Warzone: Nemesis: A Novel of Mars (46 page)

When we arrived, I noticed six cars parked there and a lot of children in the yard. It appeared that my stories were attracting more relatives and friends, and now we had quite a gathering. I was warmly greeted by Ben’s mother and noticed an additional table was set up in the living room. We ate promptly at nineteen hundred and again I had a cup of hot tea by my plate. The adults treated me warmly and spoke with me at length during supper. There were a total of twelve adults and twenty-six kids there that night. Extra kids’ tables were placed outside, and the laughter from outside reminded me of a grade-school lunchroom.

After supper and some more hot tea, the table in the living room was broken down and put away. The mothers got all their children to sit down outside as there were now too many people to tell the stories indoors. The table that was in the living room was set up outside, and a small fire was placed in a barrel. The men added some dead mesquite and some scrap lumber to the fire, and a perfect mood was cast for storytelling. I wasn’t ready yet and retreated to my truck and retrieved the painting. I returned and called Ben’s mother and sisters over and unwrapped the painting. “This is in honor of CMDR Benjamin Begay, please accept it.”

The two sisters looked at the painting with pleasure and Victoria said, “We have something for you.” She opened a leather bag and handed me a silver pendant and chain. On the pendant was an engraving of the Klingon Emperor Kahless, my namesake. “Thank you,” I said, as I slipped it around my neck. Ben’s mother took the painting inside and placed it on the living room wall. When she returned, I spoke. “I must go see my brother tomorrow, so tonight will be the last night of my visit. I could tell there was a great deal of disappointment. “I promise I’ll come to see you all every time I’m on leave. You all are like family to me now.”

Ben’s mother spoke, “It is a tradition of my people when one of our own has been taken away from us, to adopt one in his place. Ben was your brother, so you are now my son and our clansman. Who is your family?”

I understood what she meant. I was not going to avoid them or lie to them, so I answered their question with honesty the way they would have said it. “I’m Eugene Bordelon, born into the Douzat Clan, born for the Bordelon Clan, my maternal grandfather’s mother was from the Rabalais Clan, and my paternal grandmother’s was from the DuPont clan.”

I hope I hadn’t screwed it all up, quickly trying to convert my lineage into matrilineal terms. They didn't seem to notice if I made a mistake. It was important to declare my mother’s people’s entire lineage to assure that we didn’t have incest in our line, not that they could tell by the names. The adults all acknowledged my lineage with respect, even though my family names weren’t as colorful sounding as
Bitter Water People
or
Towering House Clan
. And that was how I got
adopted
into the family of Benjamin (COL SEAL) Begay.

I started the storytelling for the last time on this visit. “In a land far away in a war that cannot be spoken of with man’s lips, there was a brave warrior named Benjamin Begay… I want to tell you the secret tonight of Ben Begay’s courage. Ben Begay had great courage because he viewed death as being with his Lord. With this, he could live with honor and have the courage for each and every day. If you have Jesus as your lord, you can have the same courage.” I sensed that many were thinking about this, and would do so for some time to come. Finally I spoke to them the stories they all came for. I told story after story until all the children were fast asleep. Some of the teenagers and all of the adults stayed with my storytelling until zero two hundred the next morning, and finally, I could talk no more. The ladies had kept hot tea flowing half the night and I probably wouldn’t sleep when I returned to the lodge. I finally bid goodbye to all my newfound family and called Blaze to heel. Ben’s mother and his sisters admonished me to bring Blaze back the next time I was on leave.

Blaze climbed into the truck, and I drove back to the lodge. I packed my navy uniforms and dress shoes away and changed into a pair of blue jeans and a t-shirt. The TV showed an after-midnight pattern complete with its irritating noise. An all-night FM radio station would have to do. I found a station playing popular music and listened to it until daylight.

Blaze and I greeted the sunrise, ate breakfast, and went on one more excursion down our favorite trail before leaving town. It was a beautiful May morning in northern New Mexico. I mused that if I ever retired that I could do it here. I touched the medallion around my neck and decided that this was the most memorable trip home ever. I’d been somewhat apprehensive about coming here, not knowing if my visit would cause them more pain and sorrow. In truth, the family needed closure and wanted whatever good history they could get. Benjamin Begay was a family hero; one whom members would try to emulate and they needed the stories for inspiration. I decided I would put to pen all the stories I could remember, and send copies of them back to his family.

We reveled in our morning walk. I mentally tried to record every living plant and wildlife sighting to the smallest detail, knowing that all too soon it would be just a memory, with just red rocks and sand to call my home. Finally hunger got to me and we went back to the lodge. I cooked the last of our steaks and beans, and we had a good meal. Suddenly too tired to pack, I fell into bed and slept soundly until twenty-one hundred.

I awoke feeling ready to turn the next page of our adventure. Since the only thing I had left in the room was tea, I decided that it was time to eat out. Calling Blaze to heel, we went to the truck and drove to Sonic Drive-In where I ordered two Sonic burgers, one plain with extra meat for Blaze, one with the works for me, and two orders of tater tots. Rested well enough to drive all night, I planned ahead. On the long stretch of road ahead across the desert, there were few if any all-night restaurants to get something “to go,” and probably no drive-in’s open, so I picked up some snacks and drinks at a late-night grocery store to eat along the way.

We returned back to the lodge, packed, paid my bill and checked out. Blaze seemed to sense that a new adventure was starting as we left Taos. I took HWY 68S until we got to HWY 84, and we arrived in Santa Fe, NM about twenty-three thirty. We hit I40 about zero hundred fifteen and drove south on I25 to Albuquerque. From there, we traveled east and drove through to Amarillo, Texas, where we stopped and filled up with gas and got a cup of coffee. Driving straight through, we rolled into Oklahoma City around seven fifteen. I could tell I’d gotten my schedule out of whack, and I didn’t feel like driving all the way to New Orleans, LA.

We found a small, but nice hotel that let me keep Blaze, registered and unpacked. The hotel had room service, so I ordered a couple of ham and cheese omelets with biscuits and gravy for me and Blaze. I decided not to travel again until the next morning and try to adjust my body clock by not turning in until at least until twenty hundred.

After eating, I took Blaze to a park, pulled out the Frisbee, and we had a blast. We went back to the hotel where I wrote for a while in my journal and watched TV until the time for supper. After some more room service and a shower, I left instructions for a wakeup call at zero six hundred.

I slept deeply and awoke to the sound of a phone announcing my wake-up call. The last leg of the trip was 505 miles, and I took I35 South to Dallas, then I45 South to Houston. This was not the most direct route to New Orleans, but I was avoiding going through Alexandria. My hometown was Rapides Station, just north of Alexandria. ASDC officers were considered dead in their original identity and were ordered not to go back to their hometown on leave, to avoid running into people who might ask questions. I didn’t want to chance breaking down or running into someone who knew me, so I never went through there.

On my first leave, my brother Roger and I met secretly in New Orleans after I called him from a pay phone. Every time I go on leave now, I send him a letter with my ETA, and he meets me in New Orleans or Baton Rouge, LA. I arrived in New Orleans at nineteen hundred and pulled into the truck stop where we always met.

Roger understood that I worked for the government, but couldn’t discuss it. He seemed to understand and always accommodated my unusual rules for contact. It was a funny relationship when we met. He could talk about his life all he wanted, but I just spoke of our life together before and answered general questions about my welfare. Roger and the boys would not be here for three days.

I was to meet Soke Marx for supper at Mandina’s restaurant on Canal Street. I parked my rented truck in front of the restaurant on the street. Pulling up to the restaurant, I parked my rented truck in front, on the street. Soke Marx’s car pulled up and he parked behind me. Telling Blaze to stay, I cracked the window and locked the car. She had already been fed, and would probably curl up and take a nap until I got out. After Soke Karl W. Marx locked his car, I gave him a bow, which he returned, and then he hugged me. Soke Marx was an outgoing individual, given to expressions of affection and deeply committed to Christ. We went inside and were seated by the boss’ daughter and manager, Cindy Mandina. We both ordered a couple of beers while we looked over the menu. The waitress delivered the beers and left and left, giving us time to decide what to order. I presented my teacher with the gift I had brought him, a copy of
The Art of War
.

“Thank you. I appreciate it.” He looked into my eyes. “There is something different about you this time. You have more authority in your bearing, and also sadness.”

“You remember the friend I sent to you for advanced training sessions?”

“Yes, the Navajo known only as “Seal.” ”

“He was killed in action.”

“You always spoke of him with such respect. I take it he was your commander as well as your friend?”

“Yes.”

“So that is the reason for both your sadness and your promotion?”

“Yes.”

“I knew him well enough to know that he is in heaven now. You are viewing this from a temporal perspective. You must learn to see this from an eternal perspective.”

“I know you are right. It will just take time.”

Soke Marx looked as though something pained him. He sighed and leaned forward, his eyes as remorseful as one who had accidentally killed a friend. “I have a confession to make. I have mistakenly led you and my students down the wrong spiritual path. Now I must undo the damage, even if it is one student at a time.”

“Soke?”

“The so called
spiritual disciplines
of trancendental meditation and mind-control are wrong. For years I have been “kicking against the goads” and trying to do this my
own way
. From now on I will be doing this God’s way. I apologize for leading you astray.”

“Apology accepted. I will, of course, follow you as you are following Christ.”

“Excellent! I want you to throw any of the old keichu-ryu patches away. I have a new one for you. This one has the sign of the dove on it, representative of the new God over Keichu-Ryu.”

He handed me two patches, one for my karate gi and one for my boxing trunks. The waitress interrupted us and asked us if we were ready to order. Mandina’s restaurant offered both Italian and Cajun food. Soke Marx ordered a seafood platter, and I ordered veal parmesan and spaghetti with an Italian salad. The food, as usual was exquisite, and we ate and drank our fill and departed for the evening after planning an early morning start on my training session. Blaze and I found a hotel that would allow me to keep her.

Zero six hundred came early. I arose, took a quick shower, fed Blaze and grabbed some breakfast in the diner next to the hotel I was staying in. I had to leave Blaze in the truck while I grabbed breakfast. Soke Marx did not mind my bringing her to the training session. Our training session was in a small dojo which belong to a friend of Soke Marx. I had requested training solutions to fighting in a deep sea diver’s suit and using my bat’letH. A diving suit was as close to a space suit as I could manage without saying too much. I had sent ahead the design and measurements for my Klingon sword, and Soke Marx had two hardwood replicas made for practice. The boots were heavy, so kicks were basically out. My instructor made the most of close-quarters fighting in bulky equipment, focusing on using my hands and sword. It was no doubt the first time he had been asked to develop and teach a fighting technique for someone so weighed down and immobile. He probably doubted its validity as a combat application but said nothing. Three days were over more quickly than I would have liked, and my karate master bid us farewell.

At about seventeen hundred, Roger and his two sons, Mark and Andrew, rolled up in his Chevy truck, towing a trailer with my Harley and the newly installed sidecar. The sight of it gave promise of new adventures waiting for Blaze and me. His wife Barbara was visiting her sick mother and couldn’t come. I surveyed my brother. Farming hadn’t hurt him a bit. We both had brown hair and eyes, but he was a couple of inches shorter than me. He was fit but starting to get a slight pot belly, probably because his wife was one of the best cooks in Louisiana. Yes, my father left the farm to the right brother. We all got out and hugged each other and I let Blaze out to meet them.