Chapter Seven
Luke had studied Astronomy when in Grade School and all the kids thought he was some sort of ‘brain’. He did study his books, but did not remember every fact and statistic and explanation. Mostly, he stared at those photos of beauty and mystery – the Crab Nebula, unfathomably immense and full of stars and glowing gases; the Andromeda Galaxy, billions of stars rotating around some center and all arranged into a flat spiral, and those rings of the planet Saturn. He had wished that the Earth had rings- such a sight they would be. He would draw one constellation per filing card, with colors and lines between the stars so they resembled the Greek characters; Orion the hunter, the Big Dipper and others.
“Well, out and away from these lights.” said out loud to stay awake.
The moon was high and full. It seemed as bright as the Sun with all that black background. There was a faint halo around it and some scraps of cloud nearby. Maybe some new weather in a day or so?
On one road he glimpsed a film of moonlight upon the ground ahead. That deserves a stop. What is glowing in this cold? He pulled onto the shoulder. As he stepped out of the car, the cold startled him and he shivered. He stepped cautiously until the glow came to him. It was resting upon some ice covering a narrow creek. There was some dimly lit snow along the bank and snow accents lines on the branches of the bordering trees. The air was still until a rustling came from the opposite bank. A raccoon waddling its way, a squirrel hoping for an acorn? Well just another mammal, like myself, in search of something.
He found a way down to the creek. When at the edge, the ice tempted him and he obliged. His foot sank through into cold water.
“Darn, that was smart!”
Everything seemed locked away by the winter out there on the land. But the water beneath the ice flowed as the ‘Blood of the prairie’ and the animals flowed along side it. They traveled along ancient paths beneath the even more ancient star paths above. The trails of thousands of stars in the night sky were now seen in all their glory in the darkness of the countryside. Life was out here and he felt its pulse.
The weariness of a long day sent shivers and the car beckoned. As he warmed up, the whole landscape flowed through his mind. Roy’s face flashed through as another traveler. I am sown into a fabric which is the matrix of the land as the wellspring of life; my life. This is all so rich compared to my loneliness; a computer in a cubicle at work, shopping malls to buy this and that, a T.V. full of bad everything with visions of people’s pain made into entertainment.
The dashboard clock read, 1:20 AM. I need to find a motel and sleep. He now used the gas pedal to quickly find lodging. In time the pink glow of “Motel” appeared. He was amazed one would be open. The grinding of gravel in the lot was the sound of impending and welcomed sleep. He saw a light in the office and entered.
There was the back of someone’s head, full of curlers and all bathed in the modulated light of a television in a corner behind the counter.
“Have any rooms?”
The mound of curlers jerked and then revolved, with the squeaking of an old chair, to show a young sleepy face.
“My I fell asleep three hours ago.”, as she stretched and consulted a wall clock.
“I assume you want a room. We have lots, bein’ so near Christmas and all.”
Luke was relieved and let his tired body relax.
“You’re up awful late. You a salesman?”
She scanned him, seeing a young man – about 5’10”, light brown hair over his ears a bit, maybe 160 pounds, maybe a salesman; a lonely one at that?
While he filled out the register card, “No, just enjoying the country. It’s nice out here at night.”
Her forehead furrowed and her head went back, questioning. She handed him two keys,
“Yours is room number Four, just three doors to your left as you exit.” Then turned and re-entered the T.V. glow.
Luke went outside, parked the car, took one last look at the stars and headed into his room for a good night’s rest. While sleeping, he dreamed of that mountain, the skis, pine trees and the two barely visible tracks meandering through the snowy landscape. At 3:10 AM he awoke. Not shaken by some nightmare, but with a sense of a good anticipation.
Monday morning was dark in his room. The heater had dried his sinuses, but a shower helped clear a way for easy breathing. He then fell back asleep. He raised the shades. The light set his spirits high. What a pleasure it is to pack light.
In the motel office he was greeted by a voice arising from the chair that had been occupied by the lady with curlers the night before.
”Our check out time is noon and it is two now, but I’ll let that go. “Howd’ ya sleep young fella?”
“O.K., except for the dry heat, though I was glad to have it. And thanks for not charging me an extra day’s stay.”
The old man got up from his chair and came to the counter. Reading glasses were stored on top of his bald head and seemed ready to slide off the shiny surface. His hands shook a bit as he handed Luke the bill.
“We always figure city folk like it warm, but it ain’t so good on the repir’tory system.”
He talked on about a forecast of snow while Luke began staring at a painting on the wall behind the counter,
“What is that?” Luke asked.
“What’s, what sir?”
“That scene. I know something in that painting behind you. The star with the funny points. And, my god, those bright red ones and the three ornaments underneath. I know that!”
“Oh yes, that’s Herman’s painting. He did that one that about five years ago. I liked it so he gave it to me. Kind’a gives me a warm feelin’ just lookin’ at it. Don’t know why. I figured if Herman made it, it must be important. He swore he’d do anything to get that tree back. His grandkids were so sad when it left. So, I guess his son, Herman junior, is still lookin’ too.”
“This Herman, where does he live?”
“Old Herman? Probably up with those stars in that painting. Passed away about two years ago.”
Luke’s face lost its smile.
“Where is his family?”
The clerk’s eyes met Luke’s eyes for the first time, like they really needed to,
“You know somethin’ young man?”
“No. Nothing I could tell.” He dropped the room key onto the counter, paid the bill and took a slow, thoughtful exit out the door. Once again, there he was in his car waiting for enough heat, but this time pondering a mystery. He was ready to drive off, when he noticed a pickup truck pull up to the motel office door. The clerk ran out and yelled ”Herm!”
Luke was hungry and afraid of this coincidence, maybe from watching too many Hitchcock movies. Will someone try to take away my tree? I should have gotten a recommendation for a restaurant. He then took off. On the road ahead was a water tower with Carson written across its girth. It seemed so modern for the old town ranging out from its base. The road led to the ‘Business District’, as proclaimed on a big sign. He went slowly, remembering friend’s stories of small town police and speeding tickets.
The road led to all economic levels; the modern ranch style houses, the old columned mini-plantation and the small frame houses, some leaning a bit, with cars sitting on cement blocks in back yards. The 10th, 9th and through to 1st streets amused him, these designations seeming more suited to a large metropolis. Luke came to Main Street and an intersection. Which way holds my stomach’s desire? A left turn led to a bundle of grain silos. A right turn led to a row of stores. He took the store route and went past a tavern, a general store window from the 60’s and finally came to Sally’s Diner. An empty slot, bordered by two pickup trucks, sat right at the door of the diner and he promptly filled it.
As he closed his car door, a familiar pickup truck slowly past by – the one at the motel. If you don’t look it’s not there; another piece of fatherly advice.
Inside Sally’s he found a crowd of men wearing caps advertising farm related products and eating the same
kind of breakfast he liked. A booth at the back, in a dimly lit corner, beckoned and he answered.
“Afternoon young man. What can I get you?”
“Well, I’m up for two eggs, sausage, grits with red-eye gravy and a big O.J. He remembered a Georgia native, where he worked, describing such things. The fiftyish, bleached-blonde, waitress twisted a bit, used her palm to smooth out the order pad and reached for her ear-held pencil,
“Honey, you are a bit north for redeye gravy, but some butter is nice on our grits. How do you want your eggs?”
She leaned over bit and quietly offered. “Round here the fella’s like sunny side up so they can dip their toast into the yoke. That tastes better, if you ask me.”
Luke was caught up in his tension about the pickup truck and being a stranger in this town. He stuck with his scrambled eggs.
In ten minutes he was devouring the breakfast, and feeling better with each mouthful, when he noticed a hat in the back by the kitchen door. It was a rag wool hat. He could only see it bobbing around behind a high partition. He cupped an ear and heard,
“Are you sure?” It was his waitress’s voice.
Another curl invaded his stomach. I hate to be paranoid, but maybe they are pursuing me. I want to know more about that painting. Maybe they want to take my tree like the motel clerk mentioned. I feel weird about this. Here I am in this small town putting myself into some Hitchcock movie. Finish the meal and get out of here.
The waitress had given him the check when bringing the food so Luke took advantage and left enough for the food and a nice tip. He had noticed a back door, earlier, and sneaked out. He drove off asking himself,
“Now where is my spirit of adventure? With such an imagination no wonder I never go anywhere alone. Maybe I need a companion.”
Luke stopped at a gas station and parked at the air pump. He grabbed a map from the glove compartment. It fell itself open, a shambles of torn sections from numerous folding’s. What a mess. Where the hell is Carson? That long drive last night has left me lost. Dare I ask the station attendant? Maybe he knows this Herm guy. Luke took off down the road not knowing where to go. He past the remainder of the sixties style Main Street and then a trailer park. Soon he waved a goodbye to the welcome sign on the other side of the road. Another sign granted him (55MPH) rights, which he was already abusing.
There are mountains on the prairies. They are those clouds, the bulbous piles catching the sunlight on their leading edges and rising almost to heaven. These are truly magical mountains that grow up from the horizon and devour the 180 degree sky until all is entombed. Luke knew these could mean lots of snow. Might as well go on and see when I need to settle for the night. Feel like some pioneer. The clouds and Luke’s car were running toward one another.
“Cough, cough, cough.”
He imagined the car chiding him with,
“I gave you some hints of this when you were safely near home, hard head!”
The engine gave him just enough coughing to pull off onto the shoulder and avoid a farm drainage ditch. There he was maybe twenty mile out of Carson. Those ‘mountains sure are getting bigger. There’s got to be a big storm’s worth of snow in all that gray. Well, get my blanket and turn on the blinkers. Who the heck is going to be out here? I have not seen any cars since leaving Carson.
The last thought was ended with a, “Whoosh” sound. Something familiar about that sound. He arched his neck into the windshield, searching. Seeing nothing, he pulled the hood release, exited the car and lifted the hood. Luke bent over and looked into a world he barely recognized. He tugged at wires, tapped whatever may need that and looked for something broken or smoking. With a faint hope he got back into the car and turned the key- only the sterile whir of the starter. The engine compartment was filling with snow. He closed it and headed for the trunk where he grabbed a blanket, a flare and an old hat, all the while looking for the source of that ‘Whoosh’.
In fifteen minutes the snow came and it was in a hurry to finish its job and go elsewhere. His world was a white blur accompanied by jabs of wind trying to scare him out of the car and into its fury. He sat there hoping someone would come along. After ten minutes, there were some things floating in his rearview mirror. They finally became two headlights and that truck. It pulled up close and Luke lowered his window. The truck’s passenger window jerked downward and its absence finally revealed a whiskered face topped by a gray rag wool hat. Luke yelled out,
“Hey. Can I get a ride. My car is dead.”
“Right. I can get you to my farm just up the road. Get in before we both get stuck here.”
Luke’s haste to be rescued was tempered as he focused upon the rag wool hat that was like the one seen twice before. He grabbed his bag from the back seat, locked the car and jumped into the already moving truck. He looked straight ahead wondering what kind luck this was and then decided to make small talk,
“This sure is quite a storm. They look different out here in the country; more real and frightening.”
“Yeah, you’re real lucky I follow . . . I mean remembered something needed doing at the farm. The Misses, ya know. Before she goes to her sister’s place.”
Luke did not ‘know’, but nodded a guy’s understanding about Misses Things, all the while monitoring his gut. The driver put out his right hand for a shake.
“Darn. Forgot my manners. Name’s Herman. Herman Jr. that is.”
“I’m Luke.”
The truck wandered over the deepening snow till it found a farm and then turned in. The windows were full of warm light that reminded Luke of traditional country scenes on Christmas cards. They were ‘corny’ and he liked them. But, he still was worried by the interest shown by the motel clerk and this person now known as Herman Jr.
“Well, Bud, er, Luke that is. Better rush in. Don’t mind the dogs. They’re always glad for a new face to lick.”
Both truck doors flew open, a body launching out from each one and then slamming shut. Luke raced up the steps of a long porch and grabbed a square column for support. Herman, Jr. followed, slipping about. Luke waited at the heavy, carved door and wanted to just barge in, stranger or not. Herman finally made it to the door and threw it open for Luke. The scene inside was a rush of two bodies enveloped in a swirl of snow.
Once sealed from the outer chaos, Luke’s eyes started scanning over the interior. There was a wall-rack loaded with coats on his right and a shoe rack below that was a hint for him. While removing his shoes, he saw an open door to his left that showed him a room full of old-time lacey, stuffed furniture like those photos of the Gay Nineties boudoirs. As he hung his coat, a narrow stairway caught his eye. The Herman pointed to a closed door near the coat racks and Luke opened it, letting The Herman enter first.
Once inside, Luke was made a captive of two large dogs with long, shiny fur, big feet clicking on the wooden floor, tails wagging and tongues looking for a face or a hand. He bent over trying to be gracious and quickly arose carrying the fore paws of one with its tongue reaching for his face. Luke’s dad had called this type of dog, ‘ a Flopem’
“Down Max. Give Bud a chance. You guys are too fast for our visitor.”
“So, where is your wife?” Luke asked.
Herman stuttered, “Oh, she’s visiting her sister down the road. She may not be back till tomorrow mornin’ the way this storm is going.”
Luke’s stomach curl returned. Why does he now have a different story? His attention then was drawn to the house. This is a living room meant for living and I’ll bet great for some kids. There was well-scuffed modern furniture; some of it covered with old bed sheets. The floor was bare and worn and partially covered by a green rag rug in the center. In a corner, near a window was a large Christmas tree, maybe eight feet tall with handmade ornaments, popcorn strung out and some curious bubbling lights shaped like candles and a pile of gift-wrapped shapes below.
Herman pointed to a sofa,
”Sit down Bud, I mean Luke and I’ll see if I can find
some leftovers to heat up for a meal.”
He left through a door Luke assumed lead to the kitchen. God, I want to doze off like some turtle withdrawing onto its shell. He allowed his head to fall back onto the sofa.
This brought his eyes up to a ceiling awash with unfinished painted scenes. Like a Michelangelo. This may not be your typical farm. There were clouds hanging softly in a blue sky with birds and angels flying about and they seemed to be playing with a familiar star.
That one looks like the one on top of my tree at home? I could relax and trust this to be a good place with good people. Maybe the rag wool, well Herman Jr., is a friend. His eyes closed then only to be shocked open by Herman’s booming voice.
“Found some pizza and nuked it. Oh, here’s some salad. The Misses says it’s good for me.”
They sat quietly devouring the pizza, pieces dribbling from their mouths, while grunting with pleasure. Herman had brought some beer that he poured down his throat. Luke, not a drinker, tried to be polite and followed his host’s lead by eventually downing two cans. They did seem refreshing and relaxing; very relaxing.
When done eating, Herman tried to start some light conversation. But Luke’s eyelids gained weight by the minute. He did manage to tell Herman about his previous night’s journey.
“Well, Bud, I’ll show you a room you can stay in for the night. It was my father’s, Herman Sr., till he passed away some time back.” Herman carried Luke’s bag and led him upstairs, down a hallway and to a door.
Inside was a quite cozy room. There was an antique bed with four posters, matching dresser and a bedside table with legs covered in ornate carvings. On the wall was a large shelf holding hundreds of hardcover books and one photo. On the wall, opposite the bed, there hung a darkly lit picture. A window faced out to an oak tree and the welcomed absence of falling snow, which calmed Luke even in his weary state. The eerie whistle of the wind was balanced by the warmth of the room.
Luke yawned a ‘thank you’, not caring how ungrateful it sounded. After Herman had exited, Luke undressed. He donned his travel robe and took one last trip to a bathroom he had noticed while walking down the hall. As he lay in bed, the events of the day paraded through his mind. Unlike sheep, these aroused him and the dozing lifted now that he was alone. His eyes adjusted to the dark and were able to make out some of a photo on the wall. He got up and found his flashlight. Move slowly in this unfamiliar room. The wall photo was one of those old family reunion types with names listed below for the rows of people. The oldest and youngest were in the front row. To him it seemed that the happiest faces were in the front row; the others looked a bit serious. One older man, in the middle of the front row, had a big smile. What a bunch. Wonder if they are all family. My family reunion would hardly fill a corner of this photo. A banner showed a date that made this photo ten years old. Wow. And, quite a few Herman’s.
Luke finally felt relaxed. While yawning he caught sight of a modulating light outside the window and also some red ones. They all seemed to be floating in the dark. That ‘Whoosh’ sound out there in the snow today could have been the tree? He finally fell asleep from a newly found sense of peace and floated in starry dreams that night.