Wyatt, Richard

by Fathers of Myth

  Kelly is already sleeping soundly on the blanket, so I take the opportunity to leave and look for more wood. Looking up in the direction of the eastern sky, I notice two or three early evening stars. They show up early and twinkle as if they are trying to steal the show away from the moon before it comes on stage.

  As I busy myself looking for wood, the ground begins to plunge abruptly into a slope. Playing the part of an adventurer nomad, I descend down the slope grade, looking forward to seeing something I’ve never seen before.

  As the ground begins to level out again at the bottom of the hill, I take an inventory of sights and sounds around me. The red rugged earth fills the picture I see before me, extending to the horizon in all directions. Except for an occasional tree or clump of shrubs, it looks like a lifeless barren wasteland.

  I continue on till I come upon a small cliff, overlooking a gully. Surveying the landscape, I notice there are deer trails with hundreds of tracks everywhere. How the deer are able to survive here in this unforgiving abandoned land, I have no clue.

  Looking closer I see that people have walked this way before, shadowing my own footsteps. Could there be others who were stuck out here, I wonder? My eyes follow a trail of footprints, which makes a path down the hill, ending at the bottom of the cliff face below me.

  As I carefully lean over the edge to investigate closer, I notice what looks like an entrance to a cave. Carefully, I slide down to the bottom of the steep-sloped cliff face to explore this further, in the process covering myself with red dirt.

  The first thing that comes to my mind as I face the cave entrance is that this small cave is not of natural form, but looks as if it has been hewn out by someone’s hands. As I step inside into the dark unknown, the light from the setting sun brightly illuminates the cave entrance from behind me. Like a mighty sentinel guard, the darkness refuses to allow light to go further than two or three feet inside the entrance.

  As I enter the cave, I notice immediately the drop in temperature. It must be twenty degrees cooler than outside. Remembering the book of matches I have from lighting the campfire, I pull them out and strike a match. As the match ignites, it dimly illuminates the interior of this underground chamber.

  One time when I was a boy, a big storm came, making all the lights go out. My Dad placed candles everywhere in the house. We ate by candlelight, my Dad read his paper by candlelight, and I even got to take a bath by candlelight. The light flickering on the cave walls spark that memory in my mind, transporting it to the present.

  Before the match goes out, I use it to light another, and walk over towards the cave wall. As the light brings the cave wall in to clear view, I am emotionally struck at what I find. There are hundreds of pictures on the wall.

  It is almost like I have discovered the tomb of King Tut. The pictures and writings on the cave wall are similar to that of a pharaoh’s tomb, like Egyptian hieroglyphics. I find it curious that many of the crude pictures on the wall are pictures that look like dinosaurs, or have some resemblance to dinosaurs.

  Awe-struck with this unearthed treasure, I stand gaping at the wall. Instantly I am in darkness, except for the guiding light of the entrance. For a moment I have forgotten that my light depends on just a little match, the light of which lasts but only seconds. My hand fumbles for another match, and then I feel the matchbook for the exact place to strike it.

  The new flame brings the cave interior to light once again. I slowly walk over to another part of the cave, the dim light revealing a new discovery, with each step I take.

  I come upon a little structure that looks like a desk or a worktable equipped with a rustic wooden chair. The top of the table is covered with cobwebs, and on the wall behind it, more pictures are displayed.

  I follow the edge of the light to the right, to the end of the table. At this end of the table there are no cobwebs or thick dust on the table, as if someone had recently wiped them away. On top of the table, I find several pieces of parchment skin that have the same picture writings as on the cave walls. Looking closer, I see one of the pieces of parchment with something written in English.

  “The others too, would not leave our secret alone.” My eyes widen, and a conclusion shoots from my brain. This is part of the same message that someone left on the windshield of the car. I look down and notice bits of charcoal sitting atop the table. This must be where the message, I pulled off from the windshield, was written with charcoal.

  But why; the questions float around my head like a thousand fireflies glowing in the dark.

  My cave adventure has left me feeling very uneasy now. I quickly exit the cave and make my way back to our camp.

  It is still light outside, but the sun has sunk below the horizon. Walking into camp, I see Kelly busy stoking the fire. She wears a grim face and looks as if she has been crying.

  Since I have been totally engrossed in my cave discovery experience, I have picked up very little firewood. I have only three small pieces of wood to show for my time away from camp. I drop them down beside the fire and clap the bark dust from my hands.

  “How’s it going Kelly?” I sense something cold and unfriendly is in the air. Kelly remains sober and refuses to look up. Her silence instantly makes me feel that a large finger is pointing right at me.

  “Did you have a good rest?” I ask, kind of sheepishly.

  Kelly still hushed, continues to stir the fire.

  I guess I have entered that familiar dimension that men wander into, from time to time. It’s that universe where a woman wields a power more threatening than all the forces of nature combined. Without any physical display of might, or so much as a whisper from her lips, she communicates something that has the power to bring even the strongest man down to his knees: guilt. And the magical thing about it is; you are not necessarily required to know what you’re guilty of.

  The effect of her wiles is inescapable. I drop to my knees beside her, planning to beg for forgiveness, knowing that for some reason I am a cad.

  “What’s wrong? Did I do something to upset you?”

  You know that look you get at times like this. You have just asked a question, but for some reason they seem to be expecting you to already know the answer.

  It is the same kind of look my teacher would give me in grade school, when I would ask her if I could hand in today’s assigned homework tomorrow. Instead of her answering my question, she just stares at me with a kind of disgust. Now Kelly expects an answer from me, one that I am ill-prepared to give.

  “Tell me, what’s the matter?”

  She looks at me sternly and slowly prepares to expose her feelings.

  “Matthew Brooks! I told you that I didn’t want you to leave me alone. I woke up all alone and didn’t know where in the world you were.”

  “Is that all?”

  Now I knew the instant I said these words, I became worthy only of death, and a death without the benefit of a decent burial.

  With her hands propped on the sides of her waist, she abruptly stands erect, her face about to rupture.

  “You have got to be the most insensitive human being on earth. You, you, jerk!”

  Tears begin to flow from her eyes, as she covers them with her hands. I lean over and put my arms around her. At first she resists, but then reluctantly allows me to tenderly console her in my arms.

  “I am so sorry. I am such an idiot! I just wasn’t thinking. Can you ever forgive me for being such a stupid idiot?”

  Her soft little face sinks into my arms like a little kitten, as she quietly continues to sob for a minute or so. Still enclosed in my embrace, she raises her head back from my arms.

  “I’ll forgive you,” she sniffles a little. “I’ll forgive you if you say you’re an idiot one more time.”

  I look into her beautifully large brown tearful eyes for a moment, and then start to smile.

  “Not only will I say it, but I will thoroughly enjoy saying it. I am a great big fat idiot!”

  Her face looks like a dam
about ready to burst. Hard as she tries, she cannot hold back the laughter. Then both of us release our emotions with laughter.

  An orchestra of crickets begins to play in the background, creating that familiar night companion sound, a sound that gives you that warm, kindly watched over feeling.

  The dark of the night conceals everything, except for what our campfire light shines on. The stars above are so numerous and large, they appear as nature’s version of a nighttime in Las Vegas. Kelly and I sit on the blanket, glimpse at the stars, and stare into the fire.

  Staring at the flickering fire is hypnotic. The burning wood crackles in protest of being consumed by the burning flames. I throw another piece of wood on the fire, and a thousand sparks are released into the air, like little newborn flames being allowed to venture out for the first time on there own.

  “I forgot to tell you Kelly, when I was gone looking for firewood, I found something kind of strange and bizarre.”

  “Something strange and bizarre; what did you find?” she asks, giving me her attention.

  “Only about one hundred yards from here, I found a small cave.”

  “A cave; cool, I’d like to see it.” She is excited, her attention now completely captured. Her perky anticipation and wide eyed excitement, reminds me of a little girl that has just opened the oven door to a fresh batch of cookies.

  “What is so strange and bizarre about the cave?”

  “Well for one thing, there are pictures or writings all over the walls of the cave.”

  “What kind of writings?”

  “I’m not really sure. I guess the best way to describe them, would be to say that they look a lot like Egyptian hieroglyphics

  “You’re kidding! What would Egyptian hieroglyphics be doing here in Montana?” she disputs my idea.

  “I don’t know.” I shrug my shoulders.

  “I’ll take you back there tomorrow morning, and you can see it for yourself.”

  “I’m excited!” she claps her hands together.

  “Even if we find nothing at all, it beats sitting here waiting for someone to rescue us.”

  I rummage through my pack and pull out a couple of granola bars.

  “Are you hungry?” I gesture, holding a granola bar up in the air.

  “I hope you like peanut butter granola bars, ‘cause it’s all we got.”

  “Well, I guess it’s good that we at least have granola bars to eat. We could be stuck out here with absolutely nothing.” Kelly tries hard to have an appreciative attitude.

  “Just make believe, Kelly.”

  “Make believe? Make believe what?”

  “Make believe you are sitting at a water front table at the Blue Whale in Portland. You’re watching the moon glimmering on the Columbia River. You’re dining on Beef Rossini and drinking a glass of their best red Zinfandel. And of course, I’m there with you, making your dream picture perfect.” I close my eyes, as I presume to interpret her dream for her.

  “Yes, that sounds wonderful, I can just envision it,” Her eyes close.

  All of a sudden she opens her eyes wide, as if something is wrong with her daydream.

  “Actually, for my dream to be perfect, you wouldn’t be there,” she displays rude confidence.

  “In my dream there would be someone handsome, suave and debonair; a gentleman with a sense of humor.” She smiles with kind of an evil sneer.

  “Yes I agree.”

  “I would revise that. I would change it to you having dinner with Gregory, from the Classified Department.” Her expression changes quickly, from that of thinking she has been witty to one of total disdain of my presence.

  “That comment doesn’t even deserve the dignity of a response.” Her voice is barely audible.

  “I can picture you and Gregory, having an intimate dinner together. With wine in hand, each encircling the other’s wineglass with their arm, and then you both drink a toast to your future.” Now I’m having fun, and my mind is racing to figure out the next words of torment I can come up with.

  By now I think I am quite the jokester. I look over at Kelly and notice that along with her fading smile, she is also wearing an expression that says, “Your teasing has been cute up till now, but it is about to cross the border into being offensive.”

  I decide to stop the forward momentum of my joking and come up with words that will repair any insulting cracks I may have caused.

  “No, you’re too beautiful and refined for the likes of Gregory,” I try to take a couple steps back into her favor.

  Kelly knows I am full of it, but extends to me a smile anyway.

  “That’s more like it.” she is enthusiastic.

  With an inflated feeling of accomplishment, I give myself a high score for being charming.

  For a few moments both of us are quiet and become charmed by the spirited movement of the campfire. The crackle of the fire joins the chant of the crickets, creating a primitive kind of rhythm. The warm night breeze maneuvers its way around us, stroking our face as it passes, adding an affectionate feeling to the firelight trance.

  Like most healthy red-blooded young men, at a perfect opportune time like this, romantic thoughts come to mind. I mean, nature has spread before me its most romantic ambience possible, and I’m sitting here with the most beautiful woman in the world. What would any man do with this opportunity before him? The problem for me is that romance is something more chimerical and is not something I have mastered or naturally possess.

  For me, the skill of romance can only be found in romance novels, of which I have never read. The authors of such fantasies are able to think for days or weeks before they write. When they finally write, the characters have the ability to say just the right things, at just the right time, and look great no matter where they have been or what they have been through.

  I feel romantic, but I have to be realistic. I don’t know what in the world to say, and I smell like a sweaty old rag, an old rag that has been rolled in red dirt. For but a moment, I indulge in my fantasy and daydream of a perfect romantic time and place.

  I imagine I am a handsome swashbuckler, sailing on an old sixteenth century Spanish galleon. In my arms is Kelly, a beautiful intoxicating maiden with obsidian black hair. Her dress is torn, and her face is slightly soiled. She is terrified, but somehow feels safe within my muscular arms.

  She looks up into my face with a worshipping gaze, as I heroically fight off the ravenous beast-like men, which may have been this beautiful maiden’s fate.

  As my defense I use only my sword, chivalry, the sense of being morally right, and the bitter-sweet taste of adventure of which I love. I accomplish all of this with only a few curls of my hair handsomely out of place.

  My eyes give birth to a squinting smile, as I float on this flight of fantasy. I look over at Kelly and realize now, that she is not a participating passenger of my daydream.

  Less than captivated by my presence, Kelly has fallen asleep on the blanket next to me, slightly snoring. My flight of fantasy has crashed and burned.

  §

  NINE

  I tilt my wrist toward the fire so I can look at my watch. Since it is almost 11:30, I decide to follow Kelly’s lead and try to get some sleep. As I lay on my back, the Big Dipper is suspended in the heavens before me, postured to empty its unknown stellar contents upon the earth below.

  I try to make myself comfortable, but it feels like all the rocks in this god-forsaken country have now placed themselves under my back. I have no doubt it’s going to be a long, long night.

  Not even realizing that I have fallen asleep, I suddenly awaken to some sort of rustling sound nearby. Focusing on the heavens above me for a second, I notice the Big Dipper is gone from the sky. Again I hear a brushing noise, and out of the corner of my eye I sense a slight movement.

  I stealthily raise my head, looking over into the darkness that Kelly occupies. There before me, a dim animated shadow is hovering over Kelly, who is still sleeping soundly. Shocked with surprise I si
t up, and without thinking, yell out loud,

  “Hey! What do you think you are doing?”

  The shadowy phantom immediately comes to attention with a startled jolt, and then quickly takes flight through the cottonwood trees like a frightened fugitive.

  Kelly awakes from the commotion, trying to blink the sleep from her eyes. “What’s wrong Matt? Is something wrong?”

  For some time I am silent. Kelly rises up into a sitting position, and looks at me with a stunned kind of glare. After taking a deep breath, she realizes I am not focusing upon her, but looking at something directly behind her. After analyzing my stunned expression for another second, she quickly turns around and peers behind her into the darkness. She looks behind her, then at me, back and forth.

  “What are you looking at?” Her beautiful face is distorted by confusion.

  “What’s wrong? Did you see something?” Her questions start to beget the tone of exasperation, because of my silence.

  “I don’t see a thing. It’s nothing!”

  By now I am standing up, still and silent. I take a few steps over by her side, without taking my eyes off the place the stranger made his exit into the blackness of the night.

  “Matt! Matt, would you say something?”

  Kelly’s appeal releases me from my dazed hypnotic state. I solemnly look down at her. Still sitting on the blanket, Kelly watches my every move I make with entreating eyes. Her patience exhausted, she tries to kindly request an answer to her questions, once again.

  “What it is? What’s wrong? Did you see something?”

  “It was nothing,” I do not want to frighten her into a panic.

  “I think I was just dreaming.”

  “Don’t tell me it was nothing! “ Kelly raises her voice, starting to get a little peppery.