Sloughing Off the Rot (15 page)

Chellovecks scrambled into the spectator area of the arena. And there was no fanfare, no preliminary battles, no feasting and drinking. The rushed proceedings were strictly business. Chelloveck guards dragged Joad and Santiago from their cell and pushed them through the dank dungeon halls, poking at the men with their spontoons. The guards escorted Joad and Santiago to the door of the arena and prodded them out into the middle of the pit, into the midday sun. The glare of the daylight blinded both men, scorching their dilated pupils that had become accustomed to the dark dungeon. The Chelloveck guards ran out of the pit and barred the door shut behind themselves.

John and Chelloveck sat at the table at the edge of the pit, watching. From atop the arena wall, a guard-Chelloveck tossed two swords onto the ground in the pit. The swords reflected brilliant beams of sunlight. In the middle of the pit, Joad and Santiago stood, side by side, and stared up at the table, waiting for John’s promised solution to their dilemma. Yet John just sat at the table, staring at the sky and mumbling to himself. He made no eye contact with Joad or Santiago and did not even look in their direction. Instead, he locked his gaze on the trail of clouds washing over them above.

The crowd murmured and shifted about restlessly. Chelloveck placed his lips to his ear horn and expectorated a gnarly giggle-jazz scream, signaling the other Chellovecks to sit and calm down. “Quiet!” shouted Chelloveck, his voice powerful and strong, and silence settled over the stadium. The Chellovecks sat waiting for word from their father. “The two men in the middle of the ring shall fight to the death. The winner earns the honor of living to fight another day. So come now, you filthy skags, pick up those swords and tear into each other as if your life depended on it, because it does.”

But Joad and Santiago did not grab the swords. They did not even move toward them. They stood, unmoving and unspeaking, silently defying Chelloveck’s wishes, their queer appearance – the blockheaded giant and the scraggly madman standing in unified defiance of Chelloveck – digging at Chelloveck’s wounds, mocking him.

“Do your friends not understand me?” asked Chelloveck. “If they do not fight each other, I will have them both executed. Please make them understand this.” He placed his ear trumpet to his ear, but got no answer.

John continued to gaze at the river of clouds above, muttering incomprehensibly to himself. He showed no concern for Santiago or Joad or the words that Chelloveck spoke to him.

Chelloveck stood and clung onto the edge of the table, his fingertips turning white from the pressure of his grip. He leaned over the table, in toward the arena. And he looked like a frustrated, weak old man, not like the patriarch of a proud and powerful clan. His prideful strength visibly wilted in front of the entire arena. In his frustration, he shouted to his sons, “Send the Chelloveck guards in to slaughter the meddling skags. If they will not quench our dry ground with their blood, then we shall do it for them. Their lifeless bodies will be dragged from the mesa and left on the desert floor, like dung on the ground, only to be eaten by mad dogs and buzzards.”

And the pit doors flew back and ejaculated into the arena a load of Chelloveck soldiers wearing helmets and armed with spontoons and swords and shields. And the men smeared their faces with red streaks of war paint and tied their chinstrap beards near the chin with hemp cords. The company of strong, determined-looking little men split and surrounded Joad and Santiago, poking their swords and spontoons at the two unarmed men in the middle of their circle. Yet still, Joad and Santiago stood motionless, stagnant, looking toward Chelloveck and John at the table. And, yet still, John did not look in their direction, but instead continued mumbling to the clouds above and ignoring the proceedings before him.

As John mumbled, a billow of smoke broke off from the river of clouds and descended toward the mesa. And the cloud streaked ribbons of flame as it rapidly plunged toward the ground. John’s mumble gradually changed into intelligible words that increased in volume as the cloud dropped and shifted into a scorching ball of fire. And the flaming ball slammed the ground just behind the Chelloveck guards, exploding into a massive pillar of fire. And the explosion threw up dirt and rocks and knocked the Chelloveck guards to the ground, leaving only Joad and Santiago standing.

From the stands, John’s voice boomed out over the crowd as a physical force, knocking Chellovecks back into their seats. “Do no harm to the giant and the mystic,” trumpeted the voice that John had previously heard from the burning bushes. But the words were John’s and they passed through him, emanating from his balls and humming through his body with great energy. And the voice that escaped his mouth was John’s, but he gave no thought to what he said, merely allowing the words to flow through him. And he said, “Do them no evil, or the evil will visit upon you threefold for three generations. Do not pass judgment on the men. Cast out thy beams from your own eyes before you deem these men worthy of death. For they are of the tree. And every tree shall be known by its fruit. And the tree is good and righteous. And if the root be virtuous, then so be the branches and the fruit.”

“It’s all specious claptrap,” shouted Chelloveck to his sons. “Sorcery, subterfuge, skullduggery and chicanery. Do not be frightened by this fraud. Do as I say and summarily execute those men.”

The ringent O’s of the guard-Chelloveck mouths cast their doubt on their father’s decision. But when he yelled, “do it now or forever be excised from my ass like a festering boil,” the men shook off the shock of the fiery pillar. They rose to their feet and moved in on Joad and Santiago, who stood still as statues. As the guard-Chellovecks wielded their swords and spontoons and closed their circle, both Joad and Santiago shut their eyes and put their faith in John.

Before the Chellovecks realized it, blistering tongues of flame licked out from the pillar of fire and laid the Chellovecks out, dead and smoking in a circle around Santiago and Joad. The odor of burnt meat made Santiago’s stomach rumble and he licked his lips as he stared up at Chelloveck. Cluster lightning burst and crackled just above the arena, electrifying the air. Chellovecks fled the stands and scrambled for the safety of their buses.

John’s lips moved and his words echoed from the pillar of fire, “I repeat, do the men no harm. Release them and no harm shall come to you. Harm them and your names will be but a blood stain on the pages of the book of the annals of this world’s history. Release them and you shall thrive. Harm them, and I will recompense to you, evil for evil.” And the pillar of fire exploded, erupting in a fountain of flames and sparks, throwing molten earth and debris upon the emptied spectator area of the stadium. The flaming matter rained down and smoldered over all of the arena, covering all but a circular clearing that surrounded John, Chelloveck, Santiago and Joad.

Chelloveck weighed his options: side with Android Lovethorn or John and his men. And the exploding pillar of fire placed its finger on the scale and shifted Chelloveck’s loyalties to John, making it an easy but regrettable decision to free Joad and Santiago. “I viddy that I have no choice,” said Chelloveck. And he shouted down at Joad and Santiago, “Come now, you two. Climb out of the arena and be gone. Be done with us and be gone with your master.”

As if lifting a bag of feathers, Joad hoisted Santiago high over his head so that Santiago could grab the top of the wall and climb into the stands. And then with a small jump, Joad grabbed the top of the wall and effortlessly pulled himself over. And Chelloveck, knowing he had no choice, led the men from the stands and out, to the Tent of Meeting, where he fed them and loaded them with provisions. And though Chelloveck protested vehemently, John decided to leave the mesa through its back entrance and head out on the red brick road, directly in the direction of Android Lovethorn’s approaching men.

Chelloveck led John, Joad, and Santiago to an enormous oak door on the side of the mesa opposite to where they entered the Chelloveck village. Alf the Sacred Burro waited for them at the exit door, loaded down with saddlebags of provisions. The donkey lifted his face from snacking on the grickle grass, brayed with joy and rubbed his head against John’s side. And John discovered a certain affection for the broken-down ass. He rubbed at a not unhealthy-looking patch of hide on Alf’s head and felt the joy of greeting an old friend. Alf leaned in and wrapped himself around John as much as was possible for a stiff old burro, giving his friend a donkey hug.

“You, I have nothing but respect for,” said Chelloveck to John. “You are a virtuous man and I easily choose my allegiance to you over Android Lovethorn. But you must go now. Be gone and be done with us, before Lovethorn’s men arrive. May your load be light and your journey short. May your enemies be scattered and may your foes flee before you.”

“Thank you,” said John. “Thank you truly. I have a feeling that we will meet again and it will be as old friends when we do.”

“And as for you,” said Chelloveck, shaking his ear trumpet at Joad and Santiago, “you are saved by the good grace of your friend here. I allow you your freedom at his behest. But should you pass through this way again, give my mesa a wide berth, or I will hang you from the highest branches of the bloodfruit tree as birdfeed for the vultures.”

“Lookie here, Chelloveck,” spat Santiago, and his face began to cycle through its emotional range. “I’m not afraid of you and I’m not afraid of dying. I’m scared of living, dying is easy. But it don’t matter nothing to me. You got your mind made up about me. You’ve got your inflections in your voice and your implications. You don’t know me, brother. I ain’t no devil or no god, I’m Santiago, and if we should meet again…”

But before Santiago could truly launch into a rant, John took hold of his arm and dragged the twitching spasmodic away from Chelloveck. And Santiago did not resist. He allowed John to lead him away from the stern-looking Chelloveck and away from the mesa.

The red brick road sloped into a steep, sinuous slant away from the mesa. And they stepped through the grickle grass growing from the cracks in the red brick road. Spiky spurs from the grass stuck to their legs and pierced skin. Santiago’s lewd comment about the best blumpkins he ever went balls-deep into trailed behind him and broke up into meaningless grains of sand on the path before it could find its way to Chelloveck’s deadened ears. And Joad trailed his new friends, holding onto a frayed rope that gently pulled Alf the Sacred Burro along with him. Alf found that he liked the big, thickheaded man. Joad discovered a fondness for Santiago and John. And John grew in strength and resolve, relishing the ability to feel the sadness at his departure from the Chelloveck village. He worried about the Chellovecks and how they would survive Lovethorn’s men. He suffered guilt for slaying the guard Chellovecks with the pillar of fire. He silently wished the men in the village luck. He looked back at the mesa one last time. And they were on the road again, headed straight toward the distant, oncoming patrol of Lovethorn’s warriors.

John felt a hot wind on his shoulder, blowing in from a world that is older. He constantly scanned the red brick road ahead of him but did not spy Android Lovethorn’s men. The clop-clop of Alf the Sacred Burro’s hooves beat out a steady rhythm on the bricks and John’s feet fell into time with Alf’s. The steady pace and the distraction of watching for Lovethorn’s soldiers drew John’s attention away from the emotions fermenting in his chest and gut. He still had trouble recognizing and putting names to the conflicting feelings, though he knew he felt them. And without trying, his mind started the process of sorting the emotions out. Had he taken stock of the sentiments, he would have realized that there was dread, sadness, guilt, joy, anger, anticipation, and excitability. But John allowed himself to be mesmerized by the steady metronome of Alf’s hooves on the bricks. As well as his blindness to his emotions, John likewise was oblivious to all of his surroundings – the magnificent natural bridges, gargantuan saguaro cacti, bloodwood trees in full bloom, the turkey buzzards in the trees watching them as they passed – focusing only on the path ahead in anticipation of Lovethorn’s soldiers. And the emotional blinders blocked out John’s peripheral vision, making him oblivious to the distant silhouettes of a leaky-eyed Indian and a droopy basset hound on a cliff, both staring in John’s direction.

Ahead of them on the trail, an enormous red, yellow and black snake, its body thick as a log and longer than the width of the trail, slithered its way across the road. Something about the giant snake snapped John out of his walking trance. He looked in the direction that the snake crawled. His vision honed in on a gathering of men all tightly packed in a circle just off the side of the trail. The overcast sky above, and the span between John and the group of men, left much to John’s imagination. He pictured an attack by Lovethorn’s men. He imagined an ambush by vengeance-driven Chellovecks. Or maybe it was more lunkheads. John felt no worry about lunkheads, for he knew there was nothing to fear from them. But Lovethorn’s men would be something to beware of.