The Stone of Blood

by Tony Nalley

  “Il est à l’Amérique alors?" Dit un homme. "Mais qu’est-ce du dragon?”

  “It is to be the Americas then?” The one man said. “But what of the Dragon?”

  “Lisons encore, les paroles de l’Apocalypse.” Dit l’autre.

  “Let us read further, the words of Revelation.” said the other.

  “Et le dragon fut irrité contre la femme, et alla faire la guerre aux restes de sa postérité, qui gardent les commandements de Dieu, et qui ont le témoignage de Jésus-Christ.” (Apocalypse 12:17)

  “Then the dragon was wroth with the woman, and went and made war with the remnant of her seed, which keep the commandments of God, and have the testimony of Jesus Christ.” (Revelation 12:17)

  They turned then and cast their light upon the great wall that stood before them that held a giant map of the New World. The map stretched as long and as high as the old wall itself.

  Using a long slender pointer made of ash wood, they traced the outline of Quebec.

  They envisioned it as it was revealed to them in spirit, as the head of the dragon with fire breathing from its mouth into the lands of Nova Scotia.

  They further traced the outline of the eastern coast of the American breastplate as it manifested into a dragon’s claw by way of the Floridian state.

  While still further south and around unto the gulf they could foresee the country of Mexico itself forming the great tail of the creature; with the western coast and undiscovered mountains of the continent to the north as the shadow of its outstretched wings.

  By divine inspiration, the dragon stood before them upon the great wall just as it may have been envisioned and stood before John on the Greek island of Patmos; who received the revelations from God as written in the New Testament.

  The eldest of the men drew a jeweled encrusted dagger from its sheath that glistened by the light of their candle’s flame, and thrust it into the dragon’s heart on the map; finding its blade to fall deep within the lands of Kentucky; lands named for the French House of Bourbon.

  “Qui est le cartographe américain?”

  “Who is the American cartographer?”

  “Voulez-vous dire celui que nous avons discuté plus tôt, celui qui est de créer des cartes de l’épidémie de choléra?”

  “Do you mean the one we discussed earlier, the one who is creating the maps of the cholera epidemic?”

  “Oui, il est le seul.”

  “Yes, he is the one.”

  “Henry Schenck Tanner”

  “Commission lui de dresser les plans de la nouvelle ville.”

  “Commission him to draw up the plans for the new city.”

  “Il est décidé alors?”

  “It is decided then?”

  “Oui. Il est décidé.”

  “Yes. It is decided.”

  Seven

  Of Higher Purpose

  Like a single drop of rain that falls upon the water, we are all of us a part of somethin’ much bigger than ourselves. We are more than just a character developed and related in a storybook or a tale told around a campfire in the lingerin’ hours of the twilight.

  I have heard it said that we are placed here upon this earth for a much greater purpose.

  Although hidden from the naked eye that purpose often times goes unnoticed.

  Perhaps it is as my mama said, “Our purpose may be that we are here to meet one person, for one moment and be the witness and light in that one person’s life.”

  The outcome of our actions has ripplin’ effects and whole generations can be effected by a single drop of rain upon the water.

  My great aunt Leathie was much akin to that single drop of rain. She was my grandpa’s sister, my mama’s aunt and she lived by herself in a little white house on the southern side of town.

  She called me ‘Sunshine’; a simple term of endearment that became a part of me, a part of who I was and a part of who I would become. It may have held no meanin’ whatsoever, to anyone other than this same small five year old boy who sat upon her soft lap as she would hug me and tell me that I was loved.

  I could only hope that one day I too could grow to such heights as to have a special and long life as that of my aunt Leathie.

  I wish that I could convey more about her upon these pages before you. But I can’t say that I have many more memories of her to relate.

  I know that her eyesight had been less and less as she began to age. I know that her lap was soft; her face shown of wrinkles and her heart was filled with love!

  I am sure that my aunt Leathie affected change in the lives of a great many people throughout her lifetime. And I know that she must have been a light in many people’s lives other than mine alone.

  But in the still small moments that have made up my life, she made an everlasting difference in me.

  Would anyone have need of words greater than these to be written upon their stone?

  ***

  October 1833

  Nathanael and his officers sat on horseback at the eastern most edge of town, laughing and drinking whiskey in celebration amidst the carnage.

  The flames from the fires burned high into the night’s sky as by his direct order, his soldiers ran rampant through the city’s streets, pillaging and murdering its people!

  Store windows shattered as torches were thrown; buildings catching fire, burning quickly!

  Men, women and children ensnared by ropes and dragged like animals behind their horses; children crying, as they sat helplessly beside their parents who lay dying in the shadows.

  “Go get em’ boys! Bring me the stone!” Nathanael shouted. Hatred had consumed him for most of his life. He embraced it, nurtured it. It kept him warm.

  “How could such abominations be permitted to live?” he asked his men loudly as he held up his whiskey bottle as if to make a toast.

  “They can’t!” he answered abruptly and in slurred tongue before his men could speak. “I won’t permit it!”

  The alcohol coursed through Nathanael’s veins as he broke away from his posse and rode straight upwards through the fields to higher grounds; the highest point of the surrounding hills.

  Lystra had been built here covertly; no one would miss it, there was barely even record of it!

  But as for him, it was important enough that he should not miss one second of its burning!

  “Who would have ever thought that ‘I’ would be the one to see the last of the Order fall?” he said to himself.

  Nathanael laughed an evil laugh. “There will be no ‘Order’ here!”

  “Run you accursed beasts! Run!” He shouted in drunken stupor from the highest point of the small mountain, firing his pistols into the air, looking down upon the fires!

  “Run you …a …bêtes maudites!” he shouted.

  Nathanael fell from his horse then, striking the ground solidly with a thud. And he lay there alone in the darkness, passed out upon the moistened grass …with bourbon whiskey spilling out onto the grounds beside him.

  Eight

  Wrought with Great Passage

  I watched as the great hawk spread its wings and soared upon the winds; held in direct contrast to the blue skies beneath which it flew. I imagined its vision, lookin’ down to the fore of our rooftops, tobacco barns and freshly painted fields. Its continence suggested freedom wrought with great passage. And likened unto this bird of prey, my world had become a gateway to great adventures. Mountains and valleys rushed to meet me like the cool waters of a mountain stream.

  …I flew through its meadows and I rested upon the limbs of its tallest trees…

  Daughtry Avenue would forever remain a facet part in my memory, but life demands change.

  We moved before Mr. Jones had gone to heaven. We moved to the country where a house nestled at the base of a small mountain, would become our home.

  Mama told me that when my dad first saw this place that ‘he was so excited!’

  “This is the place! This is gonna be our new home!” My dad exclaimed.r />
  Overlookin’ farms and woodlands, these three acres brought forth: apples, cherries, pears, peaches, blackberries, grapes, persimmons, hickory nuts and wild onions! Not to mention the: green beans, corn, radishes, peas, potatoes, cabbage, squash, tomato’s and any other garden variety that we could ever possibly think of to grow!

  The Lord continually provided our home with a bountiful harvest! My dad hunted squirrels and rabbits in their seasons and we raised chickens for whenever we had need the whole year round!

  We always had food on the table; with Mama’s famous blackberry cobbler, biscuits and gravy with corn on the cob! And nobody could ever resist Mama’s chicken and dumplin’s!

  …The drum beats resounded in unison as the prisoners ascended the scaffold. It had henceforth been decreed by order of the Crown that all rights to a fair and speedy trial be rescinded.

  All had been found guilty of their crimes and all would now meet their fate at the guillotine!

  The harvesters axe now sharpened upon the stone, shown brilliantly in the light of the executioner’s sun. The drum beats rolled and then suddenly stopped: as heads held in place met the blades of the machine and blood replaced screams of pain...

  Likened unto the crops of the field, chickens are raised to be consumed. One can not become as close to these animals in spirit as to give em’ a name. Their purpose to be sustenance requires distance from ones heart. Though it was not an easy task, it had to be done.

  “It’s all part of growing up and being a man.” My dad said while placing his hand on my shoulder and lookin’ down upon me as father to son. “And a man has to take care of his family.” He continued.

  One thing that I’d learned about in all my twelve years of growin’ up was that while there were things that had to be done in this world, you didn’t necessarily have to like em’!

  “Sometimes you just have to do, what you have to do, Boy.” My dad said.

  I was mighty proud that he was my dad! And I hoped that one day I would become a man like my father was. But in moments such as these …I was mostly happy that I wasn’t the one who had to kill those chickens!

  “These were hard times.” I heard my parents say.

  But from a kid’s point of view, it was the way life was. We didn’t know anythin’ different. Life was fine as long as you weren’t born a chicken that is! And as long as nobody ever called you one!

  Bein’ called a chicken was pert near the worst thing a kid could ever be called! It not only implied that you were a chicken, but also that you were a yellow bellied coward! And bein’ called a yellow bellied coward was enough to fight somebody over, from where I come from!

  I wasn’t a chicken! I was brave! And bein’ brave meant that sometimes you had to fight to prove you weren’t chicken! And I would fight you too! I would!

  “So if somebody dared you to jump off a bridge or be called a chicken would you jump off a bridge?” My parents asked me time and time again.

  Of course the answer was supposed to be “NO!” I knew that. Everybody knew that! But when all of your friends are standin’ around and tauntin’ ya and saying that if you don’t do what they have dared you to do then it means that you’re a CHICKEN! Well, then it becomes a whole different situation entirely!

  Like when my friends dared me to jump over Scotty’s Creek on my bike. I told em’ that “it was way too dangerous and all and that I couldn’t get muddy and stuff cause Mama said so.” But they told me that “if I didn’t do it, then I was a CHICKEN!”

  They dared me! I mean they double dog dared me!

  What was I supposed to do, huh? Just stand there and take it?

  “Chick-en! Chick-en! Chick-en!” my friends chanted together. “BAWK! BAWK! BAWK!” They cried as they flapped their arms like chicken wings!

  I couldn’t let em’ get away with that! Nobody called me chicken and flapped there “BAWK! BAWK!” chicken wings at me and got away with it! No sir!

  …So with spotlights blindin’ly shinin’ upon me, I walked out upon the stage! Adorned in a white caped jumpsuit lined with rhinestones that sparkled like a million points of light, and I mounted my motorcycle!

  The crowds rose to their feet!

  Like mighty drums beatin’ in unison they stomped upon the stadium floors!

  And I revved my engine to the sounds of thunderous applause!

  As the world held its breath in anticipation, I sped my motorcycle down the ramp burstin’ through those rings of fire and soarin’ over the labyrinth of impendin’ doom...

  Blackened slimy mud had softened my fall!

  My white T-shirt, white pants, white towel used as a cape and my white stick cane that I had drawn multicolored stars on with a golden crayon were now completely discolored! My clothes clung to my body in an uncomfortable icky mess!

  My bike had flown up into the air and had landed somewhere in the bushes about a hundred feet away from where I lay in that muddy creek water! My so called compadres laughed and jeered at me as I cautiously rose up from the mud and cleaned my shoes and hands upon the surroundin’ grasses! As I gained stability in that muck and mire, I did not feel pain.

  Though I did feel slight damage done to my pride area!

  “See, I aint no chicken!” I said while retrievin’ my bike from out of the bushes.

  “They might be laughing at me now!” I thought. “But I sure showed them! I aint no chicken! No Sir!”

  And with that little bit of wisdom I got back on my bike and rode home. “Who cares what they think anyways?” I thought to myself.

  Mama would never let me jump over things like that if she knew about it before hand! No sir! Believe me I’ve asked her! “But Nooooooh!” I said shakin’ my head one way and my whole body the other! “Mama won’t let me jump stuff!” Just how was I supposed to show em’ how good I was at makin’ cool jumps if I was never allowed to make any? Huh? How was I?

  Mama wouldn’t even let us do any zigzaggin’ when we rode our bikes on the road either!

  And we liked zigzaggin’!

  I’d yell “Mom, me and Anna are going bike ridin’!”

  “Well, you better watch that road and get over to the side if you see a car coming.” Mama would reply.

  “Okay Mom!”

  “And don’t you be going past Mr. Roberts’s silver barn now, you hear me? You make sure that I can see you out there.” She’d continue matter of factly.

  Mr. Roberts had two barns. A big red one that sat close to the road by our fence line and a smaller silver barn that sat straight down from it near his driveway by his house. Mama only allowed us to ride on the road between these two buildings. It was in her line of sight. And it was in our line of hearing! It was a straight stretch of road that she could monitor from any window in our house that faced in that direction.

  “Okay Mom!”

  “And you watch out for your little sister.”

  “Okay Mom!”

  “And no zigzaggin’!” She’d say just before I got out of ear shot.

  “Okay!” I’d exclaim as my bike tires met the road.

  Zigzaggin’ is what they called it when you ride on one side of the road and then you change over to the other side of the road, and so on back and forth like that? Mama only wanted us to ride on one side of the road only! She never wanted us to have any fun! No sir! No fun at all!

  I sometimes wondered if Mama had a big rule book somewhere with all of the fun stuff to do marked out of it with big red X’s.

  As a kid growin’ up in the country, ridin’ your bike seemed to bring with it a sense of freedom! No matter the rules, nobody was hollerin’ at you and nobody was makin’ you do somethin’ that you didn’t wanna do! Ridin’ on that smooth road with the wind blowin’ in your face made you feel glad to be alive!

  My bike was red and it had a long white banana seat on it. It also had a big spring on the front of it to make it look like a real motorcycle! We called my bike the “Chopper King” and my sister’s bike we called the “Blue Flame”. Me
and my sister made up those names ourselves!

  “Hey Anna! Look! Scott’s comin’ out!” I said as I zigzagged just out of eyesight of Mama’s kitchen window. Scott was a boy who lived down the road. Not the one that had the creek. This was the other one that Anna liked.

  “I see him.”

  “You want me to tell him you LIKE him?” I said pickin’ on her.

  “NO!” she said as she gestured at me to stop it and to quit bein’ so loud.