Alligator Park (46 page)

I hear Fargo’s
door open and then the creak of the floorboards as he walks down the hall. I
slip out the bedroom and join him in the living room. He’s wearing moccasins,
frilled deerskin pants, a leather vest, open at the front, and is applying
black paint to his face.

“Is that
required?” I say.

“It’s done out of
respect.”

He finishes up what
he’s doing then approaches me.

“Hold still,” he
says, and then applies two black lines under each of my eyes.

He wipes the
black paint off his hands and then opens a jar of white paint. He makes some
symbols on his face and then adds some white streaks to my face just under the
black ones. He washes his hands and then places two feathers in his hair.

“We go now,” he
says, and grabs his backpack.

“I grab my own
backpack and a camera.

“No camera.”

“Just in case.”

“Not allowed.
Better you leave it here.”

I follow Fargo to
the jeep and we both get in. He races down the main road and turns off on a
dirt road that is largely overgrown. It looks like it hasn’t been used for a
long time. We pull into a grassy clearing next to two-dozen parked cars.

The sun has dropped
below the horizon and it’s getting dark. We exit the jeep and Fargo leads me
along a narrow trail. Up ahead I see an orange-yellow glow through gaps in the
trees.

The trail ends
into a clearing about the size of a tennis court. Tall trees surround it. Just
above our heads, attached to some of the trees, are burning torches. On other
trees are the bleached-white skulls of wild animals such as deer, wild hog,
bear, alligator, cattle, and some skulls I don’t recognize. They give the
clearing a scary mystical look, as if I’ve entered the realm of another era.

There appears to
be about forty or fifty people standing around in groups of three or four
chatting among themselves. Most are adorned in colorful Native American
clothing, but a few are dressed casually, in jeans and flannel shirts.

I see Juanita
with her parents and stop by to give my condolences. Tears are running down her
cheeks and the more I look at her, the more I start to lose it. I politely
excuse myself and retreat to a corner, away from the crowd, to regain my
composure.

In the center of
the clearing is a neatly arranged stack of logs about the height of my
shoulders and about the length and width of a typical cot. On the top of the
stack is a mat and on top of the mat is a white sheet covering Will’s body.

Sadness
overwhelms me as I comprehend the reality of the situation. This is the last
time I will ever see Will. Life provides many chances, many opportunities, but
death is final; there’s no turning back. I fight back tears.

A Native American
man dressed in a breechcloth and leggings walks to the front of the woodpile
and faces the crowd. Attached to his back is a circle of black feathers about
the size of an opened umbrella and he’s wearing a headpiece made with feathers
of the same type. His face is painted black, and his eyes are outlined in white
paint. His threatening appearance jars me. I grasp Fargo’s hand for
reassurance.

“That’s our
spiritual leader, a medicine man,” he says.

A few additional
guests drift in and then everyone forms a circle around the wood pile.
Suddenly, the medicine man cries out in a loud voice startling me.

“Ya he oh lo ha,”
he says, and silence envelops the crowd.

He repeats it and
everyone joins in.

“Ya he oh lo ha,”
they say, and then a pause.

A drum breaks the
silence.

“Bom... Bom...
Bom...” and then a pause.

“Bom... Bom...
Bom...” it goes again.

Then the medicine
man cries out:

“E lo hi gi ne
tse.”

“What does that
mean?” I whisper to Fargo.

“The earth is our
Mother,” he answers.

“Ga li he li ga.”

“We are thankful,”
Fargo translates.

“O sa li he li
ga.”

“We are
grateful.”

Then the medicine
man dances around the wood pile singing a chant. Other men with painted faces
join in. They circle the wood stack three times. Then the medicine man picks up
an ornately decorated jar and places it under his left arm. He removes a stick,
about a foot long, with a leather ball attached to the end, and then dances
around the wood stack using the stick to fling drops of liquid onto Will’s
body.

“Medicine water,”
Fargo says. “To purify the body.”

The medicine man walks
around the circle of guests, and flings sacred water on the people, frequently
dipping the leather ball in the jar. He puts down the jar, raises his arms to
the sky, and speaks:

“Oh Great Spirit,
creator of stars, creator of earth, creator of life. You sent us Will, in the
womb of his mother, to be loved and nurtured, until which time he was delivered
to the world. And that baby grew, and brought joy to all that knew him. And
now, his time on earth has come to an end. With this fire, we release his
spirit. May it rise to the clouds. May it dwell with you forever.”

The medicine man
turns to me. He holds out his hands, palms facing upward.

The drum begins
its rhythm.

“Bom... Bom...
Bom... Bom...” it goes continuously.

All eyes are upon
me. I freeze up. What does he want? Am I supposed to light the fire?

“Bom... Bom...
Bom... Bom...” the drum continues.

Another man with
a painted face appears out of the circle and hands me a burning torch. I take
the torch with no idea what I’m supposed to do. I look at Fargo and he nudges
me on. He realizes I’m confused, so he approaches me, puts his arm over my
shoulder, and then leads me to the woodpile. He takes my hand and guides the
torch to a spot where some twigs and straw are sticking out. The fire jumps
into the stack and then spreads quickly. I return the torch to the man with the
painted face, and then back up to the edge of the clearing, behind the crowd.

The drumbeat
stops.

The medicine man
raises his arms and cries out some chants. Intense smoke streams straight up
and disappears into the night. The flames engulf the entire woodpile and I find
myself overwhelmed with grief. After tonight there will be nothing in the
physical world to remind us of Will’s existence. Not a gravestone, not an urn,
not even a recent photo. It will be like he was never here. How I wish I would
have taken some pictures when I had the opportunity. But who would have known
this would happen? Who would have known I would never have another chance?

I turn away,
stare at the forest, try to distract myself from the horror of the moment. I
force myself to think pleasant thoughts, about my new job, and the rewards it
will bring. I imagine myself in front of a new house, a large house, white,
with a huge lawn, manicured to perfection. I see groups of azalea bushes, with
red flowers, in full bloom. I see my husband and children smiling and waving to
me from the porch.

But the violence
of the fire gives me no peace. It torments me, burdens me with guilt, makes me
feel responsible. It makes me believe I should have done more to prevent this
supreme sadness. But what?

An hour passes
and the fire has reduced the woodpile to a handful of glowing logs and ashes.
The burning torches attached to the trees have gone out and guests are drifting
back to their cars. I search out Fargo and see him talking to the medicine man.
They shake hands and then the medicine man strolls back to his car.

Fargo approaches the remains
of the woodpile and recites some chants in his native tongue. I feel compelled
to rush to his side, offer a few words of solace, but can’t think of anything
to say. I’m totally drained, an emotional wasteland. I can do nothing but just
stand here, overwhelmed by grief, waiting, and watching, from a distance.

Fargo joins me at the edge of
the clearing. He looks tired, wasted, forlorn, like a lost child. And then, in
the subdued lighting of the dying fire, as it crackles and pops, hanging on to
those last pangs of life before it succumbs to an eternal blackness, we stroll
back to the Jeep Cherokee, quietly, side by side, isolated by an endless stream
of barely conscious thoughts: thoughts of the past, thoughts of the future, and
thoughts of the things that never came to pass.

The two-dozen guests,
friends, cousins, neighbors, and those that came out of respect for Fargo, have
all departed, leaving us alone, to ponder the day’s events in solitude.

I am comforted, in a strange
sort of way, by the conviction that Will is free at last, unencumbered by the
problems of the world, free to dance among the clouds, and free to be with his
own people, his ancestors, until such time the earth itself ceases to exist.

We get about halfway to the
Jeep and then Fargo gently takes my hand and stops. I turn to face him and see
him gazing at me.

“Do you have to leave so
soon?” he asks.

“I start Monday.”

“Could you put it off for a
while?”

“Well, I suppose I could
request an extra week or two.”

“I was thinking more like...
forever.”

“I don’t understand.”

“If you think about it, we’re
alike in a lot of ways,” he says.

“I can think of a lot of ways
we’re not alike,” I answer.

“Well, we both have a passion
for the natural world. We both have no family to go back to. And today, we both
lost someone we dearly love.”

“What are you saying?” I ask.

“I’m saying... I don’t want
you to leave.”

I feel speechless for a
moment. Fargo has never before given me even the tiniest inclination he wanted
me around, in fact, I always felt like an outcast, an irritant to his
structured life, like a spec of sand in an oyster shell.

“What would I do here?”

“Does it matter?”

I lock eyes with him, and
suddenly, the realization rushes into my brain how stupid I’ve been. All those
things I’ve struggled for, over the last decade, the luxury cars, the big home,
the designer clothes, and the exotic vacations, these were all eye candy, a
distraction from what I really wanted. And what I really wanted was right here,
at arm’s length, and even if it cost me my six-figure job, I would gain a
lifetime of experiences beyond my wildest dreams, and more importantly, a
lifetime of love.

And at that moment, that very
moment, I knew, with absolute certaintivity, my life with Fargo would be good,
very-very good!

The End

List
of Characters 

In Order of Appearance 

Name
                           
Description

1)
       
Indigo Wells......................Protagonist

2)
       
Ben....................................Benjamin
Franklin Statue

3)
       
Will Dane (Franklin)..........Homeless
Man

4)
       
Dr. Logan Smith................Professor
of Microbiology

5)
       
Dean Haas........................Dean
of the University

6)
       
Eldridge Broadhampton....CEO of
Global World Ind.

7)
       
Ellis Grimes.......................Chief
Counsel for GWI

8)
       
Sid.....................................Restaurant
Owner

9)
       
Stan...................................Engineering
Student

10)
    
Rafael Eduardo Torroja.....Doctor at General Hospital

11)
    
Dr. Jessica Parker..............PhD at Gainesville
University

12)
    
Carl...................................Car Salesman in
Philadelphia

13)
    
Damon..............................Psycho Killer

14)
    
Rajesh Patel......................Motel Proprietor

15)
    
Dr. Brad Kelly....................Owner of Alligator
Farm

16)
    
Katy Robertson.................Reporter at KTV News.

17)
    
Fargo Dane.......................Will’s Brother

18)
    
Detective John Bolt..........Detective, State Police

19)
    
Judy Swass, Esquire..........Lawyer for GWI

20)
    
Dr. Doug Carpenter...........Owner of
Semi-Environmental

21)
    
Berkeley Janson, Esq........Lawyer - Plaintiff

22)
    
Dr. Tom Benson................Chief Scientist - GWI

23)
    
Kevin Stewart....................Victim of Alligator
attack.

24)
    
George Stewart.................Victim’s Father.

25)
    
Victoria Stewart................Victim’s Mother

26)
    
Sandy Harris......................Victim’s Girlfriend

27)
    
Clarence Fullbright............Lawyer - Defendant

28)
    
The Judge (No name)........Judge at trial in Baltimore

29)
    
Bailiff (No name)..............Bailiff at trial in
Baltimore

30)
    
Jim Bateman.....................Reporter, Orlando Sun.

31)
    
Pam..................................Police
Investigator

32)
    
Trish..................................Fargo’s ex-wife.