Dawn of Revelation

by A N Sandra

  The image caused Bud to feel like retching a bit.

  “But I drank too much and fell asleep. My dreams were a swirl of deep color; they showed me things I might never understand. But they took me places and then brought me here. My falcons came with me. They are always a little ahead or behind me, but they are here.”

  Bud looked about for them. He could see two large birds sitting on power poles at the edge of the quarry.

  “Are those?” Bud gestured toward the stiff forms in the distance. “Yours?”

  “Yes, those are my falcons. The line of horses the Urban Relocation people wanted so much have been in my family since before Lewis and Clark came. My great-grandfather kept those horses as safe as he kept his wife and children when they fled to Canada, and all the way back from Canada to Idaho. But the falcons have been with my family since before time.”

  Bud didn’t know what to say. He was sitting in a forbidden dry streambed with an elderly Native American man who had walked all the way from Idaho. They were looking at a painting of a bear that was probably older than either of them could imagine, even though it was surprisingly sophisticated.

  “Well, if you walked all the way from Idaho you must be hungry,” Bud finally said. When you don’t know what to do, eat something and try to figure it out later. “Why don’t we move this rock back over, so no one sees the painting and you can come to my house to get something to eat.”

  “I would like that,” the old man said. “I didn’t just walk from Idaho, I went to Oregon first.”

  “What did you do in Oregon?” Bud wanted to know.

  “The falcon in my dreams flew to this,” from the pocket of his loose jeans the man drew an ivory box and held it into the light for Bud to see. “It was by a stream that feeds into Wallowa Lake.”

  Bud almost fell back onto the rocks. Another box like the one he had was not what he had expected. Two of them! What we could do with two of them!

  “How many more do you think there are?” Bud asked.

  The man shrugged. His lined face and saggy eyes were hard to read.

  “Let’s go,” Bud told him. “Now that you’re here can you ride in my truck or do you need to walk to my house?”

  The man made some gestures and the birds from the power poles came and landed on Bud’s truck bed.

  “We will go with you,” the man declared, handing Bud the box he had come so far to hold. “I can ride now.”

  Bud called Danica to tell her to set the table for one more. She sounded so agreeable on the phone that Bud wondered what she would say when he turned up with a stranger who had walked so far to see a box Danica didn’t yet know about.

  Short years before, Danica would never have allowed a stranger with no one to recommend them to the family to stay in her home. But after feeding Ben Swiss Chicken (it turned out he had a name) with the rest of her family, she insisted on making up Michael’s old bed for him. Danica was so agreeable that Bud wasn’t forced to explain about his box, or Ben’s box.

  “Thank you,” Ben told her. “I haven’t slept in a real bed for a long time.”

  “That sounds hard,” Danica empathized.

  “I know how to be abased and how to abound,” Ben replied.

  “You know the Apostle Paul!” Danica exclaimed as if the author of epistles was just around the corner and Ben could introduce them.

  “I do,” Ben said, as if he also believed Paul to be in the next room and there would be warm handshakes exchanged in moments. Bud grinned nervously, because previously he thought that probably the Apostle Paul was at least a little fictional, but after today’s encounter it wouldn’t surprise him if Paul showed up any second.

  With a gentle nod Ben turned in to the room, and Bud was struck by the fact that he had no luggage at all. Blythe wasn’t far from the Pacific Crest Trail, and lots of backpackers came through Blythe in the summer months traveling in waves. Bud was always surprised at how much stuff they managed to cram into their huge packs before they tied additional things onto them, and their belts. They also mailed themselves things to the Blythe Post Office, and traded items in “hiker boxes” around town. How had Ben managed to get from Idaho to Oregon to California with no possessions? Bud knew the box Ben carried would have made it easier for him. It would have kept him from pain. It would have helped Ben be in just the right place at the right time, food would probably have simply turned up when Ben was hungry.

  “Are we hiding Ben from the Urban Relocation people?” Twilight wanted to know when Bud came back to the kitchen for a beer.

  “Susan will never come here, so this would be a great place to hide,” Bud said, not really joking but trying to keep his tone light.

  “I guess,” Twilight said. Her face glowed with excitement at a real secret. “I won’t tell anybody he’s here.”

  “I didn’t ask you to keep him a secret,” Bud said, annoyed. “Besides, Urban Relocation isn’t supposed to apply to the Indians.”

  “No, but they get them into their free rehab programs and then they move them into the city,” Twilight said wisely. “The reservation is empty.”

  “There were never that many people there,” Bud said, feeling a little obstinate. He hadn’t known the reservation was empty though. That was worrisome.

  Twilight shrugged as if to say, “There’s nothing I can do with you when you are in this kind of mood.”

  “Maybe it’s better not to tell anyone he’s here,” Bud admitted, pulling a beer from the fridge and leaning against the kitchen counter.

  “Unless someone asks outright, then you should just tell the truth,” Danica said, not wanting to appear less than virtuous.

  “If someone asks if an old Native American man from Idaho is staying in my brother’s room, I should tell them yes?” Twilight tipped her head toward her parents.

  “Honesty is the best policy,” Danica shook her head at the ridiculous situation.

  “We don’t lie about keeping old Indians in the spare room,” Bud said. “But maybe we should keep it on the down low.”

  “I’m going to watch One Tough Customer,” Twilight told her parents. She had a bowl of popcorn and a hot apple cider in her hands.

  “That show with Molly Hollister on the Foodie Channel?” Danica was annoyed. “Molly Hollister is not a nice person. The ads for that show look awful.”

  “It’s all publicity,” Twilight said with a jaded air, even though at fourteen, not quite fifteen, she couldn’t know enough about the world to make sweeping judgments about strangers with any accuracy. “No one has the energy to be as mean as people make her sound.”

  “I don’t think you need energy, I think you just need a lot of money and power to be that mean,” Danica responded.

  Twilight shrugged, disbelieving. What could parents possibly know about the world?

  Danica, tired of holding up the family morals, poured a glass of wine and went to read a book. Bud followed Twilight into the family room with his beer. He didn’t plan on seriously watching her show, but he needed to unwind, and the sound of the television helped him relax.

  Almost never did any television Twilight or Joshua watched suck Bud in, but One Tough Customer was too much of a train wreck not to watch. Bud found himself watching the whole show, irritated that it would be days before another installment.

  “Caught you, Dad,” Twilight was amused as she turned the television to Netflix to watch other shows.

  “That was something. Sadie was so pretty… they were just crazy, all of them.”

  “It was chaos,” Twilight said. Her teenage mind relished chaos. “I knew if Molly Hollister put her name on something it would be good.”

  “It was terrible, but I couldn’t help watching.”

  “Like when Betty Martin dances.”

  “I’m glad I haven’t seen Betty dance,” Bud sighed.

  “It’s burned into my brain,” Twilight shrugged. “I can’t un-see it. Homecoming and then Prom.”

  “Better you than me,” Bud w
asn’t sure who Betty Martin was, but was glad he didn’t know. “Goodnight.”

  He walked slowly to his room, tired, but not sore. Since finding the ivory box he hadn’t been sore from work even though he had put in all the usual summer overtime. His back hadn’t hurt, and his whole family was getting along. Now there were two such boxes under one roof, and Bud wondered what would happen next.

  We’ve never had a four-day weekend in July,” Donovan commented as he and Bud walked around the quarry securing equipment for the long weekend. At the end of a long Thursday both of them were tired and dirty, walking slowly, the heels of their worn boots sending trails of dust behind them in the evening light.

  “I haven’t had a four-day weekend in the summer since I worked here,” Bud answered. There was no reason not to have one this year. They were ahead on every order and Randy didn’t want to pay any more overtime to anyone, so it had been an easy decision to send everyone away for four days.

  “I’m just going to relax at home.” Donovan sighed in anticipation. “I’m picking up plenty of beer and ribs and I’m going to rest. Have fun at the beach.” Clearly Donovan thought Bud was crazy for taking so many people to the beach when he could just stay home and do nothing.

  “I will,” Bud said. He’d watched his wife and kids go to the beach without him every Fourth of July for years. To be really fair, he hadn’t always been sorry to watch them go. Bud had grown up an only child and needed more alone time than he often received with so many children in his house, but this year he would be able to go, and he was looking forward to it. Danica had rented two luxury yurts for the family to spread out in on the Oregon Coast and they would watch fireworks over the ocean. Joshua had gigs booked all weekend, but Michael, Rachel, and Jael were all coming as well as their new bonus family member, Ben, who had stayed with the Hendersons since he had turned up with his falcons. They would also pick up Brock from Joyce’s house in Blythe, even though he would probably never put down whatever book he was reading the whole time.

  Donovan probably thought that Bud was going to get all the camping gear ready, and pack everything, because Donovan didn’t understand Danica. She was a packing genius, who loved organizing things. Bud knew that she would have everything in a tidy stack in the carport so that Bud could load everything into his truck in the morning and they would all caravan to the beach, taking several hours, consuming chips, cookies and enough Rice Krispies Treats to float a raft, playing loud southern rock music the whole way.

  It was almost dark by the time Bud and Donovan felt confident that everything was fine. They told each other goodnight, got in their trucks, and marveled at the way the season was working out so smoothly.

  “We’re all ready to go,” Danica said in greeting before Bud even got out of his truck. “I can’t believe how easy it was to get everything together this year!”

  Bud could believe it. Ben and his tiny box had done for Danica’s housekeeping (which had already been fabulous) what Bud’s box had done for the quarry. The garden had never looked better, the lawn was amazing, every unfinished project Danica had ever had was somehow completed and Twilight had revamped her website and completed a record number of t-shirt orders. Packing for a long weekend had probably been a breeze.

  “That’s great, babe,” Bud told Danica. He slid out of his truck to give her a huge kiss and squeeze her close. “We’re going to have a great time.”

  The long weekend was magical. Ben’s falcons hitched a ride by perching on the back bumper of Ben’s packed truck and everyone headed down the road with great merriment. The weather was perfect for the entire weekend, which was evidently a miracle for Oregon, and all festivities had happened in warm temperatures, under a calm sky. Even Caleb came for Sunday night since Susan was working too much to notice his absence on a holiday.

  “This is the life,” Michael said, beer in hand. He, Ben, Caleb, and Bud sat next to the campfire in folding chairs listening to the surf, the crackling of the fire, and the rowdy game of mahjong the women in the family were playing at a fold up table nearby. Brock, his sandy hair ruffled from the ocean breeze, was reading a book close by.

  Danica came up behind Bud and squeezed his shoulder.

  “This is the life,” Bud concurred. Seagulls danced in the sky above the yurt campsite, kept at bay by Ben’s falcons, who had already taken out too many seagulls to count.

  “Mom!” Twilight called from the mahjong table. “Bring me a water, okay?”

  “Okay,” Danica bent down and whispered into Bud’s ear. “I’m glad you made it this year.” She sashayed back to her game and Bud was left with a deep sense of content.

  On Sunday morning, Joyce drove up to see everyone for breakfast and to watch the fireworks that evening. On Monday morning she would drive Brock to Central Oregon to see his estranged father for a two-week visit.

  “Until the Stanford admission, Kenny wasn’t interested in any of the boys after the divorce.” Joyce twisted as she talked so that the wind carried her cigarette smoke away from Danica and Bud.

  “Maybe being really proud of one of them was what he needed,” Danica said cheerfully. “Maybe he’ll have fun with Brock and want to see Bryan and Clay before summer is over.”

  “That’s unlikely,” Joyce answered. “Bryan and Clay are the ones who blew him off when he ran off with his hair dressing bimbo. Brock just doesn’t care about stuff like that. Maybe the two of them could still have a chance to get along. Kenny wouldn’t even have to work at a relationship with Brock. All he has to do is supply books and sugar and Brock’ll stay happy.”

  The utter lack of revenge motivation that Joyce had toward Kenny often left Bud with nothing to say. He sometimes felt he was more disappointed in Kenny than Joyce was. But then, Joyce had known him more intimately. She had known his weaknesses and loved him anyway, up until his great betrayal, and it seemed she had enough warmed over good wishes to spill over onto him even now. Bud, on the other hand, felt the most betrayed by Kenny. He’d thought Kenny would always be around, but Kenny had been planning his escape for a long time. Escaping from a loving and fun wife and growing energetic boys was not something Bud could identify with. Those kinds of relationships were the glue that held society together. Sure, no one wants some of the heartache that comes with a growing family. No one wants a spoiled teenager wrecking their car. But those things weren’t worth throwing everything away for.

  “I want a s’more,” Bud announced. “Want one too, Brock?”

  Sugar in any form was the best way to get Brock to put down a book and engage, and sure enough, to roast a marshmallow Brock set his book down carefully and joined Bud by the fire.

  “What’s your book about?” Bud asked as the marshmallows turned golden brown over the glowing coals.

  “The end of the world,” Brock answered.

  “Does it go out with a bang, or a whimper?” Bud wondered.

  “First a whimper, and then a bang,” Brock said, seriously. From previous experience Bud knew that Brock wouldn’t want his hair ruffled, so Bud bumped him with his arm. Just a quick friendly nudge, and Brock turned up the corners of his mouth, just a little bit.

  “Baby, we need to go,” Danica was trying to wake Bud up. For all the years they had been married, Danica had been up before Bud. Most of those years it had been because she had been up feeding a baby or changing wet sheets or couldn’t sleep because a teenager hadn’t come home when they should have. Bud wondered what it would be like to always wake someone else up.

  “I don’t want to go back,” Bud said softly into his pillow. “We can stay here.”

  “You don’t want to stay in Gold Beach,” Danica told him. “You couldn’t work and provide for your loving family.”

  “I’ll find something to do,” Bud said. He held his pillow more tightly. “I’ll become a hot dog vendor.”

  “I don’t think there are any hot dog vendors here,” Danica rubbed Bud’s arm through his sleeping bag.

  “Exactly!” Bud said. �
��No competition!”

  “You’ve got to get up honey. I need you to eat so I can pack the food. We need to get out of the yurt.”

  Bud felt a stubborn desire to stay right where he was. His innermost center did not want to leave the snug sleeping bag, the yurt, the beach, any of it, but conditioning is a fierce thing. Danica had been waking him up for years, and Bud was powerless to resist the future. He made himself sit up. Danica handed him his favorite travel mug full of coffee and he drank deep, submitting to the idea of going home.

  After a six-hour drive home Bud was worn out. He helped Danica unpack the things in the back of his truck with reserves of energy he hadn’t known existed before bumbling through the back door to the kitchen for a big drink of water to rehydrate after such a fun weekend. The light on his landline phone was blinking, indicating a voicemail. Bud reached for the phone to check, even though he was sure it wouldn’t be more relevant than three women named Ashley all trying to loan him money. He punched in the correct code, his mother’s birthday and held the phone to his ear.

  “Bud, it’s Randy. Come in at eight tomorrow. I don’t need Joshua, just come by yourself.”

  Joshua hadn’t been scheduled to work anyway. He was in Sac trying to find the best place for Back Pasture to record an album of original songs. In an uncharacteristic manner, Joshua had asked Bud if he would come to Sac for the four-day weekend to sit in on Back Pasture’s gigs and look at recording options. Bud had known the invitation wasn’t really for him, but for the ivory box, and had declined graciously.

  “This isn’t good,” Bud sighed, punching the off button on his phone. What could be wrong? Bud could think of a lot of things that could be wrong, easily. Had the painting in the creek bed been discovered by real archeologists who had shut down the whole site? It wasn’t likely. No interest had been shown in the creek bed other than a quick looting by Berkeley grad students. Had more artifacts fallen from the rock face while everyone had been gone and been discovered? It seemed extremely unlikely. No one had been there to discover them. Had Randy made a mistake with some contracts? That seemed very unlikely too. Randy was a double-I dotter.