Buck Fever (32 page)

“Where’s Gunter? He should be here by now,” Kottle said rubbing her cheek.

“What? What did you say?”

“Huh? Nothing, I was just reading this part about what I said in the hospital.”

“Damn, you gave me a scare. I thought...never mind. By the way, Dingman called last night and said Pillbock wants to talk to us in his office at noon tomorrow.”

“At least we can sleep in then. This is so great. I can’t believe it.”

Porter sat on the bed and continued to read. Kottle kneeled behind him, pressing her breasts against his back.

“Hey, that’s not fair. I, ah...ooh...umm.”

Chapter 70

S
leek green glass of the Times building held Kottle’s attention as she accompanied Porter to the front entrance. They briefly stopped, giggled at each other then entered.

“God, my knees are shaking. How do you think Pillbock is going to react?” Kottle said, entering the elevator. Porter followed her in and pushed the 14
^th
-floor button.

“It will be another look-and-learn experience, I’m sure.”

Kottle nodded and waited patiently for the door to open.

~ ~ ~

Dingman greeted them on the 14
^th
floor and the three entered Pillbock’s office.

“What do you think; isn’t it a gorgeous piece of work?” Kottle said.

“It is beyond extraordinary, eh?”

“Good morning, my three star reporters. Are you ready for the follow-up activities,” Pillbock said, rocking back in his leather desk chair. “We need to plan our responses.”

“What’s the verdict? Did our readers love it or hate it?” Porter asked.

“Let’s just say, it’s about even. The Blogs just came out an hour ago. For many, the story was depressing. Some have vowed never to eat deer meat again; others have vowed never to eat grain. Some expressed a new fear of deer. And, as you might expect, the references to the Bible are being deeply questioned.”

“Man, that doesn’t sound good. I thought we had the story of the century,” Porter said.

“I’m feeling dizzy,” Kottle said, holding her head with both hands.

“They are not getting it, eh, boss?” Dingman said, chuckling.

“Why are you acting so giddy?”

“You will see, just wait.”

“I don’t understand,” Kottle said.

“There are no negative references to you three personally or the newspaper, just paranoia that the public was kept in the dark for many years. We’ve aroused emotional conspiracy.” Pillbock raised his right hand and pulled down, ringing a non-existent bell. “Newsday wants to do a follow-on story. They have already covered the disease containment at the MDCC, but asked to interview us personally. The major TV networks have called about doing a series. And guess who wants to interview my girl?” Pillbock said.

“The Tonight Show?” Kottle asked, face beaming.

Pillbock nodded.

“Wahoo. Wouldn’t Rachel be proud?”

“Who?”

“You know, Rachel, my lost twin sister.”

Dingman acted nervous and began pacing. Pillbock stood up, walked to the rear office door, and opened it.

“Who?” Pillbock asked again.

“What’s going on?” Kottle said, glancing at the three men.

Porter shrugged. “Got me.”

Dingman snickered and sat deep into a sofa chair.

“You mean
this
Rachel,” Pillbock said.

A striking, black-haired woman wearing a plain-black dress and simple black shoes haltingly entered the room. A prominent half-moon-shaped mole showed on her left cheek. Ida Kottle followed the hesitant woman into the room.

“Holy Mother,” Porter said, gasping.

“It’s you, it’s—RACHEL!” Katie blurted, stepping forward. “How, where?”

“Hi, Katie,” Rachel said, as they hugged tightly. “I’ve missed you. We talked six months ago, but you didn’t know who I was.”

“I know. I know. God, who found you? How did you get away from that awful man?”

“Best leave that story for another time. Let’s just enjoy the moment.”

“This is so wonderful. I wish your mother could see this,” Ida Kottle said, dabbing her eyes with a tissue.

“It took some doing, but we tracked her down, didn’t we Louis. It took persuading, but she’s here and that’s what counts,” Pillbock said.

“You didn’t want to come?” Kottle asked.

“I was scared, mainly hiding from Gunter in Texas. Now that he’s in jail, I don’t feel so terrified anymore.”

“Oh, my God, Rachel, what you’ve been through; I can’t imagine.”

“You knew and didn’t tell me?” Porter said.

Dingman winked, pointed two fingers at Porter and back at his eyes.

Pillbock returned to his desk, opened a drawer and removed five plane tickets.

“Here, the Board was so enchanted by your story, they told me to send you all to Hawaii for two weeks.”

Katie, Rachel and Ida Kottle hugged and cheered.

“And..., it is Christmas. God bless everyone,” Dingman said, crossing his heart. “Also beats the free meal card, eh?”

“Look and learn,” Porter said, smiling.

Pillbock looked at Dingman and winked.

Epilogue

Detroit Times internal memo from the Editor’s Desk:

Louis,

I have selected these back-stories from you, Joe and Casper. You know the drill: integrate them into your story. Some are too graphic and need work for consumption by the general public, but okay for our online edition. Get with Eddy in Research and completely explore Ergotism. Play up its connection to LSD. Get with Casey in the Art Dept. to illustrate—his work is genius. I want facts, speculation (not yours—the experts), and great drama. Jeb and Katie need prodding; push, push, push.

Cory

P.S. Another Chalet card in it for you if you can pull this off in two weeks.

2500 B.C. – Egyptian Influence

By: Casper Jordan

T
he grizzled-faced dark-skinned old man sat legs crossed in sand, holding out the small clay bowl of goat urine and mineral-spring water to the sun awaiting purification. A loosely tied white cloth adorned his head sheltering his eyes while offering a cooling effect on his exposed back as sweat evaporated from a dangling cotton flap. A soiled white cloth, worn like shorts, covered the loins of an otherwise naked body. His hardened leg and arm muscles flexed showing rigid structure as he stretched his offering upward. With eyes tightly closed, he faced the sun’s dazzling rays waiting for inspiration.

Ten men, similarly dressed as the old man, circled him ten meters away. The problem had perplexed them for one full moon. How could they cut the bridge stone that must cover the west airshaft to the main burial chamber so the shaft can be diverted toward the east? Two previous attempts ended abruptly, crushing bodies and taking days to remove. The bridge stone had collapsed under the weight of another layer of stone. Quarry stones on rolling logs, one behind the other, waited in anticipation of fixing the problem. Each day of delay would result in pushing the men harder to catch up. The Pharaoh expressed discontent; each man would share that discontent in painful retribution as encouragement to find a solution.

~ ~ ~

A triangular-shaped mountain loomed in the distance. A parade of loin-clothed men dotted the landscape moving large blocks of limestone up the long-winding ramp to the top. Ten years of daily toil had proved to the Pharaoh his vision could be completed. It would become a constant reminder for all generations of his existence. He shared his good nature with the men who were building this monument in his name. He offered them good food: the finest grains baked into bread, and fresh fruit carried in daily. Goats herded and nurtured into offerings for the gods, provided milk and cheese for the builders. Tightly plugged containers of aging-grape liquid stood in a corner of each worker’s room, kept full, allowing a graceful end to a hard day’s work.

The growing season of the past four moons was unusually wet. The first wheat crop wilted and turned reddish-brown and consequently, the Pharaoh directed it be burned. The wheat could poison the men and stop work. To eat or possess the scourged wheat was forbidden. Another golden crop was sown, grown to perfection and harvested in time to replenish the diminished stores of flour.

~ ~ ~

The old man lowered the bowl with his left hand and put his right hand into a small leather sack held tightly between his legs, retrieving a handful of darkened grain. He quickly flexed his right hand over the bowl, let the reddish-brown kernels fall into the goat urine, and raised it up to the sun again.

The surrounding group of men became agitated and nervous.

The shadow of the old man’s body moved slowly along the ground showing the agonizing passage of time. The bowl suddenly tipped dumping a yellow-brown soup into the old man’s eyes, nostril and mouth. He quickly pushed the grain falling on his cheeks into his nose, and further into his sinus cavities.

The waiting group began chanting the Pharaoh’s name, each time getting louder.

The old man flopped backwards onto the sand. His body straightened and writhed like a snake. The ten men leaped forward and kneeled around the old man holding him down.

“
Ra-Horakhty
.
Ra-Horakhty
,” the old man shouted skyward. His body contorted in apparent pain.

“
Ra
will light the way. The truth will come to him,” one of the ten men whispered.

The old man struggled to sit up, still shouting. Suddenly, his body became limp; the men let go and stood up. The old man raised up on his elbows as several men held up a diagram of the shaft and bridge stone sketched on an arm’s-length sheet of papyrus. In slow deliberation, he pointed to the bridge stone, then directed attention to the sand below and drew a horizontal octagon-shaped block suspended over two vertical octagon-shaped blocks. He then demonstrated how other blocks loaded on top would distribute the weight away from the center column of the shaft.

The men stood in silent reverence, nodding agreement, then chanted the Pharaoh’s name as before.

The old man held a finger under each nostril and blew brownish mucus into a cloth offered by one of the attending men. He carefully mopped the soupy liquid from his face, removed wet sand beneath his feet, put it into the cloth, and wrapped it tightly. He stood up, staggered to a cooking area and tossed the wadded cloth into a fire pit, burning it. The hidden leather sack, containing the reddish-brown grain, remained fastened to his inner left thigh.

Two men worked diligently to change the drawings on papyrus for direction to the quarry artisans in the morning.

32 A.D. – Biblical Influence

By: Louis Dingman

H
igh above the Dead Sea in the Judean desert, the Teacher peered out of a cave. A small goat, standing next to him, bleated incessantly. He waited patiently as an older woman climbed up the rope ladder from below followed by her young son and daughter. A man draped in flowing sand-colored clothes stood ready to break their fall if they failed the trip. They had traveled the passing of two full moons to meet the Teacher.

Six others, known to profess the teachings of Yahweh and his written testament, had developed followers, but were in hiding now, each blessed with the ability to perform miracles. The Roman regime had declared them outlaws and offered a bounty to find and kill them. A man named Peter had directed the travelers to the desert to find the true Teacher of Righteousness, a gentle Jew known to favor miracles upon slaves and the poor. The man, his wife, daughter and young son had lost their way in a sandstorm and a Bedouin nomad had directed them to seek out the Teacher of Discipline, a less forgiving zealot than the Teacher of Righteousness, but willing to help those who would offer their souls to him.

~ ~ ~

It was a year of early unseasonable rain followed by drought. Many grain crops in the surrounding region had rotted, some turned brown. They were burned to avoid poisoning both animals and people. A second crop was attempted, but the weather turned dry and the grain was less than expected. The Romans kept the grain under tight security and offered it only in return for hard labor.

The man and his family moved north in search of work, food and help for their son.

~ ~ ~

The old woman arrived at the cave entrance and reached toward the Teacher. He waved her away. She must complete the trip without help. He stepped aside and picked up the goat. The woman struggled, finally pulling herself into the cave. She turned to offer assistance to her son and daughter, but the Teacher pulled her back. They had to make the trip on their own.
This is Yahweh’s way
, the woman thought.

The son and daughter twisted wildly on the ropes as they pulled themselves onto the jagged rocks blocking the cave entrance, gasping in relief. The son stood up and stepped backward. The mother screamed, grabbing the boy and forcing him to sit. His eyes lacked focus and stared into the darkness of the cave.

“What is your life’s trouble?” the Teacher asked in a less known Aramaic dialect. The woman looked puzzled, trying to understand. He repeated the question twice using different dialects. The goat bayed loudly. The Teacher stuffed food into the goat’s mouth and let it jump to the cave floor. It lay down and became motionless.

“My son...he is almost blind. If he cannot see to work, his life will be worthless. The Romans will kill him,” the woman said finally understanding the Teacher. She moaned in emotional pain.

“You waste my time, old woman. I cannot make your son see.”

“You cannot? I do not understand. We came a long way. Our souls are yours. We offer them freely.”

“What is to see of this world? Your son seeks heaven. To see heaven is Yahweh’s blessing. I
can
make him see heaven.”