The Tower of Il Serrohe (53 page)

I have to go.

No, I don’t.

I have to.

Noooo!

Oh shit! Here goes!

Scrambling up to the tunnel entrance, he found it large enough to squeeze through.
A deer-sized Nohmin cousin? Apparently, the Gomin of the Valle Abajo were a hell of a lot bigger than gophers in the Rio Grande Valley.

Before he could stop himself, he stretched his neck. His stubby antlers didn’t get caught on anything so he dropped his belly onto the sharp rocks. Using his slender legs and hooves, he pushed hard with his rear legs, and began moving through the stinging tumbleweeds and through the opening into Hell.

seventy three

It wasn’t bad other than total darkness pressing on him like a velvet-gloved-body-clinging blob. Roomy compared to the Nohmin holes—prairie dog tunnels—he scooted along quickly without bumping the sides or top.

A few feet later, however, the wall on his left began to intrude. He veered right, and found the tunnel curving at a consistent arc, increasing the effort needed to move forward. He was going up a slight slope. Fighting panic, he pictured himself moving through a spiral tunnel he hoped would come out several feet higher along the narrow ledge.

Soon, it seemed the spiral had made a complete circuit. From the entrance he moved south into the entrails of the high ridge. He now felt disoriented, like being blindfolded and spun around with the added horror of diving deep into a black pool sans reference points—no up, down, left, or right. Had he gone around the spiral once, twice, three times, or more?

With the thin, wet tissue of sanity disintegrating and a low whine building in his brain, he saw what could have been a mirage of grayness ahead.

Light! From the outside?
was the first thought he’d had since entering the tunnel. Thinking had been too dangerous, but now there was hope; the proverbial light at the end of the tunnel was just ahead.

He discovered he could almost stand. Crouching, he began moving quickly—only to immediately become wedged in a tight space. Feeling around, his heart nearly stopped when he realized he could neither back up nor go forward.  He was irretrievably stuck!

And it wasn’t because of his juvenile antlers. The crevice pushed against his head and sides and crowded his belly. It was rock—hard and immovable.

OH MY GOD, JESUS, MARY, AND JOSEPH! NO!

His mind was screaming, but a labored grunting punctuated by squeals as he sucked in his breath was his only utterance. Even constricting his chest and sides produced no wiggle room between the rocky crevice and his body. In fact, it seemed as if the crevice had tightened!

Silent screams were drowning out all thought: he felt only panic and a desperate loss of hope.

I don’t want to die like this! Wait—I must stop. Quiet down. Breathe. Don’t think, just breathe and loosen up. Yeah, right!

The mental war between rising panic and calming down was cruelly in favor of panic. Yet Don fought hard. This would be a good time to just portal himself back to the Rio Grande Valley—but not inside a mesa.

The moisture of his sweat, stale air, and earth flooding his lungs were present. But there was no chance of fire unless he self-combusted—which in his furious panic seemed possible—but nothing happened. He was still there, trapped!

Exhaustion—after what seemed an eternity but was probably less than two minutes—finally permitted calm to begin soothing the flanks of his panic. He slumped, breathing hard, grunting. Diversion of thought and physical exhaustion gave him a chance to consider.

He looked for the gray light, but it was no longer visible. Could have been an artifact of his sensory deprived brain. But there was a low sound. Before, in the depths of the tunnels, the only sound had been his labored scooting, but now he could detect yelping, barking, roaring, bellowing, and screaming of clanspeople. Perhaps, he even heard the grating haw-hawing of the Soreyes.

Maybe I am close to the exit. The light may have been visible for only moments. But what do I do? I can’t call out—I’m a deer.

Still, he tried yelling and seemed to hear his voice. In actuality, he had talked with the clanspeople only three days before, and listened to Nersite’s story. But the “talking” and “listening” may have been how his brain processed it, not how it actually sounded.

What to do?

Then, he remembered:
The low-pitched distress signal
!

I can do this. I
have
to!

Struggling to push from down deep, he used his diaphragm to force the air out and keep the tone low, so the sound would carry. He pushed harder and harder using all his remaining strength to force sound from his throat.

He visualized Raquela, Nersite, Bernie, Netheraire, and even the bat.
Hear me! I’m down here! I’m stuck!

Help!

It was something to do besides dying in a drawn-out panic attack. He couldn’t hope for something pleasant such as immediate asphyxiation or beating his head in by slamming it against the tunnel ceiling. He’d tried that.

Don surrendered to delirium. Parts of his recent bizarre life flashed before him, combined with snatches of his previous life—the normal one. Presently, he engaged in a sit-down talk with his mother.

The old kitchen in Teresa’s house was exactly as he remembered it when Auntie Lupita told him stories of his mother, grandmother, and occasionally, his great-grandmother who he now knew was Teresa. He saw the old, uneven adobe walls painted with turquoise colored calcimine, the worn linoleum floor showing only hints of the Victorian style patterns, and the small window with the flour sack curtains that let in the honey colored morning light.

However, now, his mother poured him a hot cup of Postum, that odd substitute for coffee popular during World War II with its dark brown, toasted grain flavor. He savored the rich taste mixed with a drop of honey added by his mother.

“
Don, my son, it’s time we talk.”

“
Mother, it is so good to see you in flesh and blood. Your old pictures were like medieval drawings: all contrast with no dimension. No reality. You’re beautiful, Mom. I so wanted you to raise me. My father, that son of a bitch—”

“
No, no, son, don’t say that. He was good to me. He was very afraid when my time came. There was the look of death in his eyes. No doctor had to tell him I would not live past your birth. I tried reassuring him by talking about how we would raise a fine son or daughter, but he didn’t believe me.”

“
His drinking! And he could be so mean—he still is.”

“
Not when I knew him. He would have been a good father had I lived. But we’re not here to talk about him.”

“
Then what?”

“
You must know you are special beyond anything you can imagine. You have had troubles, but that’s because your purpose eludes you like a runaway horse. You sometimes get close, ready to throw your halter over his head, but he bolts. Again and again.”

“
Yeah, so? I’ve been a good teacher, though I’ve received hardly any gratitude from my students. It’s a required class, so they go on and study what they
really
wanted to learn and do with their lives. Not—”

“
Hush, son, you talk too much.”

Don laughed. “Even from beyond the grave, you got that right.”

She smiled warmly. Oh, how he wished he’d grown up with that smile in his life.

“
You have a purpose here in the Valle Abajo—”

As he gazed into her lovely face, softened by shadows of a Peralta morning, she was rudely shouted down and dissolved into blackness.

“
Hey! Don! Hey! Don! I’m here!”

He felt little knobby fingers and sandy paws on the sides of his face.

“
Huh? Who—”

“
It’s me, Nersite! I heard you call. I was being hit by Soreye rocks near a tunnel. In my head I saw you stuck in here. I have never had a picture like that in my mind. I often see things in front of me or things someone has just talked about. But, all of sudden, this picture of you flooded into my mind.”

“
Nersite? Is that you? I can’t see a damned thing!”

“
Yes! Yes! Hey! Hey! It’s me.”

“
Oh, God, yes. Please don’t let me be hallucinating. I was just with my Mom, and she was going to tell me something important—but that wasn’t real. This is.”

Don realized what he said. “Yes… this is real. I know because it hurts so damned much. I’ve definitely been ‘pinched’ and I’m still here.”

Behind him came sounds of shuffling and dirt being kicked.

“
Oh, no! There’s something behind me. Did Sliktooth hear me, too?”

“
No, it’s me, Netheraire,” she said. “I heard you, too, when I was down below while Nersite was up higher. I found the tunnel where you went in, Don. I had to run around the corner of the cliff to reach the entrance.”

“
Yes,” Nersite added. “There are tunnel entrances all over the slope. I went through one near me that branched into this one. I just followed your call. Netheraire did the same.”

Netheraire touched his haunches gently. “I couldn’t hear your call after I went around the cliff, but I knew it came from there. Then, I saw your tracks, found your scent trail, and followed them here.”

“
Thank God. But how do I get out?” Don tried to hang onto their voices, their touch, and scents, keeping his grasp on sanity.

“
I’m checking now,” Nersite said. Don could feel them sniffing and poking around him.

Nersite called to Netheraire. “It is hard dirt up here.”

“
The same back here.”

“
It can’t be. It’s rock,” Don whimpered. “I can’t move; it’s hard and sharp against my sides…”

Nersite chuckled. “This is Valle Abajo dirt. When it is dry and there is no traffic on it, it’s like rock! But this is good because we can work to loosen it.”

Both Nohmin started clawing and chewing on the hard dirt.

Don tried to be patient, but the lack of progress stoked the embers of his panic. “You’re not getting anywhere. It’s still got a death grip on me!”

“
Shhh,” Nersite hissed. “You’re right, but we Nohmin have our ways with dirt. Netheraire, watch the soil. I will go gently because we don’t want it to overheat.”

“
What? What are you doing?”

“
The glassing chant,” Nersite said. “I will heat the dirt quietly so it doesn’t become too hot. You will only feel warmth. The hot parts will be closer to me up here. When the sand starts to melt, it will become soft, and you’ll be able to move before the heat reaches the hard dirt next to you… I hope.”

“
Thanks for your confidence,” Don said.

“
My what?”

“
Never mind, just do it.”

In the pitch-black, Don heard rustling sounds like rodent hands rubbing together and the click of rodent teeth. A raspy voice chanted words he didn’t recognize. Prairie dog language?

Minutes later the sides and top of the crevice grew warm, then very warm, then toasty. Then down right hot!

“
Oh man, it’s getting damned hot!” Don started squirming, trying to move away from the heat. Then it hit him.

He could squirm.

He started pulling and pushing forward, backward, side to side. He grunted and groaned. It hurt like hell, but he kept at it, his strength growing with the latitude of movement.

“
It’s working. Stop chanting, it’s starting to burn like Hell!”

“
I already stopped when I felt you moving. Keep at it because it will start to cool and harden again.”

“
Not before I’m free!” Don declared with a trace of his old cockiness.

In one grand lunge, he slipped forward and fell on his face on top of Nersite.

“
Hey! Let me up! Get off,
asshole
! Hey! Hey!” Nersite squealed.

Had there been enough light in the tunnel, Nersite would have appreciated the look on Don’s face: a mixture of shock and the delight of a delinquent who has won another convert to the outlaw life.

“
No problem, little guy. I think I’m starting to be a bad influence on you,” Don said, as he rolled to his left feeling the sweet freedom of lying on the tunnel’s dirt floor in the dark. He didn’t even mind still being there. Lazily, he looked ahead and saw the gray light. Not a mirage, but real light.

Patches on his sides stung sharply, and he could smell burnt fur. But right now, those burns actually felt good.

Don chuckled, “So now
I’m
an asshole! I can’t deny I’m honored.”

“
Never mind about that! Come on, Don, Netheraire. Let’s get out of here. It’s starting to get to
me!
”