Water and Stone

by Glover, Dan

  The dew was still heavy upon the deep grass waving under the cool dawn breezes and the air was filled with the fluttering of a billion wings as monarch butterflies descended out of the heavens and alighted upon every limb in the forest. Though his mother often spoke of it Church had never dreamed such a place actually existed... he always loved watching the way the orange and black butterflies danced through the sky and often wondered what became of them when the winds of winter began to blow... now, he knew.

  Coming to a winding road beside one of the rivers leading into the mountains Church drove east until the gravel turned to dirt and then gave way to grass. Finally when he could drive no farther he parked in a secluded clump of boulders, climbed out of the pickup truck, picked up the sack and a shovel, and headed into the mountains.

  He'd deliberately tried to bewilder himself as to where he was but it did no good. All his life Church had an inner compass that had always led him in the right direction no matter how lost he thought he was. If pressed he knew he could find the place again but hopefully it wouldn’t come to that.

  He'd buried the sack deep inside a cave but not without opening it first. Now though, he wondered if he should go back and make sure his treasure was properly secured. After all, he might've been followed.

  Chapter 25

  He woke in the middle of a nightmare.

  When he walked it felt like broken glass jabbed into the soles of his feet yet when he attempted to sit or to lie down to quell the pain the whole world spun so violently out of control that he became obscenely nauseous and had to leap to his beleaguered legs to make it stop.

  They no longer made love the way they once did... or had all that been but a dream? A girl like Evalena would never have anything to do with a scarecrow like him... though they had no mirrors at the chabola he had once seen his reflection in the window before Evalena noticed him staring into it and took a board to cover it up. Still, he remembered how when he realized the image he had seen was actually him it had made quite an impression.

  He looked like an old man... hell, he was an old man. When had that happened? He couldn't remember living more than a handful of years yet he felt beyond old, like his own grandfather... his joints were swollen and stiff with age, his eyes cloudy with cataracts, and his back crooked and bent as if he'd carried a great weight for a thousand years and still had nowhere to set it down.

  Something lived in his stomach. He'd feel it moving about, especially at night when he desperately desired the forgetfulness that sleep would bring yet couldn’t seem to summon even one snore. The closer he was to Evalena the more excited the thing seemed to get—gnawing at his insides with teeth of steel as if it wanted out.

  He found it odd that the older he became the younger Evalena seemed to grow. Wasn’t she supposed to be the older of the two? He thought he remembered her being a grown woman when he was just a boy but perhaps his memory played tricks upon him again.

  A man on a horse rode up to the cabin one day—though he looked familiar Billy couldn't remember who he was as he absently wondered what the man wanted... was he asking for him?—claiming to be his father? It seemed odd to Billy that as old as he was his father would still be alive. He felt ninety and looked a hundred. The man must've been mistaken or even deranged.

  He noticed the fellow staring at him... apparently Evalena did too. She seemed suddenly irritated not only at the visitor but at him though there seemed no reason for her anger. Was it because he desired to talk with the caller? He meant no disrespect to the girl... he wanted only to ask the man for his name, nothing more.

  Evalena'd shoved Billy inside before he'd the opportunity to say even one word to their guest, if indeed that was what he was. She said the man was lying... that his father was dead... his mother too. She told him that the man who stopped by the chabola was actually his enemy... that he wanted to split him open to steal what was growing inside of him.

  It was the first time in a long while Billy could remember being lucid enough to feel fear... he was terrified. Evalena knew something was inside of him trying to get out... had she put it there? What was in those potions that she insisted on him drinking? Though she told him it was a special herbal concoction passed down from her grandmother designed to cleanse him it tasted like sand and dirt and worms all mixed together and it smelled even worse.

  Was Evalena actually his daughter? She kept calling him father. It seemed strange to think he could have a child that he'd forgotten all about. Had he been married too? When he thought about making love to Evalena was it really her mother that he dreamed of? He wished there was someone who he could talk to... someone to confide in... but everyone he used to know was a stranger.

  Though the reek of the stale air inside the tiny shack made him ill he was no longer allowed to go outside, not even for a short walk around the perimeter of the yard. A memory tinged with happiness floated through his tortured mind of splashing in cold creek water amid other giggling and laughing children.

  "The doctor gave me strict instructions to keep you out of the sunlight, father. Until you're better you aren't to leave our home. Now, open your mouth so I can give you your medicine."

  He wanted to refuse but he knew what would happen if he did... she would tie him to a chair and force the concoction down his throat. He was too weak to resist any longer so he did as she said. What she called medicine tasted like charcoal and it was just as gritty.

  "Where am I?"

  His voice sounded as old as mud. Just a few seconds ago he was sure they were in the hacienda where his family lived but now everything seemed so strange. The walls were closing in... perhaps that was it. It made sense. If the room had become smaller then of course they were still at the hacienda... but where was his father?

  It occurred to him that he was the father. He'd lived his life and now he'd grown so old that he could no longer remember the life lived. It seemed a special sort of hell to be aware of things around him and yet unable to fathom their purpose. The doctors had a name for his affliction but he was long past caring about such things.

  The girl living with him must be his daughter or perhaps a granddaughter... he couldn’t be sure. She was as beautiful as a new spring sunrise and save for the patch she wore over one eye she was perfect. Looking at her he got the distinct feeling that he was looking back at himself through that one good eye and when he moved a hand her hand moved too.

  "We're at home, father. You know that. I've come here to take care of you like all good daughters do. Do you love me, father?"

  "I've always loved you, Evalena, but I don’t believe that I'm your father. Who am I, really?"

  "Please, father... when you talk like that, I feel like everything I do for you is for naught... that you don’t care about me in the least. Am I merely wasting my time here with you?"

  She seemed disgusted with him. Looking at the girl a wave of nostalgia washed over him. She wasn’t his daughter. They'd been lovers. He could still remember every line of her body, every marking. Or had that been her mother?

  The pain in his midsection grew more intense each time she gave him the medicine. When he complained she told him it was to be expected... if he wanted to get better he had to first hurt.

  "This doesn’t feel like home. Am I really your father?"

  "Such foolish questions... would I be staying here and taking care of you so lovingly if you weren’t my father? Of course not... you'd be in a special place for people like you, old and decrepit and past their prime. Those places are so unpleasant that I gave up my own life to be here for you, and now you act as if you don’t appreciate me at all. Maybe I should leave."

  "Please don’t go away, Evalena. I need you. I'm sorry for doubting you. I feel so confused that half the time I don’t even know what I'm saying. Will you forgive me?"

  She seemed to enjoy first confounding him and then coddling him like a child while telling him everything would be all right... that she'd make sure he was as comfortable as possible.

/>   Sometimes she looked at him and broke out into fits of laughter, as if she found humor in his situation. Or was it possible that her mirth served to cover up the darker feelings emanating from her one good eye like a witch standing over her boiling cauldron?

  Her cackle was like broken glass. It set his nerves on edge as if it was phony... something managed—contrived—for his sake, to keep him enthralled and under her command.

  Who was it that warned him about his daughter? The memory was as hazy as a dust storm blowing across the open prairie in summertime when the heat was up and the humidity so low that the sweat evaporated off his body without even wetting his skin and electricity crackled in the air.

  It'd been Yani. Only she called the girl her sister... but if Yani and Evalena were sisters then that meant he was the father of both girls... how was that possible? An image of Church floated before his eyes nearly blind to the light now... his brother... not his grandson.

  Evalena was lying.

  He'd never been as sure of anything, at least not that he could remember. But why? What advantage was it to her to feign being his daughter instead of his lover? What had she done to him to cause him to age so prematurely?

  He had to get out of the shack before it was too late... but he was so weak he doubted he could stand. He made up his mind that if need be he'd crawl. That medicine she'd been feeding him... it had something to do with how he felt. Instead of making him better it was drawing off his strength leaving him a shell of himself.

  But where could he go that Evalena wouldn't find him? The first place she'd look would be the hacienda, his old home. In his present condition would Yani and Church believe he was who he said he was? Probably not... they'd think he was a vagrant looking for a handout and hurry him away, or call the police.

  If he was locked up, Evalena couldn't get to him. As well as he could reckon he'd never seen the inside of a jail cell but from his present perspective it seemed a mighty fine place to be.

  He'd wait until she fell asleep. Though the door was barred he thought he could muster the strength to stand and remove the lock. If not, he'd die trying.

  Chapter 26

  It always disgusted her to see them like that.

  Evalena supposed it must be some small part of her humanity that yet remained and in time it'd burn off all together leaving her as remorseless as the wind. She loved Billy in her own way and even gave herself to him like she had rarely ever done in the past.

  Had that been a mistake? It occurred to her—particularly on nights of the new moon when the deep Texas sky was furry with stars and she recalled her home of long ago that she'd never see again—that love was nothing more than having power over another. Love was a way of heaping guilt upon others until they were forced to choose the path she wanted them to walk rather than freely deciding.

  If that was so then all her carefully constructed lies were just that... fabrications meant to deceive rather than enlighten. She didn't like to think what that meant, however. It was easier to keep believing in the goodness of her actions than to begin what she knew would be an endless tirade of doubt.

  Had she ever been a child? The question occurred to her especially during times like now, when she felt trapped between what she once was and what she would one day become. Wasn’t that the essence of childhood?

  She remembered the trees and endless play and sultry days without end and nights soft and alive with the unction of her mother's plaintive sighs as they both sank into each other's arms and into the forgetfulness of dreamless sleep.

  She missed those times though not enough to yearn after them. In the haze of time those memories had become nothing but illusions. That she ever had a mother seemed as unlikely as jumping so high she could touch the moon. Other people had mothers. She alone was born of the stone, a thing never before seen under the light of the sun.

  It looked hot when she found it and heat rolled off the object like it had baked in the sunshine all day long... that was what she remembered most... yet when she touched the stone it felt cool like water bubbling out of the ground clear and wet. But she hadn’t actually touched it... the stone had reached out for her as if drawn to her flesh.

  It was a strange thing to discover not only her body newly made but her mind. What had bothered her most was the feeling of isolation, that she was the only one. Before finding the stone she felt a part of everything... she sensed no differentiation between what was her and what was the world. Had she made a mistake in handling the piedra in her naked hands? The question would haunt her forever.

  The man in the next room wasn't Billy... not anymore... nor was he her father as she told him he was. In time that would change. When the thing growing inside of him was ready to be born the boy would have to leave the world as he knew it... that was how things worked and had for time immemorial. But men perished every day and for lesser evils.

  Billy Ford should be grateful for the opportunity opening up before him. Few living beings and even fewer men ever experienced the mystery of the stone. Evalena heard rumors of it but her fear kept the reality at bay. What if they were wrong, those who claimed to know? What if they were merely seeking to cajole her into doing their bidding? She'd had enough of such doings.

  If her plan succeeded she'd no longer have to live in fear and in poverty... she'd recover that which was her birthright... that which she'd so stupidly entrusted to another man she called father, another in a long line of fools thinking that by having her body they could also possess the spirit that burned within.

  It was good to be able to remove the eye patch now that no one was around who would know. The old man in the other room had eyes too cloudy for seeing and a mind too rapidly withering away to care.

  The binding holding the eye patch in place had worn a red groove in her forehead that perhaps time might erase once she no longer felt the need to wear the cursed thing. Though the pressure from the string was slight its constancy bore into her skin until it felt as if a branding iron was being pressed into the tender flesh.

  To see the world in its unmitigated splendor always filled her with a jolly sort of joy... the joy of the miracle. By caressing the lines that formed the foundations of reality Evalena was able to manipulate what others were too blind to see yet she couldn't keep them from staring at the eye that saw. Long ago she learned it was better to keep it covered up with an eye patch despite the pain she suffered at not using her second sight as she came to think of it.

  The man's appearance had surprised her. Though she should've expected it she was startled when Rancher Ford showed up at the chabola asking about Billy. She barely had time to hide the boy and to don the eye patch but if he saw her eye or his son it didn’t matter anyway... the man was as good as dead.

  He probably hadn’t even felt the bite of the tiny grain of sand she'd flung his way with a flick of her wrist as she told him to go. Ever since it took her eye she had discovered she was immune to the effects of the sand though a normal person would succumb to the poison quite quickly... in a matter of hours Rancher would be feeling the symptoms and within a couple of weeks he would be around to trouble her no longer.

  But was the sand really a poison? The question troubled her, especially after making use of its powers so many times. That people sickened and died quickly once exposed to but a single grain had been confirmed many times yet why didn’t she succumb to the sand too? Was it because of what the stone had done to her in the beginning?

  Be that as it may, she knew most other people didn't hold the key to surviving the powers of the stone. Rancher Ford would be no different. In the event of his death had he left the ranch to Billy? If so, it might pay to keep the boy alive as long as possible though of course no one would any longer recognize who he'd once been.

  As she grew younger her magic dwindled... it was all a tradeoff, the renewal. If she hadn’t lost the piedra she wouldn’t have to go through the ritual... she could simply pour another handful of sand through the stone and allow it to do
its work.

  For a long time she could feel its presence around the chabola as if the piedra was teasing her. She'd learned long ago that the stone couldn't be trusted... that was why she gave it to her father for safe keeping. A man—especially a man like her father—was far stronger than a woman, even a woman of magic.

  The stone would eventually corrupt anyone who kept it close. It would drain away their willpower until all that person could think of was the piedra... and right when they thought they owned it, the stone would turn on them, engulf them, and enthrall their being.

  Yet she thought how it might well be worth it.

  To possess the piedra was to conquer the world and subdue all its suffering. Evalena had been close to claiming it for her own a dozen times or more but the stone seemed to enjoy toying with her.

  As she told it the original legend was of how the stone had fallen from heaven on a night when the sky was on fire with shooting stars, a gift from the gods, or perhaps even god itself, or the devil... the forbidden fruit, always tempting yet forever just out of reach.

  When she the first creature to come across the piedra—an uncouth monkey just down from the trees—had touched it she was transformed into a woman, the first woman. Scooping it up in a handful of dirt and taking the stone back to the den she poured it upon her mate transforming him into the first man... the first father. From them the entire human race emerged.

  Later the story changed. Men of religion rewrote the legend in their own image telling how the stone was a gift from their god to the first man. The woman became a whore, little more than a plaything, a piece of furniture. The piedra was robbed of its transformative powers, reduced to nothing more than a souvenir, a keepsake handed down from father to son, something hidden away and rarely spoken of even in whispers.