Lady Jane La Rosa's Flies and Rats (a short story)

Lady Jane La Rosa’s Flies and Rats
Of East London, 1717 AD


The Blue Bottle fly, in Europe, was quite known to be a pest in the month of July (Worm Month), these flies had a stout (fat and heavy) nature; the adults soak up surface fluids with mop like mouthparts, they lay their eggs on dead animals, the smell of which can attract them from a distance of several kilometers. They also lay eggs on other decomposing matter and on faeces—the eggs hatch in less than a day, the young insects (larvae) have no opportunity to bury themselves in the ground, thus, they will crawl around until they find a suitable place in which to pupate.
This occurrence, takes place when the fly larvae, found in the house, the abode, nursed by dead nestling birds, or from dead rats, a dead rat will supply or provide enough food for about 4000-maggots, you don’t smell the dead rat anymore because the creeping larvae eat it, within about ten-working days, they work hard at eating hard, the larvae you will not see, they hid from the light, under carpets, and so forth, for their resurrection to adulthood, and destruction of its forthcoming environment. Oh but they do wiggle their way into the light sooner or later, after their full birth, and as a result, fly off to mate again, and the cycle of the fly, becomes endless. So you see there is a surviving connection with the flies and the rats, not a pretty picture by all means, but don’t go away, you haven’t read the good part yet.

Lady Jane La Rosa, of East London (in the year of 1717, July, the worm month, had a rat problem in her home, in her garden, and she killed the rats under her porch, that had a tunnel, that lead to her garden, which had a hole into her garden, and each day the fat headed rat would peak its head out of the whole not fearful of her one bit, and had she not been so fearful, she might have seen the big picture, not the surface issue, and she figured she’d poison it, and she did, and the whole family of rats died, and she was proud of herself, so very proud. And for her victory, she bought cakes and all kinds of good things to eat, even purchased some good beef, and breads, and she never noticed the process I just mentioned to you, about the Blue Flies (or blowflies) their eating and breeding habits, a young Londoner, of twenty-years old, and she woke one morning and there was hundreds of fat flies circling her bed, the kitchen and all over her lower apartment house, she went mad killing the flies, and the fatter they were, the slower they were; but many of these flies had picked up pathogenic micro-organisms, from rat and dog and cat dunghills, and passed their dirty feet and lips onto her every inch of the kitchen, as if they were dancing a ballet, and it was a cursed morning to say the least, she swatted and took the broom and ended up busting this and that trying to get all the flies out, or dead, not knowing the flies were transmitting intestinal infections, landing on foodstuffs, and she was not rich, nor poor, but frugal, and she tried to cover everything, and she did not throw one thing away, no, not the cakes or pies or even the breads and raw meat.
She had really no strict control of where and how she kept her cooked and raw meats, her breads and fruits, thus, everything got contaminated, and she took her meat, and washed it, but the faeces and vomit from the insects remained soaked into the meat, tainted, stained with its vomit, and she quickly cooked it, and invited her friends over to have dinner, thinking, it all was too much for one person, enough for several, and by doing so, she was forced to be more generous, more so than folks knew her to be.
In addition to her stupidly of the foodstuffs, the single, and simple young lady, overlooked that there might be breeding sites yet to clean up, or clean out, she simply had told her parents she wanted to be on her own, and this was her apartment in East London, and knew nothing about anything in this area…how proud she was though for killing those rats, and that would have to be her consolation. Nor did she clean the walls, lamps, mirrors, and so forth, and she had a half dozen families over for dinner that evening, and when they came and they ate, and they touched the walls, new flies appeared everywhere, especially around the lit lamps, and they looked at Lady Jane La Rosa, not the flies, but the folks eating the fly vomit on the meat, and bread, and so forth, and then the re-looked at the food and the flies next to the foods, and they quickly ran home and washed, and in that neighborhood, that following month, Lady Jane La Rosa died an intentional disease, and several of the neighbors died, and the cursed flies were all over, and then someone discovered a hole, and filled it with dirt, it was as simple as that.

Afterthought: It was said by many of that East London Neighborhood, Miss La Rosa confided in a few people during her illness, prior to her death, and she said, in so many words to a dear girlfriend who visited her just before she had her last breath:
‘It was as if they had very aggressive attitudes, as if there was a neurological strain, mental twist, a madness, if not insanity, in the attack on me, and perhaps I got thinking some imps, or devils, demons, you know that sort of thing got into those fat flies, and invaded my house, because I was the most vulnerable, available, I was in that neighborhood, and usable; also to show off to their cohorts how shrewd and witty they were, you know, like people do, and kids to kids for admiration, or how the robber will choose the easiest pray for his vindictive scheme, thus, he picks on the old, the feeble, single and helpless women, old women, children, those who can’t fight back. I don’t disagree the rats had something to do with it all, but for one day, such a horde showing up on your doorsteps, and then zooming by you like a bullet, attacking from all sides. It’s what they did, and had no mercy, if only I could have thought of something creative…!”


2-11-2009

The Meaning of Danger (non-fiction, short story)

The Meaning of Danger
(Based on actual events, name have been changed)


It is said when danger lingers about, animals have a sixth sense, and thus move out of its way. So do humans, if only they’d pay attention to it. (Summer of 1962)

Chick Evens


I met a man when I was fifteen years old; he was twenty-years old at the time, a handsome looking fellow, had a car he borrowed always from his brother, he had several of them. They drank a lot, and he seemed to get into trouble without much effort, I only met his brothers once, and that was enough. I remember him saying, the older robust brother of David Osmond’s,
“I want to try your ring on,” is what he said to me, and I said no, and David whispered in my ear, I suggest you do as he asks, he’s a little crazy. The brother was perhaps thirty-five, build like a wrestler. I said no, and he looked at me, and he said, the older brother, “Are you sure you want to keep saying no, because, I heard what my brother said, and he wasn’t kidding.”
I tried to keep my posture, but his eyes told me, something was coming, and quickly, he and three of his brothers were in the kitchen with David and me, and his sister was out in the living room with the two girls, one eighteen-months old, the other around six-years old.
As I pondered on this idea of taking off my ring, and letting him see it, plus, pondering on what was this man really like, I remembered how David drove the car a week earlier, into a fence, and laughed about it, almost killed us. Then I thought about the time we went into the restaurant, and he ordered all these hamburgers, and everything under the sun, and said to me,
“Let’s go Chick!”
And I said,
“We got to pay, you said you’d pay, we can’t leave without paying!”
Then he said,
“Then you stay and pay, and if you can’t I’ll give you a call at the detention center, where the police will take you for thief. And if I were you, I’d not tell my name to the police.”
So I thought all these things within the clap of a second, and he turned to me and said, the big older brother said,
“Have you come to your conclusion?”
David looked at him, said, “Take it easy, he’s just a kid!”
“Yes,” said the older brother, drinking down a third beer, “a kid with an eye for trouble, he sees things, and knows, but won’t give in until I have to tare him apart.”
“He’ll give you the ring back, Chick,” said David, “please let him have it to wear for a few hours.”
“Ok,” I said, but I knew I’d not see the ring again; how did I know, call it intuition.

When you are fifteen, even coming from a rough neighborhood, as I was brought up in, things haunt you; David and I left the place, it was in the housing projects, St. Paul, Minnesota, far out towards the South East part of town, and he took me home, down to Cayuga Street, by the Oakland Cemetery.
“I’ll see if I can get your ring back for you by tomorrow, or if I don’t see you tomorrow, since everyone is drinking at the house, perhaps the following day or two, but don’t expect to see me for at least a few days more, maybe three.”
“No problem,” I said as I got out of his 1958 Mercury.
“Perhaps it would be better Dave if you don’t go back there, all that drinking, and your brother seems out of it.”
“Don’t you start telling me what to do now Chick,” he replied, and I smiled, and simply said “Ok,” and left.

He had went back to his sister’s apartment in the project complex, drank that night, and the next day had stayed over. Give me a call, he said,
“I really got a hangover, can’t see you today, maybe tomorrow or the next day, got to baby-sit the kids for sis tonight. I hate to do it, but I told her I would, her and her husband are going out with my brother, you know the one with the ring, he said he’ll give it back to me tomorrow.”
David was about five foot ten inches tall, dark black hair, very good looking, slim, built well, had spent some time in St. Cloud, reformatory, I had found out, matter-of-fact, I had found out just before he called me, and figured if I get the ring fine, if not, I best stay away from him, lest I end up in prison. My instincts again, and I was learning to cooperate with them.

A day passed, it was a hot summer, I was playing ball in the empty lot next to my grandfather’s house, with the Cayuga Street Gang (the Donkeyland Gang), there were about twenty-two of us, unofficial members, I being one of the youngest, and perhaps the only one that never had been in jail.
I got home that evening, and went to bed as usual, up in the attic bedroom where my brother, Mike and I slept. It was for me, a hard night sleeping, I kept thinking about the ring, but it was really much more than that, it was a premonition, something I didn’t know, but knew something was happening, something that would spoil me getting back my ring, just what I didn’t know, and to quite frank, I would never have imagined had I had a thousand guess.

The following midmorning, I called David’s house up, and he was not there, then I called his sister’s apartment up, and the phone just rang and rang and rang. I told myself I best not bother them too much, his crazy brother will come looking for me and God knows what might happen, so I left well enough alone, and went and ate my cereal.
My grandfather was at work, he owned a restaurant, down on Wabasha Street, St. Paul, and got the paper each day, he had a hard time reading it, the old Russian Bear, we lived in kind of an extended family situation. He owned the house, and my mother bought the food, and furniture, and he paid the utility bills, and did his laundry, and life went on for us four folks.
The paperboy put the paper through the door hole, and it was thin, I picked it up, out on our screened-in porch, put it down onto Grandpa’s sofa chair in the living room, and when I did, the headlines popped up in front of my eyes, like King Kong, it read “David Osmond…!”
I called my friend up, the one that introduced me to him, Richard Z, and said,
“Have you read the paper yet?”
“Yes,” he said.
“About David Osmond?” I asked.
“Yes,” he said.
“Why in heaven’s name did you introduce him to me?” I asked.
“Whoever would have thought he could do something like that?”
It was of course a rhetorical question, and I told him, I just needed to talk to someone, it was all too much, too unbelievable.

That evening when my mother came home from Swifts (the Meat Packing Company, in South St. Paul), and she asked me, as I was pacing the house from the porch through the living room then dinning room, then kitchen, said,
“You’re getting like your grandfather, pacing all the time, what is the matter with you.”
I had put the paper on the dinning room cabinet, by grandpa’s old black mantle clock, said, “Look at the front page,” and she did.
“Yaw, so what.” she said.
“That’s my friend, David Osmond.”
She looked closer, “Really,” she said, “You just never see him again,” she demanded.
“I don’t think he’ll be out of jail for a very longtime,” I commented.
In the following month, I tried to get a hold of the brother who had the ring, even went over to the apartment, but it was vacant, and he was gone. So I simply assumed right at that moment, this all was to be taken as a good lesson, good lesson for me, to avoid such characters.

•

Now let me explain what took place. That day when he, David and I met his brother, and his brother took my ring, he stayed overnight there, he was at this time, staying with different family members, and borrowing his brother’s car, he had no money to speak of, of his own, only the money he was getting from gambling with his brothers, and a few friends that came over, or was given to him freely by his family members. The following evening he babysat the two daughters, for his sister as he said he was going to do, and he drank that night, as he drank most every night, and his head started hurting. He had been released to my knowledge from St. Peters, a criminal asylum, prior to serving time at St. Cloud, at St. Peters, for evaluation more so than confinement.
His head was hurting as I mentioned, and he had told the older niece, the big sister to keep her little sister quiet, the eighteen-month old child, and she tried, and couldn’t, and he got madder and madder, until he blanked out, and shook the little girl so hard, he shook the wind out of her, and when he set her back into her prior position, she was dead, not breathing, fearful he did not call the ambulance. Now even more frightened, hyperventilating, he had picked up a lamp and swung it at the older sister, and the concussion, killed her likewise, she fell to the floor to her death. Yes, he had killed two young children, in a state of panic and frenzy.
Now supposedly coming to his senses (somewhat), he saw what he had done, and wanted to cover it up and in the process tried to hide their bodies, in the garage.
When the family members came home, he had no real story figured out to tell them except, they took off outside and he couldn’t find them. Then in the process of calling the police and his wailing for his wrong doing, they found the two corpses, the girls in the garage, both of course slain by David.
His case went to court, and there was an insanity plea, and to my knowledge he got twenty-years plus, or until he could show the doctors he was no longer maladaptive.

2-3-2009

The Strange Letters of Amelia, From Nantucket, 1852

The Strange Letters of
Amelia, from Nantucket, 1852


Advance (narrator): The next to true story, “The Story of Amelia,” is told by herself, in a number of letters to her daughter, whom has discovered them after rummaging through the attic of her mother’s house, found in and among other sailor items in a wooden chest, Judith Cleland, of New England, Stockbridge, Massachusetts.

Amelia, the highlight of her life, and this story, takes place in Nantucket, 1850 – 1852, for the most part, although she spends a decade in Nantucket until she returns to Stockbridge. Judith, is holding the letters, with a few different dates on them, in her hands, about fifteen pages: it is 1872, it is twenty-years since those letters have been exposed to the open air; she is at her mother’s home in Stockbridge at the moment.
She has always been curious why her mother never married, and never talked about her father other than saying he was a sailor, and a hero of sorts to him, and thus, likewise to Judith; Judith is now 21-years old and the letters have to be opened up, so she feels, no matter what, even if it is like opening Pandora’s Box.
It is a story about a man she met, by the name of Gideon Asa Scott (an Irish-Scottish bulk of a fellow, in his middle to late forties).
To repeat myself, Judith finds fifteen pages of letters, her mother wrote and kept for her, not to be read, nor the envelope opened until after her death, she has now brought it to her mother, whom is outside, in the backyard, drinking tea. She lays it down on the table next to her (she is fifty-one years old, Amelia knows right away what it is, looks at her daughter’s eyes) she smiles and says:
“I think you’re old enough to understand why I never married, and to learn who your father really was?”
These were two questions always on Judith’s mind, matter-of-fact; she had asked her mother ever since she was a teenager, those two questions.

On another note, Amelia, had moved with her family to Nantucket for a number of years, it was because of the railroad was being built in that area, and her family thought it best to avoid the raucous and tribulations of the times, and the wealthy had moved in, as did poets and writers.
She had liked writing and had met Catharine Maria Sedgwick, who had wrote such books as ‘Hope Leslie,’ 1827 and ‘Married or Single,’ 1857. She was kind of her idol. Like Catharine, she also was sent to a finishing school in Boston, she was the most talked about female author of her day—this inspired Amelia, and of course, she liked the book Catharine wrote called: ‘Married or Single,’ what it expressed, that being: women should not marry if it involved losing their self-respect, self-worth, identity.
Now I have really said enough to this story, we must now go onto those lengthily letters of hers to find out those two secrets, Judith has waited so long for.

(Amelia is going to read it to her daughter as they sit under an umbrella, sipping tea, but first she makes a statement):



The Letters


Amelia’s Statement to her daughter before reading the letters: “I have read a lot of Cotton Mather in past years; he was very popular when I was a child with my family growing up. Need I say Judith, he was very influential with me, he wrote much, was married three times, had fifteen-children, so I suppose he knew what he was talking about, and put into writing, and many books, and a doctorate degree helped, honorary, but nonetheless, official. He said, “You should be more solicitous that their souls (meaning one’s children) may not be Starved, or go without the bread of life.” I presume some of that bread is understanding the truth, and by telling you the background of those letters, or reading them, shows caring of that nature, especially when you know someone close to you knows and doesn’t tell you—as in the letters you hold in your hand. I felt it would be a bit early to tell you the whole story, how you became you, and perhaps how I became me, or a little more of me, after your father’s death, I was waiting for you to become at least thirty-years old for that news, that is when Christ Himself took up his ministry. Cotton Mather also said in so many words and I hear you cry for understanding: if your dog and child were drowning, whom would you save? A poor example by and large, but it gets to the point. When one’s family member feels under an ill discipline, it is not unusual that it affects other members, so I shall read the letters to you:


Letter One: 1852
The Story



“When I first saw him, more like found him stranded on the beach like a soaked wet rag, or dead seal, and helped him, I said to myself: ‘He looks to me to be an honest and courageous kind of fellow, a sailor, one that would not try to do me harm,’ and once getting to know him, I was correct—for the most part—in my evaluation at first, as well as, he wasn’t too religious which I gathered from the start, unfortunately, but in his quiet way he was a sort of reverential unspoken noble natured person, perhaps a cry for a better worth of immortality, was in his soul…
“He did at the end of our relationship, pretty much make up his mind of what he had to do, and did it, although if you ask me, he had no rest in that anticipation, and beyond human kindness he left me little to hold onto, and hope for in the sense of his return—and for him, he left no definite belief. It is strange how he persists though, on wondering to and fro, around the world on a pile of wood: strange but fascinating at the same time.
“I am thirty-one years old, he is forty-six. There will be no correspondence I fear, between him and I, over our relationship that has lasted only two-years that brought me an abundance of warmth and fellowship. But faded the last season he was with me, which was most recently.
“I liked his name it was different, not his last name but his two other names, first and middle, not real different for an Irish-Scotsman I suppose, Gideon Asa Scott, but different for me.

“When I first found him on the shores of Nantucket, I dragged him a ways, and waited until he was semi conscious, and allowed him to lean on my shoulders, and I brought him to my home, put him naked by the hearth, I found soon after, his resurrection would be complete within a few days. And it didn’t take long for ourselves to get on a pretty much, formal terms.
(You must realize, I am pregnant now, and Gideon never knew this, and I did not know if you were a boy or girl inside of me, perhaps if you are a girl I will call you Judith, I like that name, it seems to have a Romanist ring to it, and thus, you will understand, I’m sure of that; on the other hand, if you are a boy, I dread to tell you, we live in a time, our skirts are made of iron, and the male gender, with all their whoring around, wants to marry a virgin, and I dare say, expects their mother to be one if the father was not properly wed.)

“As I was about to say, before that little interlude, it was perhaps just two weeks, and we became better friends, sociability and our confidence with one another showered in our place!
“Before he left he was or had not been well, of late. And to my guess, suffered from too constant a mental occupation, in pursuit without much success, of whatever he was thinking. Plus, he was drinking, as always, but I did curve that bad habit for him, somewhat.
“For a long while he was happy, and then some kind of morbid depression came over him. Perhaps wanting to go back to the sea, or at least that was, or better yet, is, my conjecture, or better yet, to his wife, Phoebe…whom he said was from New England, not sure exactly where, I surmised from our late night conversations, New Hampshire, he was quite secretive about such matters. My reasoning being, there is an old ruin, ancient archeologically site nearby, deep in the woods and he had mentioned it in relation to Phoebe (“Mystery Hill”).
“When he left he was seemingly not profoundly sympathetic or responsive as he was at first to our relationship that warmth had left.
“As you will know in time, I was born and raised in Stockbridge, moved to Nantucket for a number of years, the railroad had come in and my parents thought it best I live in Nantucket for a decade, and so I did, they feared the raucous, and hard drinking men, and men of no repute might take liberties they were not entitled to.
“When I think of him, it is still with exceedingly warmth and enthusiasm.
“For two-years I had looked into his deep dark eyes, and all I can now see is the story I now live, his story and mine, the one I am telling you, every line to me is a single and sincere longing on my part for him, and for you to know him better.”


Letter Two dated: 1857
Questions


“Here is a question I presume you will be asking: ‘who was he anyhow?’ You are five-years old now Judith and this is my second letter to you thus far.
“For years I have gone over the story me and your father lived, Gideon, He always had a strain on his face, for whaling…a subject rather rhapsody for him.
“But how was he, you will ask, and I will possibly say in passing: he was the ocean, and he left behind the earth, to find the mighty whales, sell their oil, make profit, help the so called original commodity, become what it might become. It might be said of him, as in a fable, he was made out of sterling metal, to me a face imprinted on a coin. And when Dorothea met him, my dear and best friend, she had become very puffed up with smiles, not to count his wealth, for he had none, she bethought herself, she wanted his recognition, with this purpose in view, I pulled him quickly away, like an architect would his plans for a great building, when someone else is peering over your shoulder, that should not be.
“Many a night we passed the evening together, listening to the fresh sounds of the Atlantic with his sailor talk. All jargon to me at first of course, and then I got to know his ways, terminology, and so forth. Actually I started to live his stories, as he relieved them; and it always made for a good stirring evening. He would plough deep into the depths of the ocean bring to surface his rich tales, atheistically. To him it was all a sacred matter, with its exquisite ironies. At times he was on the boarder line of blasphemy.
“As I have not said, but I must, it had already been rumoured in the town of our living together, they all looked at me to no purpose, as if their life was perfect, and undeniable on the right track to heaven’s gates. People are always the more ready to believe the worse of your neighbour, but they’d like to pluck the rose themselves. But as I was saying, or about to say, when I first met him, he was weather-beaten, like crushed marble, his skin like snow, from the long ordeal in the sea. Studded with muscle knobs all over his legs; but on the other hand, when he opened his eyes he saw me, with a gleam, especially beneath his eyelids.

“I do hope you understand, I see you playing at this moment outside on the grass next to my window, as I write, I wish you would have got to know him, perhaps this will help.

“Well, he said he was married, that he had wedded a woman as I mentioned before, named Phoebe, what I neglected to mention though, was she served time in Sing Sing, a prison for women. I doubt he really ever told me the full and true story, it wasn’t his nature to do so, he’d add fiction with non-fiction, to make everything a tinge mysterious. In any case, there were many of those so called prison girls, willing to sleep with the Judges and noble men of the city, sound standing citizens, they’d hide he’d say behind curtains in the prison, and have their orgies.
“Whatever case, he married one he said, and had five-children with her. I kind of frowned on this at first, and then overlooked it, as if there was some truth to it, but most likely, everything had its distortions, and deletions interwoven into it, and generalizations.
“No man had ever put such reality before me, unflinchingly as he did. Conceivably to see my reaction, so I often thought: to see if I got startled.
“He had said one afternoon when we were talking on the porch, drinking lemonade: he said in so many words: his boat had sunk and the ship he was on left him for dead, he was compelled to swim, even unconsciously for hours on end. This I know to be true, for I found him astray, on the coast. And I shall get more into that part of the story, later on, but I must say his sea stories were so good that I scarcely feel he was less of a story teller than Melville himself being a writer, surely, more so than a sailor: he need not have made them any better.
“He was neither a common man, nor that entirely intellectual, or even warm hearted, he was rather a brute of a man, with dirty fingerprints, and he’d leave them all over the house, especially on the walls.
“He was tall, and erect, sincere and somewhat revered or he tried to be with me at any rate, unsure, if he is not a great man in my soul. He seemed to me a man that had seen many things, and explained few, but in his tales he told everything accurately, as he saw them; he had eyes you know not keen eyes, but rather undistinguishable in anyway.”

•

“When he told his tales and in particular his long swim, he was always full of gesture.
“He was not handsome, but brave and manly he was. And once he started his tale he lost himself in it, and somehow he gave it graced and polish. He was, Judith, for the most part backwards you might say, but one could clearly comprehend what he was implying, if his words got into a rambling state.
“He’d give you a strange lazy glance, at the end of each tale as if waiting to get your response.”


Letter Three: 1859
Passion and Pride


“It’s been a few years now, you’re getting bigger, seven-years old now Judith. You are in school this afternoon, and I‘ve been thinking we might be going back to Stockbridge, my hometown, you’ve never seen. But I want to tell you more about your father, and our two-years together, and explain the passion I had for him, if I can in a light form.
“I loved making love to him, he was although a bear in the process, on the other hand, he was respectable being near to, not directly with, an innocence, with his child like mannerisms, and most amiable during the full course of the affair.
“He was in loving making, like he was in his story telling, he got lost in it and there was no stopping him. This he had much knowledge in and I very little, and it was his daily, or almost daily favourite pursuit activity.
“We ate breakfast at 5:00 a.m., sharp. Then we’d take a walk, then he’d say ‘Leave me be…’ and I’d go off some place by myself, after saying goodbye, and we’d meet later.
“We ate late supper usually, and I was always worried of his sleep, he never felt well the next day, if he didn’t get his sleep. The fact is, when your father left he was in a frightfully poor state of health, strain on his face, in his eyes, his mind, afraid to leave, to love, and possibly his body weakened from all those past adventures, and drinking.

“Wherever he was going to go that day, the day he left me, in 1852, which was on one of three ships, it was because he feared if he didn’t, he’d upset his next adventure entirely, as if he was missing something, he knew his work on the ship, nothing else, pride was more costly than he thought, it was, and would be more so, I told myself, that in the future, it would take a toll on him: but working on ships, other than story telling what could he do, I suppose it was a dreadful state of mind to be in, trying to see where he fit in, a condition of anxiety, and story telling was part of his trips, he never read much, perhaps couldn’t.
“The day he left he was more quiet than usual, and I had turned out to be his unpleasant companion. I even told him as we walked down to the shore, ‘Your recluse life on those ships is making you insane.’
“But I knew he was dreaming of those far-off tropic isles, the hard blue waves of the sea, life under the unmoving sun, it was life at its best for him, it was in a way his medicine, if only he could curve his alcohol intake on these adventures of his, he did while staying with me, but the ills of ship life and the world at large, would surely have an impact on him. I find as a woman, we are always trying to be the caretaker of the man we love, my mother does it with my father, and most of the folks I see do it that way, and now here I am doing it also. What can I say?”



Letter Four: 1860
Death


“It’s been a year Judith since my last letter; I keep putting them on top of one another, saving them for when you get older. We will be going to Stockbridge this year, pretty soon. I think I will write about your father’s death, it was an abrupt surprised for me to say the least.
“He was found on the streets of Nantucket of all places, in 1853, you were only a year old then, plus a few months. He had only been gone no more than six-months, and when found on the streets he was delirious, in need of immediate assistance, according to the man who found him—he was hurt, he had fallen over a wooden fence, and punctured his back somewhat, how he came to this drunken condition is all speculation of course, but it is just a matter of fact, drunks do not need to look for disaster, it follows them. He was slightly coherent, long enough to call out a name, before he died, whom exactly he was referring to is unclear, he was in a state of ‘doublespeak’ he wanted to avoid I feel the secret of his love, be it me or his ship it was obscure speech.
“To my understanding, the word he called out sounded like ‘The Amanita, or Amelia’ there was a ship called Amanita, but it was out to sea, and not due for another week.
“Be that as it may, he died it was said of congestion of the brain, coupled with alcoholism. They said, the doctors said, and a few town folks who had seen him in the local bars a few weeks prior to his death, he had the tremors, delirium, his heart wasn’t working right, he fell to his keens a few times.
“I of course arrived too late to be with him, the moment before he expired, perhaps it was best, it would have been quite trying on me.


Letter Five: 1861


“His death did not put me in a stupider, I had you. If anything, I’d have a lot of stories also to tell you Judith, when you got older. We had moved to Stockbridge, and lived now close to your grandparents. I also figured I’d not marry while raising you, it seemed to me, the very image of another man’s property, as Cotton Mather might put it, so is a child, the new father sure enough would not treat you as his own. Plus, I got an allowance from your grandparents, Ernest Cleland was his name, and he was a good lawyer in his youth in Boston, and had written some books, and the sale of them made him a small fortune; books on law.
“And to carry this one more step forward, I do believe the prophecy is true, once married to a man who does not command you, he becomes greatly perplexed, as did your father at times, trying to treat me as an old beggar-woman, and thus, it is best he is gone, lest you be a little beggar-child.
“But what I really wanted to say was when I wrote my father back in ’51, he begged me not to marry Gideon, he tried everything to persuade me different, sent me money, and said he’d support me and you. He called Gideon contamination. Oh I didn’t like his wording at the time, but his words would turnout to be true. How foolish we become when we are infatuated with love…one can’t see the trees in front of the forest, nor what is beyond it.
“I did love his tough, structured mutineer mannerisms, I think every woman does, they just got to realize such men are to be played with, for they are not tameable.

“Many of his stories were of dead sailors coming back as ghosts, subduing the sailors within the ship, and knife fights, in the middle of the night; stabbing and cutting one’s throat. You never quite knew what was real or unreal.
“He would tell me about the South Seas, that all those whales they captured and brought back, their oil supplied Nantucket with fuel for lamps, and therefore illuminated the night, and as for the baleen that is around the whale’s mouth, it was sold and used for women’s corsets, hairbrushes, buggy whips, such things that had previously never occurred to me. In his own world he was very smart.
“All in all, it was a lucrative business I gathered, made many a ports rich, he said, but I knew it was a rough and dangerous life.
“Now I will explain to you the story he told me prior to finding him on the beach, and I shall paraphrase him to the best of my ability:
“The crew and I, he said, took our boats, whaleboats, in pursuit of the objective, which was to harpoon the prey, he successfully speared his whale—not seeing the other two boats in sight, he figured they went after the other two whales, there was three spotted—and I knew in my heart we’d be treated to a …sleigh ride, meaning, that the whale was going to, and did, drag the hunters in that little boat, through the sea, as if on a safari. Then he went onto say, we lost sight of the ship, and as it turned to crash (the whale) us, I escaped, that being after five-hours of drudgery, in the open sea with a mad whale, that was spouting blood, and the mother ship nowhere in sight. It was late, perhaps 9:00 p.m., and he was left adrift. He claimed the whale was a big one, you know, like that Moby Dick, story Melville wrote back in ’51. He said it would have produced a lot of blubber to boil down to oil. He said the whale would have brought some 300-barrols of material; when a normal whale brings in about 150. I think with Gideon, you have to sort out the truth, from fiction.
“Let me continue, the whale was a mile off, it was one huge whale, as I just mentioned, and when we got close to it, or near enough for me to harpoon it, our blood was stirring with eagerness, wherewith to fill the ship’s galley, and hold with whale oil galore.
“We headed after one of the three, I was the oarsman, I held them at a peak, I rose he said, and plunged the harpoon into its flesh, and I did make his spout blood that was when he turned about, turned into us most furiously. The boat spun tossing us all into the air.
“The other two loose boats may have returned to the ship, I never knew.


The Confession
((End Chapters) (not a letter))


“Now I must tell you face to face the hardest truth you will ever endure, and likewise, myself, one I did not write in the book, one I was not going to tell you.
“One afternoon, when the sun was going down, I saw your father, Gideon Asa Scott, standing drunk outside a door of an Inn, in Nantucket; it was in October, of 1853. He had but to lift his eyes, and there I was plainly to be seen, though for him in his drunken stupor, miles away, perhaps with the sunshine brightening on some tropical island.
“And what did he have to say, “Where is the Amoral-Mather,” a ship he was waiting for, the captain’s name being Amoral, and he, like myself, adored Cotton Mather and his works, so he named his ship that. You see he had been on Nantucket for three months; and was only at sea for three months. Some of my good friends, such as Dorothea, a long time friend, was seeing him, he was staying with her. He thought I was her at first, after he called out the name of the ship. Then he recognized me, and was quite uncomfortable, we walked up the hill past the church, to the old meeting house, along the hillside, I love those long and gentle slopes.
“The night was not populous, no one congregated at the meeting house—it was built in the late 1600s, I leaned against the fence, and it broke, and so we moved farther down and leaned on a different section—I had picked up a piece of wood to fiddle with, almost unconsciously. In short, we were having a moderate conversation; his face seemed like always, to be made of stone. He listened, but didn’t hear, he was more a work of nature, than a human being, I dare to say. (Judith looks at her mother puzzled, as if to say, what is all this, where is she going with all this; her mother is starting to tremble.)
“For a while—within the perfectly still night, not a neighbour about, he was in a good mood, there appeared a short lived majestic playfulness in him, then abruptly, he wanted to leave, and I knew where to, Dorthea’s house, and when the Amoral-Mather came in, then back out to sea.
“His back was to me, I remembered now, I had picked up a thin piece of wood from the broken part of the fence, it was old dried up wood, sharp at the tip like a knife, a small harpoon to my mind at the time, grey with age, about five inches long, he was just the proper distance, precisely to stab, as if he was the whale himself, he seemed to me as an enormous giant standing in front of me with his back—a human Moby Dick, as if shunning me, overlooking me as being insufficient. The reason he did not want to make love to me was that I was showing with child, you Judith. I was the talk of Nantucket, that was one reason, I did not want to leave the island, and why I did not want to go to Stockbridge until you got older, so I could tell them my husband was a sailor, and died in the course of his duties on a ship. Matter of fact, I knew the story so well of how he swam for hours in the open sea, that I was going to tell that story, with a few amendments.
“In any case, he and I were no longer a happy lot, I said to myself at that moment: it seemed unfair, positively unfair for him to be alive and do what he felt like doing and having no regard for anyone else’s feelings, that he could hurt at will, and have no penance to pay; he was guilt free: his whole being, just illuminated the clouds over my head with black vapour, I could only think of retribution, and not allow him to glorify the devil and his works any longer, infusing no more tenderness into my life, or anyone’s life for that matter. So I leaped forward, and with all my force, plunged the danger like object through the midsection of his back, I thrust the piece of wood into him, like Abraham was going to do to Isaac, but I did it.”

“Mother,” said Judith, with an even toned voice, while her mother let out a great long sigh of relief, “what did he cry out to the authorities?”
“My dear, you’re not dreadfully angry with me, your countenance says you’re not?” asked Amelia.
Eagerly inquired Judith the second time, “Please tell me what his words were, his last words?”
“Well, ok, the authorities said it sounded like the “Amoral-Mather,” but I was there, I had left and someone found him, and on his dying bed, I had to return, caught or not, and he said, ‘Amelia, murderer!’ but the words were slurred, they came out distorted, and the authorities could not believe such words would come out of his mouth I suppose so it was overlooked, but Dorothea knew what he had said, she was there before me, but she did not disclose my name, in fear of whatever, perhaps, shame for her, or our old friendship, to be mended—I mean dead is dead, and he was no more to her, than she was to him, a think to be used, they both complimented each other’s needs. Whatever the case, it was affirmed and documented as a matter of a deadly assault, and the weapon was gone, I took the piece of wood, and no one was the wiser, they figured he may even have fallen down drunk against the fence, and staggered to and fro, and the fence unintentionally killed him. So there were a few theories, but they went along with the first because he was a short distance away from the cracked part of the fence. But the case was never persuaded beyond that”


†

Judith’s Curiosity


“What did you think mother, after you killed him?” asked Judith.
“By the time I came to, out of some hasty fog, I found myself looking at a poor almost dead old man, much older looking than the time he spent earth, and who was going buried him once he did die, because he hadn’t died yet; perhaps the church or state: and the strangest part of the whole thing was, that his mammon, or his means to survival, which interwoven into his body and spirit, his very existence, had disappeared before me, his death was leaving nothing of him but residue on the walk, as I said, he was old before his time, wrinkled with yellow skin. Melting away in front of me, there was no longer a striking resemblance of the heroic man I thought I knew, betwixt, the ignoble features of this sailor and that majestic glow that was under his eyelid, when he first saw me, was gone, I was although magnificently curious about his face, a mountain of a face, the longer I looked at it, it ceased to honour himself. Who will now honour him in our lifetime I asked me, not me, nor you, nor Dorothea, nor the sailors on the ship, they will drink a toast to him, and say once and for all, farewell. And quietly be consigned to forgetfulness. I will be the only one, and perhaps you Judith, that once in a while will think of him,
“Whatever he was noted for in life, history will not remember him or it, that is what I thought, when I stood over this war-worn veteran, infirmed with age, weary of life’s turmoil, no purpose of returning to life once expired, even if given a chance. As I approached him, looked over him, bent to see his hands and back and neck and profile, beseeching a blessing on the good things he did, so maybe he will be sent to limbo, to right his wrongs, I felt next to anxiousness to get away. I knew soon after, people would congregate about this happening, call it a grand and awful thing…
“He never stepped aside for anyone or from his own path for anyone, but I still wanted my blessing to reach him.”
•


“In answer to your question mother: it’s a good story, but so very old though, that even the Indians, who formerly inhabited the island, the forefathers, you might say, would never take it seriously. I’d rather believe he was the noblest personage of his time, who got lost at sea, doing his duty—thus, this concludes mother my curiosity, so let’s finish tea.”




Afterward (Narrator): Of her (Miss Amelia Cleland) selected collection of strange, rare letters she saved for twenty years, forbidding her daughter to see them, on subjects of her relationship with Gideon Asa Scott, I’d be glad to share more, enough to have you hate them both, but I have a responsibility to a certain sense, not to drag a bundle of nerves like they both had down to a madness, although I shall slip in a few things that took place after the letters were read, and a few years passed.
I tell you, you can’t imagine what the feeling was for good ole Gideon, laying on the ground half drunk, with a five inch knife, an item sharp as a knife, a piece of wood stuck in you, puncturing a lung. I promised my wife to keep you informed over the letters, but to only share the necessary ones, ‘…enough is enough,’ she said, we don’t have to reach the center of the earth you know, with gore. Because in truth, she stuck him several times in the back, she had no remorse, and as you know, her daughter, is much like the mother, to a certain degree. Therefore if I seemed desperately anxious to close this case, it is because my wife when it comes to gory things, she can be inflexible, obdurate.
As this can be remembered, for what it is, though I no longer know exactly, I pieced this story together when I was in Stockbridge, and Nantucket, in 1999, and rewrote it recently, did some research, heard the beginnings of a story, and had to imagine how it ended, and had to fill in the gaps. Oh it is all mine, don’t get me wrong, but much truth interwoven in it.
The story was all discolored from age, and the gravestone that bears Gideon’s name was likewise.
In the lone silence of those long nights after Amelia told her daughter the true story, Judith’s mind conceived the most ghastly fantasies and illusions, nightmares, and even in her room made a grotesque shrine to her father. It was all too much for her, consequently she lived in a shadowy world thereafter, lurking in the dark halls at night; constantly consulting her time piece.
“What are you hearing Judith?” asked Amelia one evening, as she noticed her daughter talking to herself (1875); she said “I’m hearing a voice; it seems to be my father’s.”
“And…” Amelia asked “what did the voice inquire?”
“To be left in alone, in peace, that you were back down to the cemetery, and you pulled back the slab of concrete over his tomb, he said, there was nothing else you could do to him, that he did not want to talk to you so he came to me, to tell you to leave him be.”

She kept on hearing that voice, it was deep and hollow, awakening, remote and unearthly, inhuman, what more can I say, it was a dead man’s voice. And Amelia would not listen to Judith’s request, made via Gideon, and Judith, was experiencing a petrified life, and the haunting voice of her father. Thus, one evening she committed suicide, I need not say how, that is the gory part, the part my wife doesn’t care to see in this story. Perhaps it was Gideon’s revenge on Amelia. And all I know beyond that is she lived to a very old age, and alone, some times screaming for Gideon to talk to her, and sometimes pleading Judith to do the same, but all she got was silence.

Written in Lima, Peru, 4, 5 and 6 of February, 2009

Late Train to Haguenau ((France, 1974)(Italian Mofia murder squad))

Late Train to Haguenau
((France, 1974) (Italian mafia murder squad))


Advance: In a Bar in Strasbourg I met a man, and he gave me his card it read “Gun for Hire,” and I almost laughed, until he said, “It’s for real, if you got the money.”
I would find out in time he was part of the Italian mafia murder squad, that had ties with the CIA, in the context of various assignations. Some of this activity was linked to the 1975, Rockefeller Commission cover-up; there was also during these trying days, something called the CIA’s Castro-capers, which involved three high ranking assassinations, along with miscellaneous murders,
In 1975 Charles Ashman was a Los Angeles-based late-night talk show host on syndicated television, and I watched him, but the shows were always old, because we got them in Germany, and they played the following day. I remember he had written many books; books to capture the topical interests of the masses of the day. If anything, they were more interesting than the newspapers I remember. He talked about the mafia, and to my recollection, was in fear for his life by the mafia, also I remember him showing pictures of gangsters of that day, I follower it half-hazardly.

Sam Giancana, a gangster by a few other nicknames, was shot dead, shot a half dozen times in the head and body, June 19, 1975, in Oak Park Illinois, he was the one time leader of the Chicago Outfit (for about 9-years in the 50s and 60s); he liked cigars. And had a long criminal career, and was going to spill the beans to the Senate Committee Investigation, going on at that time on Crime, that might expose the CIA and the Mafia, dealings with the assignations of the Kennedy’s and Martin Luther King. His offshore casinos (in Iran, South America and France) were seized, and taken over by another mafia boss. Around this time he moved into a lavish villa in Cuernavaca, Mexico, where he lived for several years until the Mexican government forced him out, and shipped him back to America, but that is all known history, you are about to read what is unknown, on the train to Haguenau, in 1974.


The Story

He was the same man, I told myself, the one I met in Strasbourg, the one that sat at the bar on a stool, near me, not too near me, but near enough to talk to me and for me to hear him without difficulty. He was in his sixties I believe, but looked more in his late forties. He wore one of those panama hats, white with thick black trim. His suite was dark, pressed, and he had a thin light tie on. Dark glasses,
“Can I buy you a drink?” he said, friendly like.
“Sure,” I said, and smiled.
“Where you headed for?” he asked.
“Haguenau?” I said.
“Haguenau, what in heavens name is there?” he replied.
“Perhaps nothing, but I got mad at the waiter out on the pier where the outside cafes are, that area, and I got mad at a French waiter: are all French people so rude, they’d not let me sit at the table with my sandwich, told me to move, and I should have beat the day-lights out of him but, I didn’t.”
“You look like a soldier, American soldier, right?”
“Yes,” I replied, “on a long weekend with my twin boys, they’re sitting over there at the table drinking a coke.”
He turned about, took a look, “Twins you say, how old?”
“Four years old,” I answered.
“So you got real mad at that guy, haw?” said the stranger.
“I suppose so, why?” then the stranger lit a cigar, blew some smoke in my direction, smiled, pulled out a calling card, it read, “Sam the Cigar,” and in brackets, (gun for hire), I started to laugh, but held it back, and he said with a different tone of voice now,
“It’s for real, but I use it for a joke now and then, but if you could afford me, would you?”
I smiled didn’t really know what to say.
“Got to go,” I told Sam the Cigar, man, and he waived at my two boys as we walked out onto the platform where the trains was waiting. I had tickets to Haguenau, and we sat huddled on one side, inside of a cramped train car, it was more like a second or third class. Several women were about, it was 4:00 PM, we figured we’d get into Haguenau late, about eight or nine o’clock, depending on how many stops the train would make.


About halfway to Haguenau, a woman who was near us asked,
“I see you are going to Haguenau, an American soldier stationed in Germany, is that right?”
“Yes I said, and my two boys, Cody and Shawn, they’re going also.”
“We’ll, by the time you get to Haguenau, it will be late, and the hotels will be shut down, closed. They lock the doors early there. Incidental, I work for the museum there. Your children will be hungry, and so forth.”
“Yes,” I said, and then wondered why she said what she said, and she looked me in the face—somewhat sternly yet concerned for the boys I think, I was twenty-seven years old at the time.
“I know a hotel, my friends own it, and they’ll be glad to take care of you, I’ll bring you there when the train stops in Haguenau, if that is ok with you.”
“Oh yes,” I said in reply (trying not to show my apprehensiveness, but not wanting to lose the opportunity of her goodwill should I need it), “that’s more than ok…” I added to the comment, and I didn’t quite know what else to say, I was mad at all the French people because the waiter had the nerve to kick me and my boys out of the café area in Strasbourg, but I guess she was making up for his bad behaviour. I had told her point-blank, I had intentions of staying in Strasbourg, but was to angry to, so I simply bought tickets to wherever the train went in France, to be able to say, I was in France (it would be my first trip to France, in later years I’d come back four times, but never back to Haguenau), and they said next stop was Haguenau, that is, a city with a hotel in it (the township had perhaps some 20,000 to 25,000-inhabitants).

The train stopped, it was 8:30 PM, and the kind French lady, who spoke some English, slurred and broken, took me and my boys to the hotel. It was locked as she said it would be, and she knocked hard on the door, someone came and looked though the peephole of the door, they saw her, and opened the door,
“These are my friends,” she said to the owner in French, “and also friends of Sam the Cigar, if you know what I mean, take care of them, ok?”
“No problem,” said the owner, and we walked into main room, it was more likened a three story house, with a small dinning area on the first floor to the left in a room, several folks were drinking and looked at me at a round table in the main room, and a stairway was to my left,
”You can have room 202, if that’s fine with you,” said the man, the proprietor, and the lady said, in French,
“Make sure they get something to eat.” But I didn’t quite understand it then, but I would later on. And she left.
“I’d like dinner for me and my boys brought to the room, please,” I told the owner.
“No dinner” he said, “all closed.”
I insisted, “My boys have to eat?” And he looked at his fellow men sitting at the table,
“You want beer?” he asked me.
“No,” I said, I’m tired, just something to eat.”
Then he said,
“Go to room 202, see you soon.”
And we did, and I did have a beer with the fellows just to show them I was ok by them, and sociable, prior to going to the room. Then I went to our room, and to my surprise we had a fine bottle of wine in a silver bucket with ice, and three large sandwiches of ham and cheese, on dark bread. The note read in English,
“Compliment of your friends and this hotel!”
In the morning we went to the park, there the boys played in the fountain, and there was this kind of rotunda, with pillars, they ran around it like little gothic knights. And we caught a train back to Augsburg, Germany at 1:00 PM.

1-14-2009

The Athenian Cleric (and the Golden Bridle)

The Athenian Cleric
(And the Golden Bridle)



The Hidden life of Professor Lowell McWilliams’ Wife
End Part to the story “Black Bubble” (Part Three)



Professor Lowell McWilliams’ wife Shauna was a strange bird, and Lowell knew it but as his personality would have it, he paid little attention to it until of course his trip into the Yukon, and back. But before all this the question comes up, where did she get her magic, and what kind was it, and where did she come from. So many mysteries in the life of Lowell’s wife, he never paid much attention to it as I have already mentioned, but I will now share this with you, thus, if you care to reread the story, “The Black Bubble,” written in 2005, you may have a better handle on things.
It wall started out with her life long ago, with Athena, the Greek Goddess. Shauna’s real name was Shamhat, when in a small village in the high ground near Thessaloniki, she learned the art of magic, Athenian Magic, and she changed her name, once she became a cleric of the order, to Arachne. She became a worshiper of Athena, and became a cleric of the LG, the highest form, and valued her wit and wisdom, her shrewdness over brawns. She was a shinning example to all who belonged to her sect, and learned Divine Magic (she became SPEAR to the 7th Level; she could cast a spear a thousand miles, so the villagers had said, and had proficiency in other weapons). In all major spheres she was excellent: to include: animal, astral, charm, combat, creation, divination, divination, guardian, healing, necromantic, protection, summoning, sun and weather; and, elemental and planets.
Furthermore, she knew the entire book of spells by heart: Anti Fear, Spiritual Hammer, prayer, and detection of lies, question and answering choice, heal spells, Succor (bringing one to safety).
She was of such a high quality, Athena herself appeared, and said she’d grant her any wish she desired.
She asked, knowing she was one of the few and gifted Athenian Clerics, to ride Poseidon’s horse, and with his golden bridle. Athena asked Poseidon for permission and because he wanted to keep his name in the minds of the dwellers of the land, as to not just the sea faring people, he agreed, plus it was a special favor for Athena, and the wish was granted.
Well, this young and beautiful Cleric took it upon herself to steal the golden bridle, and for some odd reason, no magic from Athena or Poseidon could uncover it. Athena liked her worshiper, but she would not return it the item she took, thus she stripped her of her honors, and humiliated her to the village people, and cast her off in despair to the world outside of Greece, never to return, that she could although pick another time in history she would like, and thus, she chose the 19th century.

And so good readers, this was the background of Arachne (or as we know her as: Shauna) McWilliams, whom now is the wife of Professor Lowell McWilliams, whom took that great adventure into the Yukon not so long ago, in 1897.


Written in the morning, 3-9-2008 at my home in Lima, Peru.

The Cephalopoda: Queen of the Arctic (reedited: 3/2008)

The Cephalopoda: Queen of the Arctic


Advance: before we get into this short story, it might be of interest to the reader, I know it was for me, that the Polar Ice Cap, at the North Pole has not been explored for the most part, due to the Cold War, which of course ended more than a decade ago, nonetheless, it remains, by and large, uncultivated. Now having said that let me say: biodiversity of species were always known to decline in numbers when going into colder areas, which to the scientist seemed reasonable. But again, I need to say, humanoids have not researched this area a great deal, in fear of conflict with other nations, thus comes into view this story.
I was in the Arctic in 1996, Barrow, Alaska when the hotel, front desk clerk, told me fragments of a story - her husband would tell me the rest. Her husband was a pilot for an oil company up there, and they actually brought me back some sea shells one afternoon, having told Jackie the night before: I wondered how they'd look, meaning, were they the same in the Arctic as in the lower parts of the world, or the lower forty-eight, as they say up in Alaska. It was amazing to see the diversity of these shells. But let me not stray off the premise too much of this short and peculiar story - yet diversity is a key word.


The Story



As I was about to say, I was introduced to a creature beyond my imagination, I call it [for lack of a better name other than squid or octopus], "The Arctic Cephalopoda Queen."
Jackie, being a Oceanographer - when not a clerk at the hotel, and her husband being a Zoologist [Henry] - in his spare time, also a pilot, and myself being a Licensed Counselor, writer, poet and part time Tourist Archeologist, I became quite interested in what they had to say and show. But before I go too far, let me add: they had been working at and on an archeological site, some three-hundred miles from Barrow, finding skulls, and bones of the tribal people of that area for sometime. I got to look at the pictures of some of these artifacts by one of the diggers, but they would not let me go to the site in fear I might open it up to other tourists, nor tell me the exact location. That was a while ago: and the newspapers confirmed they did find a site, and so this story they told me, gave mine more credence, which I’m going to tell you now.
As far fetched as this may sound, I will try with heart and soul to tell it as it came to me: one night while sitting in the downstairs lobby at the Top of the World Hotel.
Incidentally, the North Slope paper, published one of my articles, of which the find of the skull and bones were in, they did put them all back as they had found them, buried them as they had been found I should say, as they may lay now for another thousand years.
So here is how they explained the happening, or origin of the creature to me, and its description. Now I do not know that much about astrology, or the planet system, I only know what I’ve saw through my telescopes and read in my books, and yes, I’ve done a little research, but not much: said Henry to me, with a cautious voice, as if he should or shouldn't show me the picture, and then tell me the story, yet he did pull out the picture, and started with the story (putting the picture back in his pocket, for same keeping) said:
"It came from Saturn's outermost moon, that being Phoebe, when it collided, prior to its being captured by Saturn's pull - eons ago. In the process, before Phoebe entered Saturn's orbit, fragments with no gravity, broke off within the solar system, Phoebe being at the far end of the system, some of these fragments landed on earth. Henceforward, particles of this matter ended up in the frozen waters of the Arctic, the Ice Cap. During this catastrophe, it has been said [so he explains to me], still other parts that originally landed on the largest moon of Saturn [Titan, which harbors an atmosphere], first gave life to these organisms that were cast off the racing meteorite that formed out of Phoebe.”
Again, I want to repeat myself [he said: he being Henry talking to me]: something on Titan triggered something in these organisms to give it real active life; and when these elements were cast off of Titan, they ended up on Earth, allowing the new formed creatures to grow in this arctic isolated habitat, that has just been discovered recently (perhaps there was an avalanche that sparked all this I thought, throwing it into the winds of Titan, and out into the atmosphere, and onward…): after millions of years. It kind of sounded like, “The Creature from the Black Lagoon.”
Now this all made quite an interesting story to me, but I thought it simply easier to say, "Maybe you discovered a new species that has always been here on earth, in the deep waters of the Arctic, why not, it makes life easier (at least for me).”
But he insisted it happened in some mysterious way as I have just told you - take or give a few misunderstandings I’m sure: nonetheless, it all came about in a similar manner. Now let me describe it to you as I saw the picture.

Description:

it seemed to have a height of about two feet, tentacles (making it between seven to ten inches taller); I call it, its hair, in lack of a better portrayal. Anyhow, its hair like tentacles was attached to the top of its head, you couldn’t see it clearly, but if you looked closer to the picture they had fallen backwards to rest on the creatures back, and thus, you could see them slightly in the dark shadows by its skinny neck.
It had two huge dark irises,—the eyes filled up thirty-five percent of its frontal-face, of which it had a very small mouth (or perchance, none at all, for what I thought was a mouth could very well have been a wrinkle in its skin); it also had a small forehead that leaped kind of into a sloping back: baldness all the way; but it had a long string like nose, with a tip to it. The torso was like a fat, half hot-dog, inside this hot-dog like shell were wobbly cell like membranes, large cells for the most part, they looked as if they had drifted into one another; as its bottom section shaped into a cone type feature; between these two sections, was a tunic like apron - possible better put, like a see-through blouse, or jellyfish, it was equal to a short dress.
The Zoologist said they lived in the deepest and coldest waters of the Arctic, under the Ice Cap. They were armless, and looked harmless.

Reproduction:

but let me go on: I was told they did not have to have a male to reproduce, that they gave birth the female species reproduce on their own, until it reached the age of twenty or more years. And so at this juncture, I asked the question, just (like a man would I suppose):
"What good was the man for this species (if any)," thinking everyone has to have a function. He said the male creature did have a function, not for reproduction, although before the female had children, the male did do some kind of ritual, I call it dancing from side to side (as he tried to explain, perhaps to calm the reproduction process down in the female, or for some emotional comfort); and then he added: they normally would stare in each other's faces, not even touching; thus, stimulating, but not to the point of the male having an erection or ejaculating, or even if he did, it was not used for reproduction; what a squander I thought.
And so at this point, I was really curious on knowing more about this creature, and asked to go on his next venture: he had said he would take me, but it would cost, just to tag along, and no pictures, for he wanted to keep the only ones, perhaps sell them to National Geographic some day, or so this was my best guest. .

Again he said,

"I got sick one day, very sick - you see Dennis [he says to me], the male is sharply lowered (in evolution I expect he meant) to protect the female, and its potential predators: for the female has no way of combating an enemy (this was a joke to me, I mean, if she could only have sex, she’d not need any combat bodyguard to protect her, how silly I thought: but I didn’t’ say that, lest he shove me in a hole in the ice when I wasn’t looking).
“So what happens?” “when an adversary approaches, and the male notices him getting within an uncomfortable zone for him and his mate?”
“It releases a toxic chemical (which only the male can discharge): it is in such cases a powerful form of hemlock you might say, a strong poison, one so strong I was sick for a week, I evidently went beyond their comfort zone, but the ugly looking predator died within minutes, its body no longer could withstand the environment; thus, the secret is in finding the female alone."
Incidentally, he said the water around that area, where the two creatures lived, was, and should we go there, and this happen again, it would be polluted for several hours. Nothing, not a thing could go in that area without suffering biological or genetic damage. My guess was these were undisturbed waters for eons, and therefore, the chemicals and its residue, just resided in and around that domain.
And so this was his story, I cannot prove it, nor shall I try, but as people go searching within these waters they will find I do believe such new species that disturb our imagination, and are attractively real, for the most part.

The Arctic Cephalopoda Queen
[Part Two]


The Sitting


I wasn't really going to tell this part of the story, its been a long time since it took place, and I told my friends it would remain closed, but sense they have open up that area for exploration recently, they will discover the Cephalopoda Queen sooner or later, so you might just as well hear it from me. In my last part, of the story, about the Arctic Cephalopoda Queen, I didn't explain everything as I should have: yes, I know, I kind of mislead you, the reader, so you couldn't put the whole story together. Not an outright lie, but just what I'd call a distortion: no, not a distortion, a deletion, that sounds better.
Having said that, I will try to put together a little more of this (that is, fill in that hole, put back that deletion I took out, if I can) - not sure what to call it, finding, a discovery: actually they may have found what I'm talking about anyway and named it something else, and I think I got something new, when in essence, it is just old news.
Let me try to explain: on the surface of the ice in the Arctic, you have pools of water, or kind of shallow ponds: water on ice. If you go out in certain areas, you will have openings, and whales will be sailing around like little boats, and the Inuit's, will use their small boats, and long spears, usually three in a boat, and go whale hunting this way.
Thus, they are allowed a certain amount of whales they can kill: allowed I say, by the United States Government, annually. When I was up there, the Captain [of whom I called prior to my arrival] said he'd take me out on a whale hunt, but I couldn't kill a whale, only watch. Jackie's boyfriend, he was not really her husband, that is where some of the distortion comes in, although he was on hand also during this time, flew out on the ice, and so I got there before the group of hunters, and was quite excited. He had showed me the picture the night before, the picture of the Cephalopoda Queen. I really did want to go hunting with the Inuit's, this is very true, and they were carting their boats out onto the ice and out to the holes within the ice by way of—believe this or not—snowmobiles, and when they stopped running, they leave them on the ice to sink in mid-June.
Well, we got to the opening, and it was what I'd consider quite big, three whales were in this area, possibly as big as a small lake, I'd say, one mile or so I circumference. Henry was going to see if he could spot one of these creatures and he told me about, and the Captain had originally had told him about this, during a drunken spell. Let me clarify this, somewhat: in 1996, this area of Alaska was dry, no alcohol was allowed, and actually they wanted me to work there some several months later, and had called me to do so - the reason being, I wanted to remain there after I saw what I saw, and put in an application to work as a General Manager for their outpatient and inpatient Chemically Dependent clinic. I never did because I went to work for Hawthorn Institute, as General Manager. But the job was offered to me, to my recollection.
But let’s get back to the other issue, Henry. Now he had been out to the pole several times he had said, but for only short periods of time. And that the picture he had was from that area, but he had seen - not captured, but seen the queen at times out in this area where we were, the reason being, the waters were disturbed not only by the whales, but would soon be by the hunters, and he said, if we could get there before the hunters, our likelihood of seeing one, increased; so I took my binoculars just in case.
Now I had not drawn the picture of the creature yet, I had an idea of it from the camera shot he had shown me, but it wasn't clear and I had to do some guessing on how its bottom section looked.
So when we landed we left the plane running, allowing the humming of the motor to continue to run, so it would not alarm the creature or the whales, the humming seemed to drawn out our voices, which was good. We were about a hundred miles west of Barrow on the ice now, we spotted some polar bears, but I had seen them before, when they get running they run like gofers, faster than a cockroach, I doubt any man could out run them.
Usually they blend in so well with the snow, but I was looking for the creature, and spotted one, I think he got the scent of something, and so I followed his maneuvering. And yup, he was running to the opening in the ice, I thought possibly it was a seal or something of that nature at first, surely not a whale.
The bear got nearer the edge of the ice, fearful it would break off he laid down - and covered himself up a bit with snow, there frozen waves of ice all about, and he broke some of them off to hide his smell, I think that is what he was doing; we walked around to his side a little more, but we didn't want to disturb the moment, we wanted to see what he discovered. And sure enough, something poked its head out of the water. I was frantic, and wanted to run to see, but Henry calmed me down, grabbed my forearm. He was also carrying a rifle just in case of an emergency. The bear stayed hidden, then like a hawk grabbing a rodent in the desert, the bear snatched the creature by putting its hand in the ice and pulling the creature towards him, that is when I started to run towards the creature, and that is when Henry shot in the air, and everything went from quiet to chaos.
The bear dropped the creature, the whales dived deep into the water, the bear ran, and there I was standing by the Cephalopoda Queen. I didn't touch her, just stood over her, and she was as if dead, but wasn't dead. That is when I got the full view of the creature; more than a glimpse, a close up observation.
What do you do in a situation like that I told myself, it was harmless, and looked so innocent, and I had in my mist something unbelievable. It was about four feet from the edge of the water. I’m not sure if I seen a smile on it or not, as I said before, I drew the picture as I seen it (this was the time I’d refer to later as the great moment, when I told everyone I saw the creature but that was to be sometime in the future yet, now I just had the creature in my eye sight, stone-still, during the following seconds my heart beat like crazy.

I had for years, lost it, the picture I drew, and drew another one from memory. In any case, I picked it up (thank god it was a female, not the males according to Henry, it could emit that toxic chemical and had killed me right on the spot, but I couldn't tell one from the other anyhow, and I placed it in the water. It fell over to its side; I think it was in a daze. It laid dormant for a few minutes, I was about to pull it back out of the water, thinking it was dead, and what the heck, I now could morally take it: but it woke up, kind of moved about getting its balance back, and I saw its tentacles moving and its apron type fins and it leaned forward, and sank into the cold waters.




The Arctic Cephalopoda Queen
[Part Three]


The Kraken-Bishop Fish



It has been said everything on land has its ocean [sea] counter part i.e., star-fish, and sun-fish; also cat-fish, and dog-fish; how about sea lions, and sea elephants, and sea horses, and sea cows, etcetera. I think I have made my point, although you do not know my point yet. We have mermaids and mermen, or hippocampi, and we have "Bishops;" now we’re getting closer to my point.
This sea creature, the Bishops, have been known to wear a miter on its head, and vestments on its shoulders, body covered with scales. I seen a drawing of one, it looked similar to the creature I had seen the one I called the Arctic Cephalopoda Queen, except for a few missing details. But let me go on with this, a little deeper: one of these creatures was caught in the 16th century, and given to the King of Poland as a gift, but in some gesture way, it pleaded to the clergy, and he allowed it to be freed back into he sea, a mammal I presume. On the other hand I have read that this sea creature that has been mistaken for a walrus. My point being, I will stick with the first description, it fits my agenda.
The Bishop fish is a descendant of the mermen of ancient Mesopotamia; and point of fact, is, all these myths we called myths are finding its way to the surface, out around the world, and its surface is a bone of contention, dealing with reality, the issue of myth vs. reality; and there is more to it than myth. If I'd add on to this Bishop fish a few things, one being the Kraken tentacles on its head, not all that long though, it very well could resemble the creature I saw.


((Written in St. Paul, Minnesota, June 29, 2004) (The author has spent time in the Arctic, and in Barrow, Alaska, 1996, and 2000, up and around Juneau, Alaska, and on the glaciers))

Project: Space Tomb (a four part story)) Reedited 3/2007)

Project: Space Tomb
[A four part story]



Project: Space Tomb I
[Launch pad: Cibara-#17]




The Milky Way Galaxy



[2125 AD] It looked like a traveling prison, a space tomb to the observers; a heavy bulky projectile for the most part, as if it was shot out of a cannon, a hundred-thousand years ago; rustic and ancient with a technology unknown to scientists on earth. It was in the shape of a pellet, or bullet, a projectile, charcoal black, with a porthole on each side of it to look out. It was under observation for one-hundred years. The first year there were lights on, inside it, so the documents read on earth’s daily log. In the projectile were two bodies. Evidently, they had died in there and that was that; and thus, earth left it flow within its nestled orbit around earth’s moon, as it had fallen into it, one-hundred years until this time; this was kind of a gift to the ancient astronauts within the tomb one might say. As I mentioned before, it had been orbiting for one hundred-years, and the telescope that was tracking it was on top of a mountain in Peru, some 20,700 feet high. And after such a time, interest, of over a billion earthlings had considered this bullet shaped tomb, like their stray cat, now found and being taken care of.
This projectile was being watched from earth by a gigantic telescope; the project was called, “Project Space Tomb.” And there were three scientist involved. One from America, Tom Macare, one from Peru, Toño Guedes (head of the Observatory, although Tom, whom got the financing from American businessmen, thought he was the boss most of the time, and hence, fought with the Peruvian), and Milam Thomas, from England, whom was partly Welsh, so he claimed, was the person who seemed to be putting out the spats between the three, especially Tom and Toño. It was an ongoing research project, data collecting of its motions and chemical makeup, as well as metal contents. One of the goals was to try and figure out where it came from without disturbing the sanctity of the tomb itself—lest you get a uproar from interest groups on earth. Every group on earth, tried to claim the Tomb as belonging to their ancestors: from the Maya of Mexico and Central America, to the pre-Inca cultures of Peru, and all the way to the North American Indians; and from across the Atlantic Ocean all the way to Egypt, the Egyptians claimed it; and even the Jews claiming it might be part of the Lost Tribes of Israel—to mention a few.
The best scenario they could come up with was that the projectile ship was from, perchance, Mars; but then it would be older than dust. A hundred years now seemed little to no time at all; even 100,000-years did not seem long in such a development. It didn’t seem to fancy them to look beyond their solar system for some odd reason, perhaps they could have pinpointed it, for there was some markings on it that read, Launch Pad: Cibara #17; although it was only lightly visible through the rusty debris attached to the Tomb, and in some other kind of language other than English or even Spanish. A form of hieroglyphics [symbols of an unknown origin]. That is why the Maya archeologists and anthropologists of Egypt figured it could be of their ancestry. Yet, only half of it was visible, and it was more of a hoax, than reality for the people of earth.
In any case, it did fall perfectly into the Moon’s orbit, like a navigated asteroid, making its home for a hundred years thereof. It was now the year, 2125 AD, the Tomb as the scientist referred to it, was having its birthday today, July 1; it was now one-hundred years old according to earth’s paperwork. The American scientist, Tom, along with the Englishman, Milan, and Toño, the Peruvian, were spellbound to see the Tomb resurrect itself.
The Tomb’s windows in the projectile were no longer frozen, heat had returned to the projectile. It was 99-years since man had seen light within The Tomb. How could this be, Tom deliberated, looking heavily into the face of the telescope; perhaps an alien ship, or NASA had decided to invade it without notifying them—were his first thoughts.
For the most part, He was obsessed with the event taking place, and his mind shifted from one thought to the next like a child with a new toy. The next thing that took place was the bottom of the projectile had opened up. This was even more amazing for they saw no other space crafts about, so, what took place in the tomb? Or better yet, what was taking place. Evidently the beings within the container were obviously in some kind of hibernation state. But how did the two beings survive a hundred years or longer, was the next question that was going on in all three minds of the scientists; if indeed they did survive, and what they were seeing was not a group-illusion. For after years of looking at the Tomb, they all feared they could end up having some form of mass illusions.

—The first year of the 100-year span of them monitoring the Tomb, light was in the Tomb, and each of the two bodies inside the tomb were accounted for; each of the two bodies lay comfortable in two beds within the circumference of the projectile. For 99-years, it was dark inside the tomb, deadly dark, so the whole earth thought.
All said, the American scientist Tom Macare, of the observatory, seen that there now had returned light to the tomb:
“It has light,” he said in a calm and leveled voice—escalating, saying it several times, as the other two scientists looked strangely at him. Now each of the scientists took their turns watching the events unfold. Many thoughts filled their minds; all guesses of course, but that is when the imagination runs wild, when we don’t know, and no one tells us; as a result, they all stood thoughtless for a long while just staring into the telescope watching the turn of events, saying nothing to one another, as they took their five minute intervals.

Humanly speaking, the scientists were tongue-tied, watching these two begins coming out of the butt-end of the projectile. —There were many questions the three scientists had, plus, some kind of investigation surely had to be started, if not by NASA, by the world’s intelligence groups, perhaps the Pentagon, for surely they were awoken to the lights. There was a chance they did not see the two beings moving out of its escape hole underneath the projectile, with their low-grade telescope on earth, for the Observatory’s could amplify the item 60,000-times, and was the only one with that strength in use at the moment in the United States (yet Tom and Toño could not forget the Hubble Space Telescope III, was in place a distance away from the Moon, and it could take wonderful pictures, its intensity was extraordinary, and of course was much closer to the area than the 243,000-miles, as was earth’s telescope at the Observatory. Toño had known it was turned in the opposite direction last time he looked, which was yesterday, yet, no one check it in the past twenty-four hours. The second thought was, that they were the only ones on earth with direct responsibility of monitoring the Tomb so closely; in consequence, if the Military was, they were only in a smaller capacity; and whatever was on their minds, they were not telling anyone, especially the secret site of the Observatory, although everyone knew there was one someplace in the Andes. Again they were saying nothing publicly, perhaps because they felt, the world would wake up and panic if they disclosed the lights being on in the Tomb; if indeed they were aware of the two astronauts coming out of the projectile, would be another matter. It was without question, they saw the lights though, and were perplexed at best.

[Fifteen minutes later] In the mean time, earth scientists at NASA sent out a military space-probe (craft)for investigating the situation, which was normal, thought Tom, but why one with nuclear warheads on it? It was a Comet-probe; called that because of its speed. Approximately 900-miles per minute, thus it would reach its target in about 4.5 hours (or 270-minutes), the Moon and the Tomb; the speed of light being 186,300-miles a second; as one would measure distance in space. Earth’s Space Program at NASA had mastered the ‘State of Repose,’ meaning, to have the body rest during the duration of a voyage disregarding the harsh elements of its environment on the body; Tom had figured out the Tomb most likely had conquered the speed of light—in travel, while putting the beings in a state of hypertension ((or state of repose)), during its trillion-mile voyage was smart.
As I was about to say, broadly speaking, sending out the military-probe seemed somewhat ordinary to Tom, not being of military insight, he left the thought linger under defensive security risks. What was really on the three scientist minds, was: what was next with the two beings of the Tomb; and they put all other issues in the back of their minds; that being, notifying anyone, and only with quick jerks, shifted to monitor the probe as she burst through the stratosphere, into interstellar space.



Earth and Moon



During this time, the two beings from the Tomb incased now into ball like metal coffins, landed on the surface of the moon. The ball like cylinders opened up like a broken egg, yet they were not broken, rather almost like a fetus with a protective thin metal form around them—thus, they left them as one might leave his underwater gear on a beach to return to in a few hours. Then they walked throughout the airless planet as if it was an archeological site; mystified. They had landed on the North West side of the Moon, in an area between Mare Imbrium and Sirus Aestuum; the area to the east was where Apollo 15 had landed years ago, now in the history books. Nearby was the huge crater Copernicus, and Ghost Crater, Stadius. Beyond this was the huge Crater Plolemaeus. The two beings were astounded to see Stadius was completely over run by lava, and within its lower structure were huge crevices like tunnels or caves. They could see the orb of the earth from where they stood, it was a treasure to the two beings to see such color on a planet: a gift, or plus, one might say, especially in the gigantic galaxy called the Milky Way, with its horde of planets and stars, Earth being one of a kind, with its one and only sun, and huge moon to protect it. For they had seen many things, to include the center of the Milky Way, where there was a Black Hole; yet Earth was more a treasured sight to them.
—Tom noticed a strange happenings, both the individuals were picking up small rocks, holding them tight for a moment (as if squeezing them), then putting them back down on the surface, and repeating this experience over and over, about once every two or three minutes. As if they were sucking out some kind of life, or energy form from them; for their existence I would think. Puzzled as he was, he discounted the probe, for the moment, and watched the operation, still glancing back at the shells the two beings left on the moon, trying to put the puzzle together, or was it simple a riddle, not to be unwound?
After a while, this gave Doctor Tom Macare, an idea, and he mentioned it to his fellow scientists.
In the mean time, the probe was nearing its next phase within its flight, as it headed right for the Space Tomb.
—The two beings, now walked among the moons dust, by and by, they found rocks, sucking out life’s existence from them. Broadly speaking, like a bee sucking out the sweetness from a flower. The scientist never faltering in amazement, as they watched the two beings like adolescents watching girls at a dance.
Toño started to take some calculations, then shifted quickly to adjust them, and compared them with those for the past 100-years. Said he to the other two:
“Look here, the weight of the Tomb was at one time: 18,000-pounds; diameter 110-inches, and wall thickness, some 18-inches, the height about twelve feet. Now comparing that data with the first data we took in the year 2025, there is a big noticeable difference. The Tomb now weights 14,882-pounds, diameter 88-inches, and wall thickness, 15-inches; the height seems to have departed with three feet of its length, to nine feet now.”
The other two scientists twitched here and there, said the Englishman, “How can this be?”
All three looking at one another, “Ah, yes, yes, it must be,” said the Englishman, as the other two nodded their heads in agreement.
Now the three scientists saw the military-probe in a direct line going towards the Tomb, with almost frightful faces.
“Should we call NASA, or Military Intelligence, or perhaps, the White House, the FBI, or CIA, anyone?” asked Toño.
Said Tom, looking back into the telescope—with Milan next to him trying to get a glance, “Do whatever you must, we’ll keep you updated.”
But Toño could not bear to leave these comrades with all the new information being extracted minute by minute, and for them to get the glory of the new discovery when the science magazines come out was too much to bear, and to be quite frank, was out of the question. Therefore, he remained with the other two trying to get his 1/3 of the telescope’s time, watching the events unfold, moment by moment. Tom glanced at Toño, realizing he was not going to be the one losing the moment of excitement, and hence, handed the telescope over to him for his five-minute interval, at which time the military-probe had reached its destination.
The lights of the Tomb went off again, as the bodies of the beings were on the moon, they had unplugged their bodies with a connecting devise—before they had left, which went into the main body structure of the Tomb; as if it was an incubator. The probe circled the Tomb several times, but the scientist, Toño had given the telescope back to Tom (saying nothing about its maneuvers), who gave it to Milan, who shifted immediately to the Moons surface and the two beings, Toño not saying anything about the probe, not thinking about it for the most part, for he had only seen it circle once, and that was only halfway around the Tomb, and times slips by quickly by when such things take place.
The military man in the probe now could be seen (by you and me, if this was a movie) talking on a handset-devise, for still the scientist was busy with the beings on the Moon.
“Hom…!” said Toño, “the two shells surely are life supporting items, like turtle shells you might say, how interesting; they must have to plug themselves into them as they do inside the Tomb.”
Tom now could see the life supporting energy the two beings were receiving from the items: rocks in particular, along with some strata formed substances, they were also picking up, “…hom…unbelievable,” was all he could say for the moment; then added: “…these beings could be eons old, whom is to say [?]” and he said no more.
“Calm everybody,” said the Englishman, trying to restore some equilibrium, as they now switched back to the Tomb, watching the military-probe, like a snake circle the obstacle for the eighth time.
“I think…” was all Milan, could say, when all of a sudden the probe disappeared, and a small nuclear blast followed thereafter; Milan’s mouth gaped, he then looked at Tom, as Tom looked at Toño, all stone-still, and silent.
Toño now took command of the telescope, the two small beings, one a little taller than the other, about four feet tall, held the hand of the other, as they walked into the darkness of the moon, seemingly, an endless shadow. Toño knew the smaller one of the two was hurt, hemorrhaging from the fall she took from the blast, she had hit her head on a surface rock. They could have gone to their shells, thought Toño, but they simply looked up and saw their home was gone—blasted into molecular space-dust. As Toño later would demise: ‘…what for [?], why would they even consider going to their shells…for what purpose?” The Moon was cold looking, dark and exhausted. The three scientists could no longer look into the telescope.

[Conclusion: Part One] When one action is put into place, it often times produces ripples; I am referring to the word given on earth to destroy the module, or Space Tomb, that was orbiting the Moon; thus, all forms of ripples, or even waves are ordained thereafter; yes, the Ministers of Doom are released and it is a free-for-all, one might say, and these currents could be many and various—for we deal perhaps with the ages, and beings from the furthermost ends of a galaxy—and know not their capabilities.



Los Andes Space Observatory
[Part II/Project: Space Tomb]


Los Andes Space Observatory



[July 16, 2126 AD] The engineering of the Space Tomb was simple, it was like a comet, it drew its energy from the sun, and the Tomb gave energy to its occupants. It had a cooling system, and when farthest away from a star or sun it—when it got coldest—as space can be 250 Fahrenheit, below zero—(and so their Thermometer read), there was always enough energy locked into its system to carry on until it needed to gather up more of a supply at its next destination; and hibernation for the crew members was always a way of conserving energy, thus the two astronauts would go into such a state. And unless disturbed by some kind of turbulence, the inertia, or state of the capsule, and the condition of the astronauts inside it, remained in a reposed arrangement, until woken up at its next destination; woken up only if disturbed because of a disturbance. But most often they never knew they where traveling in space, for there was no obstacles blocking their vessel’s path, it was just a dark, cold endless, tireless, ongoing ocean of nothingness (space), until they looked out a window and saw they were getting closer to something, an object, a planet, light, a passing comet, or asteroid field.
The scientists from earth had deciphered the lettering on the spacecraft, they once called the Space Tomb, before they destroyed it; it was called Cibara—#7, they were not sure what that was, but their best guess was their right guess, it was another planet, in another solar system; or at least Tom Macare, came to that conclusion, and his boss Toño, who worked at the Los Andes Space Observatory [Peruvian]. A few months after the United States Military Comet-Probe destroyed the Space Tomb with a small nuclear blast, this discovery was brought out in the scientific journals by Tom and Toño (their assistant, Milan Thomas ((English)) had quite because of the destructive way the military had acted with the Space Tomb).







Northwest Side of the Moon



International-NASA (now owned by the United Nations), had allowed another space exhibition, journey that is, from the University of Minnesota, for the purpose of younger students to study the physical structure [geological studies] of the moon; wherein, they would provide all information to them upon their return, before releasing it to the University for others to study. It would be a four hour flight to the moon, and the astronauts would have to be put into a state of relaxation, called the ‘repose state’ where the body functions normally, according to the body needs and not according to the elements of the environment.
At present, the International Space Station was but 100,000-miles from the earth with scientists from Russia, England and France along with Americans; and the Hobble Space Telescope III, was 43,000-miles from that. The moon, being about 110,000-miles from the Telescope; all was in place when their space craft left the Florida coast, and the space telescope from the Los Andes Observatory along with the Hobble III, followed their movements. It was routine for the most part; yet no expeditions were allowed for a year because of the nuclear blast being so close to the moon, they wanted to test the molecular debris around the Moon, and within a 2000-mile radius from the moon to space. Thus, the clear sign was given.
—At this time, Tom Macare and Toño positioned their telescope back onto the moon, knowing where they were going to land they scanned the area. They did not know the two surviving Cibaralites were alive and well on the opposite side of the moon, the northwest side. They had survived the blast, and the ongoing elements of the moon, with its freezing temperatures and so forth. They had journeyed to what was known as Mare Imbrium (a Mare being like a dried up sea for the most part), not far from them was where Apollo 15 had landed years prior to this, now ancient history of course. Consequently, they crossed over to Stadius, otherwise known as the Ghost Crater. Here, they found, in-between fissures towards the bottom of the crater, a home like cave, wherein they made their home for a year. They had plugged their bodies into their shell like apparatuses that they used to descend to the moon from their spacecraft; this cave allowed them to have these devises grounded into the walls of the crater, where the machine could extract the vital oils and resources their bodies needed to survive, and transform them into matter their body could use for nourishment. To the southwest of them was Mare Humorum, and to the north, Copernicus.
By some kind of second insight, they knew the spacecraft from Earth, to the moon had taken off with Doctor Peter Leaky, and his two students, Hans Bosbash, from Frankfurt, Germany, and Luiz Colitt, from Rio de Janeiro, Brazil. The doctor, fifty-seven years old, was married, with no children, and the two students, both 26-years old, were not married. By the time the expedition had landed with their space unit, and spacesuits on the moon, on the eastside of the moon, nearby where Apollo 11, now a historical landing site, the two stranded astronauts from the Space Tomb, were watching the three earthlings gathering rocks and testing them, some three hundred-yards from their craft.
As the two closed in on the space unit, they were not noticed at all, therefore, they crept into the unit unseen. The two worked as a team, the female seemingly quicker with figuring out how the mechanics of the space unit worked, and how to operate it manually. The husband, or male astronaut, looked about, and then caught the eyes of Hans. Hans wiped his eyes quickly, to see if what he was seeing was really what he was seeing; and the two ducked down, but again, it seemed the two Cibaralites did not panic, as if they knew by instinct the three was not coming. Matter-of-fact, Hans mentioned it to the Doctor, in a passing sort of way, and all three looked at the unit gracefully, but came to the no conclusion, and accepted it as a mirage; for they all went back to working; which they would regret in a moments time, for no longer had they turned their heads back to the scientific investigations they were doing, when the space unit started ascending.

(Let me leap back to the Ghost Crater a moment, before all this took place.)—During this time period, Tom had seen the Cibaralites crossing over like deer, leaping from one spot to the next, in, or on should I say, the northwestern part of the Moon, by Stadius, to the eastern part, but he said nothing, not a word, nothing at all, not even to Toño who was sleeping. He had made a mistake a year ago, and he was not going to make another. It was—he felt—the fate of the earthlings, or astronauts, as it was the fate of the Cibaralites a year ago. Thus, where does one step into preserving the other? But the second thought on his mind was, ‘…where was their next destination?’ As the two leaped from spot to spot, they both carried their shell like devises with them, the ones that kept them alive for over a year on the Moon, and the ones that they had descended to the Moon in, from their spacecraft, so dubbed the Tomb by Earth’s scientists.

It is a sad tale, but I must finish it. Once they reached the International Space Vessel, again it was not long for the female to figure out the operational expertise of the spacecraft, and relay it to her mate. And within minutes they were space bound. And the three astronauts were left on the moon with an hour’s air; and the two inside the space vessel, turned off all communications with Florida and Huston—(whom had blueprinted this expedition); and this also automatically turned off all communications with the stranded astronauts.
Sedna/by Pluto and Beyond
Destination Sedna


Doctor Macare looked at his monitoring screen pertaining to the international vessel, and across its computer read: “Sedna, Sedna, Sedna…and then, Cibara, Cibara…” as if the Cibaralites new what he wanted to know, which was his pay for silence I suppose. Then the screen went blank. Tom and Toño, already knew where Sedna was, it ranged between 450 to 1000-million miles from earth during its orbit; it was a brown asteroid looking orb, two thirds the size of Planet Pluto, which was in the direction they were headed. He was then wondering: perhaps Pluto, Sedna and Cibara were all by one another, and Sedna crossed over into another solar system, where Cibara was. Anything was possible at this point. Then as the computer had went black, at that moment Toño woke up looked towards Tom and the blank computer, asked, “Amigo, what has happened?”


Sedna to Cibara
[Part III to Project Space Tomb]



Sedna/by Pluto and Beyond

Sedna’s composition is ice and soil, mixed for the most part with (H20) water; (CH4) methane and frozen CO2 (carbon dioxide). The soil is carbon rich—brown from the components. Temperatures on Sedan get 300-below zero (at 450-plus, all heat is of course nonexistent, it seldom gets to that point though). It is two thirds the size of the Planet Pluto, and travels a 1000-million mile orbit in one direction, and is ten times the distance from Earth’s sun, to Earth’s stable 93,000-million mile distance.
This is what the Cibaralites astronauts were chasing as it was bound to cross over into Cibara’s orbit, in the outer limits of Earth’s solar system, it would go past Pluto and beyond, and they could hitch a ride. This large mass of frozen rock would remain in Cibara’s orbit but a few days, only to have a window of opportunity, a few hours in length, hence, this being their chance to break loose with its gravitational orbit, to descend to the planet Cibara, their home; as a result, this would have to take place, or else be pulled along with Sedan’s magnetic hold, equal to that of the Earth’s vs. Earth’s Moon’s.

International Space Probe [Explorer]



The travelers, their body makeup was capable of withstanding extreme limits of cold, thus, the space-probe [explorer], was now chasing Sedna like a bee, and even if the heading system did not work well, just the motion of the probe at such a high velocity would keep the outer part of the craft hot, thus, they’d not freeze to death.

—At the Space Observatory, Los Andes, Space Center, Tom had explained all to Toño who was now monitoring the space vessel, chasing Sedna into an unfamiliar orbit, and beyond the Oort Cloud (or Kuiper Belt), where a trillion comets dwelled (balls of frozen gas, dust, and water). Here they whoosh, flew by like a bullet freely, and the two Cibaralites knew it was dangerous, and difficult to transcend, but if they could get into the gravity of Sedna, they’d be pulled along and perhaps protected: if not bombarded by an oncoming comet; and accordingly being pulled themselves out of the gravity belt, in time to catch Cibara’s. For, inasmuch as they could tell, the space craft could pull its self out of the no atmosphere asteroid, and into that of Cibara’s with ease, for it had done so with Earth’s a dozen times over; the craft was not like they were a hundred years ago, which was quite primitive, but strong enough now to withstand what was needed for advance space travel.
The two scientists knew Sedna would enter into the dusty and complicated comet scattered belt ahead—and soon, and into the outer realm of the solar system, but they could follow with the help of Hobble IV, a space telescope some thirty million miles past the moon, monitoring dead space, and galaxies for the International Community, and Military Scientists; yet at the moment, it was freed for their use, at Toño’s request, as he had said he needed to get some data on the comets in the Oort Cloud, knowing, had he said more on the two astronauts, they’d be hunted down by several military Comet-Space Probes, which acted like assassins.


Interlude

[Narrator] This is a good place to take a rest from the story and explain the following. Toño followed the explorer probe carefully with the two telescopes working together, to send back the reflections of the giant asteroid, called Sedna, and its warm spacecraft, which showed its heat level as all things in motion have, onto their sensory screen, thus catching a dotted glimpse of their whereabouts as they followed the asteroid, into the density of the Oort Cloud. Again both so self consumed with the moments happenings, they did not look at priorities, if they had them, or even consequences; thus not reporting nothing to the authorities. In the past 100-years or so, they had chartered over 10,000-new planets in other galaxies, but not Cibara, or Moiromma, beyond the Oort Cloud, in another solar system—; you might add, the reason being, planets unlike stars do not generate their own light, but reflect the planets star’s light. And Cibara and Moiromma, where too far between earths’s sun; and their own sun, which was 200-million miles beyond them, going in the opposite direction of Earth. Both Cibara and Moiromma had moons, thus, a protection at times from the elements coming in from space, likened to Earth’s Moon. But at best, only a small wobble in Cibara could be detected with a dim shadowy orb along with it, and that was very faint to the searchers, which Tom noticed searching beyond Sedna; but no sooner had Toño taken the telescope— he followed Sedna again—noticing beyond Sedna, there was something else, “But why would the two Cibaralites pinpoint their planet to us…?” Toño mumbled out loud? ‘…and only to us…?’

[Sedna] The travelers had caught Sedna’s orbit just before they passed Pluto—now looking back at Neptune behind them, the space travelers smiled at one another, as did Toño to Tom, as they kept watch on the progress as they neared and entered the Kuiper Belt, bodies of comets and asteroids all about, here and there, objects everywhere. (Sedna having a 1000-plus mile diameter, the travelers hoped it would be a good shield for them until they reached their home planet; inasmuch as, Sedna looped around Cibara in its long and enduring orbit. They were like hitchhikers.)

—Toño looked about through the telescope, he could see a 900-mile diameter asteroid, called 2004-DW, kind of a giant object for the Kuiper Belt one might say, reddish-brown, orbiting close to Pluto, and nearing Sedna, as it had passed, so close, the probe was almost sucked into its thrust; somehow, both huge bodies neutralizing one another, as the spacecraft wobbled about between them two great bodies for a short moment; thereafter, settling closer to Sedna.
The female Cibaralite looked at the chronometer, it was 4:00 PM, earth time, terrestrial time, who knows, it was morning on Sedna, for the reflection of the sun could be seen on its convexity (outer curve, which reflected the mountains, and a few craters, shadows mixed with light; an orange kind of light.) They could see the Northern hemisphere; it looked like the probe was capable of pulling away from Sedna’s gravity.
As the travelers neared Cibara they shifted into Cibara’s orbit quickly and whirled about, they fell fast and deep into its atmosphere, red hot speeding through it, burning up as if the brakes of a train were being pushed on too quickly, way too quickly. They needed to slow down, and should they crash, they’d be nothing but vapor. But they were on the Northern Hemisphere, and as the cold of the winter hit the body of the probe, it cooled, and the travelers went into a frozen crater lake, this also, sizzled the outer frame of the spacecraft, allowing it to cool instantly, and as it sank, warmed the waters and unthawed the frozen ice, some 18-inches thick; but safe they were.

They would remain on Cibara for a short while; but they had a job to do back on the Moon, which would affect the Earth, and both travelers, gave an oath, to do it or die trying. The Cibaralites were a revengeful type of people you might say.

[Part four, on a napkin yet.]




Ministers of Doom
[Part IV to “Project: Space Tomb]





The Planet Cibara, looking up at Moiromma

[2127 AD—Spring] Have you ever put your brakes on? Or if you’ve been on a train, have you ever noticed what happens to the steel wheels of a train when the brakes are put on? I have, as a boy watched this experiment many times. It is motion turned into heat, atoms busting wild into the environment. The earth rotates around the sun faster than we can count, the trip takes 356-days, the moon’s attraction to the earth saves us from being burnt up as does the atmosphere; should we lose that, we’d lose our oceans into space. The earth, if it suddenly stopped what would happen? Woops…! Red lights would go on long before that, I hope. But Doctor Milam Skares, and his wife Mrs. Anita Skares, were about to do just that. They created a devise that could stop the earth like a train, just for a moment in time. It is possible, so they told their Court of Request a group of several elites on Cibara; yes, they wanted revenge from the earthlings for stranding them on the moon. They had claimed they created a devise that could stop the earth; faint smiles came on the several faces at the Court of Requests. Diabolical faces to say the least.
“This is how it would work,” said the two scientists. It had been a year since they had arrived back home from their voyage to Earth’s moon, and still quiet hot festering some sort of revenge, revenge due earth, and its inhabitants, it was festering in their veins; likened to the ‘Merchant of Venice’; but they wanted more than a pound of flesh, they wanted all of Earth’s flesh, roasted into vapor.

Written in July, 2005/ parts 2 thru 4, reedited 3-2007