Jake types, ‘I heard about Osley, I just didn’t know it was a person.’
Jake. I think I knew her. Send pictures. The possibility freaks me out... I need coffee, a donut and a cigarette...
OK Craig, Nobody in the mosque ... everyone at the beer church. Sadi and I will find lodging... then go to church. This place is great, a warren of buildings layered from the lake up the side of the crater wall. The streets are cobble stone paths just wide enough for walking side by side. This place has defiantly never seen a car.
CHAPTER 3
Returning from staring down the cavernous neck of a beer bottle, Jake is pulled back to a place called the present… the orange light of the setting sun washes across the hardwood floor. Osley sits on the stairs and Jake drapes over the leather swivel chair.
“No one has called me Osley for... Thirty years.”
…“Really, no one has called me Osley for thirty years Jake.”
“Well most of us never thought you really existed. The name just became synonymous with the Haight-Ashbury epicenter of hippie-dom. Purple Osley!’”
“That was the problem Jake. The whole thing was like fake spirituality, you chemically didn’t feel ‘of the world’ but you weren’t grounded either so every type of low level spiritual muck could mess with your chromosomes. Casualties Jake, how many casualties have you seen?”
Jake smiles into his beer bottle, thinking of all the alternate routes his life might have taken…
“Well I don’t know if it was fake exactly, more like taking a look from your spirit but somehow squeezing it through Jimi Hendrix’s amplifier.”
“Right but from then on when a beautiful, fragrant and sincere spiritual experience happens your bare wires have been burnt by Hendrix’s amp…. And you think, ‘how could that be it, so subtle.”
“Right Osley. We definitely need more beer.”
“Osley was my Berkley pseudonym … it just got out of hand.” She shrugs broad shoulders.
Jake stretches across the leather chair, the sunlight filters to her ankles...calves… silk Kimono thighs, and he says
“I’m stunned that you really are you… and you look pretty good.”
“You want to say for an old girl, but I’m still younger than you pal…we are just whatever we were; plus some.”
And Jake is, for a change, not totally intimidated by this woman. Actually he feels ‘at home’.
“Amazing.” He says thinking about another time, Hawaii, another woman, a streak of sun, naked feet, and the call to adventure, a missed opportunity to make a stand… like the children Christ never had.
“We’ve never formally met have we Jake. I mean I knew of you as the “surf guy” who came up to San Francisco from southern California to dig the music; a friend pointed you out at Keystone Corners one night when McCoy Tyner was playing.”
“Was that the night he had this Latino guy behind the amps doing insane rhythms with hoops of Master locks?”
“That was the night! You seemed, well, too cool. Like you went into the ladies room, charmed the girls and left with one of my friends! Southern California was crass even then”. She smiles at her girlishness and gives Jake a beer opener, expressly noticing his gaze on her gnarled dry hands. He counters with,
“I’ve heard that “dis “about southern California before, but the surfers of the beat era were the pro genitors of “cool” there is no cool without those guys; that action existentialism and that antiestablishment style’ is what the rest of the world is still trying to get a handle on. It was like Gertrude Stein’s place but without trying to be somebody. I’m sure the underlying soul of post war California was the surfers; flamenco rhythms, blues, and jazz at sunset in a Malibu beach shack… and beer. Everyone who knew wanted a piece of it. Wild men aware of what to do with the acquittal granted when the allies won the Second World War; counter culture, light years from any space that could be judged crass.” Jakes blurts out . ‘Um alcohol starting’ to pump in the veins now’ he thinks
“Hum, you do have a brain. Never thought of it like that. Would you open another bottle?”
“Sure, but I think we’ll need more than one bottle? The limestone keeps it cool, but I miss icy cold beer.” Jake unconsciously pulls his cauliflower ear... the generic bottle cap pops free. He shoots his cheesy smile and a hailed bottle toast, theatrical, like he was in a Coke add, he inhales a third of the bottle.
Osley smiles at this macho presence in her quiet sanctuary. Thinking “why is this man here?’ and she is somehow strengthened by being with some from her own culture. She asks
“So Jake we’re basically the same age, but you come off like you’re 19”, she pulls her hair into a ponytail and speaks at the light coming in through the window, “is that some type of delayed retard or what?.... Yes ice would be nice.”
“Look Osley that’s another mystery of life I haven’t figured out. Like at what age are you supposed to mystically quite digging rock and roll and only listening to talk radio? What’s the deal with that?”
“Well, that is a mystery. I mean we’re coming from the same culture but neither one of us are time warped hippies. We moved on.” she takes the bottle from him and drinks an honorable share.
He says, “You hid out and I kept moving.” …, “Hiding out is the weird bit.”
“The CIA was out to kill me Jake but you, you’re one of the last hold outs, still running from responsibility. Sort of being a live cartoon character. ” She says wiping a drip from the corner of her lips. “I’ve read some of that outlandish ‘Lone Ranger’ drivel Craig Naughton writes about you.
“Really?” Jake says slightly flattered, “Look, well maybe, in one sense that’s true but, at least I’m not Homer Simpson, well not always, I’m not posing at being something I’m not, a responsible guy, build a life, wife and kids around the hidden fear that I don’t have what it takes, feeling that a solid mature man rarely exist. It’s only variations of the pose. Like the dream that I think all men have, the one that for me went like this; I’m in a fight and scared shitless but I’m on top of the guy and punching for all I’m worth only my blows are weak and my hands are like limp rags … I think every man has some sort of dream like that; ineffectual, not up to the task. It’s just seems some guys go ahead and fake it anyway.”
“You think most men have that stuck somewhere in their head?”
Ya. Most “first world” guys see the matrix but in some subconscious self-talk convince themselves they are powerless to get out of it. Not all, some guys still saunter to their own music in the middle of society’s script. Those guys I dig, a few friends got it right, like Billy, and Craig in his own way, but that’s another story. Me well, I just never could do that, so I keep moving and emailing Craig who e-books it so I can … just keep moving.”
Osley smiles breathing in his honesty.
CHAPTER 4
Prior however…down in the village beside the crater lake.
The musty smelling beer church is on a hill next to the philosophy teacher’s classroom. There is a pulpit type bar and all the guys are quietly sipping brew and listening to the organ player. Jake is thinking, ‘got to love a church that smells like beer’,
“Hello, anyone speak English in here? Can I buy a beer?” Jake flashes his toothy Canadian Mounties smile; excellent dentistry.
A young woman with a smile of intelligent innocence, an Asian oxymoron, turns toward Jake; bright brown face, black eyes, bare feet. He senses once again the feeling of being invisible, it’s as if young women recognize instinctually that you are beyond breeding, for Jake it’s always disconcerting and yet of late comforting. She has an obvious limp but moves smooth, graceful, a rhythm of her own. She speaks through him to Sadi. “Greetings, my name is Celeste and yes English is fine.” She smells of flowers, and Jake enjoys Sadi’s shy glow as she says “the beer is our gift to you but if you would like you can put some money in the tray at the door.”
“OK. I’ll have a pint.
” Jake’s moustache twitches as he surveys the scene for bad vibes and escape routes. He and Sadi sit in the back row with a safe corner just behind. Celeste brings a glass of throat clearing amber fluid.
“Delicious!” he says “I like that subtle anise finish.”
“There are many alternative to bitter hops, ours has a light anise flavor. Would you sign our guest book Mr...?”
“Martin, Jake Martin... Adventure journalist.” the Canadian Mounties smile which did cost a fortune in cosmetic dentistry. “Where would you like my autograph?”
“Well Mr. Martin just printing below the previous entry will do. Name, age, address and a phrase on what brought you into our valley.”
“I’m hoping to do a piece on the beer.” and he thinks she is soft, pleasant and yet business like. Reminding himself that some women just consciously remain thirteen in their head; vexing.
Sadi steps in asking in Bahasa “Excuse me Celeste; can I buy you a beer?”
“Oh I really don’t drink much; occasionally for ceremonies of course. Would you like one Mr.?”
“Call me Sadi, I had my first beer yesterday and I think now is a good occasion for another.” Sadi smiles
Jake asks, “… and perhaps you could tell me why these guys are so serious looking.”
“Well hospitality is one of our trademarks but we see so few outsiders we may seem more of an exclusive club.” she smiles wryly.
“The rest of these folks wouldn’t convince me of hospitality.” Noticing painted on smiles saying ‘Hi, keep a distance’.
The beer is smooth and has that light aniseed aroma Jake pulls out a silver flask he carries in his nap sack. Quietly he pours whiskey into his beer.
“Mr. Martin, it’s virtually sacrilegious to alter the beer flavor.”
Why, isn’t beer for enjoying?”
“I say again rejoice!” Sadi says.
“Yes but our brew has been passed down from brew master to brew master for centuries! The first brew master, Petra, created the formula and no one has deviated from it since... What is it that you poured in?”
“Here, have a smell” rather delicately she pulls the silver opening to her nose.
“Good heavens!” as her head snaps back, “it’s like a spicy sweet bite of wood.”
“The finest Kentucky bourbon ...” breathing in her youthful flowery scent though she seems more like a daughter. “I imagine it’s culturally uncool to put some in your beer?”
“Oh yes, virtually a sin... can I try a sip of yours?”
“My pleasure.”
Now Jake senses that the men in the nearby pew are getting a bit agitated and uncomfortable at his non-conforming beer enhancing style.
“Gentlemen” He says, as Sadi begins rather naturally to interpret, “a little change of tune for you too?” Jake waves the flask under their noses at which they recoil back and slide further away. “I guess not.” Turning back to Celeste who has nearly finished his heartily spiked beer. She is loosening her hair while pulling up into a crossed leg position on the pew next to Sadi. The parishioners are now visibly agitated by Jake’s non conformity.
“Jake, it appears your beer is nearly finished” he notices she lisps a bit “I’ll go up to the new brew master, his father just retired, and get you another.” She glides up the aisle, her limp is rhythmic, mesmerized. At the keg pulpit a pompous, skinny young man with slicked back hair stares down at her benevolently. There is a muffled argument between Celeste and the brew master before Celeste finally returns with a beer for Jake.
“Thanks, was that any trouble?”
Well, that young dilettante has lost his hospitality and tolerance, and he thinks you may have defiled ‘his’ beer. Which of course is Petra’s beer and he’s just the worker bee. He really irritates me!”
“Why”
“I’m betrothed to marry him. I think for the last four generations. I’ve been trying to get out of it since we were children. Once on the switchback trail we kids were throwing sticks at the Spirit Lady, Simeon, the dilettante, tries to taunt her but like a skinny tiger she spins on here heels engulfs us with a look that seemed to make her eyes turn into one big eye that sort of swallowed us in an ocean of emotion we were too young to swim in… and Simeon fell off the cliff but grabbed my left leg pulling me over too, except the Spirit lady grabbed my shoulders. We pulled Simeon up but my leg never healed exactly right.
You see my father, and my fathers’ ancestors, are the philosophy teachers and Simeon’s family are brew master, and well it is just fate I guess, nothing can be done.”
“Fate is gutless.” Jake muses, got to meet this spirit lady?
Celeste takes another swig of Jake’s spiked brew only this time it is in a mock toast at the young brew master, whose cheeks bulge visibly red. Awkwardly the youth bolts away from the men he has been speaking with, who hastily follow him down the aisle toward Jake and Celeste. Like an old cat Jake leaps to his pre-arranged corner as Sadi and Celeste look on.
“Hey Pal, don’t get worked up about beer quality; all beer is good, some better than others, but basically good for the soul. We’re all on the same team here.”
Stepping forward the brew master counters with, as Sadi interprets Jake and Celeste interprets Simeon
“Beer is a delicate science that has millenniums of creative design. 5000 years ago Sumerians …”
Jake interrupts “Dude… not 5000 years ago, at least 9000 years ago.” Jake smirks
“Excuse me but there is no record of beer before the goddess of beer, Ninkasi of Samaria.”
“Naw man beer is a mistake that some sloppy Neolithic housewife lucked into when she just kept splashing germinated grain bits into the gourd next to the chopping block…I’m sure beer evolved way before bread.”
“You imbecile! Beer is a sacred art!” Simeon is flushing red and inching forward, Celeste and Sadi are counter interpreting
“Dude back to the chopping block” Jake is baiting him. “Dig, the mash dried out, she spilled hot water on it, she drained it thinking she could feed the hubby the malted mash: yeast was everywhere like semi domesticated dogs, sweaty armpits and as if trying to pluck an apple from an orange tree, voilà! Brew, beersky, cervesa bro. It fermented. Sugar into alcohol, simple.”
“Beer is not simple!” Simeon’s voice cracks and strains,
“Dude your head’s going to blow up. Look it was like this, the enlightened Cro-Magnon comes home, she’s got nothing ready so she give him this cold gourd soup, he sits on the couch and the rest is history.”
Visually incredulous the young brew master clenches his fists and blurts out,
“You sir are discrediting the art of brewing!”
“Beer is like democracy man, it is not to be fine art, and it is the common denominator of evolved society. Beer is not exquisite, it’s a right, like voting. When the president drinks a beer everyone thinks he’s a normal guy, one who might walk into a pub and fit in. Get it?”
The youth has long delicate hands that are shaking, and he jerkily speaks and reaches forward. Before Sadi can interpret Jake instinctually captures the arm, pulls into a pump arm-lock then twists into a shoulder throw cleanly landing Simeon into the arms of his followers. Smiling to Celeste and Sadi Jake dryly says “That was fate, Jake style.” As he readies for another attack Celeste kicks him in the back.
“Hey I’m protecting your independence from this dude!”
He was extending our hospitality hand shake!” She is chuckling, he knows she is chuckling.
Jake tries to extend a hand and apologize but the young man is haughtily over reacting, and no one is interpreting so he throws his chin in the air and returns dramatically to his keg of beer.
“Does this mean the party’s over?” Jake smiles at Celeste.
“I think your beer supply is finished. You guys follow me out of here, I’ll save a bit of my reputation, and I can get us more beer.”
“Excellent… but I sorta feel bad about popping Simeo
n’s beer bubble. And I wanted to get a job in the brewery.” Jake shrugs
Speaking to Jake and smiling to Sadi she says, “I can probably help you guys there.”
CHAPTER 5
With the etiquette of cheek kisses Jake and Osley drink from the second bottle.
Jake speaks into its musky silence
“I heard you hacked into all the government computers, they had the only ones in the sixties and early seventies didn’t they?”
“There was useful stuff in big corporation computers too. About the time “the chip” took over from tubes UCLA and the government war machine developed a pre internet net called ARPA. We were connected with UCSB, where I heard about you actually. It was like being from another planet if you had one of Engleberts mouses and a floppy system in ’68 you ruled a world only a very few knew even existed. So few people knew what we were on about, like having something so terribly valuable but only a few knew it was valuable. I could hack anything with a chip. We knew on a grander scale that knowledge was power”. She speaks with an air of pride.