“You butt-called me, I guess. My phone rang and all I could hear was the wind whistling and what I thought was breathing.”
“But doesn’t a butt-call require a butt to call?” He reached into the front-buttoned pocket of his shirt and pulled out his phone. “How do you butt-call from your chest?”
Kate took the phone from Paul, examined it and pushed some buttons. “That’s crazy.”
“It must have hit the dirt just right,” Paul said, putting the phone back in his front pocket. “Stranger things have happened. Oh, yeah, when I parked my car, a black cloud surrounded me and it was a bee swarm. It was like I was in a tornado of bees. The buzzing was overwhelming. Then they disappeared into the distance.”
“A black bee swarm?”
“Yeah.”
“I’ve been here for years, I’ve never seen one.”
“Stick with me, who knows what you’ll see. Let’s get out of here.”
“Are you sure you’re okay?”
“Yeah. Just a damaged ego. You probably think I’m a bum. Hung-over, know-it-all, reckless, foolish city boy.”
“True. But maybe there’s hope. Let’s stop at my house. It’s on the way and I’ll fix you up. Let’s leave your car in the lot and we’ll come back for it later. I don’t want you to drive alone just yet.”
“One of the only times I almost got in a fist fight with my best friend Mickey O’Connor in over 40 years of friendship was when he wanted to take my car keys from me because he thought I was too drunk to drive.”
“Were you?”
“Of course.”
“Did you drive your car?”
“Nope. But I didn’t talk to him for a week.”
“Then what happened?”
“Nothing. We never mentioned it again. Let’s go in your car.”
Kate watched Paul in the rear-view mirror, sprawled out in the back seat of the Bronco trying to rest. She was used to dealing with substance abuse. It was only two years since she lost her husband on Christmas after a night of eating, drinking, and secretly taking the drugs that would kill him as he slept on the living room couch. She hasn’t had a drink since. Yes, she still has the occasional bowl of weed, and yes, she had a medical marijuana card. In her eyes marijuana is another natural substance that has existed since Mother Nature sprinkled the earth with natural remedies. She also believes that pre-historic ape-like creatures made a quantum leap of self-awareness and consciousness after ingesting certain hallucinogenic fungi and plants.
“We’re here, Paul,” Kate said as she stroked his forehead tenderly, while also trying to determine if he had a fever. He didn’t. “I think you should stay at my place for a little while until I think you’re out of the woods. Heat stroke is a funny thing. And we’re still not sure if that bump on your head did any real damage.”
Paul straightened himself onto the seat, and still had a look in his eyes that told Kate he wasn’t 100 percent just yet. She knew that a bump on the head could lead to a brain bleed and it wasn’t smart to be alone for the next little while.
“I’m fine. Ouch,” he said grabbing at the back of his neck. “Okay, doc, I’m with you. Just give me the word.”
Paul felt a little woozy once he stood outside the vehicle, but his eyes widened noticeably as he looked around. “Where the hell are we? Am I in Bedrock?”
“Bedrock?” Kate laughed.
“Yeah, you know. Where the Flintstones lived? Look at that pile of boulders! It’s like somebody balanced them there!”
“Well somebody did. Come inside,” she said, leading him across the dirt driveway.
There wasn’t another house in sight. The massive front yard was a mini park with Joshua trees, cacti, and several larger trees. In the nearby distance was a rock pile of boulders and rocky hills littered with more Joshua trees and also boulders, and clumps of prickly green vegetation.
Paul stopped after a few steps. “Ssshhh.” He stood motionless for close to a minute.
Kate studied him; eyes closed, head slowly turning, nostrils widened, his face relaxing with each breath.
“I hear it.”
“What?”
“What I’ve been longing for. Dead. Silence.”
Paul inhaled the dry, hot air. He could smell that strange, heady aroma he noticed once he was in the land of Joshua trees. The ringing in his ear, that sound ingrained in his brain of growing up in the shadow of the elevated subway line and across from the Major Deegan Expressway. A hum in the ear caused by a lifetime of shouts and cries and curse words and screams and cheers and rock concerts and juke boxes of New York City began to ever so slightly dissipate and let the total nothingness of silence began to creep into his head.
“What is that smell? That fragrance?” He asked, his eyes still closed as he stood, his arms folded in front of him, hand on his chin, like a Jack Benny yogi.
“That’s the creosote bush. When it rains, it exudes an intoxicating aroma that blankets the high desert. It makes me high. It could you, too.”
“Which one is that?”
“See that bush there? It’s a creosote bush. Some say that a bush around that size could be close to 500 years old. A bush twice that size could be a thousand or two thousand years old.”
“You mean to say, that that bush over there, that large one, could have been alive when Jesus walked the earth?”
“Yes.”
“This is a lot for me to handle, right now. I think I need to sit down, cool off and have a large drink. Of water.” Paul said walking towards the front door of the house.
From the outside, the house seemed ordinary. A covered front porch with a wooden table and two chairs. The walls were stucco painted nearly the same color as the dirt, sand, and rocks that seemed to be everywhere, whether small like the ones in the driveway or gigantic like the boulders in the distance.
As soon as Kate stuck a key in the door, it became apparent that Kate had a large dog.
“Don’t worry. He doesn’t bite if he knows I like you,” Kate said with a wry smile.
Paul still felt woozy, but nevertheless began trying to analyze that statement from Kate. Likes me how? He wondered. Then he flashed on being in sixth grade and realized how that mystery of girls liking boys was yet to be solved. He followed her into the front room and a medium-sized mutt wagged his tail energetically as he jumped back and forth between Kate and himself.
“I guess you like me,” Paul said, patting the dog’s head.
“That’s Chunky. He’s part pug, part German Shepherd and part raccoon.”
“I see that around the eyes. Does he wash his food?”
“Only if he doesn’t trust who opened the can. Sit over here, and put your feet up. You’re under my care for the next little while.”
As plain and nondescript as the outside of the house seemed, the inside was anything but. The ceilings were vaulted with rough hand-hewn timbers. Hanging in the middle of the room was a chandelier made of an old wagon wheel. The walls were adorned with paintings, etchings, drawings, and artifacts of Native American Indians and cowboy scenes. The colorful Mexican tile floors were covered with assorted area rugs placed throughout. A large table in the middle of the large room, which also served as a kitchen, was constructed of actual limbs and branches of trees with an oval-shaped glass tabletop. On tables, shelves, and on the floor were various statues of Buddha, Jesus, the Virgin Mary, St. Francis of Assisi, and some others he didn’t recognize.
“Wow. This place is amazing. I feel like I’m in some sort of cosmic cowboy and Indian chapel.”
She guided him to an overstuffed upholstered chair, sat him down, and placed his feet on an ottoman.
“This is a great room!” Paul said, finally feeling comfortable.
“Actually it is a great room. That’s what it’s called in many indigenous cultures, from Eskimos, to Native Americans, to Caribbean Islanders. There was always a room where meals were prepared and families gathered to eat, relax, and socialize. Like a combination kitchen, li
ving room, and family room.”
“I don’t know. Kind of sounds like the Bronx bar I used to hang in, and I wouldn’t call that so great.”
“See! Commonality is everywhere! I’m making you some special tea. Are you hungry?”
“I’m not sure. I still feel a little bit light-headed.”
“We’ll hold off on the food.”
Kate walked over to a table that had a Bose radio/CD player, picked up a CD and placed it into the slot. Strange hums and long tones began emanating from the player and filling the room.
“What is that? The sounds of the humpback whales thing?”
“No. Tibetan singing bowls. Have you ever heard of them?”
“Nope.”
“Every rub your finger over the lip of a crystal wine glass and it makes a humming sound?”
“Oh, yeah. Many times. Too many times.”
“Same principle, only with large crystal bowls, and various amounts of oils in each one. Here’s the CD cover.”
The image on the cover looked like a UFO. But it was anchored to the rocky landscape, which looked like it could have been Kate’s backyard or anywhere in the local vicinity.
“I’ll bite. What’s this?”
“The Integratron. It’s a few miles from here. It’s built over a vortex of earth energies and was designed by a Venusian to attract UFO’s.”
“Venusian? You mean someone from Venus? The planet?”
“Yes, and they give sound baths to the accompaniment of this music made by Tibetan singing bowls.”
“I think I must have hit my head harder than I thought because now I think I’m hearing things. Sound baths? Aliens from Venus? UFO’s? I think I need a nap.”
“You do need a nap. Here, have some tea, close your eyes, and just relax. I have some things to do around the house. Give me a shout if you need anything.”
It didn’t take long for Paul to fall fast asleep after just two sips of tea. His head tilted slowly from right to left almost in time to the slow vibrating sounds emanating from the speakers, bouncing off the walls, tile floor, and rafters. From the expression on his face he looked at peace, with Chunky at his feet and Kate quietly tending to little housework chores around the home. Until suddenly Paul’s eyes popped open and he grabbed at his throat.
“Where’s the bathroom?” he shouted into the empty room.
“Over here!” Kate replied from down the hall.
Paul followed her voice, rushed into the bathroom and knelt in front of the toilet. He hadn’t eaten much, so it was mostly dry heaves and some water he was throwing up. Kate held his head until he stopped retching.
“Are you done?”
“I wish I knew the answer to that,” he said, standing slowly.
“Those are clean towels, new toothbrushes in here, and everything you need if you want to take a shower and clean up.”
“You know a shower would be great.”
“Do you need any help?”
Paul did something he doesn’t usually do. He enabled his mouth filter. He found Kate very attractive. He didn’t know many women like her in New York, the earth-mother type. Oh, he saw them around in the Village, but didn’t really know any. Unfiltered Paul might have said, Yeah, I could use some help scrubbing my back. Instead he said, “I’m fine. But thanks.”
“You’re sure? I don’t want you falling in the shower and hitting your head. I’d have a hard time explaining this scenario to the police.”
“I was thinking the same thing!”
Kate smiled as she closed the bathroom door.
The force of the water was much stronger than the weak showers at the string of motels he had stayed at for the past several days. He turned the showerhead to the massage position and pointed it at the back of his head and down his neck and spine. He hadn’t felt this good in a while. Days? Weeks? Decades? He wasn’t sure. He heard the door open and for a split second thought he might have a visitor coming to join him in the shower for a splash.
“Here’s a robe,” Kate announced, as she placed it on the sink.
“Thanks,” Paul shouted over the noise of the flowing water.
It was a man’s robe. Paul’s detective mind kicked in and he began examining the robe after he stepped out of the shower. He felt slightly weird putting on what was probably her boyfriend or ex-husband’s robe, but after talking about aliens, UFO’s, and singing bowls, he figured a lot of weird was in his future. He was wearing the robe and drying his hair with a towel when Kate knocked.
“Do you need anything else?” She asked from behind the closed door.
“Do you have a razor and some shaving cream? I have to shave my legs.”
“Yeah, right. I’ll get them.”
The door opened and Kate stuck her arm in with a disposable razor and a can of Barbasol.
“You can come in. I’m wearing the robe.”
Kate stepped through the door.
“It’s a little big on you.”
“The guy who wears this is about six-two, 250 pounds, left-handed, smokes cigarettes, and probably likes his weed in a pipe.”
“Jesus, don’t spook me like that. It was my husband’s. Are you a medium?”
“No, I’m half-baked. Some psychics claim to be detectives. Most detectives have the same skills that psychics use,” Paul said, moving his hands gracefully in the air in front of his face. “It’s called deductive reasoning. Husband?”
“Yes, he passed away. A couple years ago,” Kate said, reaching out and touching the worn sleeve on the robe.
“I’m so sorry.”
“Thanks.”
“Well, it’s a few sizes too long for me, especially the arm length. The cloth belt is a little frayed about six inches past where I would tie it. On the left cuff there’s still a slight smell of cigarette ashes and a burn mark that didn’t come out in the wash. The left pocket has a hole in the bottom, perhaps from something in there that he nervously gripped tightly, as though he didn’t want to part with it. Am I being too personal?”
Kate pushed the toilet lid down and sat on it. “Yes, you are. No you’re not. You’re spot on. He puffed a lot. And did coke. And his cholesterol was terrible. Was overweight and had diabetes. And….”
“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have….”
“No, it’s okay. That was amazing how you pieced that together. You must have a very analytical mind.”
“Enough to get by. I’m a cop. Was a cop. Detective. Lieutenant.”
Kate stood up and her mood switched abruptly from pity party to full attention. “A cop? A New York City cop? A lieutenant?”
“Oh yeah. I just retired.”
“A detective?”
“Well, for the last ten years. Before that, I was undercover.”
“Undercover?”
“Narcotics.”
“A narc?”
“10-4.”
Kate sat back down on the toilet lid. “Wow. A narc. A New York narc. That blows me away.”
Paul gathered himself, as he tried to explain. “I mean, really, when you came in to the bathroom, I thought I was just going to tell you I was just kidding about shaving my legs. It all just kind of came out. Unfiltered. Sorry.”
“I need that. Sometimes I think I’m too filtered. I puff on occasion.”
“So do a lot of my friends. Not an issue.”
“Do you?”
“No. Never.”
“I’m going to prepare some food,” Kate said somewhat absent-mindedly as she left the bathroom.
Well I probably just loused up everything right there, Paul thought to himself.
Steven Schindler
Chapter Five
Although Paul had showered and shaved, he didn’t feel comfortable in his clothes, which were still sweaty and dirty from his foolhardy foray deep into the desert, unprepared. There was a kitchen island with several large bowls of food and two table settings upon it. Kate motioned for him to take a seat as she began doling out portions onto the plates. Paul had
an inkling as to what the food was, but by no means was he certain. One bowl looked like it had shiny, curly seaweed with ground-up bacon bits on it. Another looked like a bowl of sour cream. And another looked like a mush of something orange with green blobs in it. That last bowl did not smell familiar or tasty.
“I take it you’re a vegan?” Paul asked, leaning in to take in the aromas emanating from his oversized plate now filled with the colorful foods.
“No, just a vegetarian. I’m addicted to yogurt. I’m also gluten-free.”
“You know, I didn’t realize how tasty gluten was, until I tasted food that didn’t have it. Oh, I’m sorry. I’m sure this gluten-free food is the exception. And, um, what are these dishes? They look great, by the way.”
Kate explained that the bowls consisted of non-fat Greek plain yogurt, pumpkin puree with whole Brussel sprouts and kale, not with ground bacon bits, but with ground flax seeds.
“I hope you don’t mind eating my food. It’s what I eat. Every day.”
“Every day? Like 365 days a year every day?”
“Yes. It saves me a lot of time. And I enjoy it.”
Paul felt hungry, but still a bit nauseated, so he treaded carefully as he tasted the small amounts of food on his plate. “Do you have any bread?”
Kate went to the refrigerator, retrieved a bag of bread, removed two slices, and placed them on Paul’s plate. “Would you like some almond butter?”
“Sure,” Paul said, looking forward to biting into something he was familiar with that would have a solid consistency. He noticed the bread on the table was Ezekiel brand, with quotes from scripture on the bag.
“Is the bread okay?” Kate asked, taking a slice for herself.
“It’s good. Very….”
“Health-foody?”
“Yes. Good description. I like it, but it’s just a little different from what I’m used to.”
Paul liked the almond butter, and put a good amount on his bread, of which he had already eaten four slices. He didn’t like the yogurt, or the pumpkin puree with Brussels sprouts. The kale wasn’t too bad, after he created his own French dressing by combining some ketchup, mustard, and mayonnaise and plopped a good amount on top. But he kept the displeasure to himself.
High Desert High Page 10
