A Nation of Mystics_Book II_The Tribe

by Pamela Johnson

  “I’d like nothing more than to raise our babies together. There’s a peace here. Something I could feel the moment I stepped out of the car.”

  “Why didn’t Richard come with you?”

  “He said there were some loose ends he needed to tie up. He’ll be here when he’s finished. Then we’ll start fresh.”

  “Let’s eat early and take a walk after dinner,” Greta suggested. “I want to show you the land.”

  As the days passed, nothing could discourage Marcie’s enthusiasm for the farm, even though she learned that country living wasn’t all fresh air and serenity. Water had to be brought in and heated on the kitchen’s old woodstove before the laundry could be scrubbed, diapers boiled, everything rinsed, wrung out by hand, and then hung outside on the line to dry. Everyone brought in their share of dirt, so the floors had to be swept often during the day. Meals were cooked on the woodstove, making foraging, cutting, and stacking firewood a constant chore. Grocery shopping meant a long trip and took a day’s time. The vegetable garden needed tending daily and was enriched by the organic matter that went onto the compost pile. Seeds were planted according to the almanac and Greta’s plan of staggered gardening. Chickens had to be fed, eggs gathered, the goat milked.

  Greta spoke of the ducks and geese they would have after Merlin dug the pond, of where they would put the teepee, of the additional fruit trees they would plant, the jams and jellies they would make from wild grapes and blackberries and the enormous old fig tree.

  Marcie learned the native plants and how they had been used by Native Californians—chaparral broom, oaks and acorns, poison oak, scouring rush, cattails, soap root, manzanita, yerba santa, bay, and a host of herbs, berries, and seeds.

  Merlin, who had been collecting tools, had plans to build fences, hutches, coops, and furniture. He’d found an old redwood burl beneath the trees in the redwood grove and thought that if he sliced it into slabs, four or five inches thick, he might be able to make an interesting table to sell. If worse came to worst, he could always cut a tree and sell it for lumber. The possibilities of the land were endless.

  When the moon came up, rising above the trees in a sky so bright it could have been day, they would walk to the crest of the hill on roads silver and twisting. There they would sit and smoke and listen to the earth and scan the endless mystery of the universe spreading above them. Often, Merlin would bring out his guitar, and for the first time in a long while, Marcie also played, blending her voice with his. Occasionally, friends would come with other instruments, and they would jam far into the night, high on the smoke they grew and the air of the mountains and friendship under the stars.

  Marcie dwelt constantly on the life she and Richard and John would have there together. But where was Richard? A few loose ends, he’d said. That was almost ten days ago. There was no phone at Merlin’s cabin. Every day, she expected to see him, but the days came and went—and still no Richard.

  One morning Merlin looked at Greta and said, “This has to be river day.” She smiled in response, but there was a measured question in her eyes.

  The women packed a picnic, laughing, in fine humor, while the babies picked up on the energy. John began singing in loud cooing gurgles. Everything was piled onto the truck bed, and Merlin set off down the hill, turning down one dusty road after another. When he finally pulled to a stop, Marcie saw that there were other cars parked at a trailhead. Merlin smiled to see them, but Greta gave him a level look.

  “You knew White Bird would be here today, didn’t you?”

  “Yeah,” he told her, his back up a bit. “It’s okay to have friends, isn’t it?”

  Marcie stepped from the truck. “What can I carry?” she asked.

  “I’ll take most of it down,” Merlin told her. “You just hold onto John.”

  Once they were into the sunlight, the temperature reached close to a hundred degrees, but they ducked into a cooler forest, marching single file down a narrow path toward a small but swift hidden brook. Stones had been laid across the water for a bridge. Tall, green ferns grew in the shade at the water’s edge. Then the path rose, became flat and easy, traveling along the top of a ridge. Each step sent a cloud of dry, gray dust to cover sandals, legs, and the bushes nearby. John was getting heavier by the moment, but Marcie didn’t care. She loved it all—backache, poison oak, sweat, heat, and dust.

  “Look. Down there …” Merlin nodded with his chin.

  Between the trees, she could see it, hear it, and suddenly, they were out of the trees and onto a boulder twenty feet above the water, the river a winding, green thread below, making its way through a perfect emerald green swimming hole, round and deep and clear. On each side of the river, giant boulders of granite baked in the sun, smooth and flat and hot. Upstream, a dozen naked people sat and swam, enjoying the sun and water.

  “Merlin!” A voice floated up the hill. “Welcome!”

  “White Bird,” Greta whispered to Marcie.

  “Leah’s here, too,” he said defensively. “And Russ. Big John. Prissy. And Spirit and the kids.”

  Once everything needed for the day was brought to the camp spot and the children were made comfortable with a breast and a place in the shade, Merlin reached into his pocket. “Acid anyone?”

  “No. Not without Richard,” Marcie answered.

  Greta shook her head. “The energy’s a little unsettled.”

  Merlin ignored the remark and swallowed a tab, then, dropping his daypack on the large boulder, tore off his clothes and dove in. “Greta! Marcie! Come on!” he waved.

  Marcie had worked naked in the garden with Greta, but being naked among strangers was something new. The cool look of the water decided for her, and relaxing her inhibitions, she began pulling away sweat- and dust-caked clothes, savoring the light breeze that floated about her body and between her legs. She filled her lungs with fragrant pine air and touched the edge of the water with her toes.

  Cold! Definitely not the same water as the Gulf of Mexico!

  Seeing that John was asleep, she dove into the water, hit the surface, and … everything stopped.

  “It’s freezing!” she shouted.

  “It’s not bad once you’re in,” Merlin called. He swam to the beach where the babies rested.

  “Merlin, can you watch John for a minute? I’d like to swim before he wakes. I won’t be long.”

  A man walked over, stood behind Merlin, and gave her a look that raised an unexpected response in her. She was standing on an underwater boulder, the water to her hips, her long hair wet and close to her head, hanging down her back. Her breasts were filled with milk, her nipples hard and cold and pointed.

  “I’ll watch the boy for you,” he told her.

  “Marcie, this is Russ,” Merlin introduced them, “He’s cool.” He was starting to come on to the acid and his grin was wide.

  “Well … thank you. I’ll just be a few minutes.”

  “Take all the time you want,” Russ told her.

  In certain places, the current moved swiftly, and she could swim easily in one place. Water poured over her head and shoulders, creating little white bubbles of foam. Breathing easily, she began to sense that the river’s cleansing went beyond her body, traveled to her spirit, and she felt light, renewed. At the water’s edge, she climbed to a smooth boulder, stretched, and began working her body into yoga asanas. The sun and the hot rock took the water from her skin, rapidly drying and warming her.

  Being at the river’s like taking acid, she thought. I feel human, connected to the earth. The nakedness takes down the barriers. The water cleanses and fulfills, as if I’ve been rebaptized.

  Swimming back, she pulled herself to the small sandy beach and was surprised to see John awake, his tiny fingers firmly clutching Russ’s finger, his legs kicking the air.

  “He’s a good baby. How old is he?”

  “Almost three months. Oh!” Marcie gasped involuntarily as she felt the milk drip from her nipples. Flushing with embarrassment, she grinn
ed. “Maybe I should see if John can empty these.”

  “Well, if he doesn’t want to …”

  Marcie cast Russ a glance and twisted her wet hair behind her back.

  It’s been so long since a man’s touched me, she thought. Almost two weeks. Damn! Where’s Richard?

  For the first time since she’d arrived, she began to worry. But it was a worry mixed with anger.

  What’s he doing? Can’t he feel my vibe?

  Merlin lay nearby in the sun, feeling the effects of the acid start to move his body. He chuckled aloud at Russ’s words. Marcie turned to him and laughed, getting off on his high.

  “Here.” Russ laid a blanket down for her against a rock. “Let me know if you need any more help.”

  With a deep breath, Merlin tried sitting up, his body shaking with the energy that poured into it from everywhere. He tried to stand, legs unsteady, and managed to dive into the green water. White Bird dove in from the other side. Russ left Marcie to join them. Marcie watched as the three met in the center of the pool.

  “What’s happening with Merlin?” she asked Greta, her voice low.

  “White Bird,” she answered. “Pretty. Unattached. She likes Merlin, and he likes her.”

  “But …”

  Greta laid a hand on Marcie’s leg. “It’s alright. A part of living in the mountains. As we become more a part of nature, the chemistry of our bodies has a more natural flow. Sometimes people up here forget about commitments, just go with the body.” And with the same look on her face Marcie had seen when Merlin mentioned the gun, Greta said, “It’s a decision he has to make. I’m just going to give him the space to do it.”

  The sun slid over the valley, finally touched the tip of a mountain peak and moved away into the west. In that late afternoon, the friends along the river began collecting food, clothes, and packs. The hills had a new softness in the gathering twilight. Granite rocks were no longer stark and white but warm and gray with speckles of black. In the dusk, the trees became obscure, blended together. Bright red earth turned a deeper shade of orange red. The water was a darker green—almost black—but its song stayed constant as it traveled between rocks and fell over boulders. Above the sounds of the river, Marcie listened to the violin tunes of crickets and the bulbous deep resonance of a bullfrog echoing from the valley walls. Mosquitoes began to claim their time of day. She wrapped John well, holding him close.

  The group gathered on one side of the river, ready to take the path up to the road, and there, Marcie watched as Merlin regarded Greta. She could see he’d peaked. The intense sexuality of the trip was over. Older now, other things concerned him. He was moving toward a higher chakra, the more spiritual part of the trip. He looked into Greta’s eyes, entered her thoughts, and Marcie saw their history, knew that long tunnel of memory from her own trips.

  Behind them, she heard White Bird laugh.

  Merlin smiled, wrapped his arms around Greta, and turned back to the water.

  “I’ve never come here without having everything washed away,” he said quietly, although his words were there for all to hear. “The river doesn’t know the meaning of frustration or anger or disappointment. When I leave this holy spot, I feel courageous, as if I have the power and ability to become anything—do anything.”

  “We have time for a prayer,” White Bird said softly, watching him with Greta.

  She put an arm around Greta and reached for Big John. Then Russ was at Marcie’s side, and Spirit was on the other, and the children—everyone forming a circle. In the hush of the early evening, the powerful vibration of the om lifted up and out, reverberating against the canyon walls as powerfully as the sound of the river, the hum the vibration of the universe, the beginning and the end, absolute reality, embracing all that exists.

  Merlin took Rosie and silently turned to the trail with Greta; Marcie and John followed. Tonight, there would be hot tea and food from the garden they had made. Tonight, Merlin would make a fire in the fire pit and smoke from his pipe and blow magic rings. They would lie under the stars and pass the pipe, watching the firelight play across the faces of their children. Tonight, they would play guitar, and she would sing with him under the stars. On the morrow, they would begin again to learn to live in harmony with the land and pray that their actions would bring peace to the earth.

  And tomorrow, Marcie knew, she would get to a phone. Richard needed to be here to join with the Tribe. To know the blessings of this full life.

  The next day, Marcie had Merlin drive her to town to a phone, and she called around until she found Richard.

  “Marcie, I can’t come yet,” he told her. “It’s impossible.”

  “Why not?” she asked, stunned.

  “I’m busy. There’s a lot that needs to be done here. I rented a house. I think you’re going to like it.”

  “You what?”

  “I rented a house. I know how hard it’s been for you not having a place to live, moving around with John.”

  “Richard, I thought we were going to make a life up here away from the city. I’ve been expecting you everyday.”

  “I’m really busy Marcie. And I miss you terribly. When are you coming home?”

  “I thought I was home.”

  For a long moment, there was silence. “I never said I was going to live at Merlin’s. I said we could go up there and see what was happening. Now I’m really involved. I just can’t make it up there right now.”

  “So you’re not coming?”

  “I can’t. It’s important. Marcie, I need you.”

  “Alright, Richard. Why … why don’t I come back, and we’ll talk about this when I get there. I don’t want to leave here. It’s paradise.”

  “When are you coming?” he asked with relief.

  “Tomorrow. I’ll leave in the morning. Give me the address.”

  As they drove back to the ranch, Marcie knew she’d made the wrong choice. If she stayed in the mountains, she’d force him into coming up and taking a look around. Surely, he’d fall in love with the place as she had. She was certain she could outwait him—make him come to her.

  But then she remembered Russ’s eyes, watching him play with the baby, her own feelings at the nearness of his body, the hair on his bare chest.

  No. If she stayed another week, everything she knew in the city would be gone. Her moment of certainty passed and was replaced by a new suspicion that Richard might not come. Ever. And right now, she wasn’t willing to put her speculations to the test.

  “I need to leave,” she said softly when she walked into the cabin.

  Greta looked down at the embroidery she was sewing. “Russ scare you away?”

  Marcie laughed. “He just reminded me. I’m incomplete without Richard. I need him. And there’s something going on with him that I don’t understand. He rented a house. He says he wants me to come home.”

  Greta’s disappointment was deep. She continued embroidering, her eyes on the fabric. “I’ll miss you.”

  “Greta, I’ll be back. I’m just going to go get him and come right back.”

  The sound of a vehicle coming up the hill forced Greta to rise and go to the door. “Who could that be? We’re not expecting anyone.”

  Marcie picked up John and followed Greta with Rosie out to the porch. A fast-moving truck roared to a stop in front of the cabin and settled in a cloud of dust. Almost before it stopped, Merlin appeared in the yard, winded, for he’d seen the truck coming from where he worked and had come at a run. “Greta … Marcie … stay on the porch with the babies.” His voice was quiet, but urgent.

  Two men sat inside the pickup. In the truck bed, three hunting dogs barked excitedly, running from side to side. A double-barreled shotgun and a hunting rifle hung in the rear window. The driver, maybe in his late twenties and already leaning toward a beer belly, stepped out of the dusty vehicle, grinning, taking in the yard with steely eyes. “Quiet!” he yelled to the barking dogs, who immediately whimpered and lay down, panting in the hot sun.
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  “Nice-mannered dogs,” Merlin told him. The comment seemed to throw the man. Merlin walked over to look down at the animals, rubbing his hands over the female. “Healthy lookin’. Nice coats. Probably good hunters, too.”

  “The best.” The man couldn’t resist.

  “I know hunters. My dad and I used to hunt ducks in the fall. These are good lookin’ dogs.” Then Merlin turned to the man. “What can I do for you?”

  “Name’s Neil Bolton. This here’s Bud Turner. I live on that piece of property over the ridge next to you. East,” he pointed. “Bud lives behind me. We thought we might pay a neighborly visit.”

  Marcie shuddered and moved back into the shadow of the porch. Rosie began to cry. Neil looked toward the women and pushed the baseball cap further back on his head. The family looked like what they were—hippies moved to the country. The women wore long dresses, carried babies in arms; Merlin’s hair was long, braided, his beard full. Neil spat on the ground. “How long you folks plannin’ on stayin’?”

  Merlin answered the concealed threat in his voice. “This is our home. We’re stayin’ for good.”

  “How many are you?”

  “It varies. You got any more neighborly questions? If not, I gotta get back to work.”

  “Yeah. Whatcha doin’?”

  “Diggin’ an outhouse up on that ridge,” Merlin nodded with his head. “You got time to lend a hand?”

  The question so startled the man, he actually stepped back. “Sorry. We have business in town. Lemme know if there’s somethin’ else I can do for you.” His eyes looked back toward the women. He ran his tongue over his lips.

  Merlin reached down into the truck bed, and scratched the dog behind her ears. “You might let me know if you get a litter from this pup,” he answered with honest admiration.

  Neil couldn’t respond. He climbed into the pickup, turned it, and drove fast and hard down the road, sending red dust flying everywhere.

  Stepping up to the porch, Merlin looked at Greta and said, “They know we’re here. That was a test of my strength.”