Aztec Odyssey

by Jay C. LaBarge

  He ducked down and exited the tent quietly on his hands and knees through the low opening. As he emerged he was greeted by a heavy head to head nuzzling from Nanook, and as he looked up an obligatory face lick. “Hey boy, good to see you too. I know, it’s been so long.”

  He heard laughter and guitar chords, and looked over to where Bidzii, Atsa, and several others were sitting in the shade. “Hey Kemosabe, over here,” Bidzii yelled, a cigar in his mouth, the almost empty bottle of bourbon in one hand.

  Atsa hollered, “Incoming,” and arced a graceful spiral of a beer can toward Nick, who was squinting into the sunlight. Nick reacted quickly, turning his back toward them, and caught the beer backhanded. Catcalls, whistles and laughter greeted him as he made his way over and sat down.

  “I can see that the festivities continue.” As he opened his beer, those next to him leaned away as it exploded and doused him with foam.

  Atsa doubled over laughing, adding, “I may have given it a little shake first.”

  Nick smiled back easily at him as he wiped his face with his t-shirt, “I’m sure Nanook will be happy to clean it up.”

  Bidzii flipped him a Cuban, and Nick deftly cut the end off with his utility knife and lit up. He wasn’t a smoker, but he was never one to turn down a fine cigar when proffered. The conversation drifted in and out from the fun of last night, to what everybody was doing next, and inevitably circled back to music. The bourbon made one last lap around before Nick declared it a “dead soldier.” Everyone suddenly cheered and high fived, and Nick realized that the saying had a whole different meaning with this group. Bidzii looked at him, still laughing and gave him a slap on the back and said, “I swear, you crack me up McFly.”

  The conversation drifted to their shared love of the blues, which led to a fun argument on syncopation, whereby the regular rhythm was unexpectedly shifted by stressing the weak beat. But then the alcohol fueled discussion shifted to who was the best Native American band of all time.

  “Redbone? You can’t be serious,” said Yas, the drummer whose name meant Snow. “I mean they were good, but they weren’t the best.”

  “Come on man, no Redbone, then no Blackfoot, no Blackfoot, no Indigenous. You can’t tell me Come and Get Your Love and The Witch Queen of New Orleans weren’t great songs,” argued Bidzii.

  “Blackfoot rocked man, Highway Song and Train, Train kicked ass,” Yas replied.

  Atsa threw in his two cents, asking, “Really dudes, what are you guys smoking? What about Kansas? Dust in the Wind is the all-time classic, and People of The South Wind rocked too.”

  Tahoma cracked up at that one. “Get real Atsa, Kansas didn’t even have a single Indian in the band. They just wrote songs like they did.”

  Nick took it all in, the barbs and witty repartee, and then jumped in. “Alright, guys, I’ve got to call bullshit. I’m not even Native American, and I gotta tell you Indigenous is one of the best rock bands I have ever heard, period. And I heard many. Their best album was Broken Lands, and their best song was . . .”

  “This Place I Know,” chimed in Soba, having wandered over with Nanook by her side, while everyone was intently arguing.

  “Ah, welcome, Mistress Shaman, practitioner of the dark arts. I say cheers to that,” shouted Bidzii, raising a beer to her, to which everyone cheered and joined in.

  Breakfast having been spontaneously drunk instead of eaten, people started wandering off to prepare some real food to refuel. Now it was just Nick, Bidzii, and Soba sitting together in the shade, lounging contentedly in the afterglow of the prior evening and a mellow morning. Nanook glowered at any outlanders who wandered too close, keeping the gathering intimate.

  “Yeah, we’ve got another three or four gigs lined up, hitting places on our way back home. Maybe another one or two will fall in our lap on the way,” Bidzii disclosed. “What about you?”

  Soba kicked Nick’s foot playfully and said, “Slight change of plans. You know I’ve got a presentation down Mexico way, turns out Nick needs to do some research in Mexico City. I’ll catch a ride with him, and keep you posted.”

  Bidzii looked at Nick, this time with a more critical eye, appraising him. “You know what Soba means to me, to all of us here. And I suspect you now know all about her too. We Navajo don’t take our obligations to one another lightly. You’re like a tumbleweed man, one that just blew into our lives, and maybe will blow right on through it. But I know one thing, Pocahontas over there is a good judge of people, can see deep into them, and for some reason seems to like you. Hell, I like you. Even her damn wolf likes you, and he doesn’t like anybody. But if you two want to run off on some traveling road show together, as her self-appointed guardian I have to ask you to pass one simple test.”

  Nick knew he was being challenged, with the best of all intentions. If she were my charge, I’d be the same way, probably even worse, he thought.

  OK, bring it on Tonto. He was finally catching on to the wordplay that Bidzii liked to banter about.

  Bidzii put a hand on his knee and looked him straight in the eye. “I’m being serious here Peckerwood, you are either in our tribe or out of it. And I gotta know your level of commitment before you take her off to somewhere I can’t reach her. But before I tell you what the test is, you have to agree to it. Like right now.”

  Nick glanced over at Soba, who suddenly looked uneasy and shifted about. The look on her face was inscrutable. She refused to make direct eye contact with him, he just couldn’t read her. He paused, reflecting that he had spent a lot of time these last few years being relentlessly restless, searching for something, and that something had turned out to be a someone, someone who understood him, grew him, completed him. Like Dad had said about his mother, “There’s only one of her son, and she’s taken.” With that he slapped his hand down hard on top of Bidzii’s, and said, “I’m in. Bring it on Geronimo.”

  “I was hoping you would say that Opie, otherwise Sacajawea here would be doing some weird type of incantation on my ass and blaming me for you’re getting away.” Soba gave Bidzii her best Bambi eyes, obviously imploring ‘be gentle.’

  “Seeing you are so anxious to join our little tribe, you need to do a Vision Quest. Nothing too elaborate, we’ll even let you do the abridged version. But instead of making you fast for four days to see your vision of how best to help our people, we’ll accelerate the process. Ever hear of Peyote? For those of you in our studio audience that are unfamiliar with it, Soba told me it is Nahuatl for Devine Messenger. And I’ll want to know exactly what message it is that you receive.”

  This time Soba’s eyes met Nick’s, and he could see tears just slightly welling in the corners, a silent thank you whispered on her lips.

  “We gotta run, no time to waste.” Bidzii put a powerful arm around Nick and then put him in a playful headlock, calling out to his friends, “We’ve got a live one here,” and headed out to the desert accompanied by cheers and cat calls. “Come on Bueller, you’ve got a date with the Green Fairy.”

  Chapter 19 – Afternoon, June 22

  Nick looked back over his shoulder as he was being hustled away. Obviously Soba wasn’t going to be a part of these festivities, but she gave him an apprehensive wave anyway. Come back with your shield, or upon it, he thought. A few of the band members trotted out, always up for some spontaneous entertainment.

  “Green Fairy, really? I thought that was Absinth,” Nick asked.

  “Just a figure of speech, but I suspect the end result may be similar. You’re going to see some strange stuff, man, better fasten your seatbelt. And remember, we want a full postgame report,” Bidzii replied.

  Atsa caught up and handed Nick a hamburger fresh off the grill. “You’re gonna need something in your stomach dude, chow down.”

  When Yas gave him a water bottle, Nick wryly commented, “At least it isn’t sour wine on a sponge before you nail me to the cross.”

  Nobody got the joke, and Atsa merely raised an eyebrow and mimicked what he heard Nick say yester
day, “Tough crowd.”

  Bidzii, who seemed to be the self-appointed master of ceremonies for the festivities, introduced the one person Nick hadn’t met yet. “Hey Forrest Gump, this is Tohoma. His name means Water’s Edge, we all think that’s where he was conceived, but his mamma ain’t saying. He’s with the band but can’t play a damn thing. But if you ever need anything scrounged up or fixed, he’s your man.”

  Nick looked over at him and nodded, “Good to meet you, but why the hell did they name you after a pickup truck?” That got a few chuckles and elicited a “beep beep” from someone.

  The man-pack wandered a little farther to a slight rise, where Bidzii announced, “Okay, this should be perfect.” The Navajos cleared a space, removing loose rocks, and set a large traditional blanket down in the middle. There was an unobstructed view in every direction, the occasional cactus poking up, some cliffs visible in the distance. A warm gentle breeze kicked up a little dust.

  “You’ll get a nice light show with the sunset and a clear sky for the stars. Should make for an interesting trip, all without ever having to leave the blanket or buy a ticket,” Atsa advised.

  “Alright guys, you’ve obviously been down this road before. What exactly am I in for?” Nick asked, a little trepidation coming through his voice.

  Bidzii sat down cross legged on the blanket and motioned for Nick to join him. “Here’s the drill Custer, I’ve got a tasty little treat for you, and we’ll all witness you eat it. After that we vamoose, the next ten hours or so should be an interesting experience for you. What you are about to ingest contains mescaline, something my ancestors have been using ritualistically for, like, forever. Turns out they all really liked the Grateful Dead.” He chuckled at his own joke. “It will take you on a trip in your mind, probably distort some reality, maybe reveal something within yourself you never really knew. But it will definitely go into some dark corners and peer behind some doors you’ve never opened. At least not yet.”

  Nick looked over at him, and said, “Really, all this so I can give Soba a lift?”

  Bidzii leaned over and punched him in the arm. “Come on man, I see how she looks at you. And that’s not a look I’ve seen her give anyone else, ever. I’ve known her since she was sixteen, and now she’s like twenty-five. She’s my adopted little sister. I’d do anything for her. And that includes making sure the guy she’s taking an extended road trip with is the real deal. Now open up wide and have a taste of the Devil’s Root.”

  Nick took what was offered, chewed it down and swallowed, thinking it tasted like eating a cactus, which it actually was. He chased it with a big swig of water. When he opened his mouth and stuck his tongue out and said, “Ah,” Bidzii rose, mussed Nick’s hair, and walked away. As everyone else left they tossed their water bottles onto the blanket, regardless of how much was in them.

  Tohoma let him know that, “We’ll peek in on the show occasionally from a distance, to make sure you aren’t running naked into a cactus or anything.”

  Just before they were all out of site, Yas turned and yelled back, “And remember, no leaving from the blanket. For anything!” He then made a motion that his eyes would be on Nick, no wandering allowed.

  Nick sat back down, patiently waiting for something, anything, to happen. He looked around in every direction, enjoying the view. Still nothing. Time passed, a warm breeze blew through his hair, his palms started sweating. Seeing the scattered water bottles, he thought it prudent to place them out of the sun, under a corner of the blanket. He then set the stopwatch function of his watch, so he could see how long things might take. Tick. He looked at the horizon, the sun setting just above it, not yet touching, an eagle screeching and swooping down on some unseen prey. Tock.

  I wonder if his peyote was old, maybe not that potent, Nick thought. He felt a slight chill in the air and buttoned his outer shirt up. The sun must be going down, that’s why I’m chilled. He looked up at the sun, but it seemed like it was higher on the horizon, not lower. Tick. Suddenly he realized he was thirsty and reached for a water bottle. But there weren’t any. “I can’t believe they wouldn’t leave me any water out here in the frikin’ desert,” he said out loud. “That’s insane.” Tock.

  Feeling stiff from sitting too much, Nick stood up and stretched. It felt good to stand. He felt a thud, and realized he was lying on the carpet face down. He rolled over and squinted at the horizon to take in the sunset. The sun looked like it had melted through the horizon and into the landscape. Tick, tock. The carpet was moving, what the hell was under it? He moved to get away from it, but felt like he was falling, not down, but up. He grasped the carpet hard with both hands. Tick, tock. He felt like the ashes he and his brother had just scattered, could taste them in his mouth, was blowing about, stardust caught in the wind, twirling, higher and higher. He saw the entire canyon from far above, could see the blanket below, a figure sprawled out on it. Tick, tock. He drifted away from the desert, higher and faster, over the Plains states, over the Midwest, the landscape changing to snow and ice. He flew over Lake Michigan, over the town of Muskegon, and started to descend toward Lake Charlevoix. Tick, tock.

  It’s winter, there is ice on the lake, snow is gusting and it’s freezing out. It makes Nick so cold he is shivering. He is hovering over his dad’s camp, sees two men knocking on the door. His dad answers, they force their way in. Tick, tock, tick, tock. The two men go out the back door, one dragging a body, the other dragging an ice auger. Far out onto the lake they drill a hole, then drill more around the edges to make it bigger. Tick tock tick tock. They take the body and force it into the hole headfirst, pushing it in deeper with the tip of the auger. Then they hastily push snow and ice on top of the hole and go back to the cabin. Tick, tock, tick, tock. Nick flies down through the hole in the ice, into the bitter ice-cold water. He sees his dad drifting and then suddenly revive, a scream escapes in air bubbles, he is moving frantically about, swimming back up to the ice, pressing it, looking for a way out. Tick, tock, tick, tock.

  Nick follows his dad, sees him swim for a bright spot, a fault line in the ice. He reaches for it, and punches it, but there is no strength to the blows, no leverage. Tick, tock. His dad slowly stops thrashing about, and pulls up one sleeve, and bites down deeply on his tattoo. Blood swirls in the water. With a final bust of energy, he punches an arm through a crack in the ice, can feel the air on his hand. Tick, tock. The body suddenly goes limp, hanging by the arm stuck through the ice pack. A last few air bubbles waft upwards, caught under the ice, and escape through the hole by the arm. Tick, tock. Nick bursts up through the ice gasping for air, and is now hovering back above the cabin, sees two men leaving it, carefully covering their tracks, one holding a journal aloft, a high five exchanged. Tick, tock.

  He is flying higher and higher again, back the way he came, across Lake Michigan, through the Plains states, the landscape changing from cold winter to desert heat. Chaco Canyon comes in focus below. He is so very hot. Tick. Freefall. Pushed out of the sky, arms and legs flailing, the ground rushing up to crush him, tensing for the impact. Tock. Nick lands directly on the body sprawled out on the carpet far below. He crawls into its skin and sits up, sweating and chilled at the same time, the skin conforming tightly to his body. He holds a hand out in front of him to make sure the skin feels right and flexes all his fingers. Good, perfect fit. Tick. Now I understand, I see how all the loose ends tie together. It was always there, right in front of me, so obvious. And they will pay, they will all pay—plus interest. Tock.

  Nick resumed sitting as he had started, cross legged in the middle, and calmly lifted a corner of the carpet for a bottle of water. He felt around the inside of his mouth with his tongue, tasted sand, and spit it out. He drank the whole bottle, still felt dehydrated, and grabbed and drank another. His hands weren’t shaking anymore, he had perfect control of them. He looked up at the sky, it was still night, probably a few hours before the dawn. A glance at his watch confirmed it, he had been gone in his mind for a little over eight h
ours, but it felt more like eight minutes. That was definitely some very strong hallucinogenic stuff, with a wild type of time warping effect. The back of his eyes hurt, his mouth still tasted gritty. He gingerly got up, stood there and stared at the horizon until he regained his internal equilibrium, grabbed another water bottle, and then picked up some rocks and made a design off to the side in the sand. Then he covered his tracks and started walking slowly back to camp.

  About halfway back Nick heard a thumping on the ground that sounded like a horse approaching and stopped to look up. There on the far edge of the trail stood Nanook, ears alert and surveying the area, the white sentinel, silently waiting for him. Nick paused and again put down additional rocks, way off the path. As he approached, Nanook turned on heel and quietly led the way back to the camp, back to Soba’s tent, where he sat patiently to one side of the door. Once Nick unzippered it and crawled in, Nanook resumed his spot directly outside the entrance, the ground still warm from when he lay there last. He tilted his head looking at a few rocks Nick had just laid right outside the tent, then huffed and put his head down.

  Early morning came, and Bidzii jogged through the camp back to where Atsa, Yas, and Tahoma sat gathered around a smoldering fire pit. “He must have wandered off, I don’t see him anywhere. When did any of you last check on him?” Bidzii breathlessly asked.

  They all looked at each other, and Tahoma said, “A little after midnight. Anyone go later?”

  Atsa just shrugged his shoulders, and Yas added, “I slept like a baby, man. I was taking a little trip of my own.”

  Tohoma started chuckling. “I gotta tell you, when I last saw him that white boy was sprawled flat on his back, holding onto that carpet for dear life. Flying off somewhere like a bat out of hell.”

  Bidzii frowned, starting to get really worried, and decided to act before this little escapade got too far out of hand. Soba would kill him if anything happened. “Alright guys, the wide-open desert is no place to just wander off when you’re trippin’. We’ve got to spread out and track him down, let’s get moving, pronto!”