Leadville: 300 Days Away

by Kara Skye Smith

  1959 Leadville.

  The silence in the radio control room, after the death toll of the Lhasa invasion, determined and announced, is deafening. A silence can only be described as 'deafening' when it is so literally without sound that it could simply be that those emersed in it are without the ability to hear. This deafening silence lasts more than a minute.

  It lasts nearly three minutes, as the witnesses of the word sit motionless, as if they had not heard it: "four-hundred-and-thirty-thousand", at all. There are no words; there is nothing to say. There, just, are no words that arise. And the three men, who have defied their bodies' need to sleep, who have talked and smoked and thunk themselves ragged, sit silent, giving themselves to a loss so great; they sit, simply giving in. They do not even talk to each other.

  They do not think, "Where do we go from here?" They do not think of "we" at all.

  They do not think, "Maybe now I'll do something else with my life - buy that little farm and retire." They do not think of women they have been with, or can go 'home' to. They give in, completely to the loss; as if for three minutes, they too have been killed in the battle at Lhasa, the fight for Tibet. And there, in their minds, the three courageous men who 'stayed with' the Tibetan people through all that they could give and muster, lay dead, among bodies in that battle field; the battle field that surrounds the monastery where the Dalai Lama had briefly lived. From where he was rescued and from where his holiness and eighty thousand Tibetans did escape and find refuge.

  And it is not until the three men hear the words of the Dalai Lama, "Alive and well", and this 'other' number: "Eighty-thousand" that the three 'dead men' pick their souls back up from that battle field and begin to talk without the sinking feeling of being dragged to the floor, tugged by their heart strings, their 'hearts' with Tibet.

  No one knows the fortitude it takes to get back up the next morning and start again, like Mac and Danthra do. To loose an entire faction, a brother (a 'likable kid'), and then suffer a blow so devastating that the particular head count of the loss is never spoken of, again, over the entire existence of Camp Hale; it seems almost a parody to ask those same commanders to continue.

  However, the next morning, Mac and Danthra, Antoine and the five other commanders are asked to do just that, by the head operations of the CIA, by the American government; as if the only words they know to say are, "Please continue".

  No one yells, "Stop!" The newspapers in America don't even carry the news across their pages. And in the Travel section of the Denver Times this very morning, Antoine nearly loses his breakfast, if he'd been able to eat more than two bites he might have, at the headline: Enjoy The Wonders of the Orient: Nepal, India and China.

  Unbelievably, Mac's enthusiasm does not wain. Danthra can't speak all day. Every time he is asked a question, he refers it to Mac, and he drags his body through the exercises like a dead weight that can't utter the words, "I'm dead inside. Don't make me do this." But this same day, one good thing does occur for both Danthra and the CIA's ST Circus team, they find out that Tenzing, their trained commander - and younger brother - is alive and well, resting in Darjeeling, recovering from exhaustion and slight dehydration.

  Down the interstate, at the Bar at the Top of the Rockies, Stephanie also suffers a blow. She is asked to give back the baby stroller that the girls from the beauty salon have given her as a shower gift. The baby, born too early, born without a heartbeat, has been Stephanie's third miscarriage, this one, having gone the longest in term and the closest to being a live baby born to her, Stephanie Millingsen of Leadville, Colorado.

  "Just seems like the 'last straw'" Mareena, Stephanie's favorite stylist terms it, speaking for the girls 'pulling for her'. "It almost seems like a joke," she cruelly tells Stephanie, over the phone, "We've had three baby showers for you, and honestly, Stephanie, we could ask it all back if we wanted to. I'm only asking the stroller. We have a young girl who could use it. She's got nothing, really, nothing. We're pulling together just everything we can find. I'm sure, if I know you anymore at all, that you will want to help us, too, the best you can. Not like we're asking you much at this time," and Stephanie's gaze on the jukebox turns blurry and teary as Mareena rattles on ending the conversation somewhere around, "I feel I must tell you, we don't want to get our hopes up for you. We just can't. We'd all like to see you 'just not try' anymore".

  Stephanie manages to nod her head several times.

  She manages a "Sure," over the phone, and she manages to hang the phone back up before the bleary-eyed tears turn to absolute sobs followed by bent-over-the-bar wails of sorrow; and she is glad that Mary Beth is not scheduled to work at this time

  today, so she can keep the 'Closed' sign up a little longer. Stephanie is just too sad, at that moment, to remember that Mary Beth is not scheduled to work at this time today, because Mary Beth is out having her hair done.

  Between point A and point B, at the second highest section of inhabited land in the world, on the other side of the continent from the first, two miles above most of America, it would seem that Stephanie's problem (complete with its current 'rift' with the hair salon girls) is frivolous, compared with the attempt to build up efforts to continue ST Circus after a complete 'tear down' of humanity, as the struggle goes on up the hill. But to Stephanie, in 1959 Leadville, this third, and from what she's just told, probably final attempt to have a baby is not frivolous at all. And, if she was asked if she cared, at all, what occurs 'over there' in what Stephanie would probably term 'China', she would not - at this time especially. In 1959 Leadville, everyone, literally everyone Stephanie knows, except for Mary Beth, is having or has had a baby. Stephanie is not a rebel. She does not long to be nor seek being different. She very much wants to be the same as all the others 'girls' she knows: the 'girls' at the salon, the 'girls' at the grocery store, and the 'girls' at the county courthouse.

  There are three main things a woman does in Leadville; working at a job is the fourth. The first two, have to do with babies and the third is attend and plan baby showers. The city's population has nearly doubled in eight years. There simply isn't anything else to do. Barbeques and holiday party planning slides in at fifth, nearly a tie with 'crusing and necking' which really only leads, eventually, back to the first one and two. That's all they know.

  Stephanie's world has basically slid off the bar countertop, just now, along with her psyche and the sting of a carelessly worded phone call.

  "There will be insinuations, now," she thinks to herself as the 'urge' to pour herself a stiff drink arises in her body and her mind. She was practically 'blamed' the last time she miscarried, although the doctor assured her it was nothing that she'd done. And this time, the amniotic fluid 'punctured'.

  "Had nothing to do with a bit of Schnapps at holiday time," she was told by the doctor after tearfully confessing a 'let down' in her diligent efforts not to ingest 'anything the baby would not want to eat along with her', as Mary Beth had termed it, almost singing the words of reminder to her on occasion.

  Stephanie starts to reach for a bottle, but then remembers, she does not want to 'appear' drunk when Mary Beth does finally come in, for her shift, at... and she thinks about it for a moment... "three o'clock. From... having her Hair Done?!" Stephanie does not pull herself up at this thought, she jolts straight up, her posture erect as if up from the floor a current of energy runs up through her feet to the top of her head. "That skank!" she exclaims and goes about cleaning the bar as if three cups of coffee had been her morning breakfast.

  Thoughts of "She's turned them all against me!" and "How could I have been so stupid!" flow through her mind as the cleaner flows from the bottle to the countertop, the mop fluid from the sponge.

  By the time Mary Beth does enter the bar for her shift - hair perfectly shampooed, cut, teased and sprayed - the bar is absolutely 'polished'. Stephanie is calm as a cucumber, sly as a fox. She has worked through 'boiling' with hot water rinses of sticky parts under the bar stools.
She has cut Mary Beth's heart out by 'stabbing' and cutting gum off the underside of tables. She has ranted so loud the vaccum almost didn't cover it. She has worn through seething from 'those cunts' scrubbing words off the toilet room walls that just 'fit her'; and, she is vindicated - O she will shine! Alright. - Windexing the juke box to a glow so outstanding it almost looks new. Although the atmosphere seems inviting, Mary Beth would have been better off coming in quite a bit sooner.

  "O! Hi," Mary Beth says looking around at the 'shine' of the room. She notices Stephanie's disheveled hair; her own voice timid, under the scrutinizing glower from across the bar - stilted from the gossip and left over thoughts about Stephanie.

  "He-ll-o," Stephanie draws the word out, each syllable succinct.

  "It looks good, in here," Mary Beth says.

  "Hmm. Thanks," Stephanie replies, her finger beginning to 'draw' a circle on the bartop, "for nothin', I guess. Not like you did anything, anyway."

  "What?" Mary Beth asks, blankly.

  "The garbages, outside, you can start by dumping all the garbages outside. You'll have to 'squish down' everything in the dumpster - to fit it all in," she says, and then Stephanie does something Mary Beth has never seen her do before, she claps her hands twice. "Get going!" Stephanie says.

  Mary Beth nearly sneers, "Thtz! Hah?! You didn't even mention my hair," Mary Beth turns to show her the back.

  "I said, get going," Stephanie reminds her and walks off to turn the Closed sign to Open.

  After an hour of 'doing the garbages', Stephanie demands that Mary Beth get into the dumpster and 'smash the garbage down', compacting it.

  "It is necessary," Stephanie explains when Mary Beth whines and protests, citing her newly done hair as almost an absolute pardon from the demands of unsuitable chores being made on her. "Almost as necessary as that bus ticket I sent you, that cold, January night, remember?" Until this moment, Mary Beth had not caught onto the 'guilt' Stephanie had been inflicting. She had started with the small wrongs of Mary Beth, the slight latenesses, the 'borrowed' amounts, the negative on the till tally carefully kept by Stephanie. She'd been so sly about it that Mary Beth didn't even

  realize, until now, that she was being roasted, turned on the spit over the fire of some terrible mood Stephanie had gotten herself into. Mary Beth hadn't realized, until now, when Stephanie brought up the never-before-mentioned New Year's Day; that day the bar had stayed closed until somewhere after two o'clock. "But what was I to do to about it," Stephanie asks her, "when I was still at the hospital?!"

  The only thing Mary Beth had wondered, up until now, was, "how does she know these things?!"

  But when Stephanie launches into 'the California time', the called upon favor, mocking Mary Beth's once desperate pleas in a sour toned voice: "O, please, Stephanie, let me come back," Mary Beth realizes she is not just being roasted but burned.

  At that thought, Mary Beth stops stomping. She stares at Stephanie, over the metal edge of the dumpster.

  "Have I done something wrong?" she asks, "Was I late today? Or, are you... are you just obviously in the middle of some kind of hormonal upheaval?... Maybe your womb is completely relining itself for the next time..." and then Mary Beth stops her own tongue, realizing the wickedness of what she is about to say; but it is just too late. If she hadn't been in a dumpster while saying it, Stephanie would definitely have been shot down, taken aback, forced to walk away, perhaps even to cry; but no, not today. Today Stephanie reminds her where she would have been, metaphorically ofcourse, without the grace of Stephanie to overlook slight oversights, and without Stephanie's good natured forgiveness whenever possible.

  Today, it is just not possible and here, right here in the dumpster, Mary Beth hears, "I'm going to have to let you go."

  "What?!" Mary Beth asks.

  "I just can't do it anymore," Stephanie says, "I'm going to have to let you go."

  "What is 'let me go'? Am I being fired? Cause if I'm being

  fired, just say, 'you're fired', you know? This 'let me go' shit? What is that? Like you've held my hand, or something, and you're 'letting me go'," she pauses, and then she demands to know, "Are you firing me?"

  "I say it the way I say it, Mary Beth. I'm going to have to let you go."

  "O, o... O, no you don't," and Mary Beth scrapples out of the dumpster, scraping her leg on the side, "God dammit!" she whines. And, as Stephanie tosses her head and begins walking haughtily away, Mary Beth runs Stephanie down and crudely tackles her - her coiffed hair's appearance the absolute opposite of her rough-hewn behavior. Right there, outside the Bar at the Top of the Rockies, in the parking lot - a bit of a run past the dumpster - Mary Beth 'has a go' at her manager and long-time - quote unquote - friend. Surprisingly, although a bit out-sized by Stephanie, Mary Beth does not fair too badly. She walks away, that day, having 'gotten' Stephanie to say the words, 'You're fired', with her head pinned to the asphalt of the parking lot, nearly in tears. Mary Beth on her knees; one knee holding Stephanie down at the waist. She walks away from the Bar at the Top of the Rockies, scorned and destitute - according to the till tally - and so, in order to remain 'victorious' in some way, at least, Mary Beth lets one lasting zinger fly, out of her mouth and not from her fist before she goes.

  "I'm the 'girl' your stroller belongs to," she says, taking her coat off the back room coat hook one last time. She exits out the back door marked Employees Only.

  1959 Mustang.

  Matseidha, the old woman, and Tenizia hurry along with the crowd for several yards. It is not long before the old woman is winded and struggling to keep up.

  "The journey will not be an easy one," Matseidha clucks, gently taking the old woman's arm and walking with her for a spell.

  "You are too kind," the old woman remarks.

  "You think you would be better off staying here, don't you?"

  "Yes," the old woman acknowledges.

  "You won't," Matseidha tells her firmly. "The Chinese soldiers will not balk a moment for an old woman like you. I have seen it - with my own eyes. My mother-," she says and then drops off her conversation at the thought of her mother.

  "I am sorry," the old woman says, patting Matseidha's hand that clutches her arm.

  "I won't be a burden," she offers, "at least I won't try." And then Matseidha smiles warmly, turning her head and looking straight on at the old woman since the beginning of the journey.

  "I know," she tells her. The old woman's eyes are lighter than her own. She has a kind face, but a cold eye stare. "Tenizia will be a beauty," she tells her. "I can see that, from you." The old woman smiles, appreciating Matseidha's attempts to boost her confidence. "Where is your husband?" Matseidha asks.

  "He went to fight with the Khampas, old fool!" she says. "I told him he was too old. One battle. Only one. Litang. He did not survive."

  "I'm sorry," Matseidha says.

  "O don't be," she explains, "he loved Litang. He loved being Tibetan. It was an honorable way for him to die. But I miss him. I pleaded; I was not strong in my heart. I did not want to let him go and fight. I didn't want him to leave me, you know. I did not want to do this," she motions to the trail and the stream of people ahead of them, "alone."

  "I understand," Matseidha tells her, "but you are not alone. You have me."

  "And me!" Tenizia chimes in, nearly bouncing up beside them, having listened in on their conversation.

  "That's right!" Matseidha says and ruffles Tenizia's hair with her hand. She smiles at the girl and the girl nearly skips for a while along the trail.

  "So much energy!" the old woman marvels.

  "Yes." Matseidha agrees. "She will keep us going, huh?"

  "How?" the old lady whines, "dragging my old bones over the mountaintops?"

  Matseidha laughs, "Maybe, but hopefully not." And after that, they take a rest, stopping to the side, allowing the flow of people behind them to pass. Matseidha has seen the pained expression in the old lady's face - the refusal
to laugh. It is not a joke; and the old woman is already tired.

  "I am so glad to have you," she confesses to Matseidha after they have watched several streams of people walk past. Matseidha does not reply. She takes several steps away.

  "You have me too," Tenizia says and goes to the old woman.

  "Yes, I do," Matseidha hears her say to the girl as Matseidha walks away, one hand near her throat, looking behind them, down the hill. Not too many people are leaving the red parachute area, now, from what she can see; and she hopes that more will follow soon.

  "We can't be the tail end," Matseidha thinks, "the night... What about the night?" Suddenly, a deep longing for home comes over Matseidha who thinks, now, of her mother - washing up bruises, taking down broken photo frames, lifting toppled, broken chairs, sweeping out the rubble; all alone. She turns, "Lost, feeling lost," she thinks in short phrases and deep, unspoken worries about the night in the mountains, her mother, the stamina of the old lady, and the Chinese soldiers. "Let's get going," is all she says. And the three begin walking, again, up the trail.