Post by Johnny Reb on Feb 14, 2010 14:15:42 GMT -5
Wednesday, February 10, 2010
It wasn’t every day you saw a gringo drinking himself to death in the dusty streets of an obscure North Mexican town. Not this far from a tourist destination, anyway. Brown eyes, deep-set in a wizened Mayan face, watched the fair-haired American tip a bottle of tequila to his lips and drink deeply.
The hot Mexican sun was already taking its toll: the gringo’s skin was reddening, and sweat poured in rivulets down his face, soaking into his shirt. Natives knew better. On either side of the street, inside a motley collection of old adobe buildings that had stood unchanged for generations, men and women took refuge from the day’s heat.
The American leaned heavily against a circular fountain situated in the middle of the plaza, and, succumbing at last to necessity, he sat on the ground beside it. There was something vaguely familiar about him, something the old man couldn’t quite put a finger on. Perhaps he had seen him in a dream or a vision – or maybe even on TV. It didn’t really matter; clearly this gringo was suffering, had been put in his path for a reason. As a respected curandero, it was his duty to at least try to help.
* * * * *
Johnny blinked against the glaring sun, rubbing his eyes to clear his blurred vision. Two identical, elderly Mexicans – dressed in identical white cotton tunics and trousers – strode toward him at a leisurely pace from the shade of a pair of twin overhangs. They stopped a couple of feet away to scrutinize him; both smiled kindly, simultaneously extending their hands in a gesture of friendship. When they spoke, it was in unison – with a single, heavily accented voice.
“You must not do this to yourself, Bernardo.”
Reb reached out, missed; tried again, and clasped the proffered hand. Johnny realized, belatedly, that there was only one old man, that his eyes were playing tricks on him. He allowed the man to help him to his feet with a strength that belied his advanced age. His protests fell on deaf ears when the bottle was pried from his grip.
“I will show you a better way, Bernardo,” said the old man. “Come.”
“Who in the hell is Bernardo?” Reb demanded.
The old man simply smiled in reply and began to lead him away.
* * * * *
Some hours later, Johnny Reb found himself in the middle of a flat, arid desert, the landscape broken only by low, scrubby sagebrush and cacti of every description. He sat beside a small, cheerful fire, wrapped in a woolen poncho the old man had thrust at him.
Johnny had to admit, the view was astounding: With the sun sinking slowly below the Western horizon, the whole desert was awash with color. Fiery pinks and muted gold battled for dominance across the otherwise dreary wasteland. Reb wasn’t quite certain what he was doing out here, or why he had followed the old man, exactly. There was an air of authority about the Mexican that brooked no disobedience, however, and Johnny wasn’t inclined to test him.
They had spoken little as they traversed the empty wilderness that afternoon. All Reb had been able to find out was the old man’s name. He called himself Don Jesus Luis de Guadalupe, but refused to answer any of Johnny’s other questions. So Johnny had given up trying to get more information out of the guy, and had simply trailed along at his side. By the time the old man had called a halt to their journey, Johnny found that he was stone cold sober for the first time in well over a week.
Now, he watched the sunset, reflecting that, perhaps, this hadn’t been the wisest course of action. For all Reb knew, the guy might’ve been planning on selling his kidneys on the black market, or something. And so it was with no small amount of suspicion that Johnny accepted the cup of hot tea the old man offered him. Cautiously, he examined the tin cup, uncertain if he should take any more chances. On the other hand, Reb was pretty sure he had nothing left to lose. He took a sip and made a face at the overwhelming bitterness.
“Drink, Bernardo,” the old man urged. “You have much to learn, and little time to learn it.”
Johnny cast Don Jesus a curious look, but the old man was busy throwing strong-smelling herbs on the fire, and more or less ignoring him. Figuring that the Mexican probably wouldn’t have bothered getting him sober if he’d been planning on murdering him, Reb took another drink of the mysterious beverage. The taste hadn’t improved, so he downed the rest of it as quickly as he could and set the cup aside and turned his attention back to the westering sun. It was nearly dark, now, and Reb was starting to feel a little light-headed.
Gradually, he became aware of a slow, steady beat, keeping time with his pulse. A heady aroma rose with the smoke from the fire and seemed to envelop him. He could identify sage and tobacco among the various herbs the old man had tossed in with the wood, but already his attention was wandering elsewhere. Between the pungent fire, the drumbeat, and whatever it was he’d just ingested, Johnny Reb was starting to feel pretty good. Better than he had in quite some time, that much was certain.
The sun slipped the rest of the way down, casting the desert in chilly darkness, but to Reb’s eyes, the sunset colors remained. Overhead, the stars shone brightly, and a light breeze carried their cosmic voices to him in faint whispers; the words were foreign to him, but the meaning behind them was immediately apparent. Johnny was filled with a sense of peace and contentment that defied the ability of mere words to describe.
His attention was caught by movement on the ground, and he looked down to see little green shoots springing up around his feet. As he watched, the shoots spread across the desert floor, sprouting tiny multi-hued buds that bloomed instantly. Wondering and slightly awed, he got up to follow the path the fragile little plants had marked out. As he walked, thicker plants filled in the footsteps he left behind.
Soon, the desert gave way to dense jungle, and Johnny hesitated. It was dark in there, and he could hear the sounds of large creatures moving within the trees. Being unarmed gave him pause, but he could still hear the steady drumbeats, distant but reassuring.
“Go on, Bernardo,” the old man whispered. “There is no turning back now.”
Johnny looked around, but Don Jesus was nowhere to be seen. Somewhere behind him, he could barely make out the light of the fire. Still uneasy, Reb stepped through a curtain of low-hanging vines. Here, the path continued, no longer picked out by tiny plants; instead, patches of light marked his way. Slowly, he followed it, accompanied by an uneasy feeling of being watched.
Within the jungle, there was no breeze, but the vines and leaves stirred anyway, as if of their own accord. Here, the celestial whispering was lost to a low, sinister murmur that seemed to come from all around him. Johnny grew more anxious the deeper he traveled, until, abruptly, his path came to an end. Massive tree roots rose up to block his progress, but the remote drumbeat urged him onward. Reb climbed over the roots with little difficulty, owing to his physical conditioning, but the light was gone now, and he had to proceed carefully lest he lose himself in the tangle.
On and on he went, the new path seemingly endless as it carried him progressively upward. Some sixth sense warned him of imminent danger; Johnny drew to a halt, looking around. A deep growl sounded somewhere to his right. As his heart rate increased with a surge of adrenaline, so did the beating of the drum. There was a flash of deep yellow, spotted with black, as something dashed across the path ahead of him. Cautiously, he moved forward again, trying to keep watch in all directions at once.
All at once, Johnny felt a heavy weight crash into him, bearing him backward. He got an impression of fangs and claws as he fell; and the falling went on, ever downward, until he began to wonder when it would stop. Almost as soon as he had the thought, his back met solid ground. The beast had landed right on top of him, and now he could see that it was a Jaguar. At least, he thought that’s what it was. The thing was twice as big as it should have been, and the spotted coat seemed to glow with a light all its own. It growled softly, sniffed at him liberally, then backed off to let him up.
Paralyzed with fear, Johnny laid there for a moment, watching the oversized cat calmly licking a paw. It pretended to ignore him as Reb got to his feet again, but he got the distinct impression it was merely waiting for something. Johnny listened carefully for a moment, seeking the comforting sounds of the far-off drum. But it had stopped, and he knew that he was on his own now.
“What do you want?” Reb asked, feeling faintly ridiculous for talking to an animal.
To his surprise, the big cat paused in its grooming and appeared to be considering him carefully. Then it let out another growl, which sounded suspiciously like a chuckle and put Johnny on edge. The Jaguar approached him lazily, walking a broad circle around Reb as it sized him up. Johnny tensed, and the big cat took that as a cue to attack, swiping at him with one outsized paw.
Johnny dodged the attack with a leap that carried him far higher than he had expected. In fact, it seemed that his wings had caught an updraft that sent him soaring out of the Jaguar’s reach.
Wait, Johnny thought. Wings?
Risking a glance, Reb found that his body was covered in grey feathers, no longer resembling anything human. He became aware of taloned feet and a long, sharp beak. Suddenly unsure what had been done to him, he flapped one wing, trying to shake the feathers off, hoping desperately to get his arm back. The only result was that his panicky movement sent him crashing hard to the earth once more.
The last thing Johnny was aware of, before he slipped into unconsciousness, was the Jaguar, rolling its eyes and shaking its head in exasperation…
