The Trip
On July Twelfth, 1970, my parents and I went to the badlands.
Normally, we went out East for a week long ‘pilgrimage’ to
Williamsburg, Gettysburg and other assorted Civil War sites. This year
my father decided to go out West. He did so after seeing ‘Lawrence of
Arabia’ in April. It got to him.
“I always wanted to be Rudolf Valentino,” he told me privately.
It got to me too. I brought home huge picture books from the library
and left them open to particular vistas throughout the house. Dad and I
leafed through them nightly. We sat up late and watched old desert
flicks. Mom sat in the living room with the lights off and muttered, “O
pooh!”
“Ahhh, to get away and get lost!” my father mused.
He admitted it was a nostalgia trip too, “a private pilgrimage,” he said.
He and my mother had honeymooned in Colorado and Arizona.
My mother didn’t want to go out West, honeymoon nostalgia or no. She
didn’t care for the desert, said it looked...”too dusty!” So the trip
was nix unless we could change her mind.
“We have to do this thing, Dan!” my father said sternly, and I agreed.
Throughout the month of May, and a little beyond, we prodded her gently.
“It’s good to get out in the open, under the BIG SKY, once and a while, don’t you think, Mom?”
“The dry air would suit you, Ginny...”
“You like the beach, don’t you, Mom...?!”
“Imagine a beach as far as the eye could see, Ginny, in every direction...”
“That would be cool, wouldn’t it, Mom!”
“The desert’s very clean, Ginny!”
And so on...
Eventually, miraculously, she acquiesced. I think it was the ‘clean’ tact, we took, myself.
Dad was very surprised. I was touched. She regarded Williamsburg,
Gettysburg, the Main Coast, and the entire Eastern Seaboard as her
special summer ‘sanctum’. She talked about it longingly throughout the
year. Relinquishing it was no small sacrifice.
I prepared myself. I studied Arabic. I read ‘The Seven Pillars of
Wisdom’ three times and poured over every news article about the Middle
East I could find. Whenever possible, I cut the article out and pasted
it in a large ‘Cambridge’ Sketch Book. Every official and unofficial
biography of T.E. Lawrence was devoured. I sat for hours in the
Excelsior Library fantasizing about becoming a great desert adventurer.
“Tom and I could make ‘Lawrence of Arabia II’, I thought. We were soul-mate adventurers, Tom and I.
After he tried to strangle me in the school hallway on lunch break,
Tuesday, February twenty sixth, 1964, amidst our fellow classmates,
while Mrs. Lowe, our Fourth Grade Teacher, and Mr. Buska, the
Principal, struggled (for Ten Minutes!) to drag him off me, it was
painfully clear only two options were open, either kill each other or
become the best of friends.
We chose the latter.
Kindreds, ineluctably drawn to a ‘Bonding’ much thicker than mere
friendship, we never ‘thought’ about anything. We just ‘acted’,
instantly. One mind. With one of us, alone, nothing would have
happened. Together, we ROCKED. Tom led the way. I beat the ‘tom-toms’.
By the 9th Grade we’d already made two ‘Planet of the Apes’ flicks and three ‘Star Trek’ flicks. Super 8, all.
Tom designed the ‘Ape’ makeup and Spock’s ears. Real Latex too. I built
the ‘Enterprise’ set, played Spock, and a few apes. Tom was the
director. He was my best buddy. We fed off each other’s imagination.
When I asked my father if Tom could go with us, he enthusiastically
agreed. My father liked Tom. Tom made him laugh. He even suggested Tom
and I go on an overnight hike in the desert. I was ecstatic. I’d been
afraid to ask. My father also wanted to go, but my mother insisted to
the contrary. He tried to change her mind. I heard them argue about it
every night, for a month, but she wouldn’t budge, so he gave up. He was
afraid if he pressed her too hard she’d give up on the whole trip,
altogether, and THAT...”would have been too terrible!” he said. He
stayed cool and added, “Tom and I could still have our overnighter.”
I was impressed.
My mind was rigged ahead. Contented to be dead till the time fell in, I
watched the vistas and the flicks. The trip was where I lived.
It came around. I snapped awake. The drive to the Dakotas took a little
over a day. Tom and I ate dates, muttered Arabic vowel combinations to
each other, and cleaned our swords. My father drove pensively, and my
mom counted billboards, out loud, which was OK, except when she
blurted, “Wall Drug, Bob, I want to go to Wall Drug!” I got angry,
grabbed at my crotch and clucked. Tom huffed. My father ignored her,
and I wanted to know how he did it.
We never made it to Wall Drug.
At dusk we piled into a dusty Motel-6 just across the South Dakota
border. An Old Sioux Indian named Barney ran the place. He had a real
Ceremonial Headdress hanging in the lobby. I took a picture with my Dad
and Tom standing next to it. I wanted to take a picture of Barney, too,
but he didn’t want to be photographed, and I thought that was cool. He
gave me a big rock, instead, that had a brilliant mesh of purple
crystal veins running through it. I thanked him. He smiled at me and
said very little. My mother was afraid of the headdress. She wouldn’t
go through the lobby. Dad had to let her into the room through a
window. It embarrassed me. Tom thought it was interesting.
Tom and I assembled our gear next to the car...a rucksack, each, filled
with dried fruits, vegies, an Arab/English Dictionary, a curved sword,
sword belt, Arab headgear, and a large white sheet to be worn on the
open desert. Tom packed the two-man tent. I packed the tools, the
‘Seven Pillars of Wisdom’ and my father’s 35mm Agfa-flex camera. My
mother argued with my father in the room...”You’re not going out on
that desert, Bob!”
Tom slept in the car because he couldn’t stand my father’s snoring. I
laid on my cot, but I couldn’t sleep. I stared out a window till dawn.
“The stars are so bright!” I thought.
Quietly, around six a.m., I crept outside to enjoy the rising sun, and
found myself jogging around the tiny, ten-unit motel. I thought about
Norman Bates and started running. It was hot and dry. The sky was flat
blue, razor clear. Several rickety cars coughed past. Dust settled on
my face. I smeared it around my cheeks, a gritty slurry. It itched. I
cried a bit, giggled a lot, then sat down and waited for the others to
rise. Tom was the first. “Morning, Berk!” he said. “Morning, Tom,” I
said, and he sat down next to me. We watched the sky.
I relaxed. Tom whistled the Star Trek Theme softly. Neither of us spoke for three hours.
We were fine.
At 10:30, after a hastily eaten breakfast at a Bob Evan’s, Tom had a
huge pile of buttered grits, I had a tall stack of potato pancakes
smothered in blueberries and artificially flavored maple syrup, we
packed into the car and set out.
“I don’t know, Dan, this seems a little slip-shod!” my father said. My mother picked at her chin and whimpered.
“I want to suffer under the desert sun, Dad,” I said. My father frowned.
“I’ve heard that before, Dan,” he said sadly.
We pulled into a lookout parking area.
“This is it, Dad!” I pointed to a large, blue painted boulder.
“Just like in the brochure, see!” I showed the paper to my Dad. He nodded, frowning.
“Let’s put on our swords, Dan!” Tom suggested. I agreed, but a ranger
appeared, so we waited. My mother stayed in the car and whimpered. My
Dad walked us to the starting ‘Rock’.
“I’ll see you boys tomorrow, noon,” he said gravely, “Right here, OK?”
“OK!” we chimed.
The sky was crystal blue. The air was hot. Tom looked at me and said, “Alright!”
I howled, “No prisoners!”
Tom waved his sword in the air. I looked back and waved at my Dad. He
stood at the ‘Rock’ and shook his head. He frowned. We ran off.
Each of us had a two gallon water-bag. Their bloated skins glistened. Cool seepage
dribbled down our backs.
By Eleven-Thirty the Opal Sun was high and Piercing. We put on our headgear and sheets.
Each of us took pictures of the other drinking out of his bag, several times, before noon.
“This is necessary, Dan!” Tom said, gravely. I had no idea what he meant. I thought it was silly. I laughed.
We hastened over a wide, flat, grassland toward some rolling hills. It
took an hour to reach them. They were rough, steep and uneven. Our
hands bled. We slipped often. Every ten minutes we drank our fill.
Every fifteen, we rested. Sweat burned our eyes. It was glorious.
“Fascinating!” said Tom.
I took pictures. Tom looked for fossils.
“We have to climb that!” I said and pointed to a sheer, limestone cliff. Tom took a quick look and nodded.
Several hours later, gasping, parched, and bleeding from numerous cuts
on our arms and legs, we reached the peak, and collapsed.
I yelled, “Akaba!”
Tom yelled, “Akaba!”
We stood up. Several hundred head of Buffalo also stood up. They stared. We stared.
Tom drew his sword. The Buffalo closest to us snorted. I sat down and
pulled on Tom’s sheet. After a moment he sat down too. Nothing moved.
We stared. Slowly, the Buffalo relaxed and returned to their grass. Tom
and I drank a lot of water.
“Let’s eat!” I whispered.
“OK, but it’s only Two Thirty, and we have a whole day and night to go.”
”How much food do you have?”
Tom rummaged a bit. “Four Bologna Rolls, two blocks of Colby Cheese, and sixteen packets of Gorp...alot!”
“Great! I’ll have some cheese and two packets of Gorp.”
“Comin’ up!” said Tom, and he tossed me the goods. A Buffalo snorted.
“Careful, Tom!” I hissed.
“OK, Dan, sorry.”
We waited till the Buffalo put its head down, then we all munched in silence.
Suddenly twelve furry heads bobbed up out of the ground to my right and stared at us.
“Prairie Dogs,” I whispered, “look!”
Instantly, they vanished.
“Where?”
“There!”...wow...they were right there a second ago. Keep looking, Tom.”
We looked awhile. They never reappeared.
“You gotta believe me, Tom!”
“I do, Dan, don’t worry.” Tom said with a little grin.
“OK OK...” I said anxiously.
Slowly we gathered ourselves together and moved on. We walked well out
of view of the Buffalo around the crown of the hill. It was enormous.
Finally,
“There it is!” I yelped.
The brilliant orange desert gaped wide. It wrapped around our eyes and
pulled us in toward the razor black strap where the sky began.
We tumbled down the hill. The line between the grassy hill and golden
spanse was sharp. We crossed it fast. In a moment, we were engulfed by
sands. The sun was molten Opal. It drenched our skins. They itched. I
felt the sun inside my chest and laughed. My brain was a blaze of
images. They crashed each other. They melded into one, then a billion,
then none. I laughed and laughed. Tom made up a funny lyric on the Star
Trek Theme. We walked fast. I stopped sweating. I laughed.
We walked for three hours. My water bag was empty. On a break I
pretended to drink. I heard the slosh of Tom’s water, and it made me
sad. I felt cold. I shivered. The cracked clay burned our hands and
feet. We stood and shuffled, foot to foot. Our faces were white with
the dust that blew on the breezeless wind. I opened my mouth to talk. A
grunt came out. I cleared my throat and tried again. The same. Tom
didn’t notice. He was rifling through his rucksack. It scared me, but I
didn’t let on.
“Let’s rest a bit more,” Tom said, “then move on.”
I nodded.
“You see those Buttes?” he asked.
I squinted awhile then shook my head.
“Look...over there!” he said impatiently.
I still didn’t see them, but I nodded anyway.
“Let’s aim for them, OK?”
I nodded.
Tom moved to go. I cramped up and couldn’t move.
“What’re you waiting for?”
I couldn’t say. I stared at him.
“What’s the matter, Dan?”
I cried out. He looked at me a moment, quizzically, then turned away.
“Stop blubbering, Dan. Come on!”
I slapped my legs, hard.
“OK, Tom!” I rasped, “OK.”
We bore on.
Every step hurt. My feet had blistered,and my hips were locked. I had a
severe headache, and my vision was blurred. I kept losing sight of Tom,
and he was right in front of me. I shivered.
“Maybe I should eat.” I thought, then forgot about it. I was too nauseated.
“How’re you doing?” asked Tom.
“Fine,” I rasped.
I fell down and couldn’t get back up. There was no point in hiding the difficulty. I puked.
“Come on, Dan!” rasped Tom.
He held out his hand, and I took it. He was having difficulty standing
himself. He slipped, then I helped him. This went back and forth awhile
until we were both squarely on our feet.
“Let’s keep going,” he croaked.
I wretched as I walked. Tom gagged. I clutched his sheet. He pulled at mine.
We reached the Butte. It could have taken an hour or a week. We
collapsed in the butte’s shade. I chewed on clay. The shadow was cool.
It smelled of ripe peat. It made me heave. I moved to puke and sat on
Tom’s water bag. It burst. Water splashed over my face and shirt. I
bunched up the fabric and sucked out the water. For a moment I was
happy.
“You NINNY!” Tom screamed.
I started to cry. He let me cry.
“O well,” he finally rasped, “let’s think!” and we thought awhile. He
squatted down, eyes closed. I tried to think, but my head reeled. It
stopped reeling when I stood up and moved around. I stayed on my feet.
The shot of water made me drunk.
“Let me have a look at this.” I said, more or less to myself, and
staggered off to investigate our Butte. It was a small one. I walked
around it. When I got back, god knows when, Tom was still in a squat,
thinking, with his eyes open.
“Look at that!” he rasped and pointed. “Watch!”
I did so. It took a long while for my eyes to focus. When they did I noticed faint movement on the horizon.
“Cars!” Tom said, “we’ll have to try to make the road by nightfall.”
He was right. We had no more water, and both of us were parched. Tom got to his feet.
“Let’s pitch the tent, here, against the butte wall,” he said,”It’ll be safe. Leave everything you don’t need.”
“OK!” I rasped.
So we pitched and packed the tent. I grabbed the camera, and we were
off for the road. About a hundred paces later the desert fell away, and
we were assaulted by a jagged array of steep cliffs and valleys. We
groped our way painfully toward the road. I couldn’t feel my feet or
hands anymore. My fingers bled. I tasted metal, clay, blood. At the
peak of what seemed to be the last before the road, I collapsed. My
vision was a blur of flashes and odd shapes. Tom’s face hovered like a
UFO over me. I laughed.
“Go on without me, Tom...,” I babbled. Then it all went black. Very peaceful, despite the cliche’d departure.
Something wet hit my face. I jerked awake. Tom stood over me dribbling
ice-tea from a plastic cup. He was giggling. Some guy in a jeep had
given Tom a ten-gallon jug of water and a quart container of Lipton’s
Lemon Ice Tea. I guzzled the tea and threw up at once. I didn’t mind,
though, the wet going out was as refreshing as the wet going in. When
my stomach settled down I drank a bit more.
“We better be getting back,” Tom said, “Look!”
A greenish wall of clouds was rolling toward us. It was suddenly cool, and the air tasted of metal.
“There’s Ozone in the air!” Tom said excitedly.
“Cool!”
I was giddy. Tom was worried. We scrambled back. It was fun, I thought.
I stopped once to take a picture of the storm painting the yellow
desert black, and Tom yelled,
“We don’t have time for that, Dan, come on!” There was panic in his voice. It scared me. In a moment the sky was dark,
“A second ago it was clear!” I said.
“Yeah yeah, COME ON!” he yelled.
Lightning scittered off the desert floor. The air was heavy. Metal.
Ozone. My eyes watered. My throat stung. The storm rushed toward us
like a black tidal wave. I heard the roar of distant thunder. I was
beside myself with excitement.
We clawed over the last hill and sprinted to our campsite. As soon as
we zipped ourselves in, the storm hit. Winds tore up the stakes and
flipped the tent like a coin off a giant’s finger. Stones flew. A small
one hit my forehead. It bled. Blinding bolts of lightning slammed the
desert, close. I tasted metal, and my fillings burned as though I’d bit
down on tin foil. Air shuddered, swirls of whirling needles. Thunder,
like dynamite blasts through a thousand panes of glass, scrambled my
senses. Eyes ached. Ears popped. Teeth bled.
We flopped over and over each other. Pelting rain stung like maddened wasps.
“Yippee!” I yelled.
“Holy God Holy Holy God Holy...!” screamed Tom.
It raged for over an hour. The dried clay had become mud. We sunk. I
didn’t like that. Fear of being buried alive overwhelmed me. I
screamed,
“Goddammed motherfucking shithole...get me outta this get me out...” I
ripped through the tent and huddled on the torn plastic while the storm
caroused around me, drenching me to the bone. Bolts slammed closer.
Thick waves of heat rolled with the pummeling thunder. I squeezed my
eyes shut and buried my face on the plastic. I waited for the ‘ONE’ to
hit. “Any second, now,” I thought, ”and then, POOF...”
Inside the remains of the tent, Tom wailed, “O God O God O God...” He pressed against me.
Then it was over, as quickly as it had begun.
“Jesus!” I looked up. Stars! For a fleeting moment, I thought I’d
imagined the storm. The ruins of our camp, however, defeated that idea.
“Damn!” It was very cold. Under the plastic Tom was moving around. It
made me laugh.
“I think I have a dry blanket in here somewhere”, he muttered...”YES!” he chirped, “By God, here it is!”
“A miracle!” I thought with a laugh.
He scrambled out, and we wrapped ourselves up. Soon we were warmer.
Sleep only came in fits, seconds at a time. Eventually I gave up. The
Big Sky sprawled its starry face. I watched...more stars than I’d ever
seen...”Astounding!” I thought...and the STILLNESS!
Then it got colder. We burrowed under the plastic. Despite the wet it was warmer inside.
I was finally drifting off when Tom poked me and said, “Shhh Dan, listen!”
I jumped. ”Whaa...?”
“Listen!”
I listened.
“There it is again!...Hear it?”
I heard nothing. I started to shiver.
“Tom, I don’t hear a damned thing...Wait!...is that it?” A weird little crunching sound made me start.
“What?” Tom asked breathlessly
“THERE!” I hissed. ”Can’t you hear it?”
“Yeah,” muttered Tom, “kinda like an animal pacing.”
“No no no.”
We listened a bit more.
“You’re right,” Tom agreed, “more like a person.”
“WHAT?”
“A man,” Tom said simply, “there’s a man out there.”
“O great.” I moaned.
“Shhhh!” Tom hissed, “shut up!” And I did. We listened.
The ‘sound’ made its way around us several times. Finally, Tom broke the silence with a tiny whisper,.
“I hope he shoots me in the head first. I want to go quick.”
“O shit!” I moaned, “Where’s the camera?”
“What?”
“My Dad’s camera...where is it? Goddamit, it’s not here!” I completely
forgot about the animal, man, or whatever it was, and yelled, “I lost
the goddammed camera!”
I fought my way out of the tent and blanket and stood up. “My Dad’ll kill me!”
Tom stood up. “No, he won’t, Dan!”
It was bitter cold. In a moment both of us were shivering violently. We rubbed each other as we spoke.
“What’ll I do?” I whined.
“Tomorrow, on the way back to the road, we’ll find it.” Tom said.
“How do we know it’s even out there?” I asked.
“You had it with you before, remember?
I was silent. Moribund.
“Come on, Dan...You took a picture on the way back...remember? The storm?”
“That’s right, I did, didn’t I?” I brightened up. “I took a picture of the storm, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Damn!”
I felt a bit better.
“We’ll find it tomorrow, Dan. OK?.”
“OK, Tom.”
“We’ll retrace our steps.”
“OK.”
“A piece of cake, Dan. Relax...relax”
Tom laughed. I laughed. We rolled ourselves back into the blanket snug under the plastic and fell asleep.
Morning came with the newday sun. By nine, it was very warm. We packed
up our gear, ate some nuts, drank some water, and trudged off to find
the camera.
“Wait a minute, Tom. That’s not the road we came in on!” I began to panic.
“I know,” said Tom, calmly.
“So, how are my parents going to find us?”
“They’ll just have to, won’t they!” he said simply.
I thought about that a bit and calmed down.
“Damn! I guess so.”
We traced our steps three times. No camera.
“Everything looks different,” said Tom.
He was right. The whole terrain had changed.
“Goddamit!” I yelled.
“We better get to the road,” said Tom.
“Right!” I fumed.
“He’ll kill me...” I mumbled, over and over. Tom walked several paces behind.
When we reached the road I paced. Tom squatted, eyes closed and hummed.
I thought, “If anybody finds that camera?...fat chance...It’s probably
under ten feet of clay by now...not for a hundred years...it’s
gone...shit...someday an archeologist’ll find it, and that’ll throw off
the whole anthropological picture.” I laughed.
“What’s up, Dan?”
“Nothing. It’s all too funny,” I said, laughing.
“Yeah,” Tom pondered, “you have to laugh, I guess.”
“You sure do,” I said, and we both laughed.
We ate nuts, drank water, and waited, in silence.
Two hours later, my folks drove up, only a half-n-hour after the scheduled rendezvous time.
“Here they are,” Tom said, matter-of-factly.
My father looked surprised, “Hey, Dan!” he chortled, “hi there!”
My mother was hysterical. She screamed,
“Danny, Danny...” I was embarrassed.
Tom leaned into me and whispered, “It’s OK, Dan. She was probably worried sick.“
I looked at him. He nodded, and I stopped being embarrassed.
My father got out of the car, “Good to see you boys. The main road’s washed out. We didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Yeah, neither did we,” I said.
“In fact,” he went on, “ we wondered if we were ever going to see you again, period!”
I heard my mother’s voice in that and was embarrassed again.
Tom laughed. He grabbed our sacks and trotted to the car. He smiled at my howling mother,
“Hello, Mrs. Berkey!” he said brightly.
My mother stopped shrieking, at once, “Good morning, Tom,” she said with a smile.
I was astounded and stopped being embarrassed.
I turned toward my father and mustered my vim.
“Dad, I have something to tell you.”
“What, Dan?”
Tom got in the car. He continued to talk to my mother. My father stared at me.
“You’re not going to be very happy about this,” I said and moved slightly away from the car.
“Really, Dan...What is it?”
I hemmed a bit.
“Daniel. I’m starting to get angry! Let’s have it!”
“I lost your camera!” I blurted.
He stared at me blankly a moment.
“I don’t believe this,” he said in a flat tone.
“I’m sorry,” I said weakly.
“Goddamit!” he grumbled under his breath, “Where?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere between here and there.” I pointed to our Butte in the distance.
“DAN!” he shouted, then calmed down, at once. He muttered to himself, “I knew something like this was going to happen.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“Shit!” he hissed and kicked at the dirt. I looked back at the car. Tom was still chatting up my mother.
My father looked in the distance.
“Well, Dan” he said...”I don’t know....I just don’t know” He shook his head and started to walk toward the Butte.
“I don’t know...I don’t know...” he muttered.
“Dad? Wait!” I said, “I’m coming with you.” I walked to the car. I tapped on the glass. “Tom?” I said.
“Yes, Dan?”
“Hi Dan!” my mother said, brightly.
“Huh...Hi, Mom!” There was an awkward pause. I forgot what I was going
to say, then suddenly, “Tom!” I blurted, “we’re going off to look for
the camera, you want to come along?”
“OK!” Tom said, cheerfully and jumped out of the car. I jogged to join my father.
“We’ll be right back, Mrs. Berkey, don’t you worry, now!” he said with a wink.
“O no, I won’t worry, Tom, of course not!” she said with sharp little laugh.
“Wait!” shouted Tom, “I’m coming with you!”
The three of us trudged off. My mother watched. She smiled and wrung her hands.
After four hours of scouring a wide swath from the Butte to the road
and back again, twice, after groping through muddy clay, wading knee
deep in stinking waters and coming up empty, filthy and exhausted, we
sat together on the lip of a small cliff over a pool of brown, stagnant
water. My father’s anger had ebbed with his energy. It was almost Four
O’clock. The sky was a flat gray. It had begun to drizzle. Finally, Tom
said, simply,
“We’ll have to leave to the archeologists, I guess.”
My father chuckled and got up. He brushed himself off and started back. Tom followed.
Suddenly, I had an image of a glass case in a museum, three hundred
years in the future with my father’s camera and two scratchy photos of
two white boys in Arab Headgear drinking water out of a Sear’s
Waterbag, and started laughing convulsively. I laughed so hard, I hurt.
Tom turned and smirked. He knew my mind. I laughed so long my father
had to call me from the road. He yowled and lost his voice.I laughed
and laughed and stumbled back. For the rest of the trip I laughed. They
often asked me why. I never said. I shook my head and laughed.
On July Twelfth, 1970, my parents and I went to the badlands.
Normally, we went out East for a week long ‘pilgrimage’ to
Williamsburg, Gettysburg and other assorted Civil War sites. This year
my father decided to go out West. He did so after seeing ‘Lawrence of
Arabia’ in April. It got to him.
“I always wanted to be Rudolf Valentino,” he told me privately.
It got to me too. I brought home huge picture books from the library
and left them open to particular vistas throughout the house. Dad and I
leafed through them nightly. We sat up late and watched old desert
flicks. Mom sat in the living room with the lights off and muttered, “O
pooh!”
“Ahhh, to get away and get lost!” my father mused.
He admitted it was a nostalgia trip too, “a private pilgrimage,” he said.
He and my mother had honeymooned in Colorado and Arizona.
My mother didn’t want to go out West, honeymoon nostalgia or no. She
didn’t care for the desert, said it looked...”too dusty!” So the trip
was nix unless we could change her mind.
“We have to do this thing, Dan!” my father said sternly, and I agreed.
Throughout the month of May, and a little beyond, we prodded her gently.
“It’s good to get out in the open, under the BIG SKY, once and a while, don’t you think, Mom?”
“The dry air would suit you, Ginny...”
“You like the beach, don’t you, Mom...?!”
“Imagine a beach as far as the eye could see, Ginny, in every direction...”
“That would be cool, wouldn’t it, Mom!”
“The desert’s very clean, Ginny!”
And so on...
Eventually, miraculously, she acquiesced. I think it was the ‘clean’ tact, we took, myself.
Dad was very surprised. I was touched. She regarded Williamsburg,
Gettysburg, the Main Coast, and the entire Eastern Seaboard as her
special summer ‘sanctum’. She talked about it longingly throughout the
year. Relinquishing it was no small sacrifice.
I prepared myself. I studied Arabic. I read ‘The Seven Pillars of
Wisdom’ three times and poured over every news article about the Middle
East I could find. Whenever possible, I cut the article out and pasted
it in a large ‘Cambridge’ Sketch Book. Every official and unofficial
biography of T.E. Lawrence was devoured. I sat for hours in the
Excelsior Library fantasizing about becoming a great desert adventurer.
“Tom and I could make ‘Lawrence of Arabia II’, I thought. We were soul-mate adventurers, Tom and I.
After he tried to strangle me in the school hallway on lunch break,
Tuesday, February twenty sixth, 1964, amidst our fellow classmates,
while Mrs. Lowe, our Fourth Grade Teacher, and Mr. Buska, the
Principal, struggled (for Ten Minutes!) to drag him off me, it was
painfully clear only two options were open, either kill each other or
become the best of friends.
We chose the latter.
Kindreds, ineluctably drawn to a ‘Bonding’ much thicker than mere
friendship, we never ‘thought’ about anything. We just ‘acted’,
instantly. One mind. With one of us, alone, nothing would have
happened. Together, we ROCKED. Tom led the way. I beat the ‘tom-toms’.
By the 9th Grade we’d already made two ‘Planet of the Apes’ flicks and three ‘Star Trek’ flicks. Super 8, all.
Tom designed the ‘Ape’ makeup and Spock’s ears. Real Latex too. I built
the ‘Enterprise’ set, played Spock, and a few apes. Tom was the
director. He was my best buddy. We fed off each other’s imagination.
When I asked my father if Tom could go with us, he enthusiastically
agreed. My father liked Tom. Tom made him laugh. He even suggested Tom
and I go on an overnight hike in the desert. I was ecstatic. I’d been
afraid to ask. My father also wanted to go, but my mother insisted to
the contrary. He tried to change her mind. I heard them argue about it
every night, for a month, but she wouldn’t budge, so he gave up. He was
afraid if he pressed her too hard she’d give up on the whole trip,
altogether, and THAT...”would have been too terrible!” he said. He
stayed cool and added, “Tom and I could still have our overnighter.”
I was impressed.
My mind was rigged ahead. Contented to be dead till the time fell in, I
watched the vistas and the flicks. The trip was where I lived.
It came around. I snapped awake. The drive to the Dakotas took a little
over a day. Tom and I ate dates, muttered Arabic vowel combinations to
each other, and cleaned our swords. My father drove pensively, and my
mom counted billboards, out loud, which was OK, except when she
blurted, “Wall Drug, Bob, I want to go to Wall Drug!” I got angry,
grabbed at my crotch and clucked. Tom huffed. My father ignored her,
and I wanted to know how he did it.
We never made it to Wall Drug.
At dusk we piled into a dusty Motel-6 just across the South Dakota
border. An Old Sioux Indian named Barney ran the place. He had a real
Ceremonial Headdress hanging in the lobby. I took a picture with my Dad
and Tom standing next to it. I wanted to take a picture of Barney, too,
but he didn’t want to be photographed, and I thought that was cool. He
gave me a big rock, instead, that had a brilliant mesh of purple
crystal veins running through it. I thanked him. He smiled at me and
said very little. My mother was afraid of the headdress. She wouldn’t
go through the lobby. Dad had to let her into the room through a
window. It embarrassed me. Tom thought it was interesting.
Tom and I assembled our gear next to the car...a rucksack, each, filled
with dried fruits, vegies, an Arab/English Dictionary, a curved sword,
sword belt, Arab headgear, and a large white sheet to be worn on the
open desert. Tom packed the two-man tent. I packed the tools, the
‘Seven Pillars of Wisdom’ and my father’s 35mm Agfa-flex camera. My
mother argued with my father in the room...”You’re not going out on
that desert, Bob!”
Tom slept in the car because he couldn’t stand my father’s snoring. I
laid on my cot, but I couldn’t sleep. I stared out a window till dawn.
“The stars are so bright!” I thought.
Quietly, around six a.m., I crept outside to enjoy the rising sun, and
found myself jogging around the tiny, ten-unit motel. I thought about
Norman Bates and started running. It was hot and dry. The sky was flat
blue, razor clear. Several rickety cars coughed past. Dust settled on
my face. I smeared it around my cheeks, a gritty slurry. It itched. I
cried a bit, giggled a lot, then sat down and waited for the others to
rise. Tom was the first. “Morning, Berk!” he said. “Morning, Tom,” I
said, and he sat down next to me. We watched the sky.
I relaxed. Tom whistled the Star Trek Theme softly. Neither of us spoke for three hours.
We were fine.
At 10:30, after a hastily eaten breakfast at a Bob Evan’s, Tom had a
huge pile of buttered grits, I had a tall stack of potato pancakes
smothered in blueberries and artificially flavored maple syrup, we
packed into the car and set out.
“I don’t know, Dan, this seems a little slip-shod!” my father said. My mother picked at her chin and whimpered.
“I want to suffer under the desert sun, Dad,” I said. My father frowned.
“I’ve heard that before, Dan,” he said sadly.
We pulled into a lookout parking area.
“This is it, Dad!” I pointed to a large, blue painted boulder.
“Just like in the brochure, see!” I showed the paper to my Dad. He nodded, frowning.
“Let’s put on our swords, Dan!” Tom suggested. I agreed, but a ranger
appeared, so we waited. My mother stayed in the car and whimpered. My
Dad walked us to the starting ‘Rock’.
“I’ll see you boys tomorrow, noon,” he said gravely, “Right here, OK?”
“OK!” we chimed.
The sky was crystal blue. The air was hot. Tom looked at me and said, “Alright!”
I howled, “No prisoners!”
Tom waved his sword in the air. I looked back and waved at my Dad. He
stood at the ‘Rock’ and shook his head. He frowned. We ran off.
Each of us had a two gallon water-bag. Their bloated skins glistened. Cool seepage
dribbled down our backs.
By Eleven-Thirty the Opal Sun was high and Piercing. We put on our headgear and sheets.
Each of us took pictures of the other drinking out of his bag, several times, before noon.
“This is necessary, Dan!” Tom said, gravely. I had no idea what he meant. I thought it was silly. I laughed.
We hastened over a wide, flat, grassland toward some rolling hills. It
took an hour to reach them. They were rough, steep and uneven. Our
hands bled. We slipped often. Every ten minutes we drank our fill.
Every fifteen, we rested. Sweat burned our eyes. It was glorious.
“Fascinating!” said Tom.
I took pictures. Tom looked for fossils.
“We have to climb that!” I said and pointed to a sheer, limestone cliff. Tom took a quick look and nodded.
Several hours later, gasping, parched, and bleeding from numerous cuts
on our arms and legs, we reached the peak, and collapsed.
I yelled, “Akaba!”
Tom yelled, “Akaba!”
We stood up. Several hundred head of Buffalo also stood up. They stared. We stared.
Tom drew his sword. The Buffalo closest to us snorted. I sat down and
pulled on Tom’s sheet. After a moment he sat down too. Nothing moved.
We stared. Slowly, the Buffalo relaxed and returned to their grass. Tom
and I drank a lot of water.
“Let’s eat!” I whispered.
“OK, but it’s only Two Thirty, and we have a whole day and night to go.”
”How much food do you have?”
Tom rummaged a bit. “Four Bologna Rolls, two blocks of Colby Cheese, and sixteen packets of Gorp...alot!”
“Great! I’ll have some cheese and two packets of Gorp.”
“Comin’ up!” said Tom, and he tossed me the goods. A Buffalo snorted.
“Careful, Tom!” I hissed.
“OK, Dan, sorry.”
We waited till the Buffalo put its head down, then we all munched in silence.
Suddenly twelve furry heads bobbed up out of the ground to my right and stared at us.
“Prairie Dogs,” I whispered, “look!”
Instantly, they vanished.
“Where?”
“There!”...wow...they were right there a second ago. Keep looking, Tom.”
We looked awhile. They never reappeared.
“You gotta believe me, Tom!”
“I do, Dan, don’t worry.” Tom said with a little grin.
“OK OK...” I said anxiously.
Slowly we gathered ourselves together and moved on. We walked well out
of view of the Buffalo around the crown of the hill. It was enormous.
Finally,
“There it is!” I yelped.
The brilliant orange desert gaped wide. It wrapped around our eyes and
pulled us in toward the razor black strap where the sky began.
We tumbled down the hill. The line between the grassy hill and golden
spanse was sharp. We crossed it fast. In a moment, we were engulfed by
sands. The sun was molten Opal. It drenched our skins. They itched. I
felt the sun inside my chest and laughed. My brain was a blaze of
images. They crashed each other. They melded into one, then a billion,
then none. I laughed and laughed. Tom made up a funny lyric on the Star
Trek Theme. We walked fast. I stopped sweating. I laughed.
We walked for three hours. My water bag was empty. On a break I
pretended to drink. I heard the slosh of Tom’s water, and it made me
sad. I felt cold. I shivered. The cracked clay burned our hands and
feet. We stood and shuffled, foot to foot. Our faces were white with
the dust that blew on the breezeless wind. I opened my mouth to talk. A
grunt came out. I cleared my throat and tried again. The same. Tom
didn’t notice. He was rifling through his rucksack. It scared me, but I
didn’t let on.
“Let’s rest a bit more,” Tom said, “then move on.”
I nodded.
“You see those Buttes?” he asked.
I squinted awhile then shook my head.
“Look...over there!” he said impatiently.
I still didn’t see them, but I nodded anyway.
“Let’s aim for them, OK?”
I nodded.
Tom moved to go. I cramped up and couldn’t move.
“What’re you waiting for?”
I couldn’t say. I stared at him.
“What’s the matter, Dan?”
I cried out. He looked at me a moment, quizzically, then turned away.
“Stop blubbering, Dan. Come on!”
I slapped my legs, hard.
“OK, Tom!” I rasped, “OK.”
We bore on.
Every step hurt. My feet had blistered,and my hips were locked. I had a
severe headache, and my vision was blurred. I kept losing sight of Tom,
and he was right in front of me. I shivered.
“Maybe I should eat.” I thought, then forgot about it. I was too nauseated.
“How’re you doing?” asked Tom.
“Fine,” I rasped.
I fell down and couldn’t get back up. There was no point in hiding the difficulty. I puked.
“Come on, Dan!” rasped Tom.
He held out his hand, and I took it. He was having difficulty standing
himself. He slipped, then I helped him. This went back and forth awhile
until we were both squarely on our feet.
“Let’s keep going,” he croaked.
I wretched as I walked. Tom gagged. I clutched his sheet. He pulled at mine.
We reached the Butte. It could have taken an hour or a week. We
collapsed in the butte’s shade. I chewed on clay. The shadow was cool.
It smelled of ripe peat. It made me heave. I moved to puke and sat on
Tom’s water bag. It burst. Water splashed over my face and shirt. I
bunched up the fabric and sucked out the water. For a moment I was
happy.
“You NINNY!” Tom screamed.
I started to cry. He let me cry.
“O well,” he finally rasped, “let’s think!” and we thought awhile. He
squatted down, eyes closed. I tried to think, but my head reeled. It
stopped reeling when I stood up and moved around. I stayed on my feet.
The shot of water made me drunk.
“Let me have a look at this.” I said, more or less to myself, and
staggered off to investigate our Butte. It was a small one. I walked
around it. When I got back, god knows when, Tom was still in a squat,
thinking, with his eyes open.
“Look at that!” he rasped and pointed. “Watch!”
I did so. It took a long while for my eyes to focus. When they did I noticed faint movement on the horizon.
“Cars!” Tom said, “we’ll have to try to make the road by nightfall.”
He was right. We had no more water, and both of us were parched. Tom got to his feet.
“Let’s pitch the tent, here, against the butte wall,” he said,”It’ll be safe. Leave everything you don’t need.”
“OK!” I rasped.
So we pitched and packed the tent. I grabbed the camera, and we were
off for the road. About a hundred paces later the desert fell away, and
we were assaulted by a jagged array of steep cliffs and valleys. We
groped our way painfully toward the road. I couldn’t feel my feet or
hands anymore. My fingers bled. I tasted metal, clay, blood. At the
peak of what seemed to be the last before the road, I collapsed. My
vision was a blur of flashes and odd shapes. Tom’s face hovered like a
UFO over me. I laughed.
“Go on without me, Tom...,” I babbled. Then it all went black. Very peaceful, despite the cliche’d departure.
Something wet hit my face. I jerked awake. Tom stood over me dribbling
ice-tea from a plastic cup. He was giggling. Some guy in a jeep had
given Tom a ten-gallon jug of water and a quart container of Lipton’s
Lemon Ice Tea. I guzzled the tea and threw up at once. I didn’t mind,
though, the wet going out was as refreshing as the wet going in. When
my stomach settled down I drank a bit more.
“We better be getting back,” Tom said, “Look!”
A greenish wall of clouds was rolling toward us. It was suddenly cool, and the air tasted of metal.
“There’s Ozone in the air!” Tom said excitedly.
“Cool!”
I was giddy. Tom was worried. We scrambled back. It was fun, I thought.
I stopped once to take a picture of the storm painting the yellow
desert black, and Tom yelled,
“We don’t have time for that, Dan, come on!” There was panic in his voice. It scared me. In a moment the sky was dark,
“A second ago it was clear!” I said.
“Yeah yeah, COME ON!” he yelled.
Lightning scittered off the desert floor. The air was heavy. Metal.
Ozone. My eyes watered. My throat stung. The storm rushed toward us
like a black tidal wave. I heard the roar of distant thunder. I was
beside myself with excitement.
We clawed over the last hill and sprinted to our campsite. As soon as
we zipped ourselves in, the storm hit. Winds tore up the stakes and
flipped the tent like a coin off a giant’s finger. Stones flew. A small
one hit my forehead. It bled. Blinding bolts of lightning slammed the
desert, close. I tasted metal, and my fillings burned as though I’d bit
down on tin foil. Air shuddered, swirls of whirling needles. Thunder,
like dynamite blasts through a thousand panes of glass, scrambled my
senses. Eyes ached. Ears popped. Teeth bled.
We flopped over and over each other. Pelting rain stung like maddened wasps.
“Yippee!” I yelled.
“Holy God Holy Holy God Holy...!” screamed Tom.
It raged for over an hour. The dried clay had become mud. We sunk. I
didn’t like that. Fear of being buried alive overwhelmed me. I
screamed,
“Goddammed motherfucking shithole...get me outta this get me out...” I
ripped through the tent and huddled on the torn plastic while the storm
caroused around me, drenching me to the bone. Bolts slammed closer.
Thick waves of heat rolled with the pummeling thunder. I squeezed my
eyes shut and buried my face on the plastic. I waited for the ‘ONE’ to
hit. “Any second, now,” I thought, ”and then, POOF...”
Inside the remains of the tent, Tom wailed, “O God O God O God...” He pressed against me.
Then it was over, as quickly as it had begun.
“Jesus!” I looked up. Stars! For a fleeting moment, I thought I’d
imagined the storm. The ruins of our camp, however, defeated that idea.
“Damn!” It was very cold. Under the plastic Tom was moving around. It
made me laugh.
“I think I have a dry blanket in here somewhere”, he muttered...”YES!” he chirped, “By God, here it is!”
“A miracle!” I thought with a laugh.
He scrambled out, and we wrapped ourselves up. Soon we were warmer.
Sleep only came in fits, seconds at a time. Eventually I gave up. The
Big Sky sprawled its starry face. I watched...more stars than I’d ever
seen...”Astounding!” I thought...and the STILLNESS!
Then it got colder. We burrowed under the plastic. Despite the wet it was warmer inside.
I was finally drifting off when Tom poked me and said, “Shhh Dan, listen!”
I jumped. ”Whaa...?”
“Listen!”
I listened.
“There it is again!...Hear it?”
I heard nothing. I started to shiver.
“Tom, I don’t hear a damned thing...Wait!...is that it?” A weird little crunching sound made me start.
“What?” Tom asked breathlessly
“THERE!” I hissed. ”Can’t you hear it?”
“Yeah,” muttered Tom, “kinda like an animal pacing.”
“No no no.”
We listened a bit more.
“You’re right,” Tom agreed, “more like a person.”
“WHAT?”
“A man,” Tom said simply, “there’s a man out there.”
“O great.” I moaned.
“Shhhh!” Tom hissed, “shut up!” And I did. We listened.
The ‘sound’ made its way around us several times. Finally, Tom broke the silence with a tiny whisper,.
“I hope he shoots me in the head first. I want to go quick.”
“O shit!” I moaned, “Where’s the camera?”
“What?”
“My Dad’s camera...where is it? Goddamit, it’s not here!” I completely
forgot about the animal, man, or whatever it was, and yelled, “I lost
the goddammed camera!”
I fought my way out of the tent and blanket and stood up. “My Dad’ll kill me!”
Tom stood up. “No, he won’t, Dan!”
It was bitter cold. In a moment both of us were shivering violently. We rubbed each other as we spoke.
“What’ll I do?” I whined.
“Tomorrow, on the way back to the road, we’ll find it.” Tom said.
“How do we know it’s even out there?” I asked.
“You had it with you before, remember?
I was silent. Moribund.
“Come on, Dan...You took a picture on the way back...remember? The storm?”
“That’s right, I did, didn’t I?” I brightened up. “I took a picture of the storm, didn’t I?”
“Yes, you did.”
“Damn!”
I felt a bit better.
“We’ll find it tomorrow, Dan. OK?.”
“OK, Tom.”
“We’ll retrace our steps.”
“OK.”
“A piece of cake, Dan. Relax...relax”
Tom laughed. I laughed. We rolled ourselves back into the blanket snug under the plastic and fell asleep.
Morning came with the newday sun. By nine, it was very warm. We packed
up our gear, ate some nuts, drank some water, and trudged off to find
the camera.
“Wait a minute, Tom. That’s not the road we came in on!” I began to panic.
“I know,” said Tom, calmly.
“So, how are my parents going to find us?”
“They’ll just have to, won’t they!” he said simply.
I thought about that a bit and calmed down.
“Damn! I guess so.”
We traced our steps three times. No camera.
“Everything looks different,” said Tom.
He was right. The whole terrain had changed.
“Goddamit!” I yelled.
“We better get to the road,” said Tom.
“Right!” I fumed.
“He’ll kill me...” I mumbled, over and over. Tom walked several paces behind.
When we reached the road I paced. Tom squatted, eyes closed and hummed.
I thought, “If anybody finds that camera?...fat chance...It’s probably
under ten feet of clay by now...not for a hundred years...it’s
gone...shit...someday an archeologist’ll find it, and that’ll throw off
the whole anthropological picture.” I laughed.
“What’s up, Dan?”
“Nothing. It’s all too funny,” I said, laughing.
“Yeah,” Tom pondered, “you have to laugh, I guess.”
“You sure do,” I said, and we both laughed.
We ate nuts, drank water, and waited, in silence.
Two hours later, my folks drove up, only a half-n-hour after the scheduled rendezvous time.
“Here they are,” Tom said, matter-of-factly.
My father looked surprised, “Hey, Dan!” he chortled, “hi there!”
My mother was hysterical. She screamed,
“Danny, Danny...” I was embarrassed.
Tom leaned into me and whispered, “It’s OK, Dan. She was probably worried sick.“
I looked at him. He nodded, and I stopped being embarrassed.
My father got out of the car, “Good to see you boys. The main road’s washed out. We didn’t expect to see you here.”
“Yeah, neither did we,” I said.
“In fact,” he went on, “ we wondered if we were ever going to see you again, period!”
I heard my mother’s voice in that and was embarrassed again.
Tom laughed. He grabbed our sacks and trotted to the car. He smiled at my howling mother,
“Hello, Mrs. Berkey!” he said brightly.
My mother stopped shrieking, at once, “Good morning, Tom,” she said with a smile.
I was astounded and stopped being embarrassed.
I turned toward my father and mustered my vim.
“Dad, I have something to tell you.”
“What, Dan?”
Tom got in the car. He continued to talk to my mother. My father stared at me.
“You’re not going to be very happy about this,” I said and moved slightly away from the car.
“Really, Dan...What is it?”
I hemmed a bit.
“Daniel. I’m starting to get angry! Let’s have it!”
“I lost your camera!” I blurted.
He stared at me blankly a moment.
“I don’t believe this,” he said in a flat tone.
“I’m sorry,” I said weakly.
“Goddamit!” he grumbled under his breath, “Where?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere between here and there.” I pointed to our Butte in the distance.
“DAN!” he shouted, then calmed down, at once. He muttered to himself, “I knew something like this was going to happen.”
“I’m sorry,” I said again.
“Shit!” he hissed and kicked at the dirt. I looked back at the car. Tom was still chatting up my mother.
My father looked in the distance.
“Well, Dan” he said...”I don’t know....I just don’t know” He shook his head and started to walk toward the Butte.
“I don’t know...I don’t know...” he muttered.
“Dad? Wait!” I said, “I’m coming with you.” I walked to the car. I tapped on the glass. “Tom?” I said.
“Yes, Dan?”
“Hi Dan!” my mother said, brightly.
“Huh...Hi, Mom!” There was an awkward pause. I forgot what I was going
to say, then suddenly, “Tom!” I blurted, “we’re going off to look for
the camera, you want to come along?”
“OK!” Tom said, cheerfully and jumped out of the car. I jogged to join my father.
“We’ll be right back, Mrs. Berkey, don’t you worry, now!” he said with a wink.
“O no, I won’t worry, Tom, of course not!” she said with sharp little laugh.
“Wait!” shouted Tom, “I’m coming with you!”
The three of us trudged off. My mother watched. She smiled and wrung her hands.
After four hours of scouring a wide swath from the Butte to the road
and back again, twice, after groping through muddy clay, wading knee
deep in stinking waters and coming up empty, filthy and exhausted, we
sat together on the lip of a small cliff over a pool of brown, stagnant
water. My father’s anger had ebbed with his energy. It was almost Four
O’clock. The sky was a flat gray. It had begun to drizzle. Finally, Tom
said, simply,
“We’ll have to leave to the archeologists, I guess.”
My father chuckled and got up. He brushed himself off and started back. Tom followed.
Suddenly, I had an image of a glass case in a museum, three hundred
years in the future with my father’s camera and two scratchy photos of
two white boys in Arab Headgear drinking water out of a Sear’s
Waterbag, and started laughing convulsively. I laughed so hard, I hurt.
Tom turned and smirked. He knew my mind. I laughed so long my father
had to call me from the road. He yowled and lost his voice.I laughed
and laughed and stumbled back. For the rest of the trip I laughed. They
often asked me why. I never said. I shook my head and laughed.
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