empty-handed.” Yellow Nose looked at Jimmy and tilted his head sideways.
"I know, I know. But that last one didn't count. He was out of sight before I could get a bead on him." Their first rabbit of the day was quick on the jump. Jimmy thought it was strange though that the hound didn't take chase. After all, that's what hound dogs are supposed to do.
Jimmy stroked the dog's head and picked burrs from the long, droopy ears. Yellow Nose returned the kind gesture by licking Jimmy's hand. Jimmy poured some water into his hand from the canteen, and Yellow Nose lapped it up. He slid his finger over one of the scabbed over wounds. Then he smiled at Yellow Nose, like a mother doting on her child.
"Come on now. Let's follow this trail into the ravine. Plenty of rabbits down there. And if not, we'll take us a swim."
Halfway into the ravine, Yellow Nose let loose a deafening howl. The howl turned into a steady bay, and Yellow Nose raced down the hill towards the creek. Jimmy followed behind and often stopped to see if the game would circle back. The excited hound continued to move farther away.
Jimmy walked the creek trail for nearly two miles. Overhead, a flock of crows cawed. They had been chasing a Red-shouldered Hawk. Jimmy sat down and listened to the hawk's cries in the distance. He then began to worry. What if Yellow Nose had given up and ran off? What if he couldn't find his dog?
Jimmy waited quietly, cupping his hands behind his ears, trying to pinpoint Yellow Nose's location. As the calls of the crows faded, he then heard a new and different noise. It sounded like scratching and occasional debris flying through the woods. Then came a whine, followed by breathing—no, sniffing. Then more scratching. Then more debris. Then more sniffing.
"What is that?" Jimmy cocked the hammer on the smoothbore.
He tiptoed toward the strange sounds. They seemed to be just over the rise in front of him. Must be next to the creek. Out of nowhere, objects began to fly by him. Something hit his cheek, and then a rock bounced off a nearby tree. Jimmy belly crawled up the small hill and peered over the crest.
He smiled.
"There you are. What do you have, boy?" Jimmy was relieved to find Yellow Nose digging beside a bend in the stream. Behind the dog lay a massive pile of dirt. Yellow Nose continued to dig, sniff and whine. Seconds later, he stopped.
"What're you doin', Yellow Nose? Where's the rabbit?" Jimmy eased over to the hole and dropped to his knees. His eyes bulged toward the bottom of the hole.
"What? It can't be!" Jimmy reached into the hole and pulled out a yellow rock—a gold nugget!
He couldn't believe what was happening. Soon, his whole body began to quiver, and he broke out into a dance. "Whoopee! We're rich! We're rich!" The nugget was no bigger than his index finger, but it had latched onto his soul.
Jimmy gently cradled Yellow Nose's muzzle between his hands. "How...," he paused and looked deeper into the hound's hazel-colored eyes. "How did you do that?"
Yellow Nose sneezed and began rubbing his nose against some nearby grass. He rolled over on his back and wiggled his whole body back and forth. Then the nose came up. Yellow Nose stood at attention, in a point-like stance.
"You aren't just any ole hound dog. It must be magic. What else can you do?"
Before he could question the dog further, Yellow Nose had left the scene in another unusual chase. Then followed another and another and another, until Jimmy possessed five shiny rocks. His cup of joy spilled all over him. The nuggets took on a magical quality as they rested in the palm of his hand. Much better than a few measly corn seeds. Jimmy’s eyes stayed glued to the nuggets for some time. He had never smiled so greatly on anything in his life.
***************
Jimmy's father sat dumbfounded on the cabin porch, looking down on the five shiny nuggets. He picked up one from Jimmy's hand and examined it like an elderly man reading a pill bottle. He'd never seen one before. Like Jimmy, this was his first encounter with what many might call a "game changer." He scratched his chin. "Tell me again—how did you find them?"
"I told ya, Pa. Swindling Creek. Yellow Nose found 'em. He can smell gold a mile away. It's magic I tell ya! Magic!"
Uncle Bill heard the excitement as he left the schoolhouse and scrambled across the road to see what the commotion was about. Jimmy repeated the story to his uncle.
Bill studied one of the nuggets. His blue eyes showed a hint of trouble. He knew what those nuggets meant to a lot of folks. "Where along Swindling Creek?" he asked.
Jimmy remained silent and snatched the nugget back from his uncle's hand.
"Tell him, Son. Whereabouts did you find these on the creek?"
"I don't know. Somewhere passed the big bend. Maybe two, three miles downstream, I reckon. Pretty close to the Turkey Roost Mine."
"That's some of the Jackson's land," said Uncle Bill. "I can tell you, it wouldn't be good for him to hear about this. Never have liked that man."
Tom took all the nuggets from Jimmy's hand and placed them in a burlap sack. "We can't keep 'em, Jimmy. They ain't rightfully ours."
"But I found 'em! Don't that count for anythin'?"
"Son, it ain't our property. That's stealing."
"Look, Tom," said Bill, "Jackson's a thief and you know it. He took that land from some of the very people who live on this mission. He even snookered Cloud Walker out of some of his land. I'd say they have some rights to those nuggets."
Tom dumped three of the nuggets back into his hand. As he looked at them more intently, he could see a reflection of himself. He then began to see a man in nice preacher cloths, a big, beautiful white church, a new parish and a pretty wife. Tom rubbed his eyes and quickly stuffed the nuggets back into the sack.
"Now Bill, Jimmy and I didn't move here to stir up any trouble. Word gets out that we kept these rocks, and we'll all pay for it. Our reputation will be ruined. You watch and see. No sir, I don't want no part of it.”
Tom stopped, collected his thoughts and looked at Yellow Nose. "And what's this story about Yellow Nose? I've never heard about a dog who could find gold. Is there something you're not telling us?"
"Pa, I'm tellin' the truth. We didn't just stumble across 'em. Yellow Nose sniffed ‘em out and dug 'em up. I seen it with my own eyes."
Tom Simmons smiled and tied a knot in the sack. "Well, if you say so, I believe ya. But that’s a huckleberry above my persimmon. Yellow Nose will just have to find gold on your uncle's property."
"Pa, we can be rich! You wanna live here forever? Growin' corn and growin' poorer by the minute? You know how much those nuggets will fetch?"
"Well, I ain't gonna get rich being a thief. No sir. This gold belongs to the Jacksons. There's been enough thieving and pillaging around these parts," said Tom Simmons.
Jimmy slapped his dusty hat against his pants and stormed off.
"Where you going?" hollered Uncle Bill.
"I'm going to find more gold nuggets. Come on Yellow Nose," said Jimmy.
Jimmy headed straight to the back end of his uncle’s lot. "Come on, boy. We're goin' to find us some gold we can keep."
They scoured the creeks and even some abandoned mines. The determined boy searched all afternoon and even until dark. For the next few days, Jimmy continued his quest for instant riches. Who knows how many acres they covered? Nothing. Not a peep out of Yellow Nose.
Every time he sat down for a break, Jimmy's eyelids would droop shut. The prospects of finding gold had exhausted him physically and emotionally. He couldn't think straight. Even worse, he hadn't collected any meat for an evening meal.
********************
That next evening, Jimmy slowly dragged himself into the cabin. He propped his smoothbore in the corner and hung up his hat. Soup simmered in a kettle above the fire, but Jimmy was too tired to eat.
"Well. What did you bring us?" asked Uncle Bill. "Rocks or rabbits? I think I'd be pleased with a rabbit right now."
"It's not working. There's gotta be more gold out there. There's gotta." Jimmy paused and released a heavy sigh. "Oh, forget it—I'm beat."
Uncle Bill smiled. "Get some rest, Jimmy. You're going to work yourself sick."
He rubbed Jimmy's neck and roughed up the boy's hair. "I'm sure Yellow Nose will prove himself soon. That must be one special dog. I see how the Cherokee look at him. You want to hear something Speckled Snake told me?”
"What … What'd he say?" asked Jimmy.
"Something about Yellow Nose being good medicine."
"What do you mean by good medicine?" asked Jimmy.
"He told me how Yellow Nose led Cloud Walker to a remote cave. That cave contained some of the purest gold in these parts. Cloud Walker intends to use the gold to help his people move west.”
“Yellow Nose did all that?”
“Yes sir. You’ve got a one-of-a-kind dog right there.
"You shoulda seen him, Uncle Bill. Diggin' them holes. Findin' that gold. I never seen anthin' like it. But why can't he find more?"
"I don't know," said Uncle Bill. "Maybe he can't always control the gift."
The cabin door opened and Tom Simmons stepped in. He looked at Yellow Nose and turned a sad gaze towards his son. The kind of expression you give when someone in the family has died. He then tossed something to Bill.
"What's this? I thought you were going to return the nuggets to Jackson," said Bill.
"I did, and he was grateful. He up and gave us one back. I thought you might could use it for the mission. By the way, I heard some news on Cloud Walker. The Hounds raided his fort and chased him into the hills.”
“Did he get away?”
“That’s what I gathered,” said Tom. “Sounded like some of the other Indians headed north and hid in the mountains.”
Tom sat down across from Jimmy and slowly tapped on the table. "Jimmy, your find has caused quite a stir in town. Nuggets like that haven't been found in these creek bottoms in years. Jackson was curious. He knows about the dog."
"What?" asked Jimmy.
"He knows about Yellow Nose. Described exactly how he looks. Seems the dog belongs to him." Tom shut up and gave the boy time to take it in. A red hue began to move up into Jimmy's face.
"He wants him back, Jimmy. I'm sorry. That's one reason he let me keep the nugget. For all our trouble of taking care of the dog," said Tom.
Jimmy sat down beside Yellow Nose. "Why would a man like Guy Jackson want Yellow Nose? He’s rich. Could have as many dogs as he wants.”
“That’s kinda what I was thinking,” said Tom. “But the dog seems to be special to him.”
“Unless ... unless he knows the secret,” said Bill “That's got to be it. Don't you see?"
"What secret?" asked Tom.
"You, know. He wants Yellow Nose so he can find more gold,” said Bill.
"I suppose that’s a possibility." Tom paused and fiddled with his hat. "Look, I know the dog is special, but the fact stands—he belongs to Jackson. Besides, having a dog with a gift like that—you’re just inviting trouble.”
“But I love ‘im, Pa! God gave ‘im to me. Could you talk to Mr. Jackson one more time? Maybe he’ll understand. You know I met him one time—and his mom. They may be high class, but they seemed like decent folks.”
Tom sat in silence for a minute and then thought out loud. “Maybe I can buy the dog back. Maybe when the corn comes in we can do a trade.”
"Jackson’s not going to trade for any corn,” said Bill. “Jimmy, the Jacksons aren’t the good and respectable people you may think them to be. I’ve known Guy for quite a while now. The fact that he had the dog probably means he stole Yellow Nose from the Cherokee. Cloud Walker used to take care of the dog. I’d be willing to bet you Jackson’s the one that beat Yellow Nose to a pulp.”
Jimmy buried his head beneath his hands and looked down at the table. Those last few comments filled in the missing gaps from the conversation he had overheard between Guy and his mother. Now it made sense. His opinions of the Jacksons were making a full turn.
"What do you say, Tom? Why don’t you let me take Yellow Nose away from here? I’ll figure out a way so Jimmy can visit him.”
"Bill, I promised Jackson. I'm a man of my word. If we don't give him the dog, we're gonna pay dearly. He strikes me as the kinda man who'll do anything to get what he wants. Jackson told me he'd be here around sunup to fetch the dog.”
"Pa, I won’t let you do that! I’ll fight if I have to!" Jimmy grabbed Yellow Nose around the neck and squeezed hard. Then and there, Jimmy resolved never to turn the dog over to Jackson.
******************
The log cabin shook as someone rapped violently on the front door. It was 3 a.m. An unusual time for visitors.
"Open up, Simmons!" said the stranger. "Open up, now!"
Tom Simmons grabbed his musket and slowly moved towards the door.
"Who's there?"
"It's Guy Jackson. I've come to get the dog."
Tom laid the rifle down and began unlatching the door. "We weren't expecting you until daylight."
"I decided I couldn't wait. I need the dog now!" barked Jackson.
As Tom released the latch, the door flew open, making him stagger backwards. In marched Jackson, led by his pistol. "Give him to me, Simmons!" ordered Jackson. "And the nugget!"
Tom turned toward Jimmy's cot. His heart sank. No hat, no smoothbore, no Yellow Nose, and no Jimmy. Sometime during the night, the boy quietly slipped out. It was the only answer. He just couldn't give Yellow Nose up.
"Where's the dog?" asked Jackson.
"Jackson, I'm afraid you've come too early. My boy's not back from his coon hunting trip. Why don't you come back later?"
"Don't lie to me, Simmons. Now, where are they?"
Hearing the commotion, Bill came out of his room. Jackson fanned his pistol back and forth between Tom and Bill.
"What's going on here? Put that gun down! I won't have bloodshed on this mission!"
Jackson ignored Bill's demand. "I came to get that dog, and I mean to get him back."
"Why the show of force over a little hound dog? And this hour of the morning! He is just a dog—right? Or is he something more?" asked Bill.
"It's none of your business, Bill." Uneasiness churned in Guy's gut. From Tom's earlier account, he knew the two men had heard about the dog’s special gift. Had they believed the story, and had it spread?
"That dog's been mine for years." Jackson sighed and glanced toward the floor, trying to work up a sad, sentimental wave of emotion. He turned toward the cabin window and hung his head low. All this followed by a quickly fabricated story about his history with Yellow Nose. Only, it didn't sound very convincing.
"Let me get this straight," said Bill, "so, you gave the dog a Cherokee name? Tell me, do you make it a practice of beating your pets? Come on, I know this dog’s been with the Cherokee long before you got a hold of him!"
"Shut up! Both of you! I told you, it's none of your concern why I want the dog," said Guy.
Guy reached for Tom's rifle lying on the table and then lobbed it to one of his men standing on the porch. Both of Jackson's men made their way into the cabin. "You boys stay here and stand guard. Don't let them leave this place. I'm going after the dog."
Tom stepped forward. Jackson's thug rested the rifle's muzzle on Tom's chest. "Jackson, if you harm a hair on my boy's head, I'll put aside my nice manners. I swear! You’ll get no mercy from me!”
Jackson slowly holstered his pistol. "I won't harm the boy if he gives me what I want. If he doesn't, then I make no promises."
Tom Simmons pressed hard into the gun barrel, making Jackson's man step back. The fiery stare he made into Jackson's eyes left no doubt about Tom Simmons’s resolve. "I'll make you this promise," said Tom. "You harm my boy and nothing stops me from killing you."
Jackson whispered something in his men’s ears and walked out to his horse. From the yard, he grabbed an axe lodged in a chopping block. He mounted his horse, grimly tipped his hat and rode off.
**************
Jimmy stumbled and staggered now with each step. He and Yellow Nose had been hiking into the hills for the past six hours. His legs felt like noodles, and the smoothbore grew heavier with each step. The worn-out hunting boots offered very little comfort, and he soon realized the beginnings of two nice blisters.
The full moon had faithfully guided the way along some rarely traveled trails. Now the sun began to creep up behind the trees. Barred Owls announced the morning with their, who-cooks-for-you, songs, and wild turkeys scurried about the landscape. Except for the wildlife, the mountains seemed deserted. And they seemed to stretch on endlessly. A person could hide in these parts for years—so Jimmy thought.
"Good boy, Yellow Nose. I'm not gonna let that Guy Jackson hurt you anymore. We're goin' far away from him. We'll live off the land. Course you probably need to learn how to chase some rabbits." Jimmy chuckled and rubbed behind Yellow Nose's ears.
It was a beautiful thing—a boy and his dog, an ancient and tried match. Yellow Nose slobbered all over Jimmy’s face. Though he possessed a primitive mind, he somehow knew that his gift could ruin the boy. He also knew that Jimmy loved him dearly. Through the wall of greed that cloaks every human heart he could sense something different about Jimmy. Something inside the dog began to swell. He then unleashed a joyous long howl. The sound spread up the mountains and echoed across the valley.
Seconds later, a strange whistle, barely perceptible to the human ear, came flowing through the woods. Yellow Nose's ears lifted. In a flash, the dog disappeared into the lush greenness of the forest.
"Wait! Yellow Nose! Come back!” Jimmy ran after the dog. The boy stopped periodically and released his own whistles, but each time, the sounds of the baying dog seemed farther, and farther away.
After a mile or two of running, Jimmy spotted a high outcropping of rocks. As he neared the rocks, he smelled smoke which suggested a campsite. Who would possibly camp out here in the middle of nowhere?
Jimmy crept closer to the smoke. He thought he could make out the form of a horse. It moved. Yes, definitely a horse. What should he do? What if these were robbers hiding out, or what if it's the Hounds? Fear gripped him hard; his heart pounded.
Jimmy followed his inner urgings and turned. When he did, he found himself staring into the chest of a giant. The terror clamped his feet to the ground. Then the tall man brought down his fist on the boy's head, and Jimmy’s world went dark.
********************
A warm, wet sensation swept over the boy’s face. His eye's cracked open and his surroundings slowly fell into focus again. Yellow Nose lavished Jimmy's cheeks with loyal licks and kisses. Jimmy rewarded the dog with a bear hug.
"He likes you," said a deep voice. A huge man sat across the campfire, staring at Jimmy while sharpening his knife. The sound of grinding metal was unnerving yet calculated.
Jimmy roused himself and finally worked up the courage to say something. "What happened? Did you hit me?"
"Yes, and I could have done it a lot harder. What did you expect, sneaking up on my camp like that?"
“Sorry, Mister. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“You like that dog, do you?" asked the stranger.
Jimmy rubbed the top of his sore head. "Well he ... he is my dog, Mister. Now, if ... if you don't mind, we'll be goin'."
"Yellow Nose belongs to no one. He's a gift from the World beyond."
Jimmy studied the man for some time. What stood out the most was the man's golden cross necklace. After a long silence, Jimmy asked the question: "Who are you?"
"I'm Cloud Walker."
The name shot through Jimmy's heart like an arrow. He tried to churn out some words, but the excitement had struck him mute.
"What is it, young man? Did you lose your tongue?"
"No ... no sir. You mean you're Cloud ... Cloud Walker ... from ... from Castle Mountain?" The words began to awkwardly trickle out. Jimmy's expression changed from surprise to delight to utter confusion.
"Not what you were expecting? What were you expecting—a half-naked savage? A blood-thirsty outlaw?" Cloud Walker raked the knife across his arm, taking off several hairs.
"But you killed that white man. Or at least that's what I heard." Jimmy wished he had kept his mouth shut on that last piece of information.
Cloud Walker took a gulp of water and then set the cup down. "Self-defense. He was trying to murder my brother and me. He wanted our land."
Cloud Walker slowly stood up and stuffed his knife behind a very wide turquoise-colored belt. Jimmy stared at the man’s exquisite moccasins and worked his way up to the fine bandana which crowned Cloud Walker’s head. Sort of looked like a dignitary from another country—Europe, maybe.
"You must be young Jimmy Simmons." Cloud Walker smiled and lit a small, black pipe.
Jimmy looked even more perplexed. "You know me?"
"Don't look so surprised. The trees have whispered messages, and the birds have brought me news. You took care of Yellow Nose and for that, I'm eternally grateful."
Yellow Nose rubbed his body against the Cherokee’s leg. Not only did the tail wag, the dog's whole body wagged. And it looked as if Yellow Nose were grinning—in a dog, kind of way. Cloud Walker stooped and affectionately rubbed under the dog's chin and then kissed him on the head.
Jimmy looked over to Cloud Walker with an unshakable dread. "So Yellow Nose does belong to you."
"No, Jimmy. I thought I had set the record straight on that. This dog belongs to no man. Surely you know his ability. Don't tell me that the trees have lied." Cloud Walker lifted the gold necklace and smiled. Jimmy nodded; the two understood each other perfectly.
"Let me be honest with you now," said Cloud Walker. "My people have told me how you found the dog and nurtured him back to health. You are part of a great family. Your uncle is the only white man I ever trusted. That is why I gave him the land for the mission."
"So you're the chief who gave him the land."
"The land belongs to the Great Spirit. We all just get to take care of it from time to time. Same way with Yellow Nose. We all get to enjoy his loyalty and love. He’s unlike any other dog in the world.”
"So how does he do it?" asked Jimmy.
"First things first. Why are you here? Are you and Yellow Nose on a treasure hunt?" Cloud Walker smiled.
"No sir. There's this man who knows what Yellow Nose can do. He's tryin' to steal Yellow Nose back. But I won't let 'im."
Cloud Walker began spreading out the coals in the campfire. "This man, does he go by the name of Jackson?"
"Yes sir! You know 'im?"
"Oh yes, I'm afraid I do. So when was the last time Yellow Nose found a nugget for you?"
Jimmy responded with a frown. "It's been a couple days. He found five nuggets to start, but we're having a dry spell."
Cloud Walker puffed on the pipe and reached down to fondle his cross necklace. "I see. A dry spell you say. So you want to know Yellow Nose's secret?"
"I just want to know if I'm doing anything wrong. Does his ability come and go?"
"Jimmy, only the Great Spirit knows these things. But I believe he has fitted Yellow Nose for these times. This miracle dog is an answer to my prayers—my people’s prayers."
"What do you mean by that?"
Cloud Walker stuffed the necklace back into his shirt. "In due time, young man. In due time."
Jimmy persisted with his previous question. "So what's the trick? How do you get him to find more gold?"
Cloud Walker erupted into a hearty laugh. "It doesn't work that way. You have it—don't you? Look at you. It's written in your eyes."
"Have what? What're ya talkin' about?" asked Jimmy. He began to chuckle, not fully getting Cloud Walker’s meaning.
"The fever. Obviously, you have the fever." He started another round of laughter.
"What's so funny?" Jimmy had stopped laughing. "Is it so bad to wanna be rich? It don't look like you're hurtin' none yourself."
Cloud Walker's light-hearted mood left him, and he glared at Jimmy so that the boy had to look away. "You know nothing about me, Jimmy. You have no right to judge. What I have and what I do is for my people. It's for their survival. And because of that Yellow Nose has been my friend."
"I don't understand," said Jimmy.
Cloud Walker sniffed the air, turned and sneered at the woods. His right hand now rested on the knife still tucked away in his belt. Not wanting to alarm Jimmy, he turned back around, brought his hand down to his side and continued to address the young man.
"Why should I trust you with this?” said Cloud Walker.
Yellow Nose walked over to Jimmy and rested his head against the boy's chest.
"What I'm about to tell you, you must never repeat to any man. You understand me? I don't know why I'm telling you this, but you seem to have won Yellow Nose's friendship."
Jimmy nodded and stroked the dog's head.
"Yellow Nose only finds gold for those with pure motives and a generous heart. I didn't understand it myself at first. But when greed and the fever come, he knows. He always knows, Jimmy."
"But I'm not greedy! I only want a better life! What's so wrong with that?"
"You have the look," said Cloud Walker. "I've seen that look for the past decade. That look has harmed my people in countless ways."
Jimmy stood, turning his back on the giant Cherokee. The boy buried his hands into his pockets and hung his head low, exhaling a soft sigh.
Cloud Walker peered once again into the forest but kept talking. His hand again rested on the knife. "It's not too late, Jimmy. I see a bond between you and Yellow Nose. He must see something greater in your heart."
"I'm so tired of being poor. That’s all my family’s ever been," said Jimmy.
"Take courage my young friend. There's more than one way to be rich."
Yellow Nose unleashed a menacing growl. Jimmy wheeled around to find that Guy Jackson had slinked into the camp. Cloud Walker took two steps back. Jackson's savage grin and pistol ruled the moment.
*******************
"Well, well what do we have here?" said Guy.
"I smelled your stench when you were but a mile off," said Cloud Walker, calmly. "What are you doing here? Why the gun?"
"I was looking for my dog but looks like I’ve found more than that. You out here in the middle of nowhere can mean only one thing: The hiding place. It must be close by."
"Haven't you taken enough? You and those despicable Hounds. My people need supplies to make this trip. You got your wish. The land is yours. Now, let us leave in peace."
Guy pointed the gun toward Jimmy. "Does he know about the gold?"
Cloud Walker shook his finger at Guy. "Keep the boy out of this! No need for him to get involved."
"Oh, I don't think so. I need all the bargaining chips I can get. See, I know about the gold and your grand plan to help your brothers move west. Now take me to your stash or the boy and the dog get it."
Cloud Walker stepped sideways, deliberately placing himself between Guy and Jimmy. “Stop and think. You kill me and you'll never find that gold. Yellow Nose will never help you. Jimmy doesn't know."
"I won’t be trifled with," said Guy. Thinking he no longer needed the dog, he aimed his pistol toward Yellow Nose and squeezed the trigger. A faulty cap caused the gun not to fire.
Cloud Walker grinned. "It looks like we will have to settle this my way."
Cloud Walker slowly drew his knife and motioned Guy to a fight. Guy in turn dropped his pistol and rolled up his sleeves. "Okay, you want to settle this the hard way. You always were a stubborn one," said Guy. He stepped over to his former hiding spot behind a large virgin pine and retrieved Tom Simmons’s axe. Yellow Nose stood behind Cloud Walker, fur bristling, teeth displayed.
"Look familiar, Jimmy?" Jackson cast an evil smile at Jimmy and slid his thumb along the smooth, shiny blade. With a swinging and chopping motion, he attempted to cut his tall opponent in half. The two pivoted slowly around the smoldering campfire. Jimmy tried to keep Cloud Walker between him and Jackson. Jimmy also managed to grab Yellow Nose by the scruff of the neck, keeping the dog from joining the fight.
Cloud Walker dodged another swing but stayed calm. "I never took you for a thief in the beginning. You thought Yellow Nose would be your ticket to riches. But surely you know by now—he won't find gold for a greedy heart."
"I'll find the gold, with or without the dog!" Guy breathed harder now. Sweat trickled down his forehead and neck. Some of his swings came close to the Cherokee’s upper torso.
Cloud Walker sliced into Jackson's face and shoulder with his razor-sharp knife. This took Guy off guard, allowing Cloud Walker to plow his gigantic fist into Guy's ribs. Guy cursed and sprang back, swinging the axe furiously. "I'm going to kill you, Cloud Walker!"
Jimmy listened intently to the two men. The tense exchange quickly moved into a bloody brawl. He saw himself in that man swinging the axe, and it frightened him. The fine silk shirt had now become torn and soiled.
Jimmy tried to follow the movements of his Cherokee shield, but he overlooked a tree stump and tripped. This misstep caused him to loosen his grip on Yellow Nose, giving the dog the opportunity he'd been waiting for. The dog darted around Cloud Walker and latched onto Jackson’s ankle. Jackson brought the axe down, smacking Yellow Nose with a hard blow. Yellow Nose yelped loudly. Though not a mortal wound, the axe mutilated the dog's hind leg.
Cloud Walker had the advantage on size and strength, but Guy was very nimble. Twice, Guy cut into Cloud Walker's left arm, rendering it almost useless. The giant was growing impatient and tired. Despite the pain, Yellow Nose attempted to move back into the fight, and Jackson brought the axe head up to finish him off.
"Enough!" yelled Cloud Walker. With a final burst of strength, Cloud Walker blocked the swing of the axe handle and bare-fisted Guy across the face, knocking him to the ground. Guy held the handle tightly and fell in between Cloud Walker’s legs. Seeing an opportunity, Guy reared both his legs back and kicked Cloud Walker's knees outward. This was enough to break both of them and send him to the ground, reeling in pain. Guy stood and took control of the axe; he then plunged it into the giant’s chest. Blood spewed everywhere as Cloud Walker gasped for air. Guy released the handle and retrieved his gun.
As Cloud Walker struggled for his life, Guy placed a fresh cap on the hammer of his pistol. Jackson then walked back over to Cloud Walker and pointed the gun toward the fallen giant’s forehead. A large boom sounded through the forest. Cloud Walker stared into the barrel of the pistol, but where was the smoke? He did, however, notice a growing, red stain on Guy's sweat-drenched shirt. Jackson brought his hand up to the stain and looked on it in disbelief. He toppled over like a felled tree to Cloud Walker's side and died.
Shaking all over, Jimmy lowered the smoothbore rifle to his side. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks. He had shot Jackson at close range, but what else could he have done. The big question remained: Had he acted in time?
Yellow Nose cleaned Cloud Walker's face with his gracious tongue. He smiled at the dog and yearned to pet him one last time but lacked sufficient strength in his arms. At a loss for how to help his friend, Jimmy kneeled to Cloud Walker's side. With a final struggle, the dying Cherokee whispered in the boy’s ear.
"Jimmy ... Not too late, my friend. Help ... help my people. The gold is theirs. I leave it to your charge." He fixed his eyes on a huge rock overhang. “In the mountain, Jimmy. Go into the mountain.” Though he had just met the young man and didn't know if he could completely trust him, he knew this was the closing chance to help his people.
Cloud Walker stared at Yellow Nose one last time and then turned his eyes to Jimmy. "He knows, Jimmy. He knows." With that, the great Cloud Walker breathed his last and joined his fathers.
********************
The gold was a mere hundred yards from Cloud Walker's camp, deep in the bowels of a well-hidden cave. Jimmy and his Uncle Bill brought the gold back to the mission and distributed it to Cloud Walker's family members and friends. This meant money for supplies, horses and wagons, and a less tortuous journey west for some. Thousands still died along the tear-stained trail.
Bill Simmons followed the Cherokee west, and Tom turned the mission into an orphanage. He was right about the fertile land. Cornfields now flourished and fed about thirty orphaned boys.
"You have everything ya need?" asked Tom. "You know it may take weeks to find them."
"I'll be okay, Pa. I’ve lived with ‘em enough to know how to find their camps." Jimmy looked behind him. In the wagon, Yellow Nose stood on three legs, his body oscillating with joy. "It will probably be spring when I get back."
A secret compartment filled with gold lay beneath the wagon floor. Jimmy was headed north to a small band of Cherokee who had traveled to and hidden in the Smoky Mountains. Yellow Nose had been busy over the last couple of years. Gold nuggets were getting harder and harder to find, but the Cherokee had left behind a few caches.
The Simmons never kept any of the gold for themselves. Jimmy had found his fortune in friendships, and no one could take that away from him. Yellow Nose's special gift had finally played out, but Jimmy wanted his Cherokee friends to have this last remaining treasure.
"This is for you." His Pa handed him a small leather pouch.
Jimmy emptied the contents into his hand. Five corn kernels tumbled out. "What's this for?"
"Don't you remember that day at the cabin? I told you that God would do his magic. I decided to save them as a reminder."
"Thanks, Pa. You were right. I wonder though: Will Yellow Nose ever get his gift back?"
"Maybe. Maybe not."
Jimmy smiled and grabbed Yellow Nose around the neck. The hound worked his tongue back and forth across Jimmy's face; the tail pounded on the seat.
The wagon set off, creaking and rocking down the dusty country road. The young boy and his dog rode away, swallowed whole by the mountain’s cool and inviting shadows.
The End
The raging fire reflected off the bloody pools. Black smoke filled and overshadowed the scene like a dark spirit. Beaver Tail's wife and two daughters left their hiding place to join him, and together, they mourned over their loss.
Another casualty, a white man, lay contorted, skewered to the ground with a large knife. His two partners had retreated and fled back to town. As they galloped off, the men cursed and pledged they'd be back with the rest of the Hounds. This gang of vile, unruly men had constantly taunted and terrorized the Cherokee, attempting to push them off the land.
Beaver Tail sighed deeply and wiped the tears from his eyes. "There was no sign of their coming."
"I know. The birds gave us no warning.” The tall man wrapped Beaver Tail's son up in his blanket. He then handed Beaver Tail a beautiful eagle feather which he had pulled from his white bandana.
"I'm glad you were here, Cloud Walker," said Beaver Tail. "You saved my life. I will return the blanket."
"Keep it. I'm sorry I could not protect Crazy Bear. He fought bravely and will live on in the memories of our people. Even now, he nourishes the ground, and his spirit travels on the wind."
"A great son, he was. But how many more of our sons must fall?"
Cloud Walker walked over and knelt beside the white man. "No more. Too many have died already." He studied the cold, pale body for a while and then noticed the shiny stone still clutched within the stiffening hand of the thief. “I remember when the white men first discovered the yellow stone.”
“Ah, yes,” said Beaver Tail. “Seems like yesterday. When was it: ’28 or ’29?
“It was 1829. I remember it distinctly. A decade later they still can’t get enough of it.”
“It seems to have cast a spell on them,” said Beaver Tail.
“It is a beautiful stone,” said Cloud Walker. He freed the gold nugget from the dead man’s hand and stuffed it back into Beaver Tail’s pouch, where it belonged.
"What now?" asked Beaver Tail as he picked up his son's body.
Cloud Walker pulled his knife from the white man's chest and wiped the blade. He then stuffed it in his ornamental sash. "Go. Bury your son. Take your family to the caves. I will meet you there."
Beaver Tail stared at the wrapped-up corpse. "And what about avenging my son? These murderers must pay. This is our father's land, our land."
"It is time to be moving on brother. The white men grow in numbers and strength. We can no longer trust them. A way has opened to the West and, we must step through it."
**********************
The cabin door creaked open, releasing the aroma of simmering beans and freshly baked cornbread. The porch decking squeaked and buckled under the weight of Tom Simmons as he moved toward his favorite rocking chair. His hand slid along the smooth porch rail, the remnant of an old tree branch. Next to the chair, a boy sat atop a wooden pail and whittled on a small stick, bringing it to a sharp point. Tom concealed something in his right hand.
"What ya making there, Son?"
"A spear," said the boy. "I'm goin' frog giggin' down by the river."
"You don't look very excited. What's with the sad face?" Jimmy Simmons worked on the stick more aggressively. Chips were flying now a good four or five feet.
"Pa, why couldn't Uncle Bill take me with him up Castle Mountain?" He flung his knife hard into the porch plank.
"Son, we've talked about this before. Your uncle Bill's on a dangerous journey. The mountain's not a safe place to be right now. There's been an incident, you know. Bill's going to try and patch things up."
Jimmy eyed his father's right hand. Tom noticed this and concealed it under his left armpit.
"What happened up there, Pa?"
"Well, I don't rightly know. I reckon Cloud Walker had something to do with it. That Indian's no good. Don't know what your uncle sees in him."
The boy's eyes lit up when Tom mentioned the Cherokee’s name. "Tell me about Cloud Walker. What's he done?"
"All I know is that Indian is trouble. Hope your uncle knows what he's doing. They just won't listen to him."
Jimmy set the spear down and buttoned up one of the straps on his raggedy overalls. "Why won't the Cherokee listen, Pa?”
Tom slowly moved his right hand down to his side. Then, he wrapped it around the back of the rocking chair. Jimmy craned his neck a bit to peer around the chair.
"Not sure why. First, he tried to save their rights to the land. That didn't work. Now, he's trying to tell them to get while the gettin's good. The government's making them move west. Cloud Walker's been the most stubborn of the lot. He won't budge."
"But what about the mission?" asked Jimmy.
Tom looked out over the compound. The schoolhouse was empty due to his brother's absence. Bill was the schoolmaster, and he ran the mission. The Cherokee-donated land had been in his possession for nearly a decade.
"Pa, did you hear me?"
Tom looked back to his son. "I heard ya. You see, times are changing. Some people just don't want the Cherokee here anymore. The greedy buzzards want their land. Think they're going to find more gold, I guess."
Jimmy's eyes ratcheted wider. The mere mention of that four-letter word brought a tingling sensation over his whole body. The same sensation one feels when about to open birthday or Christmas gifts, only this was a hundred times stronger.
"I wish we could find gold," said the boy. “So we can be rich!” The overall strap had come loose again and flopped down across Jimmy’s stomach. Jimmy’s father couldn’t help but notice his son’s protruding ribs.
"Jimmy, I know times is tough right now. But God'll provide. He always has. Don't put your faith in riches. What would your mom—God rest her soul—say if she heard you saying such?"
Tom's mustache would develop a peculiar twitch anytime he talked of his late wife. Slowly, he moved his right hand from behind the chair to his lap.
"Pa, don't you think Mom would've wanted us to live a better life? Just look at this place. My shoes have holes and my stomach does too. That wasn't thunder you just heard. Couldn't God just see fit to give us a little more?"
Tom lifted his hand and slowly unfurled his fingers. "Look here, Son. Five little corn seeds. Look at them. I’m gonna put them in the ground and watch God do his magic. But we're going to need more. Your uncle's been blessed with some fertile land. With his missionary duties and all, he hasn't had time to work it. I see cornstalks and ears of corn all over the place. The only gold we need."
The young boy frowned at the kernels, but his mind kept wondering about Castle Mountain. He thought about the adventures he was missing and what other parts of the world he hadn’t seen. Where would farming get him? Those five kernels—nothing magical about them.
"Jimmy, I need you to do something for me. Take a few of our best laying hens to town, sell them and buy some more corn seed."
Jimmy's eyes shot from the kernels to his father's smiling face. Deep down inside, a flame had been lit, and he could feel his excitement growing. "You mean you want me to go by myself?" asked Jimmy.
"You betcha. At sunup, you take Old Tut and the wagon. Keep your eyes and ears open. And stay clear of any troublemakers. Now let's get some supper into ya so ya can go about your frog giggin'."
********************
The road to Dahlonega jolted and shook the wagon something fierce. Jimmy's hind end took a beating. His face destroyed numerous spider webs, and he shook off that creepy, crawly sensation with each encounter. However, this didn't stop his whistling. His glee even drowned out the hen's cackles which erupted each time the wheel found the next hole.
An hour later, Jimmy pulled into Dahlonega and stopped in front of Roger's General Store. An old toothless miner passed by, his wagon piled high with supplies: pickaxes, gun powder, tobacco, food and whiskey. The hammering of the blacksmith competed with the chorus of dance hall girls in an adjacent saloon. Across the way, the town sheriff leaned against a post and lit his pipe. The lawman jumped to attention and made his way toward two men who had just started a fist fight. Probably over a girl or a poker game gone bad.
Out of curiosity, Jimmy walked over to join a gathering crowd of spectators. The sheriff jogged toward the two men with his right hand on his pistol. He quickly broke up the fight.
"You folks go about your business! Nothing to see here," said the sheriff. He then proceeded to scold the two drunken miners.
On his way back to the store, Jimmy noticed that the old church was still boarded up. Weeds were pushing their way through the steps. His father had tried to start a congregation there, but with little success. No, it wasn't for a lack of trying, or because of a scandal, or due to incompetence—Tom Simmons outshined most preachers of that area. Mainly, it was from a lack of interest. People were obsessed with another god, the yellowish, shiny one. Naturally, the miners spent the little gold they did find on women and whiskey. They lived it up on Saturday night. That amounted to just a few sober people at church Sunday morning. Just try preaching to a grand total of ten people each week.
"What can I do for ya, young man?" Mr. Rogers, the store owner, smiled as the ten-year-old stepped into the building.
"Pa needs some corn seed. I got six hens in back of the wagon. How much will that fetch?"
"Oh, I s'pose that'll be enough to fund a mighty nice cornfield. You come all that way by yourself?"
"Yessir, all the way!"
Mr. Rogers stepped to the back room to get the seed. With hungry eyes, Jimmy scanned the food supplies behind the counter. He wasn’t great at reading, but he knew very well the shape and contents of one container in particular. Ah, there it is and right in front of him on the counter—a licorice jar. He loved the red ones, the sweet flavor and chewy texture. Just thinking about it made his mouth water.
Jimmy's stomach growled and broke the spell. "The hens," he whispered.
As Jimmy walked to the back of the wagon, he looked over again to find the two men and the sheriff, but they were gone. Jimmy's eyes then fell on Guy Jackson talking to his mother in front of the City Hall building. Jimmy stared long and hard at the man. He admired Jackson's polished shoes and white silk shirt. He also admired Jackson's hat and striped three-piece suit. So much so, that he accidentally let one hen escape.
The bird headed straight for the Jacksons. Ms. Jackson gasped as the hen squawked and scurried between her and her son.
"Sorry ma'am." Jimmy rushed by the lady and pinned the hen against the wall. Dust and feathers hovered about as he picked up the bird.
"Boy, what's the meaning of this? Keep your distance with that foul creature! One speck of dirt on this dress, and I'll be paying your father a visit." Guy Jackson folded his arms and sneered at Jimmy. The businessman stood there like a chiseled statue.
Jimmy swallowed hard. "Sorry, Ms. Jackson. Didn't mean no harm. I'll be goin' now."
Jimmy tucked his chin down and headed back to the store. As he did, he couldn't help but overhear the mother and son finish their conversation.
"Mother, I'm not sure we need him anymore," said Guy. "Besides, it only worked that one time. No guarantees he'll do it again." Guy worked on rolling up a smoke. He rarely met his mother's eyes. They always bore into him with a devilish scorn.
"You don't know that for sure," said Ms. Jackson. “If you've hurt him in any way, I swear ... I swear you'll pay dearly. I've seen how you treat him. What happened with you keeping him locked up?”
"I told you, Mother. He gave me the slip and ran off. It’s just been two days. Don't worry. He'll remember the hand that feeds him." Jackson wasn’t telling his mom the full story. He rarely did.
"What about my idea?" asked Ms. Jackson. "All we have to do is find a good, honest soul. Someone he’ll trust at first. You know how it works. Then our little luck charm might just lead us to the mother lode."
"Too risky. Do that too many times, and our luck charm won't be a secret anymore. Then what if Cloud Walker finds out?"
"You might be right, but maybe it's worth trying once," said Ms. Jackson. "Anyway, see to it that you get him back. Or else ...” She poked her finger firmly into her son's shoulder and then glanced over at Jimmy. Jimmy turned his head forward and picked up his pace to the store.
********************
The back-jarring ride home was a lot less exciting. Jimmy thought more about the weird exchange between mother and son Jackson. Those thoughts were soon replaced as he reflected on their stately appearance and their lifestyle. He pictured himself in an expensive hat, wearing a fancy silk shirt. He was now riding a shiny sleek carriage, packed with cases of licorice. Young ladies swooned as he rode by. Young men saluted him. Presently, the whole town cheered his name and showered him with roses.
When he opened his eyes, the harsh reality lay bare. The young ladies had become trees, and the cheers were only the calls of birds. The roses—spider webs.
He looked down to his overalls and the mosaic of patches running down the legs. He thought about his future and wondered if he would ever be more than the son of a poor preacher turned farmer.
Seconds later, the woods fell silent. Old Tut came to a halt as they rounded a bend in the road. A steady throbbing worked on Jimmy's eardrums. He slowly reached for his knife, only to remember it was still stuck in the cabin porch. "Who's there?" asked Jimmy.
There, he heard it again, only a little louder. Jimmy watched the mule for signs of panic. The animal stood frozen, head fixed straight forward.
The sound came a third time. Jimmy strained to look around Old Tut. Heaped in the middle of the road was an ant pile, one that moved. Upon further inspection, Jimmy determined it was an animal—no, a small dog. Just a little bigger than a Beagle, the black and tan struggled to slide his body forward, inching his way to who knows where.
Jimmy leaped from the wagon and crouched over the dog. He examined him, but no clue what to do next. The left hind leg was bloodied, as was the right foreleg. A goose-egg knot crowned his forehead. One eye shut, badly swollen.
"Poor, boy. What ... who did this to you?" He tried stroking the dog, which brought the poor animal more pain. He rushed to the back of the wagon and grabbed an old blanket.
"I'm sorry, boy. This is goin' to hurt, but there's no other way." Jimmy wrapped the dog up, cuddling him back to the wagon. The dog wailed as Jimmy lowered him in. He wedged things around the dog so he wouldn't slide about the bed.
"You'll be okay, boy. We'll get ya back home and take care of ya."
Old Tut pressed on, back to the mission nestled deep in the North Georgia hills. At least for now, Jimmy had abandoned his earlier dreams of fame and fortune. But— another dream had come true. Rural Georgia was a lonely place for a young boy. That day, Jimmy found his new best friend.
****************
"Jimmy! That dog's going to eat up all our food," said Mr. Simmons. "I can barely keep your mouth fed. Is he well enough to do any hunting?"
"It's been three weeks, Pa. I thought about takin' him rabbit huntin' tomorrow. He sure seems to be gettin' around well."
"Good! Then he can earn his keep. Fresh rabbit meat sounds mighty good!"
When Speckled Snake, one of the old chiefs at the mission, saw the dog, he started spouting something in Cherokee—dalonige kayvsoli. The words translated to English meant Yellow Nose. In his excitement, Speckled Snake almost passed out. Word quickly spread, and just about all the Cherokee from the mission gathered to see the injured dog.
Speckled Snake chanted a prayer for Yellow Nose and treated his wounds with a special ointment. Another chief walked around Yellow Nose, smoked a long pipe and shouted out different Cherokee phrases. What seemed like a ceremony ended with the crowd singing. The song’s tones were hopeful and celebratory.
When Tom Simmons asked Speckled Snake about the proceedings, the chief remained silent. Tom didn't push the matter.
About that same time, Uncle Bill returned, but he wouldn't say much about the trip to Castle Mountain. A miserable mood had replaced his normal optimism and humor. Hope for the Cherokee was dying out. Under law, they were being forced to leave Georgia and move west.
Tom and Bill shared some whispered conversations about Cloud Walker and the incident. All Jimmy could make out was that a white man had been killed during an attempt to take over some Cherokee land. Beaver Tail's son was also killed. And somehow the Hounds were involved.
"Uncle Bill, why can't you tell me more about Cloud Walker and what happened?"
"Cloud Walker's a complicated man. The whole situation is pretty complex. Might bore you.”
“Is he a troublemaker like Pa says?”
“Well, I think the trouble finds him. He’s something of a legend around these parts. A very stubborn man. Wealthy too. Some say he's got a stockpile of gold in that fort they call a castle."
Jimmy's face glowed. "A castle. So that's why they call it Castle Mountain?"
"You guessed it. But it's more like a fort, built with logs. Up on the very peak of the mountain. When the clouds come around, it looks like it’s floating up there.”
"You've seen it?" asked Jimmy.
The clean-shaven missionary folded his arms and leaned over his lesson plans. "I've not only seen it, I've been in it."
Jimmy basked in his uncle's attention. "I heard he's a giant!"
Uncle Bill leaned forward with a curious squint. "Who told you that?"
"I'm not stupid. I've heard the Cherokee talk about him." He was referring mainly to Speckled Snake.
Bill leaned back in his chair and removed his spectacles. His bushy eyebrows lifted with the furrowed brow. "Oh, and what else have they told you?"
"They say he hunts the bad white men down and kidnaps their wives and children."
Bill erupted with a laugh. "Hogwash! Can't you see they're just messing with you?"
Jimmy squirmed in his chair and avoided his uncle's eyes. "You mean he's not a giant?"
Uncle Bill smiled and leaned forward again. "Well, that part’s true. You see, he's about 7 ft., 5, which is a giant in my book. But Jimmy, you should really watch out for a couple other giants who roam these hills."
Jimmy's eyes opened wider.
"Yes sir, two mean, nasty giants! I call them prejudice and greed. These two are hard to stop. So be on the lookout!"
Now Bill was messing with him. Jimmy threw his hat at his uncle, and they both laughed. He was relieved the giants weren't real, physical giants, but how quickly he’d brushed aside his uncle’s metaphor.
***************
The next morning, Jimmy took Yellow Nose hunting. For two hours they meandered through the woods, looking for rabbits, squirrels or whatever they could scare up. He walked with his chest out and chin up. This was important work—foraging for his family. He felt grown up and alive.
"Okay, boy, we've been huntin' a while now. I need ya to push somethin' out. We can't go back empty-handed.” Yellow Nose looked at Jimmy and tilted his head sideways.
"I know, I know. But that last one didn't count. He was out of sight before I could get a bead on him." Their first rabbit of the day was quick on the jump. Jimmy thought it was strange though that the hound didn't take chase. After all, that's what hound dogs are supposed to do.
Jimmy stroked the dog's head and picked burrs from the long, droopy ears. Yellow Nose returned the kind gesture by licking Jimmy's hand. Jimmy poured some water into his hand from the canteen, and Yellow Nose lapped it up. He slid his finger over one of the scabbed over wounds. Then he smiled at Yellow Nose, like a mother doting on her child.
"Come on now. Let's follow this trail into the ravine. Plenty of rabbits down there. And if not, we'll take us a swim."
Halfway into the ravine, Yellow Nose let loose a deafening howl. The howl turned into a steady bay, and Yellow Nose raced down the hill towards the creek. Jimmy followed behind and often stopped to see if the game would circle back. The excited hound continued to move farther away.
Jimmy walked the creek trail for nearly two miles. Overhead, a flock of crows cawed. They had been chasing a Red-shouldered Hawk. Jimmy sat down and listened to the hawk's cries in the distance. He then began to worry. What if Yellow Nose had given up and ran off? What if he couldn't find his dog?
Jimmy waited quietly, cupping his hands behind his ears, trying to pinpoint Yellow Nose's location. As the calls of the crows faded, he then heard a new and different noise. It sounded like scratching and occasional debris flying through the woods. Then came a whine, followed by breathing—no, sniffing. Then more scratching. Then more debris. Then more sniffing.
"What is that?" Jimmy cocked the hammer on the smoothbore.
He tiptoed toward the strange sounds. They seemed to be just over the rise in front of him. Must be next to the creek. Out of nowhere, objects began to fly by him. Something hit his cheek, and then a rock bounced off a nearby tree. Jimmy belly crawled up the small hill and peered over the crest.
He smiled.
"There you are. What do you have, boy?" Jimmy was relieved to find Yellow Nose digging beside a bend in the stream. Behind the dog lay a massive pile of dirt. Yellow Nose continued to dig, sniff and whine. Seconds later, he stopped.
"What're you doin', Yellow Nose? Where's the rabbit?" Jimmy eased over to the hole and dropped to his knees. His eyes bulged toward the bottom of the hole.
"What? It can't be!" Jimmy reached into the hole and pulled out a yellow rock—a gold nugget!
He couldn't believe what was happening. Soon, his whole body began to quiver, and he broke out into a dance. "Whoopee! We're rich! We're rich!" The nugget was no bigger than his index finger, but it had latched onto his soul.
Jimmy gently cradled Yellow Nose's muzzle between his hands. "How...," he paused and looked deeper into the hound's hazel-colored eyes. "How did you do that?"
Yellow Nose sneezed and began rubbing his nose against some nearby grass. He rolled over on his back and wiggled his whole body back and forth. Then the nose came up. Yellow Nose stood at attention, in a point-like stance.
"You aren't just any ole hound dog. It must be magic. What else can you do?"
Before he could question the dog further, Yellow Nose had left the scene in another unusual chase. Then followed another and another and another, until Jimmy possessed five shiny rocks. His cup of joy spilled all over him. The nuggets took on a magical quality as they rested in the palm of his hand. Much better than a few measly corn seeds. Jimmy’s eyes stayed glued to the nuggets for some time. He had never smiled so greatly on anything in his life.
***************
Jimmy's father sat dumbfounded on the cabin porch, looking down on the five shiny nuggets. He picked up one from Jimmy's hand and examined it like an elderly man reading a pill bottle. He'd never seen one before. Like Jimmy, this was his first encounter with what many might call a "game changer." He scratched his chin. "Tell me again—how did you find them?"
"I told ya, Pa. Swindling Creek. Yellow Nose found 'em. He can smell gold a mile away. It's magic I tell ya! Magic!"
Uncle Bill heard the excitement as he left the schoolhouse and scrambled across the road to see what the commotion was about. Jimmy repeated the story to his uncle.
Bill studied one of the nuggets. His blue eyes showed a hint of trouble. He knew what those nuggets meant to a lot of folks. "Where along Swindling Creek?" he asked.
Jimmy remained silent and snatched the nugget back from his uncle's hand.
"Tell him, Son. Whereabouts did you find these on the creek?"
"I don't know. Somewhere passed the big bend. Maybe two, three miles downstream, I reckon. Pretty close to the Turkey Roost Mine."
"That's some of the Jackson's land," said Uncle Bill. "I can tell you, it wouldn't be good for him to hear about this. Never have liked that man."
Tom took all the nuggets from Jimmy's hand and placed them in a burlap sack. "We can't keep 'em, Jimmy. They ain't rightfully ours."
"But I found 'em! Don't that count for anythin'?"
"Son, it ain't our property. That's stealing."
"Look, Tom," said Bill, "Jackson's a thief and you know it. He took that land from some of the very people who live on this mission. He even snookered Cloud Walker out of some of his land. I'd say they have some rights to those nuggets."
Tom dumped three of the nuggets back into his hand. As he looked at them more intently, he could see a reflection of himself. He then began to see a man in nice preacher cloths, a big, beautiful white church, a new parish and a pretty wife. Tom rubbed his eyes and quickly stuffed the nuggets back into the sack.
"Now Bill, Jimmy and I didn't move here to stir up any trouble. Word gets out that we kept these rocks, and we'll all pay for it. Our reputation will be ruined. You watch and see. No sir, I don't want no part of it.”
Tom stopped, collected his thoughts and looked at Yellow Nose. "And what's this story about Yellow Nose? I've never heard about a dog who could find gold. Is there something you're not telling us?"
"Pa, I'm tellin' the truth. We didn't just stumble across 'em. Yellow Nose sniffed ‘em out and dug 'em up. I seen it with my own eyes."
Tom Simmons smiled and tied a knot in the sack. "Well, if you say so, I believe ya. But that’s a huckleberry above my persimmon. Yellow Nose will just have to find gold on your uncle's property."
"Pa, we can be rich! You wanna live here forever? Growin' corn and growin' poorer by the minute? You know how much those nuggets will fetch?"
"Well, I ain't gonna get rich being a thief. No sir. This gold belongs to the Jacksons. There's been enough thieving and pillaging around these parts," said Tom Simmons.
Jimmy slapped his dusty hat against his pants and stormed off.
"Where you going?" hollered Uncle Bill.
"I'm going to find more gold nuggets. Come on Yellow Nose," said Jimmy.
Jimmy headed straight to the back end of his uncle’s lot. "Come on, boy. We're goin' to find us some gold we can keep."
They scoured the creeks and even some abandoned mines. The determined boy searched all afternoon and even until dark. For the next few days, Jimmy continued his quest for instant riches. Who knows how many acres they covered? Nothing. Not a peep out of Yellow Nose.
Every time he sat down for a break, Jimmy's eyelids would droop shut. The prospects of finding gold had exhausted him physically and emotionally. He couldn't think straight. Even worse, he hadn't collected any meat for an evening meal.
********************
That next evening, Jimmy slowly dragged himself into the cabin. He propped his smoothbore in the corner and hung up his hat. Soup simmered in a kettle above the fire, but Jimmy was too tired to eat.
"Well. What did you bring us?" asked Uncle Bill. "Rocks or rabbits? I think I'd be pleased with a rabbit right now."
"It's not working. There's gotta be more gold out there. There's gotta." Jimmy paused and released a heavy sigh. "Oh, forget it—I'm beat."
Uncle Bill smiled. "Get some rest, Jimmy. You're going to work yourself sick."
He rubbed Jimmy's neck and roughed up the boy's hair. "I'm sure Yellow Nose will prove himself soon. That must be one special dog. I see how the Cherokee look at him. You want to hear something Speckled Snake told me?”
"What … What'd he say?" asked Jimmy.
"Something about Yellow Nose being good medicine."
"What do you mean by good medicine?" asked Jimmy.
"He told me how Yellow Nose led Cloud Walker to a remote cave. That cave contained some of the purest gold in these parts. Cloud Walker intends to use the gold to help his people move west.”
“Yellow Nose did all that?”
“Yes sir. You’ve got a one-of-a-kind dog right there.
"You shoulda seen him, Uncle Bill. Diggin' them holes. Findin' that gold. I never seen anthin' like it. But why can't he find more?"
"I don't know," said Uncle Bill. "Maybe he can't always control the gift."
The cabin door opened and Tom Simmons stepped in. He looked at Yellow Nose and turned a sad gaze towards his son. The kind of expression you give when someone in the family has died. He then tossed something to Bill.
"What's this? I thought you were going to return the nuggets to Jackson," said Bill.
"I did, and he was grateful. He up and gave us one back. I thought you might could use it for the mission. By the way, I heard some news on Cloud Walker. The Hounds raided his fort and chased him into the hills.”
“Did he get away?”
“That’s what I gathered,” said Tom. “Sounded like some of the other Indians headed north and hid in the mountains.”
Tom sat down across from Jimmy and slowly tapped on the table. "Jimmy, your find has caused quite a stir in town. Nuggets like that haven't been found in these creek bottoms in years. Jackson was curious. He knows about the dog."
"What?" asked Jimmy.
"He knows about Yellow Nose. Described exactly how he looks. Seems the dog belongs to him." Tom shut up and gave the boy time to take it in. A red hue began to move up into Jimmy's face.
"He wants him back, Jimmy. I'm sorry. That's one reason he let me keep the nugget. For all our trouble of taking care of the dog," said Tom.
Jimmy sat down beside Yellow Nose. "Why would a man like Guy Jackson want Yellow Nose? He’s rich. Could have as many dogs as he wants.”
“That’s kinda what I was thinking,” said Tom. “But the dog seems to be special to him.”
“Unless ... unless he knows the secret,” said Bill “That's got to be it. Don't you see?"
"What secret?" asked Tom.
"You, know. He wants Yellow Nose so he can find more gold,” said Bill.
"I suppose that’s a possibility." Tom paused and fiddled with his hat. "Look, I know the dog is special, but the fact stands—he belongs to Jackson. Besides, having a dog with a gift like that—you’re just inviting trouble.”
“But I love ‘im, Pa! God gave ‘im to me. Could you talk to Mr. Jackson one more time? Maybe he’ll understand. You know I met him one time—and his mom. They may be high class, but they seemed like decent folks.”
Tom sat in silence for a minute and then thought out loud. “Maybe I can buy the dog back. Maybe when the corn comes in we can do a trade.”
"Jackson’s not going to trade for any corn,” said Bill. “Jimmy, the Jacksons aren’t the good and respectable people you may think them to be. I’ve known Guy for quite a while now. The fact that he had the dog probably means he stole Yellow Nose from the Cherokee. Cloud Walker used to take care of the dog. I’d be willing to bet you Jackson’s the one that beat Yellow Nose to a pulp.”
Jimmy buried his head beneath his hands and looked down at the table. Those last few comments filled in the missing gaps from the conversation he had overheard between Guy and his mother. Now it made sense. His opinions of the Jacksons were making a full turn.
"What do you say, Tom? Why don’t you let me take Yellow Nose away from here? I’ll figure out a way so Jimmy can visit him.”
"Bill, I promised Jackson. I'm a man of my word. If we don't give him the dog, we're gonna pay dearly. He strikes me as the kinda man who'll do anything to get what he wants. Jackson told me he'd be here around sunup to fetch the dog.”
"Pa, I won’t let you do that! I’ll fight if I have to!" Jimmy grabbed Yellow Nose around the neck and squeezed hard. Then and there, Jimmy resolved never to turn the dog over to Jackson.
******************
The log cabin shook as someone rapped violently on the front door. It was 3 a.m. An unusual time for visitors.
"Open up, Simmons!" said the stranger. "Open up, now!"
Tom Simmons grabbed his musket and slowly moved towards the door.
"Who's there?"
"It's Guy Jackson. I've come to get the dog."
Tom laid the rifle down and began unlatching the door. "We weren't expecting you until daylight."
"I decided I couldn't wait. I need the dog now!" barked Jackson.
As Tom released the latch, the door flew open, making him stagger backwards. In marched Jackson, led by his pistol. "Give him to me, Simmons!" ordered Jackson. "And the nugget!"
Tom turned toward Jimmy's cot. His heart sank. No hat, no smoothbore, no Yellow Nose, and no Jimmy. Sometime during the night, the boy quietly slipped out. It was the only answer. He just couldn't give Yellow Nose up.
"Where's the dog?" asked Jackson.
"Jackson, I'm afraid you've come too early. My boy's not back from his coon hunting trip. Why don't you come back later?"
"Don't lie to me, Simmons. Now, where are they?"
Hearing the commotion, Bill came out of his room. Jackson fanned his pistol back and forth between Tom and Bill.
"What's going on here? Put that gun down! I won't have bloodshed on this mission!"
Jackson ignored Bill's demand. "I came to get that dog, and I mean to get him back."
"Why the show of force over a little hound dog? And this hour of the morning! He is just a dog—right? Or is he something more?" asked Bill.
"It's none of your business, Bill." Uneasiness churned in Guy's gut. From Tom's earlier account, he knew the two men had heard about the dog’s special gift. Had they believed the story, and had it spread?
"That dog's been mine for years." Jackson sighed and glanced toward the floor, trying to work up a sad, sentimental wave of emotion. He turned toward the cabin window and hung his head low. All this followed by a quickly fabricated story about his history with Yellow Nose. Only, it didn't sound very convincing.
"Let me get this straight," said Bill, "so, you gave the dog a Cherokee name? Tell me, do you make it a practice of beating your pets? Come on, I know this dog’s been with the Cherokee long before you got a hold of him!"
"Shut up! Both of you! I told you, it's none of your concern why I want the dog," said Guy.
Guy reached for Tom's rifle lying on the table and then lobbed it to one of his men standing on the porch. Both of Jackson's men made their way into the cabin. "You boys stay here and stand guard. Don't let them leave this place. I'm going after the dog."
Tom stepped forward. Jackson's thug rested the rifle's muzzle on Tom's chest. "Jackson, if you harm a hair on my boy's head, I'll put aside my nice manners. I swear! You’ll get no mercy from me!”
Jackson slowly holstered his pistol. "I won't harm the boy if he gives me what I want. If he doesn't, then I make no promises."
Tom Simmons pressed hard into the gun barrel, making Jackson's man step back. The fiery stare he made into Jackson's eyes left no doubt about Tom Simmons’s resolve. "I'll make you this promise," said Tom. "You harm my boy and nothing stops me from killing you."
Jackson whispered something in his men’s ears and walked out to his horse. From the yard, he grabbed an axe lodged in a chopping block. He mounted his horse, grimly tipped his hat and rode off.
**************
Jimmy stumbled and staggered now with each step. He and Yellow Nose had been hiking into the hills for the past six hours. His legs felt like noodles, and the smoothbore grew heavier with each step. The worn-out hunting boots offered very little comfort, and he soon realized the beginnings of two nice blisters.
The full moon had faithfully guided the way along some rarely traveled trails. Now the sun began to creep up behind the trees. Barred Owls announced the morning with their, who-cooks-for-you, songs, and wild turkeys scurried about the landscape. Except for the wildlife, the mountains seemed deserted. And they seemed to stretch on endlessly. A person could hide in these parts for years—so Jimmy thought.
"Good boy, Yellow Nose. I'm not gonna let that Guy Jackson hurt you anymore. We're goin' far away from him. We'll live off the land. Course you probably need to learn how to chase some rabbits." Jimmy chuckled and rubbed behind Yellow Nose's ears.
It was a beautiful thing—a boy and his dog, an ancient and tried match. Yellow Nose slobbered all over Jimmy’s face. Though he possessed a primitive mind, he somehow knew that his gift could ruin the boy. He also knew that Jimmy loved him dearly. Through the wall of greed that cloaks every human heart he could sense something different about Jimmy. Something inside the dog began to swell. He then unleashed a joyous long howl. The sound spread up the mountains and echoed across the valley.
Seconds later, a strange whistle, barely perceptible to the human ear, came flowing through the woods. Yellow Nose's ears lifted. In a flash, the dog disappeared into the lush greenness of the forest.
"Wait! Yellow Nose! Come back!” Jimmy ran after the dog. The boy stopped periodically and released his own whistles, but each time, the sounds of the baying dog seemed farther, and farther away.
After a mile or two of running, Jimmy spotted a high outcropping of rocks. As he neared the rocks, he smelled smoke which suggested a campsite. Who would possibly camp out here in the middle of nowhere?
Jimmy crept closer to the smoke. He thought he could make out the form of a horse. It moved. Yes, definitely a horse. What should he do? What if these were robbers hiding out, or what if it's the Hounds? Fear gripped him hard; his heart pounded.
Jimmy followed his inner urgings and turned. When he did, he found himself staring into the chest of a giant. The terror clamped his feet to the ground. Then the tall man brought down his fist on the boy's head, and Jimmy’s world went dark.
********************
A warm, wet sensation swept over the boy’s face. His eye's cracked open and his surroundings slowly fell into focus again. Yellow Nose lavished Jimmy's cheeks with loyal licks and kisses. Jimmy rewarded the dog with a bear hug.
"He likes you," said a deep voice. A huge man sat across the campfire, staring at Jimmy while sharpening his knife. The sound of grinding metal was unnerving yet calculated.
Jimmy roused himself and finally worked up the courage to say something. "What happened? Did you hit me?"
"Yes, and I could have done it a lot harder. What did you expect, sneaking up on my camp like that?"
“Sorry, Mister. I didn’t mean anything by it.”
“You like that dog, do you?" asked the stranger.
Jimmy rubbed the top of his sore head. "Well he ... he is my dog, Mister. Now, if ... if you don't mind, we'll be goin'."
"Yellow Nose belongs to no one. He's a gift from the World beyond."
Jimmy studied the man for some time. What stood out the most was the man's golden cross necklace. After a long silence, Jimmy asked the question: "Who are you?"
"I'm Cloud Walker."
The name shot through Jimmy's heart like an arrow. He tried to churn out some words, but the excitement had struck him mute.
"What is it, young man? Did you lose your tongue?"
"No ... no sir. You mean you're Cloud ... Cloud Walker ... from ... from Castle Mountain?" The words began to awkwardly trickle out. Jimmy's expression changed from surprise to delight to utter confusion.
"Not what you were expecting? What were you expecting—a half-naked savage? A blood-thirsty outlaw?" Cloud Walker raked the knife across his arm, taking off several hairs.
"But you killed that white man. Or at least that's what I heard." Jimmy wished he had kept his mouth shut on that last piece of information.
Cloud Walker took a gulp of water and then set the cup down. "Self-defense. He was trying to murder my brother and me. He wanted our land."
Cloud Walker slowly stood up and stuffed his knife behind a very wide turquoise-colored belt. Jimmy stared at the man’s exquisite moccasins and worked his way up to the fine bandana which crowned Cloud Walker’s head. Sort of looked like a dignitary from another country—Europe, maybe.
"You must be young Jimmy Simmons." Cloud Walker smiled and lit a small, black pipe.
Jimmy looked even more perplexed. "You know me?"
"Don't look so surprised. The trees have whispered messages, and the birds have brought me news. You took care of Yellow Nose and for that, I'm eternally grateful."
Yellow Nose rubbed his body against the Cherokee’s leg. Not only did the tail wag, the dog's whole body wagged. And it looked as if Yellow Nose were grinning—in a dog, kind of way. Cloud Walker stooped and affectionately rubbed under the dog's chin and then kissed him on the head.
Jimmy looked over to Cloud Walker with an unshakable dread. "So Yellow Nose does belong to you."
"No, Jimmy. I thought I had set the record straight on that. This dog belongs to no man. Surely you know his ability. Don't tell me that the trees have lied." Cloud Walker lifted the gold necklace and smiled. Jimmy nodded; the two understood each other perfectly.
"Let me be honest with you now," said Cloud Walker. "My people have told me how you found the dog and nurtured him back to health. You are part of a great family. Your uncle is the only white man I ever trusted. That is why I gave him the land for the mission."
"So you're the chief who gave him the land."
"The land belongs to the Great Spirit. We all just get to take care of it from time to time. Same way with Yellow Nose. We all get to enjoy his loyalty and love. He’s unlike any other dog in the world.”
"So how does he do it?" asked Jimmy.
"First things first. Why are you here? Are you and Yellow Nose on a treasure hunt?" Cloud Walker smiled.
"No sir. There's this man who knows what Yellow Nose can do. He's tryin' to steal Yellow Nose back. But I won't let 'im."
Cloud Walker began spreading out the coals in the campfire. "This man, does he go by the name of Jackson?"
"Yes sir! You know 'im?"
"Oh yes, I'm afraid I do. So when was the last time Yellow Nose found a nugget for you?"
Jimmy responded with a frown. "It's been a couple days. He found five nuggets to start, but we're having a dry spell."
Cloud Walker puffed on the pipe and reached down to fondle his cross necklace. "I see. A dry spell you say. So you want to know Yellow Nose's secret?"
"I just want to know if I'm doing anything wrong. Does his ability come and go?"
"Jimmy, only the Great Spirit knows these things. But I believe he has fitted Yellow Nose for these times. This miracle dog is an answer to my prayers—my people’s prayers."
"What do you mean by that?"
Cloud Walker stuffed the necklace back into his shirt. "In due time, young man. In due time."
Jimmy persisted with his previous question. "So what's the trick? How do you get him to find more gold?"
Cloud Walker erupted into a hearty laugh. "It doesn't work that way. You have it—don't you? Look at you. It's written in your eyes."
"Have what? What're ya talkin' about?" asked Jimmy. He began to chuckle, not fully getting Cloud Walker’s meaning.
"The fever. Obviously, you have the fever." He started another round of laughter.
"What's so funny?" Jimmy had stopped laughing. "Is it so bad to wanna be rich? It don't look like you're hurtin' none yourself."
Cloud Walker's light-hearted mood left him, and he glared at Jimmy so that the boy had to look away. "You know nothing about me, Jimmy. You have no right to judge. What I have and what I do is for my people. It's for their survival. And because of that Yellow Nose has been my friend."
"I don't understand," said Jimmy.
Cloud Walker sniffed the air, turned and sneered at the woods. His right hand now rested on the knife still tucked away in his belt. Not wanting to alarm Jimmy, he turned back around, brought his hand down to his side and continued to address the young man.
"Why should I trust you with this?” said Cloud Walker.
Yellow Nose walked over to Jimmy and rested his head against the boy's chest.
"What I'm about to tell you, you must never repeat to any man. You understand me? I don't know why I'm telling you this, but you seem to have won Yellow Nose's friendship."
Jimmy nodded and stroked the dog's head.
"Yellow Nose only finds gold for those with pure motives and a generous heart. I didn't understand it myself at first. But when greed and the fever come, he knows. He always knows, Jimmy."
"But I'm not greedy! I only want a better life! What's so wrong with that?"
"You have the look," said Cloud Walker. "I've seen that look for the past decade. That look has harmed my people in countless ways."
Jimmy stood, turning his back on the giant Cherokee. The boy buried his hands into his pockets and hung his head low, exhaling a soft sigh.
Cloud Walker peered once again into the forest but kept talking. His hand again rested on the knife. "It's not too late, Jimmy. I see a bond between you and Yellow Nose. He must see something greater in your heart."
"I'm so tired of being poor. That’s all my family’s ever been," said Jimmy.
"Take courage my young friend. There's more than one way to be rich."
Yellow Nose unleashed a menacing growl. Jimmy wheeled around to find that Guy Jackson had slinked into the camp. Cloud Walker took two steps back. Jackson's savage grin and pistol ruled the moment.
*******************
"Well, well what do we have here?" said Guy.
"I smelled your stench when you were but a mile off," said Cloud Walker, calmly. "What are you doing here? Why the gun?"
"I was looking for my dog but looks like I’ve found more than that. You out here in the middle of nowhere can mean only one thing: The hiding place. It must be close by."
"Haven't you taken enough? You and those despicable Hounds. My people need supplies to make this trip. You got your wish. The land is yours. Now, let us leave in peace."
Guy pointed the gun toward Jimmy. "Does he know about the gold?"
Cloud Walker shook his finger at Guy. "Keep the boy out of this! No need for him to get involved."
"Oh, I don't think so. I need all the bargaining chips I can get. See, I know about the gold and your grand plan to help your brothers move west. Now take me to your stash or the boy and the dog get it."
Cloud Walker stepped sideways, deliberately placing himself between Guy and Jimmy. “Stop and think. You kill me and you'll never find that gold. Yellow Nose will never help you. Jimmy doesn't know."
"I won’t be trifled with," said Guy. Thinking he no longer needed the dog, he aimed his pistol toward Yellow Nose and squeezed the trigger. A faulty cap caused the gun not to fire.
Cloud Walker grinned. "It looks like we will have to settle this my way."
Cloud Walker slowly drew his knife and motioned Guy to a fight. Guy in turn dropped his pistol and rolled up his sleeves. "Okay, you want to settle this the hard way. You always were a stubborn one," said Guy. He stepped over to his former hiding spot behind a large virgin pine and retrieved Tom Simmons’s axe. Yellow Nose stood behind Cloud Walker, fur bristling, teeth displayed.
"Look familiar, Jimmy?" Jackson cast an evil smile at Jimmy and slid his thumb along the smooth, shiny blade. With a swinging and chopping motion, he attempted to cut his tall opponent in half. The two pivoted slowly around the smoldering campfire. Jimmy tried to keep Cloud Walker between him and Jackson. Jimmy also managed to grab Yellow Nose by the scruff of the neck, keeping the dog from joining the fight.
Cloud Walker dodged another swing but stayed calm. "I never took you for a thief in the beginning. You thought Yellow Nose would be your ticket to riches. But surely you know by now—he won't find gold for a greedy heart."
"I'll find the gold, with or without the dog!" Guy breathed harder now. Sweat trickled down his forehead and neck. Some of his swings came close to the Cherokee’s upper torso.
Cloud Walker sliced into Jackson's face and shoulder with his razor-sharp knife. This took Guy off guard, allowing Cloud Walker to plow his gigantic fist into Guy's ribs. Guy cursed and sprang back, swinging the axe furiously. "I'm going to kill you, Cloud Walker!"
Jimmy listened intently to the two men. The tense exchange quickly moved into a bloody brawl. He saw himself in that man swinging the axe, and it frightened him. The fine silk shirt had now become torn and soiled.
Jimmy tried to follow the movements of his Cherokee shield, but he overlooked a tree stump and tripped. This misstep caused him to loosen his grip on Yellow Nose, giving the dog the opportunity he'd been waiting for. The dog darted around Cloud Walker and latched onto Jackson’s ankle. Jackson brought the axe down, smacking Yellow Nose with a hard blow. Yellow Nose yelped loudly. Though not a mortal wound, the axe mutilated the dog's hind leg.
Cloud Walker had the advantage on size and strength, but Guy was very nimble. Twice, Guy cut into Cloud Walker's left arm, rendering it almost useless. The giant was growing impatient and tired. Despite the pain, Yellow Nose attempted to move back into the fight, and Jackson brought the axe head up to finish him off.
"Enough!" yelled Cloud Walker. With a final burst of strength, Cloud Walker blocked the swing of the axe handle and bare-fisted Guy across the face, knocking him to the ground. Guy held the handle tightly and fell in between Cloud Walker’s legs. Seeing an opportunity, Guy reared both his legs back and kicked Cloud Walker's knees outward. This was enough to break both of them and send him to the ground, reeling in pain. Guy stood and took control of the axe; he then plunged it into the giant’s chest. Blood spewed everywhere as Cloud Walker gasped for air. Guy released the handle and retrieved his gun.
As Cloud Walker struggled for his life, Guy placed a fresh cap on the hammer of his pistol. Jackson then walked back over to Cloud Walker and pointed the gun toward the fallen giant’s forehead. A large boom sounded through the forest. Cloud Walker stared into the barrel of the pistol, but where was the smoke? He did, however, notice a growing, red stain on Guy's sweat-drenched shirt. Jackson brought his hand up to the stain and looked on it in disbelief. He toppled over like a felled tree to Cloud Walker's side and died.
Shaking all over, Jimmy lowered the smoothbore rifle to his side. Tears streamed freely down his cheeks. He had shot Jackson at close range, but what else could he have done. The big question remained: Had he acted in time?
Yellow Nose cleaned Cloud Walker's face with his gracious tongue. He smiled at the dog and yearned to pet him one last time but lacked sufficient strength in his arms. At a loss for how to help his friend, Jimmy kneeled to Cloud Walker's side. With a final struggle, the dying Cherokee whispered in the boy’s ear.
"Jimmy ... Not too late, my friend. Help ... help my people. The gold is theirs. I leave it to your charge." He fixed his eyes on a huge rock overhang. “In the mountain, Jimmy. Go into the mountain.” Though he had just met the young man and didn't know if he could completely trust him, he knew this was the closing chance to help his people.
Cloud Walker stared at Yellow Nose one last time and then turned his eyes to Jimmy. "He knows, Jimmy. He knows." With that, the great Cloud Walker breathed his last and joined his fathers.
********************
The gold was a mere hundred yards from Cloud Walker's camp, deep in the bowels of a well-hidden cave. Jimmy and his Uncle Bill brought the gold back to the mission and distributed it to Cloud Walker's family members and friends. This meant money for supplies, horses and wagons, and a less tortuous journey west for some. Thousands still died along the tear-stained trail.
Bill Simmons followed the Cherokee west, and Tom turned the mission into an orphanage. He was right about the fertile land. Cornfields now flourished and fed about thirty orphaned boys.
"You have everything ya need?" asked Tom. "You know it may take weeks to find them."
"I'll be okay, Pa. I’ve lived with ‘em enough to know how to find their camps." Jimmy looked behind him. In the wagon, Yellow Nose stood on three legs, his body oscillating with joy. "It will probably be spring when I get back."
A secret compartment filled with gold lay beneath the wagon floor. Jimmy was headed north to a small band of Cherokee who had traveled to and hidden in the Smoky Mountains. Yellow Nose had been busy over the last couple of years. Gold nuggets were getting harder and harder to find, but the Cherokee had left behind a few caches.
The Simmons never kept any of the gold for themselves. Jimmy had found his fortune in friendships, and no one could take that away from him. Yellow Nose's special gift had finally played out, but Jimmy wanted his Cherokee friends to have this last remaining treasure.
"This is for you." His Pa handed him a small leather pouch.
Jimmy emptied the contents into his hand. Five corn kernels tumbled out. "What's this for?"
"Don't you remember that day at the cabin? I told you that God would do his magic. I decided to save them as a reminder."
"Thanks, Pa. You were right. I wonder though: Will Yellow Nose ever get his gift back?"
"Maybe. Maybe not."
Jimmy smiled and grabbed Yellow Nose around the neck. The hound worked his tongue back and forth across Jimmy's face; the tail pounded on the seat.
The wagon set off, creaking and rocking down the dusty country road. The young boy and his dog rode away, swallowed whole by the mountain’s cool and inviting shadows.
The End
Appal(Trad)
There were no Appal(Trad) poems for consideration for this is(sue).
Avant(Serial)
Avant(Serial): a section dedicated to publishing a novel by chapters in much the same way as novels were published in Dicken's day. Each is(sue) will feature a chapter of an exciting experimental novel - one chapter per is(sue) until the entire novel is thus published. Avant(Serial) will not accept unsolicited manuscripts by submission. Serialised novels in this space will be chosen by joint agreement of all AvantAppal(achia) ed(itors) and will not be Arch(ived). See Sub(missions) for more information.
"Le Overgivers au Club de la Résurrection"
a novel by Jim Meirose, New Jersey
Chapter 1: O, Dear
a novel by Jim Meirose, New Jersey
Chapter 1: O, Dear
We shouldn’t have p---ed off all our money when we were starting out, when I was still at the drug warehouse and smoking pot and all that sh--. If we had our own place right now, we’d have it made. I’m sick of this sh--. Smell that stink in the air! If we quit using this room for twenty years this room would still stink to sh-- —what you think Wendy, why you not answering Me? Wendy! Wendy! Wendy, you, you; I just can’t get through to you. Look here here’s what you should do, and do it now. Go to that casket. And, eh; roll the body lift over. Set it in place. Pull the straps under and around the body to be resurrected. Carefully activate the lift, raise the body clear of the casket, roll the lift over and lower the body on the preparation table—huh, wait—what, Wendy?
Here’s what, a--hole! God! What-Jesus Christ is got into you? What the f--- you screaming at me for why you got to scream like that you scared the sh-- out of me, you know; what the f--- was the question, huh? It better be a good one for me to forget you scared me to high Heaven and I almost nipped this guy’s aorta with the trocar. It’s still aorta, isn’t it James? Do we call these f---ing things still aortas when they and everything else is dead? I know the intention is to wear down and destroy the English language, but—right here and now I got a guy with a shredded aorta, lord thank God, he’s dead and all, you know, I won’t get into trouble, that’s the great thing about this business—you can do whatever you want to a corpse and no one will ever know because you cannot kill them, but—butt—haw, James you f---! Sure, I can kid, and along with that, I can mother-f---ing dream too. Yeah, I know how to live, and I know how to die, too. Just like that bad cop in Runaway Train said. Remember that great inspirational movie Runaway Train? Highly spiritual religious and all ho, hum. But, let’s put that aside and stay on track. It’s your fault, James—because you married me. Yes, it is, so let’s do what’s right. Swipe off all the sh---y cream and lotion we put on the dead body, swipe it all off the face, neck and hands. See how sh---y we are? We only give a d--n about the parts that show. We use sh-- like hair dye and baby oil to do it all up nice up there, that’s got no business smeared and wasted on a resurrected person, so we towel and rinse and rub it all away. We sop up the baby powder from what we were taught were the smelly parts. We pull out the wax we used to puff out the face from the inside. We care about what shows and what shows only, in our filthy fake humanitarian job—you know what I mean my fine master of a husband who has pulled me into this h---hole job. And don’t forget James, about little Janie. How will she wind up, uh? How will she be brought up, if life turns us off so?
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Listen, Wendy. Little Janie will be fine. She’s not been dropped in some h---hole yet, you know? If she ends up a h---hole it’ll be because we haven’t done our job as parents. Being parents is a responsibility you must hold up, h---hole or no h---hole. But hey, don’t mind me Wendy. We got to care about ourselves too. We need to care about that even more than we do about Janie because without us standing stronger than she, Janie will lose her grip and end up in one of the billions of fatal bottomless pits lining the road from the start to the end. The way to prevent that is to not acknowledge that life’s hidden pits exist at all. I can’t stop pushing for answers, Wendy. I just care about where we are when we’re nearly thirty. This has all been just like being born a slave to have your filthy-rich parents raise you a slave like their filthy-rich parents raised them a slave and so forth and so on with over four generations of hidden incest packed up inside hot and cold and stuffed squashed and all. You know what I mean, Wendy? To have it handed down to you is not an honor it is a command to be what you’re probably not really meant to be—we pumped all the sh-- into our lives for almost fifteen years, now we’ve got to suck it back out. Yes, suck out all the disinfectant and germicidal solutions we smothered the poor devil down with, and—now it’s like a workout gym with no equipment, that’s right, no dangerous bend not break kind of pull your legs and arms against great force kind of sh--, no weights, no medicine balls, no elliptical rowing machines, no stationary bikes, no, there’s just body after body laid out in this enormous foul-smelling room, and our workout which we do several times a day consists of bending, flexing, and massaging the arms and legs of the dead to break down the rigor amortinis and pull up the body back into itself that we intend to resurrect. It is all a f---ing joke it is when you think of it all turned upside down and turned inside out. You know, James?
Yeah, yes really. I do know I do. But it’s not funny. Why you laughing why you huh? Oh yah, I’m laughing. Not with you but at you. I suppose the next thing you’re going to tell me how to do in this great big National Geographic foldout style pinup of a perfectly alive ex-human corpse whose soul got snatched off planet earth by God. To wit; unset the false clown face painted on the big bony globe of a dead head, massage out the wooden look massaged and teased out from the clammy fish-eyed face, rip out the cheap plastic eyecaps, get the great big pump pliers and yank out the wires setting the jaw, and open close it yeah open and close it making sure to remove every last shred of the sutures used to tighten the ice-cold wormy looking lips together and--
Are you sure you know, Wendy? Do you ever listen to me at all? Don’t you know there are more important fish to fry and things to study how to undo? We got to suck out the embalming fluid with our Sears Craftsman big wet-dry vac which is otherwise known as our big honking superloud sucker and let that run awhile as we raid the blood bank to refill the drained-out venous arterial heartbreaking but lifegiving inner tubes of the rapidly warming freshly dead but all cold and clammy body. Do you sense this is correctomundi, Wendy? I mean--
Yes, James, right. But why the pause? Are you pausing out of confusion? Is the room you are in turned upside down and everything not nailed down has fallen to the ceiling including you? Is it because you were about to suck the poisons we put in the corpse earlier with your trocar, which would be a mistake because it’s a one-way gizmo. Yah keep on using the big Sears super sucker—and make sure when all the sh-- is out, yank out the a-- cotton and anything else you stuffed in all the puckery creepy little bodyholes to prevent nasty foul-smelling leakage from dripping and pouring and ruining your perfect brand-new never-yet-in-mud Brooks Beast sneakers. Right, all-wise spouse?
Sure, yeah, right—but answer already. Why do you not look at me? Or never even ask what I said? You just ignore. I feel like every time we talk, you manage to say or do something that I’ve told you a thousand times before really p---es me off. I don’t think you care about me. If you did you wouldn’t keep doing the same things over and over to p--- me off. People who care about each other don’t go out of their way to get the other one p---ed off. Here—slap the face around some more, I know it’s been done once but you can never do it enough. Slap the flat cheeks silly to limber up the tissues and to jar open the many unseen but vital vessels. Oh, yeah! When in doubt use duct tape. Whenever you need things stuck together shut up immobilized or covered over tightly for some equally tight secret reason, use duct tape. Right?
I suppose yes, but—people who someone is deliberately trying to p--- off, should let it roll off their backs like water off a duck. Hear that? You should be just like a duck. Waterproof like a quacky-fat duck. Like God made ducks to survive, he has made you. And me. You know? It’s about survival. It’s about finally getting around to making sure the corpse is all set not for a miracle to happen. Too make sure it is loosie-goosy in every possibly horrid to get to but’s the right thing to do way. Survival means ready to live another minute. Or year or ten or fifty or more as many as people can get, people take. There’s a built-in greed and addiction to staying alive another moment and then the next and the next and the next forever and forever—why this is I am not sure because it’s all become a big downer for me, I mean—the thrill is gone, Wendy, you seen one dead body patched up casketed viewed and buried, you’ve seen every dead body patched casketed viewed and buried. It’s almost true you’ve seen it all. Yes.
Wait, wait, wait. Survival? No. Letting it roll off is not surviving, for one. Also, for two, surviving is not always the same as living. I don’t want to just survive, James. I want to live—and actually, I ought to be saying we want to live. That’s what I want, is for us to live forever. The way to do that is very simple. Check daily to be sure you’re in shape to live forever. No clouded corneas, no lividity, no rigor mortis, and a good strong carotid after pulse, yes—hear that, hear that, hear that James? That faint almost dead fainted beat in the vein say he’s got juice to put up both back again onto our very first starting blocks. Thus reset, after time after time after time we can be eternally reset and thus we shall live forever. Wendy, think of it; look at your hands. Never ever will they be pale cold and stiff clasped over your breast with a valuable purple and diamond rosary twisted all around. Forever!
Live forever? No that cannot be, James. It cannot be, it is actually, well—it is yes, it is yes, a sin of the mortal coil type that you don’t dare get killed accidentally while carrying it on your soul the short distance you have to travel to reach the church building where confessions are being held. It would just be your luck, James, and mine by default because I will follow you anyplace you go, to die while repentant because death caught you down to hell when you were just halfway to that church and could see your salvation emerge out of nothing and enlarge coming at you as your autonomic legs strove to reach it, strove to beat the angel of h---, strove to thwart the prize you’ll get at the end of every failed footrace. When we’re ready for the resurrection of the body, we sit the body up straight after having reversely unembalmed it, put it in its supposed death clothes, and wait flanking it you on the right and me on the left, just like the rulebook said about which side of the church each sex can sit at.
Yes, Wendy, yes. We are on the same wave length. I was hoping we’d have this settled between us by close of business today. So, here’s what I saw in the paper. Look at the happy customer giving the first of thousands of extra-positive sixteen-star reviews, and what is he reviewing? Who’s that in the picture, taken of us in the future, which feat can only be done with today’s master-cameras, the little flashing beeping square smart phones, which--
Give me that—what’s this at the top? Welcome to Club de Résurrection, also known as the den of the Overgivers, or otherwise called, The raising of the bestest and freshest formerly dead but never buried stupendously brilliant personhoods, each very much in the flesh—wait a minute. There’s a problem, this print is too d---ed small. I need my glasses to go on here they are where are they oh—I got ‘em. Give me that paper let me see close, oh no, d--- it, these glasses are all smudged, got a clean dry soft rag? Oh God, I will read it to you, Wendy; here; It says the following; VOLUNTEERS NEEDED TO LIVE FOREVER!! NO UNDERTAKERS, US: NO NO, WE ARE OVERGIVERS. WE ARE THE OPPOSITE OF UNDERTAKERS WE GIVE LIFE AND SET IT FREE INTO THE GREAT FOREVER. WE DON’T BELIEVE DEATH SHOULD BE EMBALMED AND FROZEN AND SET PERMANENTLY IN PLACE AND PUT UNDERGROUND TO GO TO WASTE IN A GRAVE. NO!! THE HUMAN RACE HAS BEEN WRONG ABOUT THIS SINCE GOD THE FATHER CREATED ADAM AND EVE, WHICH OF COURSE ANYONE WITH A BRAIN KNOWS CAN’T BE TRUE, BUT IT LOOKS VERY GOOD ON PAPER!! DEATH IS A BIG PHONY TRICK, PEOPLE!! THE BIGGEST PHONY TRICK OF ALL. COME ABOARD WITH US LET US SHOW YOU!!
How about that, Wendy? It’s something, ain’t it?
Yes, it might be. But I don’t know. Sounds like some scammy messy big pus-filled painful blob of a notion, if you ask me, said Wendy, blinking in a quite precious manner, and half turning away with a casual shrug. James touched her arm and spoke.
Wendy, that’s always your first reaction to anything new. This is pretty special, don’t just automatically say no. Please, before reacting give it a little thought please?
I—I will. Of course, I will. I always do, it’s a little insulting to insinuate I would not.
No, it’s not. It happens to be a fact that you always jump to a conclusion first. Before you even read the whole thing you’ll just throw the paper down all closed trapping the rejected thing, whatever it may be, down and gone forever. You do this with opportunity after opportunity after opportunity, on and on. We’ve probably missed out on some great stuff because of that—but this time I won’t let that happen.
What? What the h--- do you mean?
What I said. Read. We’re going to do this. We both hate our lives. And we don’t want a hateful life for Janie. That is plain, let’s face it. Funeral home funeral home, dead people dead people day in, day out, for the rest of our lives, and then we’ll be dead too, and it’ll just happen again all over for Janie, the burden of this joint will be hers, too! No way, no! We need out. This is a way out, and a plus—we may get the biggest prize of all. I always thought, What if I turn out to be the first person to never die? This might be it, Wendy. And think what we’re doing to ensure Janie’s future, too. Sure, big. Really really big—way way out there big. Go on, read.
Here’s what, a--hole! God! What-Jesus Christ is got into you? What the f--- you screaming at me for why you got to scream like that you scared the sh-- out of me, you know; what the f--- was the question, huh? It better be a good one for me to forget you scared me to high Heaven and I almost nipped this guy’s aorta with the trocar. It’s still aorta, isn’t it James? Do we call these f---ing things still aortas when they and everything else is dead? I know the intention is to wear down and destroy the English language, but—right here and now I got a guy with a shredded aorta, lord thank God, he’s dead and all, you know, I won’t get into trouble, that’s the great thing about this business—you can do whatever you want to a corpse and no one will ever know because you cannot kill them, but—butt—haw, James you f---! Sure, I can kid, and along with that, I can mother-f---ing dream too. Yeah, I know how to live, and I know how to die, too. Just like that bad cop in Runaway Train said. Remember that great inspirational movie Runaway Train? Highly spiritual religious and all ho, hum. But, let’s put that aside and stay on track. It’s your fault, James—because you married me. Yes, it is, so let’s do what’s right. Swipe off all the sh---y cream and lotion we put on the dead body, swipe it all off the face, neck and hands. See how sh---y we are? We only give a d--n about the parts that show. We use sh-- like hair dye and baby oil to do it all up nice up there, that’s got no business smeared and wasted on a resurrected person, so we towel and rinse and rub it all away. We sop up the baby powder from what we were taught were the smelly parts. We pull out the wax we used to puff out the face from the inside. We care about what shows and what shows only, in our filthy fake humanitarian job—you know what I mean my fine master of a husband who has pulled me into this h---hole job. And don’t forget James, about little Janie. How will she wind up, uh? How will she be brought up, if life turns us off so?
Yeah, yeah, yeah. Listen, Wendy. Little Janie will be fine. She’s not been dropped in some h---hole yet, you know? If she ends up a h---hole it’ll be because we haven’t done our job as parents. Being parents is a responsibility you must hold up, h---hole or no h---hole. But hey, don’t mind me Wendy. We got to care about ourselves too. We need to care about that even more than we do about Janie because without us standing stronger than she, Janie will lose her grip and end up in one of the billions of fatal bottomless pits lining the road from the start to the end. The way to prevent that is to not acknowledge that life’s hidden pits exist at all. I can’t stop pushing for answers, Wendy. I just care about where we are when we’re nearly thirty. This has all been just like being born a slave to have your filthy-rich parents raise you a slave like their filthy-rich parents raised them a slave and so forth and so on with over four generations of hidden incest packed up inside hot and cold and stuffed squashed and all. You know what I mean, Wendy? To have it handed down to you is not an honor it is a command to be what you’re probably not really meant to be—we pumped all the sh-- into our lives for almost fifteen years, now we’ve got to suck it back out. Yes, suck out all the disinfectant and germicidal solutions we smothered the poor devil down with, and—now it’s like a workout gym with no equipment, that’s right, no dangerous bend not break kind of pull your legs and arms against great force kind of sh--, no weights, no medicine balls, no elliptical rowing machines, no stationary bikes, no, there’s just body after body laid out in this enormous foul-smelling room, and our workout which we do several times a day consists of bending, flexing, and massaging the arms and legs of the dead to break down the rigor amortinis and pull up the body back into itself that we intend to resurrect. It is all a f---ing joke it is when you think of it all turned upside down and turned inside out. You know, James?
Yeah, yes really. I do know I do. But it’s not funny. Why you laughing why you huh? Oh yah, I’m laughing. Not with you but at you. I suppose the next thing you’re going to tell me how to do in this great big National Geographic foldout style pinup of a perfectly alive ex-human corpse whose soul got snatched off planet earth by God. To wit; unset the false clown face painted on the big bony globe of a dead head, massage out the wooden look massaged and teased out from the clammy fish-eyed face, rip out the cheap plastic eyecaps, get the great big pump pliers and yank out the wires setting the jaw, and open close it yeah open and close it making sure to remove every last shred of the sutures used to tighten the ice-cold wormy looking lips together and--
Are you sure you know, Wendy? Do you ever listen to me at all? Don’t you know there are more important fish to fry and things to study how to undo? We got to suck out the embalming fluid with our Sears Craftsman big wet-dry vac which is otherwise known as our big honking superloud sucker and let that run awhile as we raid the blood bank to refill the drained-out venous arterial heartbreaking but lifegiving inner tubes of the rapidly warming freshly dead but all cold and clammy body. Do you sense this is correctomundi, Wendy? I mean--
Yes, James, right. But why the pause? Are you pausing out of confusion? Is the room you are in turned upside down and everything not nailed down has fallen to the ceiling including you? Is it because you were about to suck the poisons we put in the corpse earlier with your trocar, which would be a mistake because it’s a one-way gizmo. Yah keep on using the big Sears super sucker—and make sure when all the sh-- is out, yank out the a-- cotton and anything else you stuffed in all the puckery creepy little bodyholes to prevent nasty foul-smelling leakage from dripping and pouring and ruining your perfect brand-new never-yet-in-mud Brooks Beast sneakers. Right, all-wise spouse?
Sure, yeah, right—but answer already. Why do you not look at me? Or never even ask what I said? You just ignore. I feel like every time we talk, you manage to say or do something that I’ve told you a thousand times before really p---es me off. I don’t think you care about me. If you did you wouldn’t keep doing the same things over and over to p--- me off. People who care about each other don’t go out of their way to get the other one p---ed off. Here—slap the face around some more, I know it’s been done once but you can never do it enough. Slap the flat cheeks silly to limber up the tissues and to jar open the many unseen but vital vessels. Oh, yeah! When in doubt use duct tape. Whenever you need things stuck together shut up immobilized or covered over tightly for some equally tight secret reason, use duct tape. Right?
I suppose yes, but—people who someone is deliberately trying to p--- off, should let it roll off their backs like water off a duck. Hear that? You should be just like a duck. Waterproof like a quacky-fat duck. Like God made ducks to survive, he has made you. And me. You know? It’s about survival. It’s about finally getting around to making sure the corpse is all set not for a miracle to happen. Too make sure it is loosie-goosy in every possibly horrid to get to but’s the right thing to do way. Survival means ready to live another minute. Or year or ten or fifty or more as many as people can get, people take. There’s a built-in greed and addiction to staying alive another moment and then the next and the next and the next forever and forever—why this is I am not sure because it’s all become a big downer for me, I mean—the thrill is gone, Wendy, you seen one dead body patched up casketed viewed and buried, you’ve seen every dead body patched casketed viewed and buried. It’s almost true you’ve seen it all. Yes.
Wait, wait, wait. Survival? No. Letting it roll off is not surviving, for one. Also, for two, surviving is not always the same as living. I don’t want to just survive, James. I want to live—and actually, I ought to be saying we want to live. That’s what I want, is for us to live forever. The way to do that is very simple. Check daily to be sure you’re in shape to live forever. No clouded corneas, no lividity, no rigor mortis, and a good strong carotid after pulse, yes—hear that, hear that, hear that James? That faint almost dead fainted beat in the vein say he’s got juice to put up both back again onto our very first starting blocks. Thus reset, after time after time after time we can be eternally reset and thus we shall live forever. Wendy, think of it; look at your hands. Never ever will they be pale cold and stiff clasped over your breast with a valuable purple and diamond rosary twisted all around. Forever!
Live forever? No that cannot be, James. It cannot be, it is actually, well—it is yes, it is yes, a sin of the mortal coil type that you don’t dare get killed accidentally while carrying it on your soul the short distance you have to travel to reach the church building where confessions are being held. It would just be your luck, James, and mine by default because I will follow you anyplace you go, to die while repentant because death caught you down to hell when you were just halfway to that church and could see your salvation emerge out of nothing and enlarge coming at you as your autonomic legs strove to reach it, strove to beat the angel of h---, strove to thwart the prize you’ll get at the end of every failed footrace. When we’re ready for the resurrection of the body, we sit the body up straight after having reversely unembalmed it, put it in its supposed death clothes, and wait flanking it you on the right and me on the left, just like the rulebook said about which side of the church each sex can sit at.
Yes, Wendy, yes. We are on the same wave length. I was hoping we’d have this settled between us by close of business today. So, here’s what I saw in the paper. Look at the happy customer giving the first of thousands of extra-positive sixteen-star reviews, and what is he reviewing? Who’s that in the picture, taken of us in the future, which feat can only be done with today’s master-cameras, the little flashing beeping square smart phones, which--
Give me that—what’s this at the top? Welcome to Club de Résurrection, also known as the den of the Overgivers, or otherwise called, The raising of the bestest and freshest formerly dead but never buried stupendously brilliant personhoods, each very much in the flesh—wait a minute. There’s a problem, this print is too d---ed small. I need my glasses to go on here they are where are they oh—I got ‘em. Give me that paper let me see close, oh no, d--- it, these glasses are all smudged, got a clean dry soft rag? Oh God, I will read it to you, Wendy; here; It says the following; VOLUNTEERS NEEDED TO LIVE FOREVER!! NO UNDERTAKERS, US: NO NO, WE ARE OVERGIVERS. WE ARE THE OPPOSITE OF UNDERTAKERS WE GIVE LIFE AND SET IT FREE INTO THE GREAT FOREVER. WE DON’T BELIEVE DEATH SHOULD BE EMBALMED AND FROZEN AND SET PERMANENTLY IN PLACE AND PUT UNDERGROUND TO GO TO WASTE IN A GRAVE. NO!! THE HUMAN RACE HAS BEEN WRONG ABOUT THIS SINCE GOD THE FATHER CREATED ADAM AND EVE, WHICH OF COURSE ANYONE WITH A BRAIN KNOWS CAN’T BE TRUE, BUT IT LOOKS VERY GOOD ON PAPER!! DEATH IS A BIG PHONY TRICK, PEOPLE!! THE BIGGEST PHONY TRICK OF ALL. COME ABOARD WITH US LET US SHOW YOU!!
How about that, Wendy? It’s something, ain’t it?
Yes, it might be. But I don’t know. Sounds like some scammy messy big pus-filled painful blob of a notion, if you ask me, said Wendy, blinking in a quite precious manner, and half turning away with a casual shrug. James touched her arm and spoke.
Wendy, that’s always your first reaction to anything new. This is pretty special, don’t just automatically say no. Please, before reacting give it a little thought please?
I—I will. Of course, I will. I always do, it’s a little insulting to insinuate I would not.
No, it’s not. It happens to be a fact that you always jump to a conclusion first. Before you even read the whole thing you’ll just throw the paper down all closed trapping the rejected thing, whatever it may be, down and gone forever. You do this with opportunity after opportunity after opportunity, on and on. We’ve probably missed out on some great stuff because of that—but this time I won’t let that happen.
What? What the h--- do you mean?
What I said. Read. We’re going to do this. We both hate our lives. And we don’t want a hateful life for Janie. That is plain, let’s face it. Funeral home funeral home, dead people dead people day in, day out, for the rest of our lives, and then we’ll be dead too, and it’ll just happen again all over for Janie, the burden of this joint will be hers, too! No way, no! We need out. This is a way out, and a plus—we may get the biggest prize of all. I always thought, What if I turn out to be the first person to never die? This might be it, Wendy. And think what we’re doing to ensure Janie’s future, too. Sure, big. Really really big—way way out there big. Go on, read.
All texts and images, etc., are Copyright of the individual artists/writers/poets who contribute (see Sub(missions) in the menu for more details). This website Copyright 2016-2019.