Visions

by James C. Glass

“Well, he was Greek, and he took me in. So far, the truth. He wasn’t what you’d call an admirer of the human race, and wanted to live an uncomplicated life as much as possible in silence.” Also true, but after first coaxing me out of the bushes he spent two years teaching me how to read and write both Greek and English. “He taught me English, and had a lot of books. I read them all. Otherwise, he didn’t say much, and I tried real hard not to bother him.” He was half-crazy, with dangerous corners in his mind, yet there came a day when he thought of me as a son. “I can say we were friends, and I felt bad when he died. By then I’d bought his nephew’s bar in Quincy. He’s the one who taught the business to me. I was doin’ pretty good, but when I came back to give Savas a nice funeral it was the first time I’d really seen the town of Crosley. Loved it—sold the place in Quincy—moved here.” With enough cash and gold to pay for a business and a ranch, and a way out for others burrowing in those cliffs behind us right now.

  They rocked in darkness. “And then I met you.”

  “Yes you did, and now your child is kicking again. Oh, oh, who’s that out here after dark?”

  Lights had suddenly appeared at the top of the hill, moving towards them, jiggling up and down as a vehicle bounced in the rutted road. “Sure is in a hurry,” said Pete. “I have a feeling this is the end of our first quiet evening at home. Should’ve known.”

  A battered, spring wagon pulled up in front of the house and Jake Price got down, walking over to the porch with Stetson in hand, all cleaned up like he was going to a social. He nodded to Bernie.

  “Evenin’, Bernice. Say, didn’t that road give me a scare tonight; be glad when you folks finish it.”

  “Cup of coffee, Jake? Got plenty.” Pete started to go inside the house, stopping when the man shook his head no.

  “Gotta get back, Pete. I know it’s Sunday and all, but people are really riled up about all the stealin’ and vandalism lately, and a bunch of the boys are meetin’ tonight to see what we can do about it.”

  “That’s Tom’s job, Jake. I think we ought to let him do it.”

  “He’s only one man, Pete. Besides, he went out of town before church this mornin’ and hasn’t come back yet. We’re not talkin’ mob, Pete, just a discussion about what we can do to help. And everyone wants you to be there.”

  “Of course,” said Bernie. “Oh, well, we were going back a little later anyway.” She pushed her chair back, and stood up, stretching her back.

  “I don’t think we should meet without Tom there,” said Pete.

  “Well, he should be back by now, and he’s sure invited. We’ve got to do it sometime, Pete, before people start shootin’ at shadows.”

  “Or critters,” said Pete, and instantly regretted it. Jake looked like he’d been slapped. “Sorry, Jake, that was nasty. I just don’t like having my evening messed up.”

  “I know what I seen, Pete. We get down to the bottom of the trouble we’ve been havin’ and some eyes are gonna be opened up. Want to follow me back?”

  “Only if you’ll forget my stupid remark, and have a cup of coffee with us first.”

  Jake smiled, then, and they had their coffee before turning out the lamps and harnessing up two reluctant horses. It was a new moon, stars spattered across the sky in a band, and below tree level was inky blackness. The two wagons bounced and skidded on the rough road, braking together once when two deer dashed across their view, and hitting the road near the edge of town. A small crowd was milling around in front of the hotel, waving to them when they passed by. Pete made a U-turn in the wide street, pulling up by the bar, and scrambling to help Bernie down.

  “No meeting for me,” she said. “Don’t see any women there anyway. Sounds like men’s’ business, and I’m not in the mood. See you.” She kissed Pete on the cheek, then climbed the stairs to their apartment, puffing, and talking to herself.

  Pete crossed the street to the hotel. The group of men greeted him quietly and politely, Pete shaking hands with some of them. When he got to the porch, Ned Bester, president of the bank, pumped his hand twice before asking, “Mind if we use the hotel? Tom’s still out of town, and nobody else has the town hall key.”

  “Sure, come on in. The dining room isn’t finished, yet, but it’s a warm place to sit.”

  The men filed in behind Pete through the lobby and down a short hall to a large room with stacked chairs and tables to one side, and the foundation of a stage area to the other. Sawhorses and planks were scattered around the room, and in the center a giant crystal chandelier sparkled in the dim light. Ned looked around, and took Pete by the elbow. “Live music, and everything, huh?”

  “That and good Basque cooking. I know a guy in Verdi who’s the best, and he’s agreed to chef for me.”

  Ned rubbed his fingers together. “Good business, good business. Might even get ’em over here from Reno.” He smiled at Pete, then moved in front of the group while everyone was finding a place to sit, and clapped his hands.

  “Let’s get started, now. Working day tomorrow, and it’s getting late. Thanks to Pete for letting us use this room, and remember this isn’t a formal meeting, so just jump in when you want to. Several of you asked me to call this because of trouble you’ve been havin’. I’m a little reluctant to do it because Tom isn’t here, and I don’t want him to think we’re goin’ behind his back. I think he’s been a good sheriff for us—”

  “Nobody’s sayin’ he isn’t, Ned,” said someone.

  “Okay, well that’s good to hear. He’s only one man, and there’s a lot of area around here to police. If we’ve got injuns living back in these hills, it’ll take more than Tom to take care of things.”

  Pete grinned. “Injuns? I thought they all cleared out a long time ago.”

  “Maybe not—maybe so, but whatever, someone around here is doin’ a lot of stealing, particularly livestock, and Darin here lost a rifle and some shells last week.”

  “And two pigs!” shouted another man. Now there was an undercurrent of grumbling in the room.

  Ed Duchal, tall and redheaded, turned around to face Pete. “Hell, you seen it first hand, the night they stole a chicken right out from under our noses, and I shot one of them.”

  “Bunch of bare-footed kids, Ed. We found footprints the next day. A bunch of kids. Before we get all riled up about injuns, we’d better look closer to home. It could be some of our own.”

  “Easy for you to say when yours ain’t even born yet,” said Ed, smiling. Pete laughed with him. “We’ve all checked into that, and our kids are accounted for. Besides, that scream we heard that night didn’t even sound human to me. Admit it, you didn’t think so either. We just stared at each other after we heard it. Sounded crazy—wild—like some kind of animal.”

  “Liquor can make you pretty crazy, Ed. God knows what kids are drinkin’ it these days, but it’s a fact of life, and we’ve got to consider it. Let’s keep this realistic; what we’re probably looking for is some drunken kids on an occasional rampage. They could be from any number of towns around here, pickin’ on us ’cause we’re so isolated. There’s only one main road coming into town; all we have to do is give Tom some help so he can keep an eye on it, and screen out any suspicious folks coming in. If the raids slow down or stop, then we know what’s goin’ on. We might even catch ’em. Anyway, that’s my opinion.” Pete leaned back in his chair, and crossed his legs.

  Everyone seemed to be thinking for a few seconds, and then Jake suddenly stood up and thrust his hands deep into his pockets. “Well, that’s just not the way I see it, and I’m the only one here who knows what these critters really look like.”

  “Oh, Jake,” said Ned.

  “Now don’t give me that ‘oh, Jake’ stuff. Nobody listened to me about the raids on my place until it started to happen to the rest of you. Hell, I’ve had this trouble for nearly a year, and only now is everyone gettin’ excited about it. And I ain’t talkin’ monsters, or anything weird like that. I’ve seen these critters, close up, damn near died doin
’ it—and they’re people. Ugliest things I ever seen, but people all the same. And they ain’t no injuns, ’cause I’ve seen plenty of them, too. These folks had primitive weapons, and worn out animal skins for clothes, long, scraggly hair and beards, heavy features, small eyes, but white folks all the same.”

  Ned looked at Jake sternly. “So you’re telling us we’re being harassed by a bunch of white folks.”

  “Nobody from town, Ned, and no kids.” Jake’s voice was calm, serious, devoid of the pathetic self-pity they were used to. “Look, you’ve all known me for a long time, and you’ve seen me in my cups. Okay, but you also know I haven’t had a drink in nearly a month, and I’m standing here cold sober telling you what I saw. Tom believed me, that’s why he’s been spendin’ time patrolling the roads, especially in the evenings, ’cause that’s when they move.”

  Pete sat calmly in his chair, legs crossed, kicking one foot absently.

  “Another reason for Tom to be here,” said Ned. “He went out so early this morning I didn’t get to him about this meeting. I think we really need to hear what he has to say about all this before we take any action. But I think we can agree there’s a problem, and probably a single group of people is behind it. According to Jake, they’re adults maybe gone wild, but he’s the only one who’s seen them, so we don’t really know how many people are involved.”

  “At least three,” said Jake.

  “Okay, so we have a minimum number, and maybe they’re dangerous, but I don’t want any of you men turning vigilante, and shooting innocent people. Bad enough y’all ride around with guns in your wagons.”

  “You’re just not a hunter,” said Ed.

  “Hunter, my foot. I see a man with a rifle in his wagon, I see a man lookin’ for trouble. I say let’s wait till Tom gets back, and find out what kind of help we can give him. Agreed?”

  More grumbling in the room, Pete only watching and listening, unusual for him, but nobody seemed to notice.

  “Yeah, sure, Ned, we’ll wait for Tom, but then we’ve got to do something. And everyone check up on their kids. Know where they are at night. If worst comes to worst, we don’t want to end up shooting one of our own; we’ve got wives can do that.” Ed laughed, but alone. Everyone had begun to leave the room, Ned in the lead.

  People were still talking on the porch, and a few had gone home when another wagon rattled into town and stopped across the street from the hotel. Lyle Nygaard owned a chicken ’n’ egg ranch several miles south of town, and his wife Melinda was with him. He got down from the wagon and went straight to Ned, who was talking with Pete and two other men. “Evenin’, Ned—Pete. I miss somethin’ important?”

  Ned told him about the meeting. Lyle rubbed his jaw with a stained hand. “So you’re waitin’ to see Tom, huh? Well, I stopped by to tell you his wagon is sittin’ on the road about three miles south of here, thirsty horses, and a nice telescope layin’ on the seat just askin’ to be stole’, and Tom nowhere in sight. Called out, got no answer. Inky black out there, and I didn’t bring a lantern. Needs lookin’ into, I think.”

  It got real quiet on the porch.

  “Any of you men got lanterns?” asked Ned. A couple of hands went up. “I’m asking for volunteers to look for Tom.” Several hands went up this time, and men started towards their wagons and horses.

  “I’ve got a couple of extra lanterns in the hotel,” said Pete. “Ned, can I ride with you?”

  “Sure thing.”

  Lyle turned towards his wagon. “I’ll meet you over there. The wagon’s right on the road, by the meadows. Gotta take the missus home first, then I’ll be along.”

  “Thanks, Lyle,” said Ned.

  Pete came out of the hotel with three lanterns a minute later, and mounted up with Ned. A caravan of ten wagons left town that night, headed south and moving slowly. Most of them had rifles and shotguns, and the men were grim-faced. They drove slowly in the moonless night, total blackness closing in on them, apprehension heavy in each man. There was no conversation. They crossed a bridge and the road turned gently, then ahead they saw a shadow off the road to the right. Tom’s wagon appeared in dull light, and the caravan stopped along the road on either side of it. Two men swung lanterns above their heads, and shouted out “Tom!” several times, and everyone else was as quiet as death. There was no answer.

  “Anyone know what’s out there?” asked Ned.

  “Good place to see deer in the evening,” said somebody, “and people have camped by some rocks out there.”

  “Well, let’s take a look.”

  Everyone dismounted, a few rifles coming with them, but Ned was not in a mood to protest the presence of weapons on an inky-black night when a good man was missing. He led them into the meadows, Pete walking right behind him. Lanterns cast a soft glow in every direction. Gradually they spread out into a line fifty yards wide, moving slowly, dull light spilling on long grass and occasional wildflowers. They came to a hollow circled by boulders and smaller rocks; in the center was a small pit, and the burned out remains of a fire. Ned and several others walked around the hollow while the rest searched the fields beyond, still moving along a line. Pete stooped down suddenly, and picked up something, looking at it closely. “Found a cartridge case,” he said, and Ned went over to look at it.

  “A thirty-thirty, pretty common, better hang onto it.” Ned took the case from Pete and put it into his pants pocket, He had started to turn away from Pete, when Ed suddenly said quietly, “Ned, you’d better come over here.” Nobody else seemed to hear at that moment, and Ned went over to where Ed stood by a large boulder slab, holding his lantern down close to it. In the glare of the light, he could see something staining the rock, something dark, running down the rock and into the grass. He got down close, turning the light this way and that, and then the odor hit him. A musky, salty odor he had last smelled when watching a friend butcher a freshly killed deer. He touched the stain with his fingertips, and sniffed them. “Blood,” he said.

  “Some more there, too,” said Ed. “Runnin’ down the rock, and into the grass. See there?”

  There was more blood in the grass, a big splash of it.

  “Doesn’t look good, Ned.”

  Ned thought for a minute. “You still keep those hounds of yours, Ed?”

  “Best trackers in the county.”

  “I’ll wait here with the others while you go get those dogs. They’ve got some important work to do.”

  Ed left in a hurry, without a word. Ned touched the blood stains again. Coagulated, but fresh. “Okay, men!” he shouted. “Everyone in, and gather around here. I’ve got something to show you—and sorry to say it’s gonna be a long night.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  INTEGRATION

  “I can get you a job in Quincy, Peter. I know people. But we’ll have to give you some identity.”

  Savas got up from his chair, grunting at an audible pop from one knee, and shuffling across the room to one end of the couch, where a small, green chest was pushed up against a wall. He carried it back to the table, and flopped back in his chair as Peter closed the book he’d been reading out loud to his teacher, in between arguments.

  They argued often, now, but not in a heated way, as Peter’s mind worked to absorb and analyze all the material Savas brought out for him to read. They had been discussing a journalist’s book about the Indians, and Peter had suddenly vented emotion at a speculation of ritual child killing during food shortages, but Savas was tired, wanted no more serious talk for the moment, and tried to change the subject. He opened the chest, and looked inside.

  “The killing of children for any reason is immoral and destructive. I don’t believe they did that,” said Peter. “Look at the mix of people in these books, and ask how it could happen if certain children were selectively destroyed. Whole races wouldn’t exist!”

  Savas piled handfuls of papers, cards, inks and pens on the table. “Human history is full of genocide, Peter. Look how close we’ve come with the Indians. Killin
g off the buffalo was done for that reason, you know. We’ve all tried it, Peter. Here, I want to show you some things I haven’t looked at in years.”

  But Peter would not let go just yet. “We’re all descended from common ancestors. It is in our faces. If an early race had been wiped out, would we now be the same?”

  Savas opened a bottle of ink, and sniffed at it. “Oh Peter, I don’t know. Maybe we wouldn’t be quite as strong, or quick, or smart. The best have led to the best of us. The strongest select the strongest to mate with. Screwing selection, Peter, not killing selection. It’s the best way, every time.”

  Peter’s intensity suddenly vanished, and he relaxed back in his chair. “Yes—perhaps it’s so. Now, what is this on the table? I’ve already shown you my writing for the day.”

  “These are the legalities of your new life,” said Savas. “You see this? Immigration registration card, and blank. There used to be a name on this card, but I’ve bleached it off. Can you tell?” He held it up admiringly to the light. “I can’t even find the chemicals anymore. You see how simple it is. I write your name here, so—Peter—Pelegeropoulis. This means you can work, earn money, own land, but we need other things.” He rummaged in the pile of papers once more, held up a single sheet with a seal and signature near the bottom. “And here it is—a birth certificate, nicely laundered, signature intact. You will be born in Athens—parents—hmmm, we’ll think of some names. They’re deceased, of course, year—let’s make you twenty-one—no, twenty-three, and seven years of schooling before working for me.” More rummaging. “I will be your reference to start. Ah, here it is, and from the same man. I assure you he will not mind if we use it.”

  Leaning closely over the table, Savas practiced several times on a blank sheet of paper, then carefully scrolled Peter’s name in Greek and English on the laundered documents, and held them out to admire his handiwork.

  Peter was puzzled, but interested. At first he’d pretended indifference, opening his book and paging through it, but finally standing at Savas’s shoulder as pen stroked paper. “Why are you doing this?”