Wyatt, Richard

by Fathers of Myth

  “You look like you’ve just seen the Grim Reaper himself. You saw or heard something. Now what was it? Tell me! ”

  I glance again, back towards the place where the ghostly intruder departed into the ebony hollowness of the night. Kelly still watches every twitch I make, and imitates my questioning glance. For a moment the breeze makes its presence known again. The breeze meandering through the leaves of the trees sounds like an audience of spirits applauding our performance.

  “I am so sorry I woke you up. I just had a dream, made a bunch of noise, and woke you up for nothing. Let’s just forget it and go back to sleep, if we can.”

  “Matt?” She is obviously irritated at me. I sit down beside her and take both of her hands in mine.

  “I’m sorry I woke you up. Let’s just forget it and get some sleep. Okay?”

  Kelly furiously dumps herself onto the blanket, turns over, and shows her back to me in protest.

  I’ve always been told that the desert is a place of extremes. The days are scorching hot and the nights are freezing cold. This wild wasteland is no different. I sit down beside Kelly who has fallen asleep, and fold the remainder of the blanket over her.

  Starting to shiver, I scrunch up and draw my legs up close, so that I can rest my chin on my knees. I lock my arms around the front of my legs, slightly rocking in an effort to hold on to my body heat.

  The fire before me has been reduced to a crowd of glowing coals. After wearily watching the cluster of glowing embers for a while, they start to become a figment of my imagination. I imagine what it would look like, peering down from heaven upon a tiny lit up city at night, a thousand flickering lights revealing its existence.

  I quietly sit there, listening and watching. It is 1:30 in the morning, at least four hours till daybreak. Someone is out there in the concealment of the night; someone very interested in our presence. Maybe they are watching me right now, from some depraved and obscure vantage point.

  I would act as the watchtower sentry this night, until the act of the sun rising would dissolve the obscurity of the night. Hopefully, Kelly would sleep peacefully, as peaceful as one can while sleeping on the ground.

  My decision to lie to Kelly about seeing a mysterious intruder was out of compassion. Yes, I am a big fat liar. But I hope I have exchanged my virtue for her well-being. I also hope the stranger that appeared and disappeared like a mirage never materializes again.

  I awake from the sudden nod of my head. Once again I have broken a promise to myself. I promised myself to stay awake no matter what.

  Examining my surroundings, I see Kelly still asleep on the ground, curled up in the blanket. A pale light is signaling the birth of dawn. The dull ache of an insufficient sleep prompts me to sink my head into my hands. For a little while I close my eyes and allow myself to dwell on my discomfort.

  Awake enough to hear, but too lethargic to move, I hear a slight bustling noise behind me. I sit motionless, my face still cupped into my hands. I open my eyes inside the darkness of my hands, the outside light leaking through between my fingers. I hear the sound again, this time closer. My eyes start to fleet back and forth with alarm, and I begin to have trouble breathing. Paralyzing anxiety and fear begin to take hold of me.

  My father has always said that you’ve got to face your fears. I guess now is as good a time as any to see if my father was right.

  Whether it is friend, or the devil himself, I decide to turn around and face my fear.

  Taking my head from my hands I abruptly stand up and turn around. My arms are extended and the palms of my hands face out away from me. I look like some kind of campground policeman motioning someone to stop. As I turn around, two large Blue Jays are startled by my maneuver and fly up to a nearby tree limb. One of the feathered prowlers scolds me from its perch, and then flies off.

  I collapse back down onto the ground, dumfounded. How could someone use up so much energy, and become so terrified over two stupid birds? I must be a lot wearier than I realized.

  My mother used to tell me that when things didn’t turn out the way I wanted them to, I should think positive. No matter what happens in your life, you should always think of ways to be encouraging to yourself. I’ve always endeavored to put that advice into action. I’m wondering now though, how to be positive and be encouraging to myself, when I feel so stupid. I am in the middle of nowhere and have just been scared to death by two Blue Jays.

  I’ve not been attacked by some ravenous beast or assaulted by some crazed highwayman. I have been terrified to the point of wetting myself because of two stupid birds. I begin to feel a little weak and exposed, although I would only admit this to myself. Thank goodness Kelly is still asleep.

  The sun is starting to peek over the far off hills on the eastern horizon. I stand up and stretch, my muscles respond with aching protest. Picking up the gallon jug of water to take a drink, I find the water level in the jug to be very disturbing. There is hardly enough water for one person for one day, let alone two.

  Kelly begins to stir. Still lying on the blanket, she begins to twist and contort her body, stretching it back to life. At the apex of her stretch, she makes a high-pitched groan, sounding like a woman about ready to give birth. I look at her and laugh out loud.

  “Sounds like you really enjoyed that stretch.” She smiles and sits up.

  “Good morning. Yes, I think the stretch was the most enjoyable part of the whole night.” She continues to stretch her arms up above her head.

  “Pretty rough night, wasn’t it?” I ask sympathetically.

  “Oh I’m not complaining. I think I slept a little, off and on.” Kelly is trying very hard to be positive and not to make a fuss.

  “Well, I’ll tell you one thing Kelly, not very many ladies would look as beautiful as you do, after a night sleeping in the dirt.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. I must look like the wicked witch of the West.”

  “Not from where I’m sitting,” I flirt a little.

  “If you’re the wicked witch of the West honey, you can put a spell on me anytime you want.” I wink at her, looking straight into her eyes for a long moment. Slightly embarrassed, she looks up at the top of nearby trees as if she were searching for something. Standing up, she begins to walk aimlessly around the campsite, as if she were a tourist, touring our campsite for the very first time.

  “Hey Kelly!” Getting her attention, I throw her a granola bar for breakfast. “You wanna go over and see that cave?”

  “That’s right! I forgot about the cave. That sounds wonderful. I’ll bring my camera.” Kelly has awakened with enough enthusiasm for the both of us this morning.

  Before we head off to the cave, I scan the ground of our camp. Kelly observes my hunting and becomes curious.

  “What are you looking for?” She wears a sweet innocent frown on her brow. Even though I hear her question I continue to concentrate on the task before me. I soon find what I am looking for, the right size of wooden stick to make a proper torch.

  Finding an old forgotten rag in the back of the car, I wind and tie it on the end of the stick. I can feel Kelly watching every move I make. Out of the back of the Land Cruiser I haul out an old gas can, which contains a dribble of diesel. I douse the end of my torch with it.

  “Okay we’re ready to go!” I announce with confidence.

  “You made a torch. That is so clever. You’re so smart.” Kelly’s excitement and praise acts as a restorative tonic to my ego. With renewed strength and vigor, I take the lead.

  It’s only 8:30 in the morning as we make our way to the cave. Already I am sweating profusely from the morning heat. The dirt under our feet, powder puffs with each step we take, leaving weightless little clouds of reddish exhaust trailing behind us.

  We walk by a thicket of small trees, and flush out a large covey of quail. Both Kelly and I are heart-stopping startled at the sudden uproar. The fifty or more birds fly off in unison.

  It’s amazing I think to myself, that so many birds can fly a
s if one, as if they were all together in one thought, one purpose, and with the same destination in mind. It is like an orchestra of fifty musicians in concert, together they play a beautiful symphony.

  Arriving at the small bluff I had previously discovered, I take Kelly’s hand and we both slide down the embankment. After brushing off the red dust from our clothes, I lead the way over to the cave entrance. When I had been here before, the sun shone bright upon the threshold of the cave. This morning the sun is still low in the sky and does not offer the same bright light as before. The cave seems darker and more foreboding this time.

  As we approach the cave entrance, Kelly has a wavering uncertain look upon her face. Her eyes widen as she turns her head and stares at me for a moment.

  “I don’t know if this is such a great idea.” She takes big swallowing gulp.

  “Nothing to it,” I assure her, even though I too feel uneasy.

  “I’ll make it as light as day in there, just you watch.”

  I explore the inside of my pockets for my book of matches. Pulling out my hand from my pocket, I sift through some lint, a receipt from the café in Red Rock, my pocketknife, some loose change, and finally find the book of matches.

  Lifting my right foot up as far as I dare, I strike the match on my boot, and then light the torch. At first it bursts into flames like a Roman candle, it then stabilizes into a settled glowing flame.

  Torch in hand, I hunch down my head and enter the cave for my second time. Kelly follows, her hand clutching onto my shirttail.

  Instantly, we sense the cool damp climate of the cave. The torch lights up the complete interior of the cave, revealing all of its rock-walled secrets at once.

  Lifting the torch up toward the dark unknown canopy overhead, I find we have at least three or four feet of headroom. Knowing what is above, and tired of being hunched over, I now give myself permission to stand erect. I walk straight ahead into the torch lit cavity, Kelly now vice-like grips my shirt with both hands.

  Our eyes slowly become accustomed to the tarnished light. The rock walls appear to fidget with motion, as the flaming torch shoots indiscriminate light everywhere. As soon as Kelly can see that the walls and ceiling are hiding no nightmarish creatures, she relaxes her clenched grip on my shirt.

  “Let’s go over here. I want to show you those hieroglyphic writings I was telling you about.” I motion to her to follow.

  “Okay, but stay close. Don’t go off somewhere and leave me alone.”

  I smile and look at her face. She looks like a little brown-eyed scared puppy, staring back at me.

  ”I’m not going to leave you.” I reach out to grab her hand. “Where I go, you go,” I assure her. We walk a few more steps until we stand before the rock wall.

  Kelly begins to gape at the scene before us. Like some kind of a primordial museum exhibit from an ancient world, we find hundreds of pictorial type writings on the rock wall before us.

  We stand there for a moment, trying to consume the meaning of this ancient graffiti before us. Kelly’s mouth is still open with astonishment.

  “This is the most amazing thing I have ever seen. You have really found something,” She moves her head, looking up and down and from side to side.

  “I told you,” I childishly gloat a little.

  “Who? Where? I mean how did these kinds of pictures get here, in the middle of Montana?” Kelly is blown away by the spectacle before us and is at a loss for words.

  “I don’t know. They definitely look like some kind of ancient writings. When I was here before, I was thinking that they looked similar to Egyptian hieroglyphics.”

  “That is exactly what they look like; Egyptian hieroglyphics.”

  “Yes, but they’re different somehow. Something about them is strange.”

  “What do you mean ‘strange’?” Kelly questions me with a puzzled look on her face.

  “I don’t know. I can’t put my finger on it. It seems to me that the Egyptian hieroglyphics are mainly historical accounts about war or important accomplishments, or tell about some important person that was buried, or the giving of reverence to some Egyptian god. These pictures here seem to be more like instructions or some kind of manual to go by.”

  “Instructions? Instructions for what?” She questions my logic.

  “I don’t know. I’m not really sure. You see these pictures here and here?” Directing her attention, I point towards the characters creatively illustrated on the wall.

  “These men here look as though they are slaves that are leading or herding these animals somewhere.” Kelly nods her head in agreement.

  “I think you’re right. That’s what it looks like to me too. And these gentlemen here and here, look like they’re the ones in charge; you know, like the taskmasters of ancient Egypt,” she concludes.

  “So maybe these pictures are instructions for dealing with the slaves, or possibly how to take care of their domestic animals, or both. I don’t know, maybe I’m wrong,” she gives an educated guess.

  “You know Kelly; this all seems kind of familiar to me.”

  “What do you mean, what’s familiar about it?”

  “This all reminds me of Jeremiah’s theory, about those human footprints that he showed us. Remember the human footprints we found that were right along with the dinosaur prints?”

  “Yes, of course.”

  “Well, if I understand it right, Jeremiah’s theory is that millions of years ago humans were herding dinosaurs through that ancient riverbed, right?” I recall to her.

  “Yeah, that sounds like Jeremiah’s theory all right, but you don’t think that these hieroglyphics in this cave have anything to do with Jeremiah’s footprint fossils do you?”

  “Well, according to these drawings on the wall, it looks as if dinosaurs are being herded by humans. I think it is very interesting how these wall hieroglyphics seem to match Jeremiah’s theory of humans herding dinosaurs. At least, it makes me consider the possibility.”

  “Matt, you have a creative imagination. These are just ancient hieroglyphics telling the story of an ancient people taking care of their domestic animals, that’s all,” she denies my insinuation.

  “I don’t know; I think they may mean something different. They give me a kind of eerie feeling.” The torch light atmosphere inside the cave enhances the eerie feeling the wall pictures furnish.

  “I think you’re seeing things, Matt. The cave itself is kind of creepy, but there is nothing eerie about the hieroglyphics themselves.

  The animals they are herding can’t be dinosaurs. They are just crude drawings of sheep or cattle, the same kind of drawings of animals that have been found in caves throughout the world. They’re just herding farm animals, like mankind has been herding since the beginning of time.” Kelly tries to reason with me, striving to give the most convincing and believable explanation possible.

  “You know, I haven’t heard of anything like this being discovered anywhere in the Americas before; but there must be others that know about it. I mean, it seems unlikely that we would be the first ones to find it.”

  “It may seem unlikely, but here we stand, staring at some kind of ancient writings on a cave wall that no one has ever reported seeing.” She gestures her hand towards the wall.

  “I think you’ve stumbled onto something really important here.” Kelly makes a good point, offering me title to the discovery.

  “We have discovered it together. I just hope your camera will be able to take some decent pictures inside this cave.”

  “My camera will take pictures anywhere I tell it to.”

  Like an artist, she begins to work magic with her camera.

  To give Kelly the best light for her pictures, I attempt to hold the torch appropriately. Since we are entombed deep inside this small cavern, the whirring of the camera and the fizzling of the torch are the only sounds that can be heard.

  Kelly’s explanation for the dinosaur-looking animals sounds reasonable. I try hard to ignore Jeremiah�
��s theory about humans herding dinosaurs.

  After I think about everything for awhile, I become comfortable with a possible explanation. I think whoever was responsible for painting these pictures on these walls, was probably an educated scribe but not an accomplished artist.

  The animals that have been sketched on these walls definitely look more like dinosaurs than farm animals, but no one ever domesticated a Brontosaurus that I am aware of. They must be just crudely drawn pictures of sheep or cows, like Kelly said.

  I realize when these pictures were created, they were making do with what they had. I mean they were writing on rock walls, for heaven’s sake. One couldn’t expect the pictures to look like great works of art. The main thing was to make instructions on how and where to herd cows or whatever they were herding. They weren’t trying to make sure the drawings of cows looked exactly like cows.

  So what if the artist’s cows look more like a Brontosaurus than a Holstein. The point is, even though the animals are crudely drawn, if you follow the instructions, you would become successful in herding the animals.

  While Kelly continues to capture our discovery on film, I study the writings further. I notice a portion of the wall that appears to show the ancient taskmasters coming down or floating from the sky or the heavens, landing upon pyramid shaped structures. The slaves look as if they are bowing, awaiting their arrival. I wonder what the cryptic meaning is to all of this.

  Looking at the wall area showing the pyramids once again, something interesting catches my eye. Atop the largest pyramid, I see a marking that looks familiar. I know I have seen this symbol somewhere before. I rack my brain to remember. Maybe I’ve seen it in some Egyptian exhibit in a museum. Or maybe I …

  All of a sudden it comes to me that the symbol or mark looks exactly like the German Swastika of the forties. I quickly inspect all the walls that the light allows me to. I now see what I didn’t notice before. This swastika type symbol is displayed everywhere throughout all these ancient pictures

  I find it extremely curious to have such a symbol so prominently displayed in these ancient writings. Everywhere the taskmasters are, the symbol appears. Some of them even wear the symbol on there clothing.