About Chap. 2
ENTRY 16
It was really weird early today when I got a phone call from Zawmb’yee. I mean, I see her in the cave all the time and I didn’t think she even uses a phone. She would seem to pop out of nowhere whenever I wrote at the Nipeiskwari. I guess I’ve always thought of her as a cave person even though Utcoozhoo makes her mingle in the up-top world quite often — it’s just that I’ve never seen her there. But I suppose I shouldn’t be surprised because she can pass quite well as an ordinary, run-of-the-mill, common gorgeous model. It’s odd though because in the cave world she used to be teased all the time: they used to call her the hairless albino. But that was so ridicuous. She has blond hair, but she’s not albino. Her eyes are blue like the color of the pfambuuisen.
She called to say she wanted to meet me. Zawmb’yee is going to show me a meditation exercise she’s been learning and maybe she’ll reveal some “oral history.” She said to meet her past the glass wall, around the sword of the silver-red stalagmite to the left of the pothole marker, and up the narrow ledge to the ngtqua.
An odd thing though. Before hanging up she said, “I want you to gargle with salt water, and then gargle without water to just make the sound. Then make the ‘ka’ sound first in the back of the throat and then like you’re scraping the roof of your mouth, purse your lips, and add the gargle sound until you sound like a motor forcing air out hard until your whole face, sinuses, and head vibrate. It’ll feel like a face massage.”
She hung up before I could ask a question.
ENTRY 17
Ever since I almost dropped my notes in the river, I’ve been carrying all my writing paraphernalia with my camera in a waterproof case. Hmm, protecting the notes for this diary — that sort of assumes they might have some importance. I’m not sure I’m even finding this cathartic. It’s only slightly amusing to me when I can imagine a future audience. (I suppose if I were to be writing in the cave and died, someone would take these notes and transcribe them for me, enter them in the computer and continue…I guess they’d be like a ghost writer.) But I can’t see a diary of a boring person as a stage play. I could see Zawmb’yee on the stage or maybe Chloë. I’m probably more like an adequate ‘extra’ who’ll never be an actor.
I’ve had sigh mornings
leaving sighs to mourn
the heave on traipse
on feet’s defeat
a hunched up shoulder,
looking for a walk-on day, say
I could have missed a cue
if you’d not staged a
run in radiance
In the running of my soul
you make me bullish
playing on my horns
Stages of my performance
in the footlights
of your delight
gives me this role
in run-ons
carried away with you
stage right into the wings of love
Well, I’ve practiced Zawmb’yee’s head vibrating sound or mantra or whatever it’s supposed to be. It is a weird sound. I wonder what it will sound like as a duet. Well, I should pack up my stuff and go meet Zawmb’yee at the Ngtqua. (Oh, I just realized there’s another flaw in these entries: I haven’t marked which ones I’ve made here in the apartment and which ones I’ve made in the cave. Actually, this is the first entry I’ve written in my apartment. So it’s a quick turnover to put these handwritten notes into the computer. I hate typing directly — I’m more fluent scribbling than typing. Ah geez — another point-of-view problem.)
ENTRY 18
There was no comfort in a familiar scene. Many times I had traipsed past every limestone drip in time, every ancient erosion, but as I traversed this common maze to reach my appointed meeting with Zawmb’yee, making my way past familiar speleothems, some loomed like broken talismans. An ominous insight seemed to trickle into my consciousness that some of these formations were not natural. It is said that the Qukwerpfm, the glass wall, once was double silvered to hold the lightning of the gods. The sword of the silver-red stalagmite spoke to the gods in heaven, the legend said, and I walked past to the left, up the narrow ledge.
On edge, I hummed a few umm’s as I put foot to each stone, trying to remember the sound I was supposed to make for Zawmb’yee’s incantation.
She waved as I approached the Ngtqua….
ENTRY 19
She was standing with a Gnolum that she had evidently removed from a wall. I didn’t even know you could do that. I had always just taken the gnolums for granted — common glowing crystal lights that have always been. They were just like streetlights of the cave. Most people don’t ever question how streetlights work — they’re just there.
Zawmb’yee said, “Doug, I’m so excited. But I forgot to tell you, you have to add a deep voicing, like a bass hum, to the ‘ka’ and the gargle, like this…” The whole cave vibrated, a small stalactite fell out of the ceiling, and a stone fell off the ledge. “Except a little deeper … you try…”
I made my whole face vibrate and my eyes shook like little REM’s from a dream. No stones fell.
She said, “Good, perfect. Now we just have to harmonize. OK, now, we stand by the entrance to the Ngtqua. We do the ‘ka’ together, but when I point up, I want you to raise the tone of your voice, and when I point down, I want you to lower the tone with more bass. When we get the beats right, you’ll hear a ‘wah-oh-wah-oh’ sound, but think that you’re focussing your energy at the entrance…”
Somehow, her giddiness just didn’t seem to match the occasion. I said, “Do you know what you’re doing?”
Zawmb’yee said, “Um, well, let’s just do this.”
When we did the sound together the wah-oh was intense. The large square stone pivoted on one edge, opened like a door, but smoothly without creaks. The inner surface of the door was smooth and polished, not at all like a rock, but more like the vault door of a bank.
She said with confidence, “Now, we go in.” We walked into the Ngtqua. The door slammed behind us with the sound of locking bolts. The inner surface glowed red hot for a moment and a frost of rock formed, making the door indistinguishable from the surrounding rock of the chamber. There was a trickle of water on the floor.
Zawmb’yee covered her gnolum with her back pack until it was totally dark. She took my hands in the dark, said, “We are of the universe, the distant stars, we diffuse into a unity of chaos, a smear of light, the glow of love; we are the moment. See the pfambuuwisen, and choose the one that glows the most. Let it expand. Dive into the blue light, and let it expand into a dream. What do you see?”
“I see a woman in a helmet with a spear.”
Zawmb’yee laughed. “Oh sorry, I lost my focus. That’s an opera that I went to. Actually, I should tell you that I saw Chloë at the opera…”
“You know Chloë?”
“Well, yes.”
The trickle of water was increasing and I found myself standing in ankle deep water. “Don’t you think we should go?…”
ENTRY 20
The water is rising more rapidly by the second. We’re doing the ka wah-oh up and down the scale.
It’s not working — the door is not opening. Zawmb’yee is screaming. I’m telling her that screaming is not the right chant. She’s looking around. She’s running to the back of the chamber where the golden steps are. She’s taking a deep breath, diving underwater, swimming down the stairs.
Returning, gasping, Zawmb’yee says she doesn’t see an exit. She’s screaming at me to stop taking notes. The water is up to my neck. Seems like a rainy day today. I’m putting this in the waterproof case but I’m not going to be able to fix the spelling, and this doesn’t seem complete enough, but I think incoherence is acceptable under these…
We’re floating towards the ceiling. Zawmb’yee has put a sheet of paper on top of her floating backpack, and she’s making notes.
I feel a buzzing panic … thought I’d have a traditional birthday cake this year — maybe this time really have a wish come true when I would blow out the forest of candles. It never seemed to work before. I think I had my first cake with candles when I was three…
ENTRY 21
The water is still rising. I smile at Zawmb’yee. She is praying. I wonder about the golden steps we were to step down, each one more relaxing, more soothing. We were to reach a plateau, make a bubble of protection, be bathed in white light. I see a glowing blue globe. I remember when I was three. “Uncle Coozie, Uncle Coozie, I’m fwee today.”
“You’re three?”
“I’m fwee-years-old and I can sing: ‘Haffy Birffy to me/Haffy Birffy to me/Haffy Birffy dear Dougy, haffy birffy to me.’ Uncle Coozie, Mommy chased the angel away — she says ’cause it’s jimagery. Daddy said to hurry up and blow out the damn candles and I forgot to make a wish. Can I still make a wish after everybody’s gone? I made a wish on a teddy bear…”. Zawmb’yee is asking me what we do now. I am saying, “Utcoozhoo says to feel along the beam in the ceiling for a lever.” I am reaching up. There is a beam. The water is only an inch from the ceiling. There is a piece of metal sticking out. I’m pulling it. The water is draining.
ENTRY 22
The water drained slowly. Treading water wasn’t much fun. My backpack was too heavy — I had brought a picnic blanket, a bottle of that two dollar wine that won a prize from the blindfolded snobs, and blue cheese. I tried to arch my head back to float, but having to do the elementary backstroke to stay afloat, made me crash into a wall. I switched to breaststroke, swimming around Zawmb’yee who was holding onto her floating backpack.
Slowly, as the water drained, we floated down to the floor. Little rivers gurgled down the stairs. The water was gone.
Zawmb’yee was shivering. I took the blanket out — good that it was old, because I could easily tear it in half. I said, “You can use this as a towel to dry off.”
We were soaked and there were breezes leaking in from somewhere. I was getting cold too. I took my wet shirt off.
Zawmb’yee stroked my chest hair, pressed the water out, combed it with her fingers, and handed me the blanket. She tilted her head down, unbuttoned her shirt, said, “Dry me off.”
I took off her wet shirt. The towel carried me into her cleavage, and I wiped her stomach, stroked her face. Her arms were still cold. I massaged away the goose bumps and the water, pulled down her bra straps. She lifted her arms, unbuckled my belt. I felt much warmer. It was to be a fine picnic after-all, as I looked into the blue of her eyes and dried the crest of her globes. In the joy of my breathing, my pants fell off. Floods can be fun when not alone.
“You look cold,” she said, and dried my legs with the tickle of the towel. She saw me bulging. Her fingers pushed under the elastic band, pulled down the briefs, teased the towel around. “I wouldn’t want you to get cold,” she said.
ENTRY 23
“The heat is on,” I said. “You’ve…” — kissed her lips — “taught me … a lot … today” — caressed — “Can you feel my … thank you?”
“Uh huh…”
Softly a fine slide, a rocking in her spirit, her cuteness, her day this day, her pulse, my heart, a throb, a bob, her joy is my joy. Releasing …
We cuddled and I looked at the wine — we hadn’t needed it. But a little dessert didn’t seem like a bad idea. I opened a plastic bag, took out
two cups, poured the wine, put cheese on a cracker.
“I love the salty blue,” she said.
“Yes, the Danish blue cheese is best.”
“Mmm.”
“Umm. could I ask, where did you learn to open the Ngtqua? I thought Utcoozhoo made you turn your back when he did it.”
“Funny thing: When I went to the opera, it was a horrible performance. I thought if it had been Italy, they would have thrown tomatoes, and …”
“I meant to ask you — you said you saw Chloë at the opera?”
“Yeah. She was with Ngheufel. They couldn’t get over the incredible faux pas: one passage was supposed to be a simple running up the classical scale by a soprano, but Ngheufel said there was a flat 3 and a flat 7; 2 and 6 were missing. He said that’s obvious — they lapsed into a pentatonic blues scale. The singers themselves were stunned as if they didn’t know why they did that. During intermission, somehow, I got into a discussion with Ngheufel about tones and codes.”
“Ngheufel was with Chloë?”
“Yeah. He was with Chloë. Chloë sends her regards. She knows you don’t like the opera,” said Zawmb’yee.
I was feeling odd, maybe a little jealous. Chloë did ask me to go to the opera — maybe I should have gone; she said it’s more casual nowadays, but I don’t think I would have fit in. “Ngheufel told you … ”
“We got into talking about harmony and we did the sound … that was embarrassing … ”
“What do you mean?”
“We put a crack in a wall and security escorted us out. They were going to call the police, but Ngheufel did a weird thing … ”
“What?”
“Well, I don’t know how to explain it exactly … he did a weird humming thing and said ‘don’t you think it’s too nice a day to do that’ or some such, and the staff all started humming and went off into the park. We went back inside. Chloë was upset — she wanted to know why I ran off with Ngheufel. I just told her we were discussing harmony. She was real angry, but the second act of the opera went well.”
ENTRY 24
“This is incredible, ” I said, “Utcoozhoo was worried about Ngheufel making mischief, and this trouble seems deliberate…”
Zawmb’yee turned pale. She said, “He’s always been a prankster — he once tried to tell Utcoozhoo he knew the peace symbol in common vogue, but instead of showing two fingers, he told him that raising the middle finger was a sign of respect. Utcoozhoo gave him the middle finger but in proper context … We could be in trouble, but never mind. Have some more wine.”
We both didn’t want to even contemplate what conspiracy might really be going on. I drifted into something more neutral, “I don’t like opera very much. When it comes to music, I like the blues and improvisation. Utcoozhoo said to do something with that. He wanted me to write something casual in idiomatic English. He’s always saying to master simple poetry before attempting the poetry of the gods.”
“Yeah. He always makes strange demands. Well, I don’t know, but I thought the poem you wrote on the canvas was pretty good. Are you still keeping your poem diary? ”
“Uh yeah … ”
“Um, and so, you brought wine and cheese for a surprise seduction, and then maybe, I’m thinking you brought your poem book. No?”
“ … uh, how do you know these things … Well, I’ve got a pretty long one that rambles all over the place. I’m sort of wondering if it’ll pass in the up-top culture. It’s maybe too quirky and … ”
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. You’re dying to read it. Hey, I’m the one who’s supposed to practice meshing with the mainstream culture. I can take it. You’ve got something better to do? … Have some wine and let’s hear it.”
Our clothes were still too wet to put back on, and needing a diversion from arousal, I thought reading might be a good idea (I vowed never to go to a nudist colony because I’m easily distracted, and I could imagine having a problem constantly being seen…). I fumbled through the plastic bags, opened the book. “OK. Here goes: uh, this is called ‘Sax Piano Bird’ –
If you will play
I will kiss your tune lips
’cause anything goes when
slinking down your keyboard
tickling doleful note doodles
plinking your chords
caressing pianissimo
bopping forte, top a’ ya board,
chording love accolades
staying for improvisations
when cool mistys get hot. I shall be cool
when you transpose the glory
keys to high toned harmony
that sees me exposed
with whistling kisses blown
all sax-ified, but that’ll
be after a race. Y’ know
it was a mystery that
birds of a feather could
get the winner’s name
from the horse’s
mouthwash, but
I heard them say
she plays with her pet cockatoo
at the piano bar
down by the racetrack
at the end of the race, and
I saw you
The bird said, “Leave a tip”
I said, “Baby Needs Shoes to win,
place, or show me a new tune”
You nagged the feathers off it
to snatch bills
out of patrons’ hands
After you played with your pet cockatoo
I tipped it into a snifter
hoping you’d play with me
’cause I bet on the nag, then
I said
to the showers
I said
To install the clean
in a froth of warmth
above a soapy love,
join me in the shower stall
by the steamy wall
where flights of fancy
are never scrubbed. If you will,
then I, with fragrant soap,
will wash in tribute
the toe that tested my waters,
cleansing the foot feats that two-stepped
when I was a mere calf
and you were knee high
to a love
like a soap opera. Sing
in the shower from your diaphragm
where no melting soap is barred
while I swoosh below your breasts
with swirling helicopter hands
taking off with haste
as whirlybirds land
on nipple pads. When you say
taxi to the terminal
the refueling hose can dock
and the passengers can be served
hot blessings, but remember
the fifth race is soon,
time to place bets
by the river
on the sailboats, although
we could check out
the entries
swimming in the
racing waters
where in trepidation
you can put a toe
in the water of my soul
as I kiss it as
I would a child’s boo-boo
offering you
a future, a splash
of my essence; I
breathe your perfume
a cherry-flavored love
You undress in my river
and I kiss your thigh
in baptism before lips
Like a mallard
I swim aside,
a breast in hand
and hand in bush
All goes swimmingly,
as I reminisce
first kisses
raising my mast,
sailing our ship, and
now anything goes
even past
the sunset,
in moonlit tunes
splashed across the stars”
She gave me a sultry look, touched her hips, cocked her head to the side, and hugged herself. She said, “It does sort of ramble, but I like it … I see that your thank you is rising again … ”
“Uh, umm, well umm …”
She ran naked down the stairs giggling.
ENTRY 25
I was still gathering up our stuff when Zawmb’yee came running back up the stairs.
“It’s a miracle,” she said.
“What’s a miracle?”
“The pfayohoqwaahujpi sealed all the doors downstairs during the flood, and … ”
“Yes?”
“And the bidet is working!”
“Doors? There are rooms?”
“Yeah. Didn’t I tell you? Oh, well … A lot of akwaki are just plain cisterns, but some are qwuakwaki even all the way down here. The gods were remarkable; weren’t they?”
“Um, isn’t that a little vulgar for ‘gods’: that they needed flush toilets … ”
“Well, maybe, they just built it for us … I mean, they did save all the ice for us when the ice age ended and … ”
“I didn’t know about that … is this part of the history Utcoozhoo is teaching you?”
“Yeah. Um, OK, let’s get organized here. I’ll finish cleaning up here … OK, all the doors are open and the lights are on. I think we’re safe for now, but I don’t think we’re going out the front door … ”
“Is there a … ”
“Go take a shower. I’ll be there in a minute — I have to get my stuff together.”
With all the commotion, I hadn’t even looked at the back of the ngtqua. Maybe if we had gone to the back in the first place, we would have escaped.
Towards the back began a marble floor, a sudden intrusion in the irregular limestone floor that led to the stairs …
ENTRY 26
I stepped onto the marble floor, and peered down the stairs. The first seven steps were glowing with the colors of the rainbow. An intense red glistened almost like a traffic light, but it was a go signal, a beckoning, not a stopping. My left foot plunged onto the red step. An orange shimmered on the second one. My right was pulled onto the orange slab, and a bright yellow beam forced me to squint. Intense yellow light made me wonder if the third would be hot like the sun. Looking down at the step, I was blinded and couldn’t see the rest of the stairs. I squatted down on the orange slab and reached out with my hand to see if there was any heat coming up from the yellow. Then I reached down, touching the third step with my finger. It was cool.
I stood up. There was a pull like an invisible tide. I was drawn onto a wide green landing with both feet, my legs feeling heavy, wanting to lie down, but I looked carefully, picked up the pace, got into a rhythm: left on blue, right on indigo, left on violet. The slabs became more regular, but now with colors in reverse order.
Running down the stairs, resisting the invisible tide wasn’t possible. Violet, indigo, blue, green, yellow, orange, red, and again. Thirty-five steps. Arriving where?
ENTRY 27
I went in the first open door. The gods, I think, have good taste in the design of a bathroom. There was a dry marble basin thirty feet long, ten feet across. At the far end was a waterfall pouring into a drain. Along the near tile wall was a towel rack, and shelves with bars of soap.
Zawmb’yee came running in, dropped all her stuff on the floor and took my hand. “Shall we be clean now?” she said. “You know, Utcoozhoo says, ‘when lust is exhausted by overindulgence, the subtleties of love can be appreciated,’ ”
“That doesn’t sound like something Utcoozhoo would say…”
“OK. Yeah. He didn’t say that, but I say that. How about that expression, ‘Cleanliness is next to Godliness.’ What was that … Benjamin Franklin or something — I don’t know. So let’s be clean. Take a bar of soap.”
Zawmb’yee ran under the waterfall, and came out saying, “Swoosh me with the soap.”
I am always inclined to be indulgent under such circumstances, and enjoyed the cleansing of the savage breast, while she endeavored to exhaust my lust as in her own prophesy, and I was not one to deny her. As they say, ‘one good poem deserves another’. She is like the rainbow under a waterfall.
ENTRY 28
When Zawmb’yee came out of the waterfall, I had noticed what looked like a metal dress and a suit of armor. Now I asked, “What are those?”
“Those are used to let us be washed by the gods. It’s sort of like a washing spacesuit.”
“How do you mean?”
“Here let me show you.” Zawmb’yee picked up the dress. It had hoses coming out the back of the waistband, and from there up to the wrists. She said, “Help me put this on. Now these cups with the clear hoses go over the breasts — see. Fasten it in the back for me … and these are washing panties … . Now you. Here … get into these metal briefs and … ”
“What are all the hoses for?”
“That’s for the washing fluids … Here let me do this for you. Now this hose goes on like a condom, see … and we lock on the metal shorts — There, that snaps shut. ”
“Wait a minute … I don’t think I like wearing solid steel underwear. This is like a chastity belt or something and I can’t touch anything. How do I get this off … ”
“Well, you don’t. It unlocks automatically when the wash is over. Don’t worry. Now we put on the rest of the suit. These armlets go on here.”
She looked very strange standing there in her dress with hoses extending from her wrists to her back. Another hose came out of her back and was anchored in the floor. She said it seals like a spacesuit. She told me to fasten her neck collar and wrist cuffs firmly so there’d be no leaks. She tightened her waist belt.
She said, “OK. As soon as I tighten up your suit, the wash of the gods will start.”
As soon as the suit was sealed, our back hoses were pulled into the floor and we fell to the ground. Water sprayed in from the wrist hoses and they were drawn short into the back of the belt. I felt a lotion ooze into my briefs and then a massage and a vibration began. I felt an armlet tighten and then a needle prick. I looked at Zawmb’yee who was struggling, trying to get up. Her hands were pulled tightly behind her back.
I said to her, “I don’t think this is a ‘wash of the gods’. This thing is collecting semen and blood.”
“What?” said Zawmb’yee. “Get up, get up — get this off me.”
The harder I tried to get up the shorter the hoses were pulled until my wrists were clamped together in the back of the belt. Then, we heard footsteps behind us, but we were pinned to the floor and couldn’t turn around to look.
Zawmb’yee shouted, “Help! We need some help here … ”
I began to yell, “Yeah, we could use suh … ” Suddenly, Zusoiti, the high priestess jammed a ball into my mouth.
Zawmb’yee screamed, “What are you doing?” Zusoiti said, “I’m gagging him because he’s going to be here for a day or two, depending on how long it takes for the gods to get enough samples, and we don’t need all the yelling.”
Zawmb’yee screamed, “Unlock me, unlock me … ”
The high priestess shouted back, “Shut-up, or I’ll gag you too. This is sacrilege. Where’s your supervisor? You don’t belong here … ”
“Get me out of this,” Zawmb’yee whispered.
“Well, it’s too late now in any case. Only the gods can release you.”
“When will they do that?”
“It depends on your hormone levels. They have to analyze that and your DNA. Probably in a few hours.”
“What about him. What did you mean a day or two?”
“Well, that’s more complicated.”
Zawmb’yee started screaming again, “The armlets are stabbing me … unlock me, unlock me … ”
“I told you I can’t.” Zusoiti gagged her. “Now, calm down, you’ll get through this. You weren’t supposed to just wander in here on your own. Don’t tell me — Ngheufel got you to do this.”
ENTRY 29
Zusoiti had always seemed comic and bizarre. She claimed to have naturally purple hair meant to complement her green eyes, but she was too tall to be a cat, too attractive to be a witch. It’s a wonder that anyone took her seriously, or ever gave her any authority. Now she was just very dangerous. Zusoiti seemed to have second thoughts about Zawmb’yee. She patted Zawmb’yee on the head, turned toward me, “You like blondes?” She laughed.
Zusoiti shook her purple hair like a wet dog. She walked over to me, sat on my legs, looked around for something. I was lying too flat to see what she was doing. She tied my ankles to the floor. “I like to help the gods. This helps complete the process.”
I made a noise. Struggled again.
Zusoiti barked, “Easy does it,” and giggled like a hyena. “Prepare yourself. I suggest that you relax as much as you can. Remember, the gods brought us out of the Kingdom of Ice to the Inner Gardens.”
I shook my head. Trying to get my hands loose, I moaned.
“It’s best that you rest because in a few hours, the gods will be expecting a sizable semen sample. If that doesn’t happen, the gods will hold you for another day and try again.”
The gag was too hard to chew on. I tried to blow it out.
Zusoiti kept talking. “If you prepare yourself for a respectful donation, the gods will be pleased.”
ENTRY 30
I thought, perhaps, that if I pulled rhythmically, very hard, that everything would start to loosen.
Zusoiti said, “It’s foolish for you to indulge your fears when that will inhibit your performance. Listen to me. I will soothe you if you will embrace the glory of the gods, for I am the guardian of the purple light, messenger of the gods. It is only I who knows the names of the gods. I am the keeper of the faith. The names are to be spoken only by me.”
I was beginning to fall into a panic. Zusoiti was sounding more and more irrational. I never realized until now what a religious fanatic she was. I had thought the traditionalists were just harmless rustic rabble, irrational bumpkins, like
discredited Shakespearean witches of only metaphorical value.
I never thought such persons would gain any political power or status in the community. I always thought growing up that ‘high priestess’ was a quaint ceremonial title — I never took it seriously. I could only moan.
“I will remove your gag. I hope you will be reasonable.” She removed it.
“You psychopath,” I said. “What you call the gods are not what you think. You’re delusional. You must … ”
She pushed the gag back in. “Paradise can be yours,” she said, “if the gods choose you.” She seemed to want to go well beyond what the gods had already done. “It would be best that you rest and regenerate,” she reiterated. “They can keep you alive with intravenous nourishment only for a limited amount of time.”
ENTRY 31
Leaning over me, Zusoiti brushed my face with her purple hair. A purple medallion was swinging from her neck. She said, “I must attend to Zawmb’yee. If you cooperate, things might be better for her. She did violate the rules, y’know, and the Grand Council has given me the authority to take custody of her after the gods release her. I might be persuaded to be lenient.”
I made a noise. Tried to kick.
“Yes, well, I suppose there is value in struggle. Go ahead and exhaust yourself. I’ll be back.”
Swinging her medallion, Zusoiti sauntered over to Zawmb’yee, carrying a large purple bag with odd emblems on it. The medallion glowed, then beamed like a search light. Zawmb’yee tried to kick her, but was out of range. Zusoiti circled around her, came up behind her, and shined the beam in her face. “Hmm, I think the gods are finished with you,” she said. She removed the gag.
Zawmb’yee said, “What do you mean? Ouch. I got jabbed again. What the hell do you think you’re doing?”
“I’m not doing that. The gods have completed their work. You will soon lose consciousness for half an hour as is proscribed in the visions of the gods. The Grand Council has authorized me to take custody of you thereafter to determine your punishment.”
“Are you nuts? … I will … ”
“So you are sleepy now, and I will do my duty. Have a nice nap.” Zusoiti laughed.
Zawmb’yee stopped moving. All the hoses unlocked and fell off. Zusoiti stripped the dress off her, removed the armlets, and turned her over. Zusoiti gleefully unzipped her equipment bag to pull out purple things. She handcuffed Zawmb’yee’s hands behind her back, and put a purple leash around her neck.
“There!” she shouted across at me. “What shall I do with her?”
ENTRY 32
Zusoiti looked back at me like she was stalking prey. She returned to hover over me. “Shall we try this again? I’m removing your gag, but if you’re disrespectful I’ll put it back.” She took it out. “Understand?”
“Yes,” I said.
“Wouldn’t you agree that the struggle has gotten you nowhere, and that you’re quite exhausted?”
“Yes.”
“Remember the stairs you came down to get here”
“Very colorful…”
“Indeed! While you’re waiting for the gods, we can do an exercise about mountain stairs. Close your eyes. Imagine you’re standing on a grassy plateau. There are beautiful violets. You are stepping through the violets to a ledge where the stairs begin with a wide blue step … How are you feeling now?”
“I’m tired … ”
“Yes your are. Aren’t the mountain stairs beautiful in the warm sun?”
“I think I remember mountain stairs like this in a dream.”
“Yes, dream stairs can be wonderful — can’t they?”
“Uh huh.”
“Well, imagine you step through violets down a blue sorrow step. Crying, you descend onto a green envy path. Downward onto an inevitable orange step that falls into a red one. A step down into violets … and you see my favorite color. Do you see it?”
“Yes.”
“And the violets make you sleepy … ”
“Uh huh.”
“Where are you going now?”
“I’m going down to the blue step, but I’m so tired … ”
“You must continue. They are spiraling mountain stairs now with grassy ledges. You are spiraling down from the blue to a grassy green landing, tumbling into orange, falling into red passion, taking another step down into violets where you hear me welcome you into gentle blue sleep on the grassy meadow you have reached by the orange rock, and the violets of my authority … ”
I faded off to sleep. Zusoiti didn’t seem like such a bad person after all.
ENTRY 33
I woke up at the top of the stairs where Zawmb’yee and I first entered the ngtqua and got caught in the flood. Zawmb’yee was standing to the side of the front door that was now open, but Zusoiti was holding her by her leash. Zawmb’yee yelled, “Run.”
I started to get up and found that my hands were cuffed behind my back. I walked towards the door.
Zusoiti pulled on a chain and I was yanked back by a leash that was around my neck. Zusoiti flashed her medallion at me and said, “Do you have something to say to me?”
I said, “Zusoiti is the only true prophet and I will do as she wishes.”
Zawmb’yee gasped. She tried to pull towards the door.
Zusoiti said, “Good. I am the only true prophet. I will reward you. Zawmb’yee will be your slave for six months.” Zusoiti unlocked my hands and removed my leash. She put Zawmb’yee’s chain in my hand and said, “Take her and go.”
I pulled Zawmb’yee out the door. I said, “Come quickly and don’t talk.”
I yanked her by her leash, pulled her along the narrow ledge, made her jump down. She was resisting, but I pushed her to the right of the Sword of the Silver-red Stalagmite, past the Qukwerpfm.
She screamed, “What happened to you. What are you doing. Let go of me.”
I put my finger to my lips, pointed at the walls and then to my ear. I yanked her severely along.
I said, “I’m taking you to my quarters, slave. This is your just punishment. Be admonished that Zusoiti is the only true prophet.”
I hurried her along and made her run. I told her there would be further punishments if she didn’t cooperate.
We reached the exit of the caves. I threw her down on the ground and unlocked her handcuffs and leash.
I said, “I had to pretend to believe in Zusoiti as prophet so we could get out of there. Zusoiti is a lunatic, and she had microphones in the cave.”
ENTRY 34
Zawmb’yee was angry. She thought I should have told her not to play with the equipment left by the gods, and I should have known that it was dangerous. I said, “You’re the one who’s studying our culture. You’re supposed to know what all the artifacts are. Didn’t Utcoozhoo warn you about these devices?”
“Yeah well. Utcoozhoo is too slow to show me anything, and Ngheufel told me…”
“Damn. Ngheufel could’ve gotten us killed and … ”
There was rustling and noise coming out of the forest. Utcoozhoo was waving and shouting, “Come quickly. Get over here now.”
The layers of camouflage made it impossible to move quickly. Pushing through the thicket of artificial metal leaves and brambles was an art form of choreography, difficult under stress, almost impossible for exhausted casualties of the gods. We had been through this maze many times before, and we tried as best we could to fall into our trained routine for secret exit.
Utcoozhoo said, “Come on. There’s a satellite mapping this area — we don’t want them to identify an entrance to the caves. Ugh. You kids are gonna blow our cover. Let’s go!”
Zawmb’yee and I stumbled into a clearing. I said, “Uncle Utcoozhoo, I thought we were dead. We almost drowned and then Zusoiti. … ”
“Yes, I know,” Utcoozhoo said. “Zusoiti is a nut, but most of the Neanderthals who have moved out of the caves are not using their voting rights. It is going to be difficult to impeach her, or vote her out of office. I haven’t seen either you, Doug, or Zawmb’yee on the voter list. This is a bad situation: if we can’t get her off the Grand Council … well … um … it might take extralegal means to do it. This is serious. If she gets control of the apparatus of the gods, it could affect us and the up-top world … — they might even overreact and think there’s an alien invasion. It could get ugly.”
Zawmb’yee was indignant. “Who the hell does she think she is. She was going to make me a slave and … ”
“She might have done much worse,” said Utcoozhoo. “I think you should hide in Doug’s apartment until I can negotiate a commutation of your sentence. She’s one of the hermits who’s never been to the up-top world. I think you’ll be safe if you stay out of the caves for a while.”
I said, “I can’t believe all this. Are there ‘gods’ or not?”
“There are the gods of material things and there are the spirits who infuse all dimensions … ”
“Huh? What?”
“It just means I’m avoiding your question for now. You’ve had enough adventure. Your questions can wait … But , by the way, I did hear your crisis communication during the flood. You do have the potential to develop that skill. You did find the lever to open the flood gates — right?”
“Uh yeah.”
“Well, in that flash message, you said a lot. I’m sorry I couldn’t get here sooner — I was away. That moment of fusion allowed me to see that you’re very impatient. I can see you’re a bit reckless and impulsive like Zawmb’yee — you were thinking of trying to operate the Drilling Machine of the gods. That would have been exceedingly dangerous. Look here — I’ll get you a cable hookup in your quarters when this brouhaha quiets down, if you promise not to tamper with any of the machines of the gods. Drilling through rock is a simple operation when you know how.”
Zawmb’yee was crying, “Utcoozhoo, how can you be talking about computer hookups when I was violated. I can’t even be sure what was done to me … ” Sobbing, Zawmb’yee reached for Utcoozhoo. When he put out his arms to hug her, she ran to him, and knocked him over. He turned her on her side and stroked her hair.
“It’ll be all right,” he said. And he cried. “My poor Zawmb’yee, I’m so sorry. I should have warned you. Please forgive me.”
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