“Camels? Here? It sounds…incredible.”
Hagar eyed her askew. “Missy, this is the birthplace of camels. And until the arrival of settlers, about a dozen millennia ago, camels have had an uninterrupted presence here for tens of millions of years. More than any of the other large herbivores, camels have defined the Great Plains of North America.
“Do you realize if not for human impact, the Southern Plain grasslands would have had more diversity of big mammals than what you can find in the Serengeti, Africa?” Her mouth turned upward in a suggestion of a smile. “In fact, along with the Gran Chaco grassland in South America, this area would have sported more species than any other grassland region in the world.”
Virginia surveyed the expanse of sandy wasteland stretching to the horizon. “You sure all those animals did not die when it got to be warmer or something?”
“About 125 thousand years ago, the climate in North America was at least as warm as it is now. Do you fancy that but 100 thousand years ago, mammoths and giant sloths and giant armadillos materialized alongside the glaciers, and that later they melted away when the cold season waned?”
“Didn’t the Ice Age last for millions of years?”
“Not in the way you think. Earth has been going through a series of relatively long cooler periods punctuated with relatively brief warmer periods like the one we go through now. Those animals lived through many of these colder and warmer climate regimes, migrating as needed. What you call the Ice Age, is but the latest colder season Earth experienced, or at least its coldest phase.”
Virginia was unconvinced. “Well then, what happened toward the end of the last…colder season?”
“People happened.”
“Hunting?”
“We’ll never really know. However, it was probably more complex and for the most part more indirect than that. For starters, when you have a climate change, survival depends on the ability to migrate to suitable and otherwise resource-rich zones. Human activities—from setting fire to deforestation—may have disrupted migration routes and connections between different groups, eventually leading to a general population collapse. And then there is the hunting.” Hagar threw her hands up. “When you butcher horses and elephants and camels and ground sloths, you not only make their population critically low but also that of the predators that depend on them.”
“Still, how much butchering could a comparatively small number of human communities do?”
“Need you ask? About one hundred years ago, a few tens of thousands of Comanches were largely responsible for the slaughter of close to three hundred thousand bison each year in this area. A hundred thousand here, a hundred thousand there, and pretty soon it starts to add up.”
The redheaded girl seemed unsure.
“Think it through, Virginia,” persisted Hagar. “When you calculate the number of bison reproducing annually, deduct from it all the calves that die due to natural causes, there is a narrow margin of surplus the Comanche could have hunted without depleting the stock over the years.” She shrugged. “It doesn’t take much to tip things over in what is essentially a system of a predator population finely balanced against given herbivore communities. On top of that, with their preference for thin, easily-processed skin, the Comanche and their trade allies have killed off a disproportionate number of pregnant cows, which are directly responsible for the continuation of the herd. Some Amerindians slaughtered whole herds for the tongue and hump—leaving behind the otherwise intact carcasses to rot. At other times, they butchered females by the dozens for the delectable fetuses inside.”
“I suppose when you put things that way…” allowed Virginia.
Hagar held up her hand. That was not all. “During the frosty winters, as the Comanche and their vast horse herds moved into the river valleys, it forced the bison to retreat to low-nutrient, harsher areas. In addition, during the occasional dry spells, when springs and ponds and creeks dried up, the Comanche along with their horses took control of the few oases. More bison died off.
“Nowadays, by slaying the elder elephants and elder bighorn sheep, people are killing off the herd’s heritage, the migration knowledge and regulatory norms. Similar things might have also played out back in the day. Maybe a critical mass of killed elders was enough to set the rest on a downward spiral to oblivion.”
Hagar blew a wayward strand of hair off her face. “The role of people is more clear-cut in the case of Australia, where the mass extinction of large animals occurred not at the end of the colder season, but a lot earlier: 35 through 45 thousand years ago. Australia was arid and hot during that time, but not nearly as arid and hot as it was 120 thousand years ago—an era during which the animals lived through all the same. It wasn’t the climate that did them in; it was the dispersal of human settlers across the Australian continent during these millennia that did.
“Or take New Zealand,” she suggested. “People settled these islands in the early 1300s and within a century—two, at most—hunted the giant flightless birds to extinction. An event that happened, obviously, many thousands of years after the end of the last glacial period.”
Virginia sighed. “Man in his misguidance has powerfully interfered with nature.”
Hagar raised an eyebrow. “Goethe?”
The girl blushed. “Well, yes.” She shrugged noncommittally. “I read a lot. Not much else to do around here. And everyone is convinced I’m certifiable, anyway.”
They shared a smile.
Hagar’s eyes caressed the girl’s face and then traveled downward. Virginia’s nipples, outlined against the thin material of her dress, hardened under her gaze.
They studied each other silently for a minute.
Hand in hand, they strolled back toward the motorcycle and the suitcase leaning against its sidecar.
Hagar glanced at Virginia a few times. She finally said, “You are thirty years too late. Wrong time. Wrong place.”
“How do you figure?”
“Back in the day, a small colony existed by Lake Maggiore in southern Switzerland: Monte Verità. They experimented there with surrealism, movement arts, Dadaism, nude sunbathing, nature cure, and pacifism.”
“Sounds amazing!”
“Many artists, bohemian writers, and philosophers took there residence at some point—along with Buddhists, Theosophists, and anarchists.”
“Does Monte Verità not exist anymore?” The young woman wanted to know.
“Not as such. I am afraid those type of associations don’t tend to last.”
Virginia shook her head mournfully. “Alas. Nothing to live for then.”
When they reached the motorcycle, Virginia brightened up. “Is this a Harley-Davidson?”
Hagar briefly studied the outsized imprint on the gas tank. “Sure is.” She looked at Virginia through narrowed eyes. “I suppose you want a ride?”
The girl vigorously nodded and panted theatrically. “Me Tonto. Me no ride iron horse before.”
The other woman let out an exasperated sigh. “All right. Get in the sidecar.”
Virginia shook her head from side to side, agitating the long red tresses.
Hagar put her hands on her waist. “Well, missy, what do you propose? You’re not thinking of sitting astride, are you—in that nightgown of yours?”
The girl flipped her hair back, hitched her dress high—higher than strictly necessary—and swung one leg over the top. She straddled the motorbike, looking archly at Hagar as if daring her to say something. “Besides, we need to put my suitcase somewhere.”
After a moment, Hagar nodded in agreement.
They settled on the bike and Hagar revved the engine.
Virginia hugged her from behind as the motorcycle started forward. “It’s like having a sweetheart,” she said, seemingly to herself. Then she whooped as the bike took off in earnest. “Here comes the thundering hoof bea
ts of the great horse Silver! The Lone Ranger rides again!”
“Quiet in the back rows!”
The motorcycle picked up speed.
“What a bang!” Virginia shouted. “And the wind—with no sand!”
Hagar smiled in appreciation.
“Afoot and lighthearted I take to the open road,” hollered Virginia, rising and spreading her arms wide. “Healthy and free, the long brown path before me leading wherever I choose.”
“Sit your butt down,” yelled Hagar, “before you find yourself flying onto the long brown path behind you.”
Virginia obliged. With the increasing roar of the engine, she drew herself closer, moving against Hagar. She pressed her body and closed her eyes.
The bike was speeding now along the empty road.
Virginia had her arms around Hagar’s abdomen. She dipped one hand between Hagar’s thighs and with two fingers blazed a trail of liquid fire between her legs.
“Stay on course, helmsman!” Virginia commanded as the blonde woman shuddered and the motorcycle careened to the side of the road.
Hagar muttered some curse under her breath.
They rode on.
Virginia’s fingers now darted about Hagar’s pant zipper. “Hey, is this a slide fastener?”
Hagar whipped her head back. “Don’t even thin—”
“Eyes out for torpedoes, flyboy!” hollered Virginia. Resigned, Hagar turned to look back at the road. “Just hold onto your hat, Mrs. Grundy,” Virginia told her. Her eyes gleamed wickedly. “You’re going on a ride.” She unzipped Hagar’s pants and reached in with one hand, while the other arm took hold of the waist.
They drove on, somewhat unsteadily, with Hagar furiously biting her lower lip, wriggling as low moans occasionally escaped her lips.
After a long while, Virginia loosened her hold, and Hagar gradually brought the motorbike to a dead stop, putting her head down.
“Remind me not to give you a ride again.”
“You mean, to give me rides as often as possible,” said Virginia matter-of-factly as she climbed off the motorcycle.
Hagar gave her a dour look. Eventually, she burst out laughing, shaking her head at the same time. She got off and zipped up her pants. “From all the people in Oklahoma, I’d to stumble on the regional bearcat.”
“The wackiest of the wacky at that,” promised Virginia.
Hagar regarded her with a fond smile, then gave the other a mock salute as the girl in white started walking down the road, a suitcase in hand, evidently seeking to hitchhike.
“Virginia.”
The girl turned.
“Give me a second,” said Hagar. She closed her eyes, reaching, searching in the vast database. Finally, she looked up. “Go to Eutropheon, a raw food restaurant on Hill Street, Los Angeles, and contact their long-haired, European clientele. This ain’t no Monte Verità, but you will be able to connect with kindred spirits. And ask the Richters about the naturmenschen: the Ehret nature folks in Tahquitz Canyon.”
“The Richters?”
Hagar waved her hand. “They're the restaurant owners.” She could never get over how narrow bandwidth humans had for processing incoming information. If a person read one hundred books a year, that was impressive. At times when she needed to, she processed that amount of data in less than a minute.
Virginia asked, “Who are those nature folks, the naturmenschen?”
“They hitchhike through the mountains and deserts, live in caves, compose music, practice yoga, play the flutes. You will love to hang out with them.”
“Yes, I think I may,” Virginia said slowly. She walked away, but then swung around. “At first I thought.…You’re not twenty at all, are you?”
Hagar shook her head.
“How old then?”
The blonde woman looked strangely at her for a long time. “I don’t rightly know. I, well, I stopped counting before I hit a hundred.” She grinned feebly. “And with all the shifting to different planes, it’s hard to keep track anyway.”
Virginia’s mouth fell open.
Hagar pulled down her goggles and walked over. She planted a kiss on Virginia’s parted lips, and the girl jolted. “When you get to Los Angeles, wear flowers in your hair. It will suit you.”
“Did people wear flowers in the Monte Verità colony?” Virginia asked in a subdued voice, looking wide-eyed at Hagar, as if seeing her for the first time.
“Yes. Sometimes.”
“And long hair?” she asked, regaining some of her composure.
“Of course.” Something occurred to Hagar. “Virginia, do you have any money on you?”
The girl glanced pointedly at her shoes patched with rubber, obviously taken from a worn tire.
“Here, I got something in my pocket for you.” Hagar fished out a massive gold coin.
Virginia accepted the heavy coin with round eyes, examining it. Then she regarded the other woman skeptically. “You had nothing in your pocket; those tight pants will tear apart if they were to hold anything. Anyway, I would have felt it when I—”
Hagar raised her hands. “You’re right. No need to get graphic.” She considered for a second. “I should have pulled the coin out of the jacket, huh? Here, let’s do it again.” She took back the large coin, tucked it inside her jacket, and handed it back. Then added two more coins. “They are solid gold. Sell them when you get to Los Angeles.”
The girl shoved the heavy coins in her luggage and was silent for a long time. “So, you can produce gold out of thin air.”
“Hardly. I got those from a storage unit that accompanies me wherever I am. You could say the unit is a little out of phase with this world, thus, it’s not visible.”
Virginia studied the wasteland. “Must be handy,” she finally said.
A black car drove slowly on the road with chairs strapped to the roof. They both watched the vehicle as it passed them by.
Hagar smiled affectionately at the girl in a white dress. “It is time for you to go now. Catch a ride to Los Angeles.”
Virginia looked at her, then rushed off with her suitcase lurching every which way. “Woohoo!” she yelled at the barren land when she was a considerable distance away. “A road to Damascus—and in Oklahoma, no less!”
Hagar broke into laughter. She cupped her hands and shouted after the retreating figure, “Perish the thought!” She shook her head and, chuckling, made her way to the motorcycle.
It was time to head east, to the capital. It was time to pay a little visit to the US Congress, and with a bit of luck preserve some of the forests in the region. The key was hemp, the marijuana plant.
Chapter 4
Washington DC
Monday, the House was in session.
Jere Cooper from Tennessee was inquiring, “Is it true that extensive hearings were held on this bill before the Ways and Means Committee and there was no opposition to the passage of the bill?”
At his seat, Frank Buck ran a hand over his mustache. “The gentleman is correct.”
“Mr. Speaker, the representative from California is lying,” said a young-looking woman. She stood by the main entrance, the double doors wide open.
“Who claims that?” Buck called out, indignant.
“Dr. Woodward from the American Medical Association objected most strenuously to the bill in question,” said the blonde woman. “As of course you would have known had any of you bothered to look at the records. But then again, the boys from the Ways and Means Committee counted on you not doing so.” She suddenly snapped her fingers and glanced up.
The Speaker’s eyes widened in disbelief and his gaze followed hers to the gallery. They were gone: the guards manning the dozen doorways, the press, and all but few observers. “Who are you?” he demanded. “Where is security?” Sudden beads of sweat appeared on the Speaker’s forehead. Anarchist
s must have taken over the House! he thought.
“I made them disappear,” the attractive woman stated as she walked down the aisle. This simple statement sent chills down the hall. Every eye was on her.
The people in the gallery were absent from the very moment Hagar came in, but those in the main hall were unaware of it. Actually, that wasn’t entirely accurate. It was not that the guards and the people at the gallery disappeared. Rather, the people in the main hall did. As she entered, Hagar had transported herself and the delegates to the netherworld: a mirror, shadowy reflection of the real world.
“Mr. Speaker, so what are you going to do about lying Frankie here?” she asked and pointedly looked at the distressed representative from California.
“The Ways and Means Committee investigated the matter thoroughly and came to a decision in favor of the bill,” Frank Buck said weakly.
“And what does a tax committee know about drugs?” the woman said, almost absently, slowly making her way to the rostrum. The delegates collectively gasped as in front of their eyes, her dress changed color and cut. The heels of her shoes lengthened, and the thud of her footfalls became more pronounced against the floor. Up close, she appeared to the Representatives much younger than they had assumed—and stunning looking at that.
Buck and Reed exchanged uncertain, fearful glances. Eventually Reed rose. “Will the gentleman yield?”
Buck nodded, grateful for the settling decorum amid this surreal, eerie situation. “I yield to the gentleman from New York.”
“The testimony given by experts shows that the use of the marijuana drug leads to insanity and crime,” Daniel A. Reed announced to the House at large. If this was a hostage situation, maybe they could argue their way out of it.
“The marijuana cigarette is most insidious; its effects deadly,” seconded Clinton Hester. His imposing figure added gravitas to his words. He struck Hagar as a retired wrestler.
The girl did not try to hide her amusement. “Dr. Waywood stated that the drug is not well researched,” she chided. “Aside from that—”
The Earth Hearing Page 3
