THE FOURTH ASCENT

Chapter One -- Cornfields.

Nadine Fleming pulled the single spaced, typed, letter out of the envelope. Her hand trembled slightly as she read:

Dear Lester, Nadine, and Jacob,

I missed our being able to spend time together last summer, though of course I respect what you said about wanting to spend your vacations in a number of different ways. It would not have been the same anyhow without the old camp. I'm still sorry I had to sell it.

Anyhow, I have some news and some plans that I think might be of interest to you. First the news---I have cancer. I'd try to break it to you gently but that's not he sort of thing one can break gently. It was, I must admit, something of a shock to me when I first heard it. I thought I was pretty much ready to face death. But it is different when its no longer just an abstract possibility.

The doctors recommended immediate surgery, followed by chemotherapy for about a year. That's with the hair falling out, the nausea, etc., etc.. If I did all that, I would almost certainly prolong my life. There is even an outside possibility that it might permanently arrest the cancer, or so I'm told. But it appears to me that it is more likely that all chemotherapy would do is remove any quality from whatever time I might have left. In any case I told them to cut out whatever cancerous growths they could see and I rejected the chemotherapy.

Now for the plans. Try not to judge me as crazy without hearing me out. You will remember, Lester, that when we were in college together we used to talk about alternate ways of healing---shamans and all that sort of thing. Always it came back to the notion that there were spiritual forces or entities that could exert a healing influence on you if you learned to harmonize yourself with them. This doctrine, as we both knew, was known as "superstition" by the philosophy department, and as "schizophrenia" by the medical people. And perhaps it is both. Despite my Indian background, I am a product, as you are, of a western education. Unseen spiritual forces and the like, are interesting things to speculate about over a beer, but not something any self respecting educated person would take too seriously as a basis for his life. Having cancer, however, has changed things for me. What a self respecting educated person would or wouldn't do is less important to me now. I know I don't want the treatment they have offered me, and I have very little to lose. So, to make a long story short, I'm going on a quest. By using the word "quest" I am ridiculing myself. Its the only way that I can bring myself to do something that I know will look ridiculous in most peoples eyes, and perhaps even in my own. Anyhow I'm going to try to find a certain sacred healing spring my grandfather told my about. You remember my grandfather, Lester. He liked you.

I'm asking a very few people along. It would just be you three along with Sam, Becky and me---the bunch of us that used to have such a good time together up at my camp during the summers, minus my three wives. My third wife, by the way, went off to realize her unfulfilled potential with another man shortly after learning that I had cancer. She was a loser anyhow---pretty but very superficial. I just tried to make it work because I couldn't stand being alone. As I see it, we would meet in Baxter State park and then drive to a certain network of streams and lakes in the central eastern part of Maine. Its a fairly wild area. We would take about a two week canoe trip in this area---its called the Canoe Basin. Our final goal would be to find the spring my grandfather told me about. First, however, we would be visiting some places of special spiritual power, beginning with Mt. Katahdin.

I plan to leave in three weeks. That would be on the second week-end of July.

I wrote to Maggie to ask whether Sam and Becky can go. She said she wanted to talk with you about Becky. As for Sam, apparently he is living with his father and his father's new girlfriend. I don't know if its a good thing for Sam to be with his father. It seemed to me that Tom started acting kind of crazy after he and Maggie broke up. But then who am I to talk? In any case if I want Sam to go I've got to talk with Tom. Maggie says she figures Tom will let him go because he "lets him so anything he damn well pleases." She says she can't control Sam at all when he comes to visit her.

Write soon and let me know. I hope you won't judge from this letter that I've gone over the edge. Even if you do judge that, however, you are welcome to come along (over the edge), just for the trip.

My love to all,

Clay

Hot and thirsty, Jacob Flemming doggedly pedaled his bike down Post Road toward home. He wanted to make it back by 4:00, as he had promised his mother. Although he was slight of build, and somewhat short for his twelve years, his slender legs and arms were nevertheless surprisingly strong, and he was capable of considerable endurance. Yet he was tired, and he decided to take one more rest break before tackling the last three miles to his house.

Pulling off unto the shoulder, he skidded to a dusty stop. Standing with the bike between his legs, he wiped his sweaty blond hair out of his eyes and reached for the army surplus canteen hanging from the olive green canvass belt buckled around his waist. Unscrewing the top, he managed to squeeze out less than a mouthful---not nearly what his dry and raspy throat told him he needed. He realized that he had not exerted sufficient discipline in rationing the water to himself. Of course there was the excuse of its being an unusually hot day. Even so, he resolved that the next time he would be more strict with himself.

He shoved the canteen back into its pouch and wriggled out of the bike pack on his shirtless back. Rummaging through the remains of his lunch and the miscellaneous items that he had deemed essential for a twenty mile bike hike, he extricated a map of Marion County Indiana.

Unfolding and re-folding the map until it exposed just the area he needed to re-trace his trip, Jacob stared for some time at the section of Fall Creek that had been his destination. With a feeling of satisfaction, he realized that he had accomplished what he set out to do. Yet he was disappointed, as usual, with the results of his journey. A new housing development was being built within sight of the section of Fall Creek that had looked so promising on the map, and the creek itself was too polluted to swim in. As it followed its winding course through the countryside, Fall Creek was banded on either side by a thin strip of trees. Beyond these few trees there were the corn fields and cow pastures, punctuated here and there with a few skimpy woods guarded by barbed wire and no trespassing signs. And where you least expected it you would find earth moving equipment preparing the ground for a new housing development or shopping center. Marion County, with Indianapolis at its center, dominated the countryside far beyond its boundaries. It was simply too big. Jacob was like a rocket that did not have the necessary force to escape the gravitational pull of a large planet.

He put away the map of Marion County and took out a map of Indiana. He knew the northern sections were hopeless. The further north you went the closer you got to South Bend and Chicago. But the cheerful green that delineated the extent of the state forests in the southern part of the state gave him hope. Some of these green areas were hardly fifty miles away. He felt ready for a fifty mile trip, and was not afraid to camp out overnight alone. Perhaps if he planned out a relatively safe trip by back roads his parents would give him permission. Perhaps there he would find his goal. He folded the maps and stuffed them back into the pack. Then, before beginning again, he pulled a sweaty t-shirt out of this pack and put it on.

What it was, exactly, that Jacob was looking for, he would have been hard pressed to say. Something within told him when he was getting closer and when he was getting further away. It was like the game of blind-man's-bluff where other children tell you that you are warmer or colder as you search. In some general way he was probably looking for places like those he had seen in National Geographic magazines---south sea islands with women nursing their babies, and naked children playing on a beach, or South American Indian tribes on the shores of piranha infested streams. His Swiss Family Robinson book certainly contributed something to the shifting and unarticulated image of what he was looking for, as did old Tarzan movies, with Tarzan, Jane and Boy living in a tree house while wild animals roamed around on the ground below, and a black leopard crept silently through the trees in search of prey.

His birth state, Maine, was undoubtedly the closest Jacob had ever come to finding in reality what he so longed for. His family had moved to Indiana when he was four, and his memories of living in Maine were vague. But he recalled vividly his summers spent there visiting Clay's camp between his fifth and tenth years. There he and his two cousins, Sam, who was year older, and Becky, who was a year and a half younger, were allowed to play and swim naked on the beach if there were no visitors in camp.

Clay was a Penobscot Indian. He would sometimes tell stories at night...stories that he had heard from older people in his tribe. Many of these stories were about the giant, Glooscap, the hero of the Penobscots, and the embodiment of all that was admirable from their point of view. One of his favorite stories told about how Clooscap captured all the animals in the forest. As he resumed pedaling toward his home Jacob recalled the details of this story.

Glooscap had wished for an easier time capturing game. His grandmother, Woodchuck, with whom he lived, obliged him by making a very fine game bag. Glooscap took the bag and went out into the woods where he announced in a loud voice, "All you animals, listen to me. The world is coming to an end. Unless you come and get into my bag here, you will all perish." The animals all did as they were told, and Glooscap returned home to Woodchuck feeling very happy with himself. "Now we have all the game in the woods right here," he told her. "It will be much easier getting our game this way."

When Woodchuck saw what her grandson had done, she was not pleased. "You have not done well, grandson," she told him. If all this game remains here in the bag, our descendants will die of starvation. We must put our hope in our descendants, and do what is good for them."

Seeing the wisdom of what his grandmother told him, Glooscap took the bag back out into the woods and opened it. "Go out, all you animals," he said. "The danger has passed. Go back to your homes." The animals did as they were instructed.

Jacob recalled that Glooscap had tried a similar trick with all the fish, telling them that the Ocean was drying up. Once again, his Grandmother had corrected him, and insisted that he let them go back into the ocean.

After listening to Clay's stories at night Jacob would settle down on a cot on the screened-in porch to the camp. At times he would whisper and giggle with his cousins, who shared the porch with him, until one of the adults told them to quiet down and get to sleep. Often when it was quiet the sound of the loons crying out on the lake would ignite within his soul a vague but intense longing for something undefined, something which seemed to be just out of reach. What the chances were of ever finding anything even remotely resembling an unspoiled tropical beach, or a jungle clearing with a rhinoceros roaming through it, at the outskirts of Indianapolis or in the corn fields of Indiana, was something that Jacob had never calculated with precision. It was a matter of the heart---not the mind. Mental images were shifting and imprecise. Probabilities were irrelevant. The longing was all-powerful. But this day he had found only Fall Creek with a little strip of trees sandwiched between corn fields on one side, and a housing development on the other.

With a mixture of satisfaction at his accomplishment and disappointment at not finding what he had been looking for, Jacob peddled into the driveway of his house. His mother called to him from the kitchen as he came in the front door. "Jacob, is that you?"

"Yes, Mom."

"You did well. Its just four o'clock. Did you have a good trip?"

"Pretty good."

"It must have been hot out there."

"I almost burnt up!"

Nadine came into the living room and studied her son with a look of mock dismay. She was a well rounded woman---just short of being plump. It was apparent that Jacob had received his blond hair and blue eyes from her. "Did you wear your t-shirt like I told you?" she asked. "You could have got a terrible burn on a day like this!"

"I'm o.k. Mom."

"Well, all right. Run on upstairs and get a bath and put on some decent clothes. You remember that we're going to a concert tonight."

"Is Dad going to play?"

"You know he is."

"First flute?"

"His usual position."

"If he's the best flutist in the symphony, like you say he is, why won't they let him play first flute?"

"He doesn't think he's the best. But it doesn't matter. Your father is a very good musician, and its not a contest. Its an honor to play in a good symphony at all."

"I suppose so," Jacob conceded without conviction.

Jacob was proud to see his father playing in the symphony, but wished he could be the director, or the piano player who got to play a piano concerto, or at least the first position for his instrument. Jacob's father played almost every instrument in the orchestra to some extent, and when he taught music at the junior high school the principal had said he was the best band teacher the school had ever had. Jacob couldn't help basking a bit in reflected glory, but he was relieved that his father had decided to give up his teaching position last year in order to work full time with the Indianapolis Symphony. Being an only child, it was difficult for him to share a parent's attention with the the other boys and girls. Having his mother at the school as a popular English teacher was enough.

After running the water and stripping off all his clothes, Jacob stared at himself in the mirror on the inside of the bathroom door. He made his bicep muscles as big as he could. They definitely bulged a bit, he noted with satisfaction. But it was a long way from the sort of muscles the guy who played Tarzan had.

He turned around and looked at his back. It was quite red, especially up around the shoulders. He knew that his mother would get after him for not wearing his shirt on his bike trip if she saw this. But there was no reason for her to know. Getting into the bath tub, he imagined that he was slipping into a clear pool in the Amazon. One had to be careful of the crocodiles and the piranha....

*****

Lester Fleming, a man of medium build, with dark hair that was receding at the front and thin on top, was already sitting at the supper table when Jacob returned from his bath.

"We got a letter from Clay Sawyer today," Nadine announced.

"What's he say?" Lester asked. Jacob sensed a certain lack of enthusiasm---even coolness---in his father's response. This bothered him. For some reason they had not gone to see Clay last summer. It was a puzzle Jacob couldn't quite sort out. He had thought that Clay and his father were best friends.

"I thought maybe I would read it to you and Jacob while you ate supper," Nadine suggested.

Lester nodded agreement.

By the time Nadine finished the letter, Jacob and Lester had stopped eating and were sitting motionless, in stunned silence.

Jacob was the first to break the silence. "We'll go, won't we?" he ventured, looking at his father.

"I don't know," answered his father. The irritated tone of voice told Jacob that now was not the time to pursue the matter.

"What do you think?" asked Nadine.

"I don't know," he said again, in the same tone of voice.

For a few moments they sat neither speaking nor eating. Then Lester pushed himself away from the table. "I've got to get ready for the concert," he said.

"Dad's upset," commented Jacob after his father left.

"His friend is very sick," said his mother.

"Will he die?"

"I don't know."

"Do you think we will go?"

"Yes."

"What if Dad says no?"

"I don't think he will."

This satisfied Jacob. His mother seemed to have a way of knowing what his father would do---sometimes it seemed, she knew what he would do even before he did.

"Do you think Aunt Maggie will let Becky go?"

"Probably, if your dad asks her to."

"I guess Sam will probably be able to come too," observed Jacob.

"I imagine he will, if he chooses to," agreed his mother.

"I'm not sure that I really want him to come." Jacob confessed.

"I thought you were friends with Sam" Nadine said.

"Well, it sounds like he has changed---gotten into drugs and all that."

"Where did you hear that?"

"I overheard you and Dad talking the other day---also the things Clay said in his letter."

"Well, perhaps he has changed," admitted his mother. "He was pretty upset about his parents divorce."

"You and Dad aren't going to get a divorce, are you?"

"Why do you ask that?"

"Well, sometimes you argue and say things to each other---and sometimes Dad gets real quiet, and I know he's mad but won't say anything. Aunt Maggie and Tom got divorced, and Clay just got divorced for the third time. He says so in his letter. It seems like everybody is doing it. In my class as school there are more kids with divorced parents than not."

"Your dad and I do argue sometimes, but that's just natural. There are arguments in every family. I don't think we are headed for a divorce."

"Are you sure?"

"I don't think we will. Look, I've got to get ready to go. We can talk about it later."

*****

On the way to the concert Jacob sat in the back seat while his parents argued in the front.

"Why is it psychotic to think that healing springs might be real," Nadine was saying. "Most Native Americans believed in visions, and magic charms, places of special power, and all that sort of thing before the Europeans came along and told them it was all superstition. How do we know we're right and they were wrong?"

"Clay's grandfather saw that healing place in some sort of vision---which is all fine and well," Lester returned. "But visions are visions and the physical world is the physical world, and when a person begins to get the two mixed up, its not good."

"You are so damned concerned about keeping everything in neat compartments," retorted Nadine.

"It makes me uneasy to think about taking a bunch of kids on a 'quest' led by somebody who may be stressed out to the point where he doesn't know the difference between what's real and what isn't." Lester retorted.

"Clay's letter doesn't sound psychotic," Nadine protested. "I don't think we should let ourselves get so rigid that we can't consider any views of reality that are a little unconventional."

"Well, what do you want?" Lester challenged. "Maybe we should go to Eslan and get freed up with a lot of feely, touchy, groupy, tickley, and lets-just-go-the-flow-and-swap-around-a-bit-while-

we-are-at-it type of stuff? There have to be some limits somewhere, you know."

"I know there have to be limits. But Clay was your friend. You can't just cut him off."

"He was your friend too," Lester said, looking at her with raised eyebrows.

"You know there wasn't anything between us," Nadine said.

Lester shrugged, non-commitally.

Nadine glared at him. "Oh shit," she said. "There it is again---that suspiciousness."

The rest of the way to the concert they drove in silence.

Jacob understood with a shock, that his father was jealous of Clay Sawyer. He hunched down in the back of the seat and thought about all the kids he knew whose parents were getting divorced.

*****

Jacob sat with his mother waiting for the intermission to end. "See," he said. "Its just like I thought. He's going to decide not to go."

Looking over at her son, Nadine saw the angry tears in his eyes and the rigid, defiant posture. She realized then the degree of his upset. Putting her arm around him she said softly, "Give it time, darling, give it time."

Jacob glanced over at her, still tense and rigid.

"And don't worry so much about your dad and me fighting," she added. "We'll work it out like we always do."

Jacob relaxed a bit and allowed his head to rest on his mother's shoulder. "Do you think Clay will die?" he asked.

Nadine did not answer but simply squeezed him gently with the arm that was around him.

*****

As was often the case after a concert, Lester was more collected and relaxed. They had not driven more than a couple of blocks when he looked over at Nadine and said, "Hey, I'm sorry."

"That's o.k..", Nadine answered.

"I know you'd never hurt me on purpose, but you are a very attractive woman and things do happen sometimes."

"Well, you're a very attractive man'. But I don't have a fit just because you sit beside the most beautiful clarinetist I've ever seen."

"The re-head?" He shrugged. "Not bad as clarinetist go. But we just make music together."

"Nadine smiled. "As they say, I don't care where you get your appetite so long as you come home for dinner."

Lester laughed. "Maybe that's the difference," he said.

"What do you mean?"

"I think I'm jealous even about where you get your appetite."

Nadine sighed. "Well, can't be helped," she said. " But try not to let it get out of hand."

"I'll try." Suddenly he pulled the car over into the right lane. "Lets get a Dairy Queen," he said, pulling into the parking lot.

They each bought a sundae, and then they captured one of the small round concrete tables on the patio beside the Dairy Queen building.

"Well, I've changed my mind," Lester announced as they began on their sundaes.

"About what?" asked Nadine.

"About responding to Clay's invitation." He looked at his son, and then his wife before continuing. "Clay is our friend. I mean he's a friend to each of us---to you too Jacob."

"I like Clay a lot," agreed Jacob.

"Well, he is very sick, it seems, and he needs us," Lester continued. "So I think we ought to go. That is, if you two think the same."

Nadine looked at her son and winked. "Of course I can't speak for Jacob," she said, winking at him. "But I agree."

"Dad, you know I want to go don't you?" Jacob said.

"I suppose I do," Lester confessed. "I know you were quite disappointed last summer when we didn't."

"I guess I was," Jacob said.

"What made for the sudden change of mind?" asked Nadine.

"Its hard to explain," answered Lester. "When we were playing Stravinski's "Rite of Spring", it was like the first time I had ever heard it. Somehow when it was done I saw things differently and felt about them differently."

Nadine shrugged. "Interesting," she said.

Lester nodded. "I also realized that what you said about compartments was at least partly true. What I mean is that the categories of 'normal' and 'psychotic' don't help us understand anything about Clay. He is who he is, and sees things as he sees them, and what the ultimate truth is of anything, there is no way of knowing."

"That's what I was trying to say to you earlier," observed Nadine.

"Still," Lester said, "we must hang onto some of our compartments---must at least treat them as though they are true---or we have just anarchy. Anything is possible---anything goes."

"Yes, dear," said Nadine, putting her hand on top of his. "We'll hang onto some of out compartments."

Lester laughed. "O.k." he said. "Its a deal."

Jacob's parents often talked in an oblique manner when they wanted to leave him out. Yet he had an unerring sense of when they were getting along and when they weren't, and this was generally more important to him than the specific content of any conversation. Seeing that they were now getting along, Jacob lost interest in their conversation, and his attention returned to the trip. It sounded like a life's dream come true, yet it lay under a shadow. Was Clay really going to die? Why wasn't he taking the medicine the doctor's wanted to give to him? Why was it that even when something came along that seemed like the realization of a dream, it had to be all mixed up with troubles and worries?

As they drove back from the Dairy Queen, Nadine asked Lester about the vision of the healing spring that Clay had mentioned in his letter.

"I don't really know the whole vision," Lester said. "But his Grandfather told me part of it when I went to visit one time with Clay. Clay's grandfather lived alone in a small old wood frame house that didn't look especially 'Indian'----just old. Of course I wasn't expecting him to live in a tepee, not consciously at least. He was a short and somewhat heavy set old man wearing a flannel shirt and blue jeans. He invited us into the main room of his two room house, and offered me a beer. He handed Clay some apple cider, commenting that he remembered he didn't handle his beer too well.

"Clay introduced me as someone who was 'interested in the old ways and alternate forms of healing.'"

"The old man looked at me as though he didn't quite understand. 'What kinds of healing?' he asked with a rather sour expression on his face. He was staring at me.

"'Alternate. That means different. Like anything other than the modern medical approach,' I said. I felt like a fool. I didn't know whether I was insulting this man by my explanation."

"'Alternate,' he said, noncommittally. It was as though he were testing the word in his mouth for its form and texture."

"'Alternate,' I said."

"'Why?' he asked me. 'You got something wrong with you?'"

"'Well, no. Not exactly. Its just a general interest,' I stammered. Then, trying to regain my composure. I went into a mini-lecture about how modern medicine tries to treat everything with either drugs or surgery, and how the traditional approaches were more wholistic etc. I wound up with a few comments about how a lot of our ailments were probably due to spiritual and emotional causes like emptiness and depression."

"'Everybody's depressed now,' he said.

"He then turned to Clay and for about forty five minutes talked with him about family and community gossip. So far as I could tell he had totally forgotten I was there. Then, without any particular preliminary, he turned back to me and said, 'I had a vision once when I was younger. I saw that a great people lived along the shore of a lake. A sickness came over them and killed almost all of them off. The few survivors moved away and never returned. Then, a hundred years later, a spring bubbled up from what had once been the center of this Indian city. It was a healing spring. Anybody who went to it and drank some of it could get healed from any illness.'"

"He stared at me as if trying to read in my face what I thought of his vision. Somehow this old man intimidated me and I couldn't think of anything to say for quite some time. 'That sounds like a very important vision,' I finally commented somewhat lamely."

"He nodded. 'It was,' he agreed. Then he got up to stoke the fire, and I understood that the discussion was ended."

"Clay told me that the old man must have really liked me because that was the only time he had ever told that vision to someone who wasn't a native American. It wasn't long after that that Clay's grandfather died. I suppose that would be about fifteen years ago now."

*****

In spite of his fatigue, Jacob lay awake thinking about the days events. His back was hot and itchy and it was hard to find a comfortable position to sleep in, but he knew better than to ask his mother for any lotion for his sun burn. He imagined himself buried to his neck by Apache warriors who were letting him bake in the desert sun. They marveled at his endurance. Then, with his mind full of all the confusing events of the day, and thinking about that most disturbing mystery of all---death---he finally drifted off into a slightly feverish sleep.

Chapter Two -- Pretend Things

Jacob hungrily eyed the collection of super-hero and fantasy comic books that crowded the top two shelves of the large book case in Becky's bed room. Another two shelves, dedicated to Becky's "museum", featured a rock collection selected primarily for the colorfulness of the rocks and a stamp collection selected for the same criterion. Other treasures included some sticks with gnawed ends showing that they had been confiscated from a beaver dam, a birds nest, the remains of three different kinds of birds eggs, an assortment of birds feathers, several mud-dauber's nests, shells, an insect collection, a collection of fall leaves that had been flattened in books, a shed snake skin, and a few stones that might conceivably have been ill formed arrow heads and tomahawk heads. A fifth shelves contained a record player and tape deck, some records and tapes, various books, and an assortment of arts and craft supplies. Her current art project cluttered her desk, and previous efforts hung from the walls, interspersed with a few posters, mostly of animals. Glass figurines, souvenirs, and a large array of decorative items filled all the cubbyholes, corners and odd surfaces throughout the room. On the whole, Jacob found it a very happy room. He glanced at Becky who sat crosslegged on her bed amidst a menagerie of stuffed animals. Despite the clash of her green and white shorts with her somewhat gaudily flowered multicolored halter, despite her skinny eleven year old figure that was just faintly beginning to bud into an awkward pubescence, despite the clutter of her room, Becky nevertheless emanated the definite impression that here was a girl who knew her own mind, and who derived from that fact a certain singleness of purpose.

But she did not look happy.

"Aren't you glad to see me?" Jacob asked.

"I can't go," Becky announced.

Jacob put down a stone that might or might not have been an arrow head. "What do you mean?"

"I mean the trip. Mom won't let me go."

Stunned, Jacob sat down at the desk. "Why not?" he asked.

"Because my social worker told Mom she doesn't think its a good idea," Becky explained.

"What's a social worker got to do with it?"

"I see a woman named Ms. Thompson. Mom makes me go. Its because I believe in previous lives. And because I didn't like it when Mom and Dad got divorced."

"So who likes their parents to get divorced?"

"Its o.k. not to like it. I'm supposed to be very angry at both of them. And I'm not supposed to blame myself. Those are the things Ms. Thompson keeps telling me." Becky stared for a few moments at a picture on the opposite side of her room. It was a picture of girls dancing in colorful dresses. It was done with crayons. "All that stuff she says about my being mad about the divorce and and things like that is o.k.. But she keeps pestering me about my previous lives."

"How do you mean?"

"She keeps trying to find out about them."

"Why don't you just tell her?"

"Because she doesn't believe any of it. She just wants to find out about it so she can prove none of its real."

"I didn't believe you either when you told me you were a princess in Sweden," Jacob somewhat carelessly volunteered.

Becky glowered at him "Maybe I wasn't a princess," she admitted. "But I did have a previous life in Sweden. That part is true."

Jacob shrugged. "Maybe it is," he admitted.

"If you don't believe me maybe I'll stop telling you about it too." Becky said.

"Its just the part about your being a princess I don't believe. Maybe you did have a previous life in Sweden. How should I know? It just doesn't seem very likely that you were a princess."

"And why doesn't that seem likely to you?" she challenged.

"Princesses are more... more..." he almost said "pretty" but he caught himself. After some consideration he finished his sentence with the word "...delicate." "Yes," he said, mouthing the word with some satisfaction, "delicate. I mean, I can't imagine that a princess would collect old snake skins and wasp's nests and things like that."

"Well, I don't think I was a princess," she admitted. "I just wanted to know why you thought it was so unlikely."

Hoping to give the conversation a more promising direction, Jacob returned to an earlier point. "So why doesn't this social worker of your's want you to go."

"Mom told her I learned all this stuff about previous lives and re-incarnation from Clay in the first place. Also she told her that Clay told us lots of fairy tales. Do you remember the Swedish fairy tales?" she asked, brightening up. "I loved those. "My favorite was about the Troll who had a wolf's paw for a hand and kept it bandaged up to hide it. I thought it was neat that once a troll has accepted food from you he can't hurt you.

"My favorite was the one about the three trolls that had to share one eye between them."

"Gross," said Becky. You would like that one."

"It was cool," Jacob said.

"Well," Becky continued, "I'm not supposed to think so much about all those pretend things any more. I'm supposed to think about real things. Ms. Thompson says that this Mr. Sawyer sounds like a very unstable sort of guy. That's just how she put it." Becky repeated the words with a mocking imitation of her social workers voice. "'This Mr. Sawyer sounds like a very unstable sort of guy.'"

"What does Ms. Thompson know about Clay Sawyer?" Jacob asked, joining Becky in her indignation.

"Nothing. She doesn't know anything at all about him, really. But that doesn't stop her from spoiling everything." Tears came to her eyes. "I did want to go on that trip," she said.

"Maybe my dad can change your mom's mind," Jacob suggested.

"Do you think he'll be able to convince her?"

"Probably. He's her brother."

"That doesn't mean anything." Becky flopped face down on her bed, amidst her animals.

Jacob noticed a new picture she was working on partly hidden under some papers on her desk. He moved the papers. It was a cabin on a lake in the midst of some pine trees. "Nice picture," he said, hoping to distract her from her unhappiness.

"That's Sweden."

"Where you lived in that other lifetime?" he asked.

She nodded. "It was better when I lived in Sweden. People didn't get divorced there. And nobody ever heard of social workers. "I'll bet nobody missed them," Jacob said.

"I'm sure of that," Becky agreed.

"But they probably had other problems then," Jacob observed.

"Probably. But I think it was better."

"Probably it was"

*****

"What you don't seem to understand," Maggie was saying, "is that sometimes divorce really can be a freeing experience for both partners." Dressed in well tailored black slacks and an expensive white blouse, she lounged comfortably in a large bean bag pillow. "I mean its painful, she admitted." "God knows its painful. But any kind of growth is painful." She smiled at Nadine who was sitting on the couch with Lester. Nadine returned the smile, casually surveyed the room with its tasteful but noncommittal abstract art and modern furniture, and said nothing.

"But what about the kids?" Lester asked.

"What about the children?" Maggie echoed in a melodramatic parody of Lester. "Won't it be awful if the children are the product of a 'broken home'. Surely they will turn to a life of crime.' Really lester! Children are very tough. If the whole thing is handled properly it can be a growing experience for them too."

"I wasn't trying to judge you or Tom for getting divorced." Lester protested. "But I don't think it was necessary. I think it was drugs that ruined your marriage."

Maggie shrugged. "You're too hyper about drugs," she said. "Of course Tom did get into drugs a bit too heavily, and I got tired of waiting for him to come back from La La Land. But so what? If people have outgrown each other, or if they are not compatible, why drag it out. Life is too short."

"Well, all that is your business," Lester conceded. His voice was subdued, but the controlled manner in which he spoke and the slight reddening around his neck betrayed his anger to anyone who knew him well. His wife and his sister both knew him well.

"You're right," Maggie said. "It is my business.

Lester raised himself from the couch and went to the bar to prepare himself another drink. "Jacob is really going to be disappointed about Becky not going with us," he observed, as he dropped ice into his glass.

"I don't see how I can let her go, Lester. For one thing Sam will probably be going along. Sam has really been impossible since... well, since the divorce. I know what you are thinking, Lester. Its because of the divorce. Maybe so, but he doesn't have to respond that way. Anyhow, he has been very hateful to Becky. I think he's jealous because she is closer to me than he is. But it was Sam's choice to go live with his father. I don't think Becky can handle Sam's hatefulness."

"We could help her," Lester suggested.

"Maybe. But that's not the only issue. I don't think that Clay Sawyer would be a good influence on her at this time. Becky's social worker thinks she is a rather fragile little girl--emotionally, that is. She's afraid Becky will withdraw too far into that fantasy world of hers."

"You never did like Clay," Lester observed.

"That's true. But its not just that I find him to be a pain in the ass. What concerns me is that his own fantasy life seems to be getting out of hand. If I understand this correctly, he is going off on some sort of quest for a healing spring?"

"It was something his grandfather told him about." Lester conceded.

"Wherever he heard it, it sounds pretty weird to me. Becky's social worker feels she may actually be having trouble distinguishing between reality and fantasy. I can hardly believe it will be very helpful to Becky to go off on a quest with an alcoholic and superstitious Indian who has decided to seek a 'healing spring' rather than get the proper medical attention he needs for a serious illness."

"Its not really as weird as you make it sound," protested Lester, this time getting even more flushed around his neck and cheeks.

"Oh?" said Maggie, raising her eyebrows in a questioning manner, and smiling faintly. "Clay is mentally ill, Lester. He needs treatment for that as much as he needs it for his cancer. Can't you see that?"

"I think," Nadine interrupted before Lester had a chance to respond, "that you promised the kids you would take them out for an ice cream this evening. Its almost eight. I think its now or never." It was a strong request---almost an order.

Lester began to protest. He had not in fact made quite such a firm promise as Nadine suggested. It had been more a matter of "We might get some ice cream later if there's time."

"But we're right in the middle of..." He stopped. The way Nadine looked at him made him realize that he was only in the middle of a lot of futility. "Well, all right." he conceded. "I suppose we might as well."

"I thought maybe I would just stay here with Maggie," Nadine commented. "Jacob, Becky, come on down here," she called up the stairs to the Becky's room.

The children came down---Jacob first and then Becky trailing behind him. "Yes?" asked Jacob. "Is it time to go?"

"Your father is going to take you two kids out for an ice cream now.

"O.k." Jacob agreed without any particular display of enthusiasm.

Becky tried to hide behind Jacob, but Nadine noticed that her eyes were red and swollen.

"Get them whatever they want," Nadine instructed Lester. "This is a special day and I think they could both use a little more meat on their bones.

After seeing the children and Lester to the door, Nadine went to the bar. "Can I fix you another drink, Maggie," she offered.

"Thanks," said Maggie. "Coke and bourbon would be good."

"Becky looked upset," Nadine observed casually as she prepared the drink for Maggie.

"Its because I told her she couldn't go on the trip," Maggie said. "I'm always the bitch...but I have to do what seems right."

In contrast to the generous shot of bourbon she put in Maggie's drink, Nadine barely flavored flavored her own coke with a few drops of bourbon. "It must be hard being a single parent," she said as she brought her the drink and smiled in a sympathetic manner.

"Its damned hard. Especially its been hard dealing with Sam. They think he's hyperactive, so I try to be understanding. But he can be a real pain in the ass."

"I'm sure. Is it certain that Sam will be coming on the trip?"

"That's up to his father. He lets Sam do almost anything he wants to, so I suppose he probably will be going if he wants to."

"That will be pretty hard for Becky to take. It must be rough. Tom always manages to put you in the role of the bitch. "

"He does, and it is rough," agreed Maggie. "I wrote to Tom asking him to think about Becky's feelings before deciding to let Sam go. He didn't even answer my letter. He's so damned insensitive to the kids needs."

"Is that what led to your separating from him?" Nadine asked, and then hastily corrected herself. "But that's really none of my business, is it? I'm sorry.

"That's all right. I don't mind talking about it. The insensitivity was part of it. Tom always lived in his head. He was afraid of his feelings and his intuitions. He knew this was true and he did try to change. I'll give him credit for that. He hoped drugs would get him out of his head a bit. And then he tried some encounter groups. For a while it seemed to help, but I don't think it really changed anything. He just thought a lot more about his feelings and his intuitions. I don't know that he felt more or intuited more, if you know what I mean."

"Of course I do. Thinking about feelings isn't the same as living them."

"Right," Maggie agreed. "So I suppose that the long and short of it is that I just outgrew him. I needed something more---something other than what he could give---if I was to find myself."

"That's the sort of thing that Lester doesn't always understand," Nadine observed.

"Lester has always been a bit moralistic, Nadine. In fact at times he can be an out and out prig."

"He can be a bit judgmental. But I think its hard for a lot of men to understand what women really need---especially for men who are too much into their heads."

"I think Lester and Tom have that in common," Maggie said, finishing off her drink in a large gulp.

"Let me freshen that up for you," Nadine insisted, getting up and taking the glass from her before Maggie had a chance to respond. While Maggie let herself be waited on, she went over to her record cabinet and extricated a couple of albums of rock music. Somewhat to Nadine's relief, rather than put the records on right away Maggie carried them back to her seat. Nadine noticed that Maggie's balance was just a little bit off.

"I've been thinking," said Nadine, "that it really is a shame about Becky. "I'm sure that you have to weigh very carefully your intuitions about Clay. At the same time, listening to all that you have been through I couldn't help feeling how much you could use a break from all the hassles and tension of single parenting. It all seemed like kind of a jumble---there didn't seem to be any way to make it come out right."

Nadine paused here and looked at Maggie. She appeared to be taking it all in. "Then I thought, suppose I were to agree to take Becky under my wing---to look after her on the trip so that she would have someone who could help her with any problems that might come up---a woman who could understand a mother's concerns. I wonder how that would be?"

Maggie looked at her through slightly bleary eyes. "That might be worth thinking about."

"Of course, I don't want you to feel pressured into anything you don't feel comfortable with," Nadine added.

"No, that really might make a difference in how I feel about it," Maggie assured her.

"It could just be an understanding between us," Nadine suggested. "The others wouldn't need to know about it."

"They would just be insulted," Maggie observed.

"Exactly." Nadine agreed.

With that matter settled both women relaxed considerably. Maggie suggested that they listen to the records she had selected. Nadine said she would love too.

Neither talked much as they listened to the records. From time to time Maggie would comment about a section she particularly liked and Nadine would nod appreciatively.

Nadine hated rock music.

*****

"I've got some news," Maggie announced the moment Lester arrived home with the children from their trip to the Dairy Queen. "I've changed my mind." Looking directly at Becky she continued. "I've decided its o.k. for you to go on the trip, honey."

The children were still standing just inside the door of the apartment. Becky flung her arms around Jacob. "I can go! I can go!" she screamed in his ear. She then ran to her mother and caught her in an exuberant head lock that was meant to be an affectionate hug. Her mother's drink sloshed over and spilled on the rug as she was jolted by the impact of her daughter's body. "Oh, Mama, thank you. Thank you. I'll be good, and I'll write every day."

"Who's going to deliver all these letters while you are out in the middle of uncharted virgin forests?" her mother inquired.

"I'll send them home by foxes and squirrels," her daughter assured her. She then leeped up and with two giant steps and a flying leap was on Nadine's lap. Nadine returned her hug, and in her quieter way seemed almost as happy as Becky. "Thank you. Thank you," Becky exclaimed. "How did you do it? How did you get Mama to agree?"

Nadine was startled at Becky's immediate perception of what had happened. "It was your Mama's own decision," she assured her. "I couldn't get your mother to do anything that she would think was a bad idea. She just wanted to be sure you would be safe."

Oh I'll be safe. Don't worry about that, Mama." Becky smiled confidently at her mother.

"It takes a little more than just your assurance to your mother," suggested Nadine, who was still holding Becky on her lap.

"What do you mean?" asked Becky.

"I want you to promise me two things," Nadine answered.

"What are those two things?"

"First, that you will do what I tell you to while we are on the trip."

"Of course I will," Becky exclaimed, as if surprised that there was even a question about this point. "And what else?"

"That if you have a problem or if something bothers you, you will talk with me about it."

This was more difficult. Becky was used to keeping a lot of things to herself. Even with her social worker she generally told her what she thought she wanted to hear rather than what was really bothering her. But with Nadine she thought she could keep this promise. "O.K." she agreed.

Nadine could tell from the pause that Becky had to think this over before answering. She was glad that she took it seriously, and gave her shoulders a little squeeze. "That's fine. I think it will be a great trip."

"It will be," Becky agreed, jumping off her lap. "I've got to go pack. We'll be leaving tomorrow, right?"

"We plan to pull out right after lunch tomorrow," Lester confirmed. "That will give you all morning to pack your things."

"Still, I had better get started this evening," Becky insisted. "Come on, Jacob. You can help me. Its hard to get my sleeping bag rolled up really tight."

"Pack lightly," Nadine called after her as she ran up the stairs with Jacob following. "Just two changes of cloths. But do pack some warm things. And put in your rain coat."

"I'll check her bag in the morning to see she has everything she needs," Maggie assured Nadine.

"You wait and see, Mom. I'll do it just right," Becky shouted from the top of the stairs.

While Becky packed, Jacob struggled with the sleeping bag.

"I'm glad I'm going," said Becky. "I felt awful when I thought Mom wouldn't let me."

"It wouldn't be fun there without you," Jacob said.

"I think what I like most about Clay is his stories," Becky said.

"Do you remember that one about the loon, and why it makes such a mournful sound," asked Jacob.

"That was the one about the cousins, right?"

"Yeah This brave falls in love with his cousin. And he's not supposed to marry her cause they thought that would be incest."

"The Indians thought that?" Becky asked.

"Right. In the old days."

"Is it still incest?" asked Becky.

"I don't think so," answered Jacob. "I think its just brothers and sisters and stuff like that."

"People right in your family, huh?"

"Yeah," said Jacob.

"I see," said Becky. "So in the story he married her anyhow, right? Even though she was his cousin."

"Yeah They got married and ran away together and had children."

"I thought it was just one."

"What's the difference? You know. It was a family."

"There's lots of difference between one kid and lots of kids." "Sure, but what I mean is that for the story it doesn't make any difference."

"I think it was just one kid. A girl." Becky sounded firm in this.

"O.k." agreed Jacob. " So anyhow, the girl's brothers come with her father to kill the brave because he committed incest with their sister and disgraced them."

"I remember now." Becky joined in. "They chased the couple out onto the frozen lake. It was winter. They had their little baby girl with them. The girl cousin threw herself in front of the brave and her father killed her with an arrow by mistake. He was aiming at her husband."

"Right. Then a big hole opened up in the ice and swallowed up the cousins and the baby. They were all drowned. Right after that the brave came out of the lake as a loon. He was mournful. But he also knew how bad the father felt about killing his own daughter."

"I guess he would feel bad about that," Becky exclaimed.

"That's why the loon makes a mournful sound sometimes, and other times he is laughing. Its a mocking kind of laughter. Sometimes he is crying and sometimes he is mocking the father and the brothers for what they did."

"That's sad," said Becky.

"It made me feel sad," agreed Jacob.

"What happened to the girl and the baby?" Becky asked.

"I just told you. They drowned."

"I mean after that. The brave gets to come back as a loon. What about the girl cousin and her baby.?"

"The story didn't say about them."

"Well it makes a difference, don't you think?"

"I suppose so," agreed Jacob. Both children thought about the matter silently for a few moments.

"Why don't we say they came back as loons too?" Jacob suggested.

"You can't do that," Becky protested. "Its got to be the real story."

"Well, lets just add it and say that its our own story," Jacob argued.

Becky thought this over. "I suppose we could do that," she agreed, somewhat uncertainly."

"Sure we can. 'So then three loons came up out of the water, and made mocking laughter noises ever after"' Jacob said, narrating the new ending to the story.

Becky nodded. This seemed to satisfy her. "Do you think its incest to marry your cousin?" she asked.

"I don't think so. I don't know. Nobody ever told me that."

Why did you say it wasn't, then?"

"I don't know," confessed Jacob. What difference does it make?"

"None," said Becky. "I just wanted to know. Some of these stories don't tell you everything you need to know."

"They are just stories," Jacob protested, feeling some vague need to defend them. "You can't expect them to tell you everything."

"I guess not," conceded Becky.

"You done with your packing?"

"Yeah," said Becky. "I can't wait to see Clay again, can you."

"Its like a dream to me," said Jacob. "Only I wish Clay weren't sick.

"Me too," agreed Becky. "And I wish Sam wouldn't go."

Chapter Three -- Northern Lights

As they proceeded up Interstate 95 toward Portland, Jacob noticed that the trees didn't seem quite as tall as they had the last time he was in Maine.

"You can't imagine how much Sam has changed." Becky's voice brought Jacob out of his reverie. .

"How do you mean?" he asked.

"For one thing, he takes drugs."

"What kind of drugs?

"I don't really know. He drinks beer and he smokes marijuana and he sometimes takes speed. I think he'll take just about anything he can get his hands on."

"Doesn't his father do anything about it?" Jacob asked.

"Its Daddy that gives him a lot of the stuff he takes," Becky said.

"Becky!" Nadine's tone was accusatory.

"But its true, Aunt Nadine. Daddy's different now. He talks different and wears different kinds of clothes. Sometimes it seems like I don't know him anymore."

Nadine rubbed her temples and closed her eyes. "How else has he0 changed?" she asked.

"He doesn't do anything grown-ups tell him. He calls me 'Mama's little darling'.

Lester glanced over at Nadine. With a lift of his eyebrows he asked, as clearly as with words, "what the hell are we getting ourselves into?"

Nadine answered with a shrug. Then to no one in particular she said, "I'm sure Sam will be fine when we get him away from the city." Becky rolled her eyes slightly, but said nothing. Grown-ups could be so naive.

*****

When they arrived at the apartment, Tom hugged everybody at the door---first Becky, then Jacob, then Nadine, and finally Lester. Lester was not impressed. Tom reeked of alcohol, and his apartment of marijuana. Lester still retained an anglo-saxon aversion to being hugged by a man, and he considered this man to be the concentrated essence of everything superficial and destructive left over from the 60's. He was confident that, in return, Tom considered him to be an up-tight and dull witted prude. He wished he might have been spared the hypocrisy of an affectionate embrace.

Tom was wearing old faded blue jeans, a t-shirt and sandals. "Come in, come in," he effused. "Its so good to see all of you." He ushered them into the living room of a cluttered but spacious and well furnished apartment. A bar with three stools dominated one end of the living room, and a t.v. with a video, and a combination tape deck and record player the other end. The walls were strewn with an odd assortment of modern paintings---mostly either nudes or abstracts---without any particular sense of taste or discretion being in evidence regarding their arrangement, or for that matter, their selection.

Sam, outfitted in blue jeans, a t-shirt, and tennis shoes, balanced precariously on one of the bar stools. He was well developed and muscular for his 13 years of age, and the faint outline of a mustache was beginning to appear on his upper lip. His dark unkempt hair just reached his shoulders, He was drinking a soda. Nodding vaguely in the direction of the new arrivals, he greeted no one in particular, and made no move to come down from his perch.

A thin blond woman, who looked too young for Tom, lifted herself from a big pillow on the floor and came over to be introduced. She also was outfitted in blue jeans, sandals, and a t-shirt. It was conspicuous that she wore no bra.

"This is my new live-in friend, Nancy Rideout," Tom announced presenting her to the entire group at once. "Nancy, this is my daughter, Becky, who lives with my ex, and this is Lester and Nadine Flemming and their son, Jacob."

"Good to meet you all." Nancy smiled and turned to Becky. "And especially you. Your Daddy has told me so much about you." She reached out to Becky, apparently hoping to draw her into a hug, but Becky drew back, and offered her hand instead.

"I'm very pleased to meet you too," she responded.

"I hope we have a chance to get to know one another." Nancy smiled.

Becky returned the smile and said nothing.

Well, everybody, come on in and make yourselves comfortable," Tom instructed them. "I'm just dying to hear about this great adventure you are all planning to start on tomorrow. What is it now? You are going off in search of a buried treasure, or is it the holy grail? I really couldn't make much sense of what my ex told me. But that's nothing new."

"Its a healing spring," volunteered Jacob. "Clay is an Indian and his grandfather told him about a healing spring he once saw in a vision."

"A healing spring!" exclaimed Tom. He looked at Nancy. "Isn't that wild, Nanc, a healing spring. A bona fide Indian with a bona fide vision is going to lead all these folks to a healing spring."

Jacob felt guilty that he had said anything. He knew that Clay would not like these people. He resolved to be more careful with them from here on.

"It sounds real wild, hon," Nancy chimed in. "If it weren't for all the bugs I might even like to go along."

"You wouldn't believe how many bugs there are out in those woods," Becky hastened to inform her.

"Is that right, honey?" Nancy smiled sweetly at her.

"Sure is. If you don't like bugs this is not the trip for you." Becky returned her smile.

"It almost sounds as though you don't want me to come along," observed Nancy.

"Oh, I think it would be real nice if you came," Becky said weakly.

"I'm sure it would," agreed Nancy.

"How long have you known my father?" asked Becky.

"Oh, I guess its been about two years now. I'd have to stop and think."

"Two years ago Daddy was living with us down in Boston," Becky observed.

"We were just friends---business acquaintances---at that time."

"I see," said Becky. She smiled sweetly.

"This is a very precocious little girl you have here," Nancy said, addressing Tom.

"She doesn't miss much," Tom agreed.

"I sure hope she doesn't get lost in the wilderness following this Indian and his visions," Nancy said.

"It isn't his vision; it was a vision his grandfather had," Becky corrected

"Well, whatever. Everybody's got to do their own thing," Nancy conceded. I get all the visions I need right here with the help of a little medicinal herb or two, and don't have to worry about bugs at all."

Tom laughed. "You don't need to be telling Becky all about your head trips now, honey. She's a bit young for that. Why don't you go put some music on while I get some fresh ice for the bar. Lets see if we can make our guests comfortable."

Nancy went to the electronic end of the room and selected several hard rock albums which she stacked up on the turn table for background music. A cacophony of screaming, grunting and groaning that was obviously intended for a higher volume infused itself into the room. Played at this low volume it was the sort of sound that one might have been embarrassed to hear through the wall of a cheap motel room.

Happily grunting along with the music, Tom fished a bag of ice out of a small refrigerator and began to fill a pail on the bar.

Lester, who was settled into a bean-bag-pillow-chair, glanced across the room to Nadine, who was sitting on a couch on the opposite side of the room. In response to another one of his "what the hell are we getting into" looks she got up and came over to him. "Let me get you a little something to drink, honey," she suggested.

"Mind if we help ourselves?" she asked Tom as she headed toward the bar.

"The stuff isn't doing anybody any good sitting there in bottles," Tom answered.

"Thanks." Nadine went behind the bar to see what she might find for Lester. Addressing Sam, who was still balanced on his bar stool noncommittally observing all the events in the room, she said, "I hope you're coming with us on the trip, Sam."

"Yeah", he responded. "I guess I'll be coming. It gets real boring around here. Nothing to do."

"Nothing to do, eh?" reflected Nadine. "Hm. What sort of things do you like to do?"

"Oh, watch t.v. if there's anything good on. Play video games. Hang out with the guys."

"Are you in sports, or any kinds of groups?"

"What kind of groups?"

"Oh, you know. Scouts, school clubs, anything like that?"

"Naw. I don't go in much for that kind of thing. Sometimes I play basketball with the neighborhood kids."

"You used to have a lot of interest in sports. Clay always said you had real ability."

Sam shrugged. "Mostly I do other things nowadays," he said.

"Well, I'm glad you're going. It will be just like old times." Nadine smiled warmly at him.

"You really think so?" asked Sam.

Nadine reflected a moment while she put another ice cube in Lester's drink. "Well, everybody is a bit older, so I suppose it will have to be somewhat different," she conceded. "But still, I'm sure it will be a good time."

"I hope so," Sam agreed without conviction.

Nadine was herself beginning to have doubts.

She returned to Lester with drinks for each of them and settled on a bean bag chair beside him. From there Nadine and Lester surveyed the room. Tom had settled on the couch across from them and Nancy snuggled up possessively beside him. Becky sat down at his other side. Jacob was sitting on a bar stool, near Sam, drinking a coke and staring self-consciously at the nude pictures. Everybody seemed to be having difficulty thinking of anything to say.

Into this awkwardness came the sound of Tom giggling. He squirmed and giggled again in response to the playful prodding and tickling in the ribs he was receiving from Nancy.

"Dad," said Becky, attempting to interrupt the horseplay.

"Yes?"

"Do you remember how you used to take me to the zoo when we all lived together?"

"Yes. What about it?"

"It was fun, wasn't it."

He thought a moment. "Yes, it was," he said.

Nancy rubbed his stomach. "Hey, look at this. You're getting a bit of a paunch aren't you, old man."

"Do you remember how you pretended to know all the animals personally?" Becky persisted. "You would introduce them to me and make up stories about them."

Tom nodded.

Nancy leaned forward and smiled at Becky. "I hear you are a believer in re-incarnation," she said.

Becky glared at her. "That's just some pretend stuff I did when I was little," she said.

Tom suddenly leeped up. "I've got an idea," he announced, with the wooden enthusiasm of an amateur recreation leader. "I've got a couple of really great adult movies. I picked them especially for my good friend Lester, here, who, I know, is something of a connoisseur on such matters." He grinned at Nadine before continuing. "Why don't we send the kids over to the arcade with some money for some games and a snack, and lets us adults see some movies."

Saving been singled out for special notice, Lester felt put on the spot. He had never seen hard-core pornographic movies before, and doubted that he wanted to. Not wanting to appear up-tight, however, he shrugged and said, "whatever everybody else wants".

Tom pulled out a twenty dollar bill and handed it to Sam. "Here son, why don't you take your sister and cousin to the mall---get a pizza and play a few games at the arcade."

"Why can't Becky just go to a movie or something," protested Sam. "Its not much fun having your kid sister tagging along. You know she tells Mom everything she sees and hears here."

Becky jumped up from the couch. "How come you have to be that way Sam? How come you've got to push me out?"

"Cause ever since the divorce you've been a pain. You're a mama's girl, a big sissy and a tattle-tale. I don't want my friends to know you are my sister."

"Its not my fault that I'm closer to Mom," Becky answered back through angry tears. "Mama kept me and made you go live with Dad cause you wouldn't do what she told you to do. You were always lying and stealing and getting into trouble."

"Who says I wanted to live with Mom. Maybe I came to live with Dad cause I wanted to. I can do a lot more things here than you can with Mom."

"Yeah, like get into drugs and stuff like that."

"You shut up about drugs or I'll bust you in the mouth."

"You know its true. Hitting me won't change that."

By this time it looked as though Sam might really hit her. Tom moved between them. "Looks like we can't send you out together," he observed. Facing Sam and waving a twenty dollar bill in his face he said,,"Here, you take Jacob and show him a good time. We'll find something else for Becky to do."

"Why not send her back to Mom on the first bus," Sam suggested, taking the twenty. "Come on Jacob, lets go."

He shrugged and said, "o.k." On his way by Becky he said,"see you later," and smiled weakly. She didn't answer. He felt terrible.

In a parting shot Becky called after them, "I'm not always proud to have you for a brother,either, Sam."

The only answer she received was the door slamming.

During Becky's fight with Sam, Nadine had gone over to her. Now she put her arm around Becky and drew her closer. "Tell you what," said Nadine. "I've got some things I need at the mall. You've been there before. Why don't you come with me and show me around."

*****

Becky stood beside Nadine, quietly nursing her hurt feelings, while Nadine studied the map of the mall in a display case. While walking over to the mall Becky had vented her pent up rage against Sam---rage that since the divorce he had taken out all his anger on her---rage that before his mother sent him to live with his father, he had embarrassed her at school by becoming one of the main leaders in the druggie group---rage that he excluded her from his life---and now rage that he was turning Jacob away from her. Nadine had listened without comment, judgment, advise or correction. Gradually Becky had settled down and was now calm if not cheerful.

After noting where the Arcade was located, Nadine turned to Becky.

"What kind of swim suit do you have for the trip?" she asked.

"My old yellow one."

"Does it still fit you?

"Its kind of small."

"I thought it might be. You're growing pretty fast , you know."

"Yeah, Mama can't keep up with me. I keep outgrowing things."

"I see there's a Penny's here. Maybe you could show me the way there."

"Sure."

"I thought we might get you a new swim suit there."

"I don't have any money."

"I'll take care of it."

"I can't let you do that," Becky protested.

"But of course you can. Come on." Nadine took her by the hand and led her gently along toward the store. Becky considered herself too old to walk hand in hand with someone old enough to be her mother. She never held hands much with girls her own age because other kids might call her "gay". But it felt warm and good.

In Penny's she modeled several suits before deciding on a white bikini decorated with bright red and yellow flowers. Nadine said she looked pretty in it. Becky didn't believe she was pretty but she liked hearing Nadine say so.

Nadine's insistence that they check out the ice-cream at Friendly's further improved Becky's spirits. The only urgent problem remaining was that somehow she had to choose between all those exquisite gooey things, each one of which seemed to whisper in her ear, "choose me! You'll not regret it!" Whatever she chose meant not choosing something else---the very thing, perhaps that might be the ultimate taste experience. She finally settled on strawberry short cake topped with whipped cream.

Nadine ordered the same. "Its hard when you can't choose everything isn't it? she observed.

"Is is," agreed Becky with conviction.

When the waitress brought their orders Becky gained confidence she had made the right decision. They were magnificent Strawberry short cakes with liberal scoops of ice cream and lots of big fresh strawberries.

"I was interested to hear that you no longer believe that you used to live in Sweden in a previous life," Nadine observed.

"When did I say that?"

"When you were talking to Nancy, you said you didn't believe in that sort of thing anymore. At least that's what I thought you said."

"Oh, that. Yeah. I wouldn't tell her anything."

"Why is that?"

"Cause she just wants to make fun of me. She thinks I don't like her."

"Is she right?"

"Of course. She took Daddy away."

"I see."

"Also she has skinny eyes."

"Skinny eyes?" Nadine laughed. "What are skinny eyes."

"You know---little beady eyes. Eyes you can't trust. Also she has ugly ears. They stick out a lot."

"Most people would say she is very pretty," Nadine contradicted.

"That's only cause they don't look real close. Do you think she is pretty?"

"I suppose there are different ways of being pretty," Nadine suggested.

"You're trying to get around me now, just like my social worker does," Becky accused. "When she doesn't want to answer something she says 'what do you think,' and stuff like that."

"You want a straight answer, eh?"

Becky nodded.

"The question is, 'Do I think Nancy is pretty?'"

Again Becky nodded.

"Well, I really do think there are two kinds of prettiness. There is movie star prettiness which isn't very important. And there's---what shall I call it---soul pretty. That's a beauty that you can see---right in peoples faces and bodies---that shows something pretty about how they are as a person---how kind, for example, or loving or gentle."

"So do you think Nancy is pretty?"

"She has movie star prettiness."

"And the other kind?"

Nadine almost found herself saying "well, what do you think?" She had a personal rule she tried to follow about not to running other people down behind their backs. She smiled at Becky and said "you're very persistent. No, I don't find her very pretty, in that sense. It looks to me that the real and good thing in her is too deeply buried at this point to show itself much. Do you know what I mean?"

"You mean she is probably good deep down inside in spite everything she does."

Nadine nodded.

"But really she's a jerk," Becky continued. "That's what you mean, isn't it? There's something good in her that maybe God can see, or maybe her mother, but really she's a jerk."

Nadine laughed. "On the surface she seems very much like a jerk," she admitted, feeling a little tinge of guilt at having broken her rule about not running people down.

"So why do you think Dad fell for her?"

"Sometimes men only see the movie star prettiness."

"Men are jerks too."

"Sometimes," Nadine conceded.

They ate in silence for a while, and then Nadine picked up the thread of their conversation again. "So you haven't changed your mind about re-incarnation?" she asked.

"What do you think about re-incarnation?" Becky countered.

"Ah, now you're doing just what you said your social worker did," Nadine accused.

Becky giggled, and then, assuming a very somber air, said, "I only ask you this because I feel you will feel much more comfortable with yourself if you can talk about it."

Amused at Becky's imitation of her social worker, but unsure whether he wanted to encourage her in ridiculing the woman, Nadine was temporarily speechless.

"Come, come my dear," Becky continued, leaning forward with a warm smile and puppy dog eyes, "I know its difficult to talk about, but you will feel much better when you get it off your chest."

Nadine laughed. "I can see that you must give your social worker a very hard way to go," she observed.

"Well, she thinks all my ideas are silly, but she still expects me to tell her about them. That doesn't seem right to me."

"I see," said Nadine. "So you feel that if we are going to talk about other lives and all that kind of thing, you first want to know what I think about it."

Becky nodded.

"Fair enough," Nadine conceded. She stopped and reflected a few moments while Becky waited patiently.

"The first thing I think is that about half the people on the earth believe in reincarnation, so it can't be just a silly idea. It does seem to make sense out of a lot of things. But I've also heard good 0arguments against it, so I'm really not sure what I believe."

A silence followed this explanation, during which Nadine felt very much like a student waiting for a teacher to return an exam on which she didn't know how well she had done. But she had answered as honestly and simply as she could. That was the best she knew how to do.

Finally Becky said "but you don't think the idea is crazy?"

Nadine shook her head. "I don't think the idea is crazy at all. It seems how things ought to be, whether they are or not."

That seemed to satisfy her. As Nadine saw her face relax, she could sense a barrier between them dissolve into the air.

"Sometimes the things I said about memories of other lives really were partly made up," confessed Becky. "I never really exactly remember being a princess. But I like to pretend. Some kids don't like to pretend. They think you shouldn't pretend when you start to grow up."

"There nothing wrong with pretending," Nadine affirmed.

"Do you pretend?" Becky asked.

"Yes, sometimes I pretend."

"What do you pretend?"

Nadine searched her mind for an answer. "I was pretending as we walked down to the mall that you were my daughter," she answered.

Becky smiled. "That's probably because you don't have a daughter," she said.

"Yes, that's probably the reason," Nadine agreed.

"I think it might be fun to pretend I'm you daughter," Becky continued. "Why don't we do that just while we are on this trip."

To her surprise, Nadine felt an embarrassing, powerful impulse to cry. She always had wanted to have a daughter---very much. "Yes," she said. "That would be fun."

Becky sipped her soda without speaking for a few moments. She appeared to be occupied by some inner deliberation. Finally she said, "Sometimes, though, its not pretend. Sometimes its real memories."

"What do you remember?" asked Nadine.

"Its like pictures. They used to be real clear, but not so much now. I still see them, though."

"Can you think of an example?"

"One memory that comes back to me a lot of times is that I am standing on a dock. This is in a place like Sweden with cold lakes and pine trees. Its like Maine in some ways but the sides of the lake go up real steep and the lake is long and narrow."

"That might be a fiord."

"What's that?"

"A place where the Ocean comes into a sort of long thin bay between mountains."

"Yeah, its like that. Well, I'm standing there waiting."

"Waiting?"

"For my father to come home."

"Oh."

"Only I know he won't. He's been drowned. I don't know how---I think maybe he was a fisherman or a sailor. But I know he really isn't coming home. I just don't want to believe what I know, so I'm standing there, waiting."

"I see. What else do you know about it?"

"Not much. But I am a boy. I'm not a girl in that life, but a boy. Do you think maybe in some lives we are girls and in some we are boys?"

"Well, it could be. I heard somewhere that as our souls grow up we need both experiences. Some things we can experience better as a man and some things as a women."

Becky nodded. She approved that idea. "Another memory is in a different place. I am in a village dance. I'm not anybody special---just a girl in the village. But I look around at all the dancing people in their colorful clothes and they are so pretty I can't describe it. And I'm wearing a real bright dress that laces up the front and puffs out around me when I twirl and I feel real pretty."

"That's a good memory."

"Yes," agreed Becky. "That's a happy one."

They had finished their treats. For a minute or so they sat in silence. Then Nadine noticed that it was almost 10:00. "I think we'd better go by and pick up the boys and head on back," she suggested. "We've all got to get some sleep tonight."

On the way to the Arcade Becky said "I wish we didn't have to take Sam with us."

Nadine didn't know how to answer her.

*****

The television screen was filled with two enormous breasts. This was the opening scene from "Suburban Sin". Inexorably the view shifted southward until the pubic region was visible. The legs were splayed, not gracefully, but invitingly. The scene shifted. An erect penis came into full view, like a hungry carnivore seeking its prey. A slight feminine groan was followed by a half-hearted plea. "Oh, Brent, we shouldn't." One remained, however, confident that they would.

"Good God," Lester spluttered despite his resolve to display neither shock nor amazement at anything he might see. "They sure don't waste any time getting down to the main business do they? They only met thirty seconds ago."

Tom laughed.

In the subdued lighting that had been arranged for the viewing of the home video, Lester could see that Nancy was draped suggestively over Tom, with whom she shared the couch. Neither one said anything. Lester wasn't at all sure that the most spectacular x-rated scene was going to be on the t.v. screen. He extricated himself from his bean-bag-pillow-chair and groped toward the bar in hope of finding something to ease his feeling of discomfort.

"Why do I let Nadine get away with these things," he thought. He fixed himself a bourbon and coke, mixing them about half and half. He admitted to himself that it was nice of Nadine to help Becky out by going to the mall with her. He also understood that Becky, as a child, should have been her first concern. It was reasonable to leave him, as an adult, to fend for himself. Still, he felt abandoned.

After he settled back into his bean-bag-pillow-chair he observed Tom extricate himself from Nancy sufficiently to roll a marijuana cigarette. After lighting it and passing it back and forth between himself and Nancy a few times, Tom asked Lester if he would like some.

Lester didn't. But neither did he want Tom and Nancy to be up-tight and think he was condemning them. He rose and crossed the room.

"Maybe I'll just have a drag or two," he conceded. Even as he did so he wondered why he went to such pains to try to smooth things over with people he didn't even care much for. "At what point," he wondered, "does being civilized slide over into self-effacement."

After participating twice as the cigarette was passed around, Lester indicated that was all he wanted.

"I can roll one for you if you want," Tom offered.

"No thanks. I think I'll just stick with my bourbon," Lester responded.

Tom shrugged. "Whatever turns you on."

During the next half-hour Lester found himself drinking more bourbon and cokes than he had in a long time. Memories of his college days when he frequently deliberately set out to get himself drunk mingled with the scenes on the T.V. screen.

The movie rambled on disjointedly. It was primarily a series of sex scenes loosely strung together on a plot that was, in itself, tedious and predictable. To the extent that their was any dramatic conflict at all, it concerned the struggle between erotic impulses and conventional social norms. It was an unequal battle.

After a particularly versatile display of erotica between two suburban couples one of the heroines reflected, philosophically, "I know I shouldn't be doing this. I know its supposed to be wrong. But its only since we began swinging that I've discovered who I am. I've discovered me!"

Lester felt nauseated. This popularized psycho-babble, as he considered it, was more offensive to him than the decedent sex. At least, he thought, they had the sense not to show it with the children present. Lester wondered how many movies of this sort Sam watched. Increasingly he was having qualms about taking him on the trip with them. Sam was no longer the somewhat rough and ready but good hearted little kid he had vacationed with previous summers at Clay's camp. He was now a cynical, angry, street wise adolescent.

The memory of Clay's camp came into focus in Lester's mind. He saw himself and Clay sitting out in front, drinking beers and discussing Taoism while they watched the three naked children swimming and playing on the beach. Sometimes Nadine would join them in their discussions. At other times she preferred to be by herself, reading or writing.

As if reading his thoughts, Nancy interrupted his reverie. "I hear Clay ran a nudist colony up at his camp," she said. It was between sex scenes in the movie, and she wished to be entertained.

"The kids ran around naked a good deal, Lester answered.

"That was all?" she responded in mock disappointment.

Somehow Lester didn't want to pursue the topic in this particular situation. The conversation paused a few moments while he tried to clear his head and figure out how he wished to answer. He realized he was a bit drunk.

"Sometimes the adults went skinny dipping," he admitted.

"Sounds like it was a hoppin' place," Nancy responded. "Whatever happened to it?"

"Clay had to sell it to work out the divorce settlement with his third wife."

"Too bad. Always hate to see a nudist colony bite the dust."

"It was too bad," Lester agreed.

Tom and I are nudist," Nancy announced. "We think it helps people to be more real."

Despite his dizziness Lester had little difficulty discerning the drift of the conversation. "Really? That's very interesting," he said lamely.

"Yep," agreed Nancy. "Its interesting."

Tom peered at Lester as an entomologist might peer at the squirming of some rare bug he had just captured and chloroformed. He was clearly amused.

"Well, I used to be a part time nudist," Tom finally said. "A closet nudist if you will. But I've given it up entirely. Entirely!"

"Why did you do that?" asked Tom.

"I'd rather not say. It has to do with a certain affliction."

Nancy perked up. "Really? You can tell us. We won't let on."

"No, really. I'd be embarrassed."

"Maybe you could show us, then," she persisted, unsuccessfully trying to suppress a giggle.

"Well the truth is," Lester confessed, "that I have a genetic deformity. You won't laugh if I tell you"

"Promise," said Nancy.

"Promise," echoed Tom.

"My penis is the exact shape of Italian Rigatoni---the spiral kind. Its quite rare. An incurable condition. I'm very self-conscious about it."

They both laughed.

Lester stood up. "Now you have hurt my feelings. Just for that I'm going to leave."

"Don't go away mad," protested Tom.

"Seriously, my head is muddled and I need some fresh air. You two get into whatever you think is comfortable, but I need to get out for a few minutes."

Tom shrugged.

Nancy giggled.

Pleased that he had wriggled out of the situation a neatly as he had, Lester wandered aimlessly in the South Portland streets. Soon he found himself on a darker residential street, away from the commercial lights. Shifting ribbons of lights in the sky caught his attention. It was the aurora borialis. As he stared at them, a peculiar feeling of loneliness came over him, and a longing for something he couldn't name, or define, or even visualize.

*****

Sam led Jacob through a back street that dead-ended at the mall. "That sister of mine has gotten to be a real pain in the ass," Sam was saying as they proceeded across one of the lighted parking lots. Jacob didn't answer. Sam either did not notice that we was lost in a monologue, or he didn't care, and he proceeded to enumerate his complaints against his younger sister.

A faint flash of light in the sky caught Jacob's eye. He thought it was probably from the nearby Portland Airport. In any case the brighter glare that came into view as they neared the mall, obscured the sky, and frustrated efforts to make a closer examination of the flickering lights.

The entrance of the mall opened into a long corridor. The display window of a record and tape store lined the left wall and a series of shops the right. As they rounded the first corner, they saw a plump girl of about six, in terry cloth shorts, her belly protruding between her shirt and shorts, standing in front of a toy store display window, staring greedily at a sexy, mod, dress-me-up-doll and her sexy, mod, boy friend. The dolls were wedged in beside a camouflaged war helicopter with lights that really flashed and machine guns that made real machine gun like noises.

Two young weight-lifters in look-alike outfits---jeans, white tennis shoes, and red and blue striped tank tops---strode by on their way to the side entrance.

Further along, the boys came to an intersection decorated with a fountain and green plants simulating, however sparsely, a tropical rain forest. One of the corners of this intersection was occupied by a fast food take-out where Sam and Jacob captured themselves a couple of hot dogs and sodas. Settling themselves down on benches in the heart of the simulated rain forest, the two boys dispatched their catch without ceremony or significant conversation.

Looking into the pool into which miscellaneous coins, mostly pennies, had been thrown for good luck, Jacob noticed a small sign on a metal plate. It said "Warning: Water Chemically Treated. Do Not Drink."

After finishing their meal, the boys broke camp. Leaving the forest behind them they wended their way through a maze of tables at which people were eating food from the carry out shops that lined both sides of the food corridor.

Their progress was slightly retarded by a minor traffic jam created by a screaming little boy who was being dragged along bodily by his mother and father. One of the many casualties of the mall, this child had finally collapsed under the pressure of too many happinesses offered by friendly stores but cruelly refused by his calloused parents.

The Arcade was nestled between Walden Books, advertising a frank but sensitive best seller about a middle-aged woman who was finally forced to come to terms with her sexuality more fully by the attentions of a younger woman; and the CVA health food store advertising a high protein drink virtually guaranteed to give you a perfect body. By way of visual aids, card board cut outs of a man and a woman, both scantily attired in order to optimally display their perfect protein supplemented bodies, stood at the entrance of the store like modern guardians of a temple.

As they turned to enter the arcade, Jacob was almost hit by a wheel chair pushed by a pot bellied man in cow-boy boots and a jaunty bandanna. Occupying the wheel chair was a woman who was abnormally thin. Her left shoulder was raised and her head was cocked in a somewhat unnatural position. Embarrassed upon recognizing that she suffered some deformity, Jacob looked quickly away and, mumbling an apology, retreated behind Sam into the arcade.

The first impact of his new environment was primarily auditory---a cacophony of beeps, bells, burbles and clanks. As his eyes adjusted to the semi-darkness, Jacob began to take in the visual aspects of the arcade. The wall paper displayed space ships, star constellations, and other scenes from outer space. A sign advertised the premises as "Action Family Arcades" and informed the clientele that "Please, we do not allow loitering, smoking, eating, drinking or profanity." A few younger children played at some of the simpler games, and an occasional middle-aged man tested his prowess against his favorite computer. But the clientele was predominantly adolescent.

Sam immediately took possession of "Chop Lifter." Jacob took a quick tour of the arcade and made note of some of the games he might want to try his hand at. Among them, "Space Port", "Russian Attack", "Punch Out", "Centipede" and "Car Race", looked promising. As the arcade was crowded, only "Punch Out" was available at the moment.

Jacob had very little experience playing video games of any kind, and he had to carefully study the directions of "Punch Out" before he could begin. Gradually, however, the novelty of the game overcame his embarrassment at having the status of a novice in a new environment, and he became totally immersed in the drama of the two boxers beating each other to death.

After a number of games, he began to tire of the stylized movement of the boxers. Noticing that "Russian Attack" was unoccupied, he decided to try his hand at the 3rd world war. A few machines away, but in the same aisle, Sam doggedly pursued higher kill counts in his laudable attempt to rescue and return innocent hostages. For several games both boys were lost in their technologically induced fantasy worlds.

When someone brushed up against him from behind, Jacob initially thought that he was not allowing enough room in the narrow aisle for people to get through. Vaguely annoyed that his concentration was disturbed, he moved a fraction forward. Then he became aware that someone was standing beside and slightly behind him. Glancing up, he found himself looking at a heavy set man with a puffy face. "You're getting pretty good at that game," the man observed. Jacob returned his attention to the game without answering. Being watched distracted him, and the evil empire made mincemeat out of the forces of good under his command.

"Well, you didn't do so well that time," the man said. "Do you want me to give you some pointers?"

Jacob didn't. He wanted the man to go away. However, the whole weight of his training rose up in opposition to his impulse to tell him so. One should be polite to all people, and especially respectful of one's elders. It is not kind to hurt another person's feelings. The conflict between his impulse and his training resolved itself in a compromise, a half-hearted affirmative grunt accompanied by a weak smile.

The most enthusiastic affirmation could not have produced a more willing teacher. "Here, watch how I do it," the man suggested, edging his way over to the front of the machine with his quarter. Jacob stood back and surveyed the man who had just displaced him. He was a balding middle aged man wearing blue-jeans and a polo shirt. He looked soft and unathletic, but he did indeed play "Russian Attack" extremely well.

Jacob didn't really listen to the instructions the man gave as he demonstrated how to repel the Russian attack. He was wondering whether the man's real intent was simply to get a chance to play the game, or was there something else. He remembered the man in the Columbus bus station making advances to him last summer while he was traveling by himself from Indianapolis to his grandmother's house in Wheeling. And he remembered how a couple of summers before his uncle had felt him all over his body in the motel room. Although it had embarrassed him, and he always avoided that uncle after that, Jacob didn't really have bad feelings about him. He was a likable person in most respects. These men approaching him in public places, however, infuriated him. He supposed he must be a kind of sissy for these guys to be attracted. Or maybe he was what they called "gay".

Jacob glanced over at Sam and saw that he was talking to a skinny red-haired youth who appeared to be about sixteen or seventeen years old. Jacob noticed that Sam gave him some money and that the youth disappeared shortly afterwards. Before returning to his game, Sam glanced around the Arcade. Jacob thought he probably didn't see him.

"You try it now," the man said to Jacob, putting the quarter in the machine for him. Jacob felt obliged to try. Standing very close to him the man gave instructions and encouragement. Jacob tried to play as well as he could.

When he finished the game Jacob looked up and noticed that Sam was staring in his direction. Then he sauntered across the room to where Jacob and his self-appointed teacher were standing in from of the Russian Attack game. "Hello Mike," he said, addressing the man. Then looking at Jacob he added, "This man bothering you Jacob?"

"Well, uh, he was showing me something about playing the game here," Jacob answered awkwardly.

"I don't know that you want to learn to play the games that Mike here teaches," Sam commented.

"You two know each other?" Mike asked.

"We're cousins," answered Sam.

"I see. Well, like he says, I was just showing him some things about how to play the game here. He looked sort of inexperienced, like he had a lot of talent but maybe needed some tips."

"Well he's my cousin, and if you keep on trying to give him tips, I might just call a cop and give him a tip or two."

"What's all this shit about cops?"

The conversation was interrupted by the return of the red-haired boy. "Oh, there you are, Sam," he exclaimed. "Here's your stuff." He handed him a brown lunch bag.

"What you need is a loud speaker system," Sam retorted sarcastically. "After all, someone here in the mall might not have heard you."

"What's the matter," asked the red haired boy. "Is somebody else here?" He glanced nervously around the arcade. "Who's this?" he asked, nodding at Jacob.

"That's my cousin, Jacob."

"Oh, hi." Then the new boy turned to Sam with a questioning look.

"Jacob's all right," Sam said.

"Well now," Mike commented, staring at the package that Jerry had just given to Sam. "Seems like everybody's got their little habits. Seems like friends ought to be able to work things out among themselves without calling in the police."

"Police" exclaimed Jerry. "Who the hell is talking about the police?"

"Nobody is talking about the police," Sam said. "Jacob and I were just getting ready to go, and Mike here misunderstood something I said. No big thing."

"Oh, Sam, Jacob. There you are." It was Nadine's voice coming to them from across the Arcade. Jacob wheeled around to the direction of the voice and saw Nadine and Becky just inside the Arcade door.

"Are you ready to go?" she asked, coming over to them. Looking back around, Jacob was amazed to see that Sam was alone. Mike and Jerry had apparently dissolved into nothingness during the brief time he had been turned away.

"Who were those other two people you were talking with," Nadine asked as they were walking toward the mall exit. She addressed her question to Jacob but Sam answered.

"Nobody in particular." he said.

*****

When Nadine and the three children arrived back at the apartment building they found Lester sitting on the steps drinking a cup of coffee. "Look," he said, pointing to the sky. Curving streaks of pale light rose from the horizon. The lights undulated slowly, dimmed, brightened and then suddenly shifted into a new pattern.

"Its the Northern Lights," Becky declared, excitedly.

For a couple of minutes the group watched the display in silence.

"Yeah, that's the Northern Lights all right," Sam observed casually. "I've seen them lots of times. Sometimes they are a lot brighter than this."

Jacob looked at Sam with a slight feeling of irritation. He was still feeling grateful for the way in which Sam came to his rescue in the Arcade. He wished that he had been able to be as direct and blunt as Sam. At the same time he also wished that Sam were not going with them on the trip. Becky was right. He had changed, and it did look as though he might spoil everything. Jacob wondered why Nadine had made such a point of talking him into coming.

Having summed up the Northern Lights, Sam stood up. "You all coming in, or are you heading back to your motel from here." he asked.

"Why don't you tell your father that we are sort of tired and have decided to head on," Lester answered.

"O.k. What about tomorrow?"

"We'll plan to pick you up about eight."

Sam shrugged. "O.k."

"Tell you father we appreciated his hospitality," Lester called after him as Sam entered the apartment building. He couldn't tell whether Sam had heard.

*****

Lying in bed in the motel that night, Jacob couldn't settle down to sleep. The days events kept running through his mind, both as they really happened, and as he re-constructed them in his fantasy so as to find them more palatable. Several times he imagined himself standing up to the man in the mall with greater firmness---even threatening him with physical violence. All of this was mixed with the excitement of seeing Clay tomorrow, and with memories of times he had spent with him in the past.

The night Clay told the story of Wa-ba-ban, or the Northern Lights, there had also been a display. Clay's third wife, Joan, was still with him at that point. Joan, Jacob and his parents, and Sam and Becky were all in the camp, settling in for the night. The kids had already put on their pajamas, as they frequently did shortly after it turned dark. Suddenly Clay called to them from outside the cabin. "Hey everybody come out. You've got to see the Northern Lights. They're beautiful."

Everybody except Joan emerged from the camp and made a lot of "oooo's" and "Ahhh's" as they first caught a glimpse of the rather startling display in the sky. Joan remained at he table playing solitaire and nursing a drink. "I've seen them before," she commented by way of excusing herself. Jacob never did like this woman very much, and could not see what Clay saw in her. She was too much of a "city girl" to truly appreciate the beauties of the wilderness. Also Jacob felt that she drank too much and influenced Clay in that direction.

They went down and sat on the dock where they watched in silence for about fifteen minutes. Jacob remembered dangling his feet in the water. It felt surprisingly warm in contrast to the slightly chilly night air. Then without introduction or warning clay began telling the story.

"Chief morning Star had an only son who was very different than than other boys in the tribe. Although he was not unfriendly, he showed little interest in playing with the other children. Rather, he would go off by himself every chance he got. Sometimes he would be gone for days at a time, which, needless to say, worried his parents a great deal. When they asked him about it, he would simply say, "I am happy where I go. You needn't worry." and he would offer no additional explanation no matter how they questioned him.

Finally the chief told his wife, "I have to try to do something about this. I'm going to follow him the next time he goes off. And that's what he did. He followed him a long ways---far beyond the familiar hunting lands of his people---always traveling north. Then, all at once, a very peculiar feeling came over the chief. His eyes closed against his will and he could not hear. Then he had the overwhelming sense of knowing nothing at all. When his eyes opened and his hearing came back to him he found himself in a different and very strange land. There was no sun or moon, and no stars. The country was illumined by a peculiar many colored light that appeared to come from everywhere and nowhere at once.

People came and greeted him, but none of them knew his language. Still, they were friendly and treated him well. They showed him a wonderful game that he had never seen before. The participants played with a ball of multi-colored light. Spheres of light surrounded their heads, and they wore rainbow belts of many colors around their waists. Morning Star was delighted at the beauty of all that he saw, but still, he missed his son and wanted to find him.

After some days an old man came up to chief Morning Star and said to him in his own language, "do you know where you are?"

"No," admitted the chief.

"You are in Wa-ba-ban, the land of the Northern Lights. I came here from the same land as you many years ago. We call that the 'lower country'."

"How did you get here?" Asked the chief.

"By the path of light," said the old man. "Is that how you came?"

"I don't know," answered the chief. "Did you have the odd feeling that you had lost all knowledge as you traveled?"

"Yes" said the old man. "And I could not see or hear."

"Then that's the same path by which I came. Is there anyway to return to our land."

"Yes, but the chief of Wa-ba-ban would have to be the one to tell you that."

"I see. And could you tell me whether anyone else from our country is here in Wa-ba-ban?"

"For a long time I was the only one here from the lower country. Now there is a boy who comes to visit us, but he never stays."

The old chief's heart leaped within his breast. "Yes, that must be my son. He is the one I have come to find. I want to take him home."

I can show you where he is, but both he and the chief of Wa-ba-ban must agree if he is to return home with you."

"I will not try to force him," agreed Chief Morning Star. "Only please show him to me."

The old man led Chief Morning Star to a playground. Boys and girls of all the colors of the rainbow, and of new colors that the chief had never seen back in the lower country, played many games in the playground. They wore only the flowing rainbow belts around their waists. A group of boys were playing the same game with the multicolored ball that the chief had already seen a group of men play. "Do you see your boy here?" asked the old man.

"Yes," said the chief. That one there, with the very brightest light around his head, is my son." Tears came to the chief's eyes, both from the immense relief he felt at seeing his son again, and at the beauty of the children, and of his own son in particular.

"You will need to ask him about returning with you when the game is over," said the old man.

When the game was over the chief went up to his son, who seemed surprised at first, but then very happy to see him.

"Your mother misses you, and we both worry about you," said the Chief. "You must come home."

"But I am happy here, father. I would not be happy living all the time in the lower country, and the traveling back and forth is very tiresome. I have only returned as often as I have for you and mother."

"Can you not continue to do that?"

"Many parents lose a child to some sickness or to a wild animal. They carry on, and in time re-gain an interest in life. If I did not return, you would miss me for a while, but then you would have other sons and daughters and forget me."

"But the tribe needs you," argued his father.

"What for? I am skinny, and a poor hunter, and am not wise in the ways of the world."

The old chief thought hard for a few moments. Then he said, "Our tribe needs you to teach it about Wa-ba-ban."

"What need have our people of that knowledge. They can survive without it," returned his son."

"Perhaps and perhaps not. I don't know. But the life of our tribe will be poor indeed without the knowledge of Wa-ba-ban."

The boy reflected a few moments on what his father had told him and finally said, "Yes, what you say is true. I will return to live with our people and tell them about Wa-ba-ban. But from time to time I must return here to see this country again."

"Agreed," said his father. "Lets go now to the chief of Wa-ba-ban and tell him of our decision."

Upon hearing about their decision, the chief of Wa-ba-ban was quite ready to help them return home. He arranged for two great birds of light to carry them there. On the way the chief had the same sense of losing all knowledge that he had when he went to Wa-ba-ban.

The boys mother was overjoyed to be re-united with her son and with her husband once again.

Remembering the story of the land of Wa-ba-ban had a calming and comforting effect on Jacob. The lights he had witnessed earlier in the evening on the steps of the apartment house, the lights he had seen that night on the dock at Clay's camp, and the lights from the story told by Clay, all began to merge into a single multi-colored ball as he finally drifted off to sleep.

Chapter Four -- Angels

Easily visible on a clear day from fifty or sixty miles away, the peak of Mt. Katahdin reaches an altitude of just short of a mile. Although not an impressive altitude in comparison with the world's great mountain ranges, the suddenness with which the mountain lifts itself above the surrounding terrain creates a somewhat startling vision. Both to the Native Americans who occupied this area before the coming of the whites, and to the Europeans who wrestled the land from them, the mountain has remained a symbol for principalities that are more powerful, and less subject the whims of time, than is humanity.

The land surrounding and including the mountain was given to the state as a gift in 1931 by Governor Baxter who was determined that it should be preserved in its natural grandeur and beauty. The land was officially designated "Baxter Park" two years later. Being of a more poetical turn of mind, and more attuned to the natural order of things than is the average politician, Governor Baxter wrote a little statement about the mountain:

Man is born to die, his works are short-lived.

Buildings crumble, mountains decay, wealth vanishes,

But Katahdin in all its glory

Forever shall remain the mountain of the People of Maine.

The 140 miles of trails in the park are minutely measured and charted; the activities of the visitors are carefully circumscribed by a substantial set of regulations; the area is supervised by a large staff of rangers; yet the mountain has never been completely tamed.

Sitting in front of his tent in a light weight folding chair, Clay Sawyer read a newspaper account of a teen age boy who fell to his death from a precipice in the park only a week before. Clay thought about the terrible suffering that such an event would have caused for the boy's family, and the equal and perhaps even greater suffering it must have caused the adults who were responsible for that group of teenagers trying to climb the mountain. And of course, he thought about the boy himself. The article said he had wandered off from the group and left the designated trail. He probably was not, Clay imagined, too different from the adventuresome and somewhat unruly adolescent he had been. He thought about how the boy must have felt at that dreadful moment when he realized that he had lost his footing, and the unthinkable fall to his death was inevitable.

Should the park initiate further regulations to prevent such tragedies? Would adults be wiser simply to refuse to take children to places where there was any danger at all (assuming that were possible)? Clay thought not. People came to the mountain, were fascinated by the mountain, accepted the challenge of climbing the mountain, and were willing to expose themselves and even their children to some of the risks of the mountain, because the mountain was still a god. When a god becomes fully domesticated, and utterly safe, it ceases to be a god. Those who are seeking to commune with the primal spirits will at that time move on to seek them elsewhere---some place where danger has not been so fully eradicated. Clay was acutely aware of this dilemma. It was his opinion that there were already far too many regulations.

It was shortly after three in the afternoon when Clay saw the station wagon pull into the Katahdin Stream Campground. Becky was the first one out of the car. With unabashed enthusiasm she dashed over to him and threw her arms around him. Jacob was close behind and allowed himself to be drawn into a friendly bear hug along with Becky. Sam held back and offered his hand. Clay took it and dragged him into an awkward and bone crushing hug with the other two. With equal enthusiasm Clay gave Lester a vigorous handshake and Nadine a hug.

"How you kids have changed!" Clay exclaimed standing back to examine them. "Especially you, Sam. You're almost a man now. But all of you have grown. Its been two years now, hasn't it."

Jacob was shocked to see that Clay had changed too. He knew that he had cancer, but somehow it didn't occur to him that this might make him look any different. Clay was still muscular, as he had always been. But he was thinner. And a certain unhealthy pallor to his complexion, brought home the fact that he was seriously ill.

Katahdin Stream Campground was situated around a small crystal clear pond. The idea naturally presented itself to the minds of the children that they might take a swim there.

"Its cold," Clay cautioned them.

"That's all right" insisted Becky. "We can take it."

"If we are going to divide up into two tents, probably the two boys will be sleeping with me," Clay suggested. "So, if that's agreed, they might as well bring their suitcases over now."

"Can we go swimming now?" asked Becky.

"As soon as the camp site is set up," Lester answered.

Jacob didn't really want to change in the same tent with Sam, but he could see no inconspicuous way of avoiding it. He killed time rummaging around for his swim trunks, and therefore Sam was undressed first. Jacob could see that Sam was more developed than he was. The disparaging remark recently made by a fellow student while they were getting changed for gym class came to his mind. He had made reference to Jacob's "peach fuzz". Jacob dreaded a similar reaction from Sam.

When Sam made no move to leave immediately Jacob saw there was no way out. Turning his back to Sam, he took off his pants and underwear, and started to get into his trunks as rapidly as possible while still trying to look casual. Unfortunately his toe got caught in the inner lining of his trunks and, in the process of trying to pull it out and push his leg on through, he lost his balance and fell head-long over his suitcase.

"Some athlete." Sam laughed. "You can't even get dressed without half killing yourself."

Jacob laughed too. Realizing how foolish he had been, he stood up, trunks in hand, and decided that he didn't care who saw him, peach fuzz or no. Sam, however, made no comment at all either about his physique of his level of development.

Becky came out of the Flemming's tent at about the same time the boys emerged from Clay's. She was very excited to be in her new bathing suit. She wondered whether she really did look pretty in it as Nadine had said.

Sitting on the grass beside the pool with Lester and Clay, while watching the children play in the water, Nadine almost let herself hope that it could be like old times.

"I thought maybe we would spend tomorrow hanging around here to give you a chance to rest up, and to give us all of us a chance to catch up on what's been happening. Then we could get up early the following day to climb Katahdin," Clay suggested.

"Sounds good to me," Lester said.

"Me too," agreed Nadine. Watching the children, she noticed that the two boys were exploring the other end of the pond. Becky was sitting by herself on the edge of the dam, dangling her feet into the water. "The only thing that concerns me," she added, "Is how dangerous is it to climb this mountain? I understand that there was an accident recently."

"Its not too dangerous the way we are going," Clay assured her. "As long as we all stay together on the main trail we shouldn't have any problems. Kids can get into trouble wandering off by themselves. I'll talk with everybody before we start out.

"I'm a little concerned about Sam," Nadine said. "Everything we have been hearing and seeing makes me think he might be hard to manage. He's pretty much used to doing as he pleases."

"Not with me," Clay countered. "I don't mind telling him I'm in charge."

"Good luck," Nadine said.

*****

"Ach! These bugs are eating me up," Becky complained, slapping one on her leg. Though she had pulled a turtle neck shirt over her swim suit as the air cooled down in the late afternoon, her legs were still an irresistible banquet table in the view of a growing number of mosquitoes She was sitting on a log near the fire eating the steak and green bean dinner Clay had prepared over the open fire.

"You just have to live with it," Clay counseled her. "Out here you are part of the great cycle of life! See, you're eating a cow there on your plate. Then the mosquitoes eat you. The dragon flies eat the mosquitoes The birds eat the dragonflies..."

"Then what?" Becky prompted.

"The cows eat the birds," Clay answered.

Becky laughed. "Cows don't eat birds."

"Of course they do."

"Then how come nobody ever sees them do it," she challenged.

"Because they do it at night, when nobody is around."

"Gross!"

"What's gross about eating at night?"

"Its eating birds that's gross."

"You eat birds. What do you think chickens are?"

"I don't eat their feathers."

"Ah, its the feathers that you have a problem with. There is something about the idea of a cow munching on a whole bird, feathers and all, that's kind of a turn off."

"Are you trying to ruin my supper?"

"It is a little gross."

"I guess!"

"See, I think cows know how we would feel about it. That's how come they only eat at night. They are very discreet creatures, really."

Becky slapped another mosquito, but she was determined to finish her supper without the interruption of getting up to put on long pants or bug repellent. "How come do you think God made mosquitoes, Clay?" she asked. If he's supposed to be so good and wise and powerful, why would He make a thing like mosquitoes?"

"Do you really want to know?"

"Yes. But don't give me any of your silly theories, like the one about cows eating birds. What do you think is the real answer?"

Clay laughed. "My theories are never silly," he said. "Your head is silly, so it makes very serious theories sound silly."

"Sure," Becky said, rolling her eyes. "So what's the answer?"

"It begins with the story of Adam and Eve. You know that story, don't you."

"Course I do. Everybody knows that story. But what's Adam and Eve got to do with mosquitoes?"

"What the story means is that sometime a very long time ago people were in harmony with the whole natural order---just as God intended. In other words people they left it to God to decide what was right and wrong---good and bad, and they tried to follow His laws. God's laws" weren't written in a book like you think of laws now. They were written in our hearts. In other words we had an inner understanding of how we were supposed to act and be and grow. We knew in our hearts what we should do."

"You mean like a conscience?" asked Becky.

"Exactly," agreed Clay, "a conscience we were born with. So when we lived by this law, we were in harmony with each other, with nature, and with God. That's what the garden stands for. Nakedness meant we weren't guilty and didn't have to hide. Also, I think maybe people really could be naked then because they were naturally good and pure and so didn't need to wear clothes."

"So it would be like the garden again if everybody obeyed the rules?" Jacob asked.

"That's the general idea," Clay agreed.

"So where do the mosquitoes come in?" asked Becky with growing impatience.

"I'm getting to that. But its the kind of issue you have to sneak up on, and sort of surround.

"The thing is that people decided not to go by God's laws but to make up their own ways of doing things. When enough of them did this often enough it turned the whole human race against God, and nature, and each other. That's when God cast us out of the garden and put angels there to guard the way and prevent our return. Do you remember that part of the story?"

"Yes," said Becky. "But I still don't see what this has to do with mosquitoes"

"They're the angels."

"Who is?"

"Why the mosquitoes, and black flies and all the other vermin and pests that make it impossible for us to just take off all our clothes and live in harmony with nature."

There was a considerable pause during which Becky thought about this. Then she laughed. "You're kidding aren't you."

Clay shrugged. I'm always serious." he said. "A mosquito's proboscis is the sword of God's vengeful angel."

"Angels!" Becky exclaimed. "That's the silliest thing I ever heard of. That's as bad as cows eating birds."

"You have to see them under a microscope before you can tell," Clay explained.

"Then why haven't scientists who looked at them under microscopes noticed that they are angels."

"They don't know what angels look like."

Becky started giggling again. By now her laughter was contagious and the adults joined in. "I should have known that you would tell me something silly," she said."

*****

It was dusk. The children were out walking. The three adults sat around the picnic table.

"What do you think the myth of the fall is about," Nadine asked.

"Mosquitoes," Clay answered. "Just like I told Becky."

"Seriously," Nadine persisted.

"I think its about technology."

"They didn't have technology back when that myth was created," Lester pointed out. "That would have been somewhere around 2,000 B.C."

"They had some." Clay said.

Lester shrugged. "Not much."

"How much isn't important. Its the idea that counts."

"What idea, exactly?" Nadine asked.

"Humanity was to replace the natural order with a humanly engineered one. It was the most ambitious idea ever thought up by humanity. And probably the most dangerous. That's what the myth warns about."

"To replace the natural order," Nadine mused. "What did humanity have against the natural order?"

"Death." Clay answered. "Except for death, the natural order is exquisitely beautiful. But death is too great an insult---too much of an attack on whatever humanity has achieved at any given point in its development."

"It seems to me," Lester suggested, "that when it was getting started technology was used simply to provide for the creature comforts...to stay warm, to eat more regularly, to be safer from enemies and animals...things like that.

"Probably so," agreed Clay. "But I think technology was so successful in providing for some of humanities other needs that a new idea came into the collective mind: maybe technology could be used to defeat death itself. And when it appeared this project had some hope of success, the hospital replaced the cathedral as the central temple of the culture.

"The pyramid, the Greek temple, the cathedral, and now the hospital...they are all expressions of the age's particular manner of trying to come to terms with death."

*****

Becky was in her night gown, wrapped up in a blanket for warmth. She snuggled up against Nadine. The two boys were sitting on another log with Lester, also facing the fire. Clay was speaking. "In the very old days before television, before radio, before books even, people learned about life through stories told before campfires. While we are on this trip I want to share with you some of the stories I have heard."

It was easy to imagine that out beyond the small circle of light created by their campfire, the darkness concealed the primordial forest as it had existed in ancient times before the coming of the white people.

"Have you kids ever felt that there is something wrong with this artificial world in which we live?" Clay asked. "Have you ever felt a longing to live in a natural forest that has never before been cut, by a crystal clear lake, without any of the trappings of civilization---a place where you could run around naked if you pleased?"

"Yes," said Jacob. "Always I want that."

"It would be o.k. for a while," agreed Sam, "if it weren't for the bugs. But after a while you would get bored and want to see some t.v."

Clay sighed. "Anyhow, I would like to tell you an Indian story tonight---one I heard from my great aunt."

"Is this going to be another one of your goofy stories?" Becky asked.

"Would I ever tell you a goofy story?"

"That's all you ever do tell."

"Well, my great aunt never told goofy stories, and this is one I heard from her."

Everybody became quiet while Clay appeared to be trying to recall the story clearly in his mind. "It seems that way back in the beginning of time," he began," before there were animals on this earth, or humans, there lived two giants.

They were twin brothers. On the outside they were so much alike that you couldn't tell them apart. But on the inside they were as different as night and day. One was good---he always wanted to help and to create beautiful things. The other one was bad. He was lazy when it came to anything except destroying things. That was the one thing he liked to do. One day the good twin decided to make some fish. At first they looked pretty ugly like a lot of fish do today. With practice and hard work, however, he soon became pretty good at making fish. One day he decided to give it his very best effort and make the most beautiful fish imaginable. He worked and worked on this project for days without stopping even to eat or sleep. It was a magnificent fish and he was just about ready to breath on it to bring it to life when he decided it needed just a touch of a certain shade of red. So he went off for a brief spell to get some berries with the right colored dye, leaving the almost finished fish lying beside the lake into which he was going to throw it when it was finished.

Just then along came his brother who stepped on it and squashed it flat.

When the good twin saw what had happened he felt very sad. He thought he could never make another fish as nice as that one had been. Not wishing his efforts to be a total waste, he went ahead and breathed on it and threw is into the water. That's how come we have flounders."

"Yes," Becky interpreted. "That's just what flounders look like---like somebody stepped on them. We saw some at the Boston Aquarium on a school trip."

"Now you know how they got that way," Clay said.

"That's as bad as mosquitoes being angels," Becky added.

"That was too short," Jacob said. "Tell us another story."

"There is more about the twins," Clay answered.

"Tell us."

"Well," Clay continued, "it wasn't too long after that when the bad twin came to his brother and said, "You know, dear brother, this is a happy life for me except for one thing."

"And what is that? asked the good twin.

"I worry that something might happen to you. I am so fond of you I could never stand it if you died. Please tell me whether you can be killed, and if so how, so that I can protect you from harm."

"Your concern touches me deeply," Said the good twin. "In order to kill me you must hit me on the head with a green willow switch. There is no other way. And now tell me about yourself, so that I will also be able to protect you."

"In order to kill me you must hit me on the head with a stone ax," answered the brother.

"That night the evil brother sneaked up on his sleeping brother and switched him as hard as he could with a green willow branch. This woke the good twin who stood up with a stone ax in his hand. He had this hidden beneath his covers for just this purpose. With one swift and mighty blow the evil brother's head was cracked open and he died on the spot.

"The successful brother was known as Glooscap, the trickster.

"Glooscap continued to experiment with making animals. As his skill increased he finally came to the point where he was able to create his crowning achievement. Gathering together a pile of red sand, he shaped it into human forms, a man and a woman, and he breathed into them, and they rose up, alive to the beauty of this green earth.

"Glooscap had learned his lesson well when his other pride and joy, the flounder, got squashed. One needed to look after the offspring of ones creative efforts very carefully. There was no evil twin around to do harm to Glooscap's favorite new creation. But what about the animals? Could they be depended upon. Glooscap watched carefully to see how the other animals would react to human beings. Most of them, he noticed, had a healthy respect or fear, and were careful to avoid people. The squirrel, however, who was at that time an enormous creature, went crazy at he very mention of humans. He roared, tore down trees, and tossed boulders into the sky. Glooscap called him to himself and began petting him. With each stroke the squirrel was reduced in size until he was no bigger than he is today. His attitude was not improved, but he was no longer big enough to do more than scold and throw down twigs from the trees where he now chose to live.

"There were a few other animals that Glooscap also had to work on. The moose was, for example, too big. So Glooscap called him over and put his hand against his nose. "Now push, as hard as you can," he told him. The moose did so with the result that his nose was broken and his face, neck and shoulders were all scrunched together. When his size was sufficiently reduced by this method, Glooscap was satisfied.

"Thus, in time Glooscap was able to make the earth a safe and happy place for humans---at least most of the time. There was only one creature that remained dangerous to human beings, and is to this day. That was other human beings. Even Glooscap could not find a way to make them harmless to one another.

In the silence that followed, Jacob imagined himself to be Adam at the dawn of creation---the Indian creation that had heard nothing of a fall. He was naked and free in that glorious creation, and lord of all the beasts. Although he only vaguely realized it, the primordial woman visualized in his mind bore a surprising resemblance to Becky. They lived together in the primordial forest, eleven and twelve years old, under the protection of Glooscap, the trickster. One day they would have a family and start a new humanity.

*****

The next days was warm and sunny. The children spent a good deal of the morning swimming in the pond. Nadine could see that something was wrong as she watched the children come back into the camping area. Becky wasn't talking. She went into the Flemming's tent, where she had her sleeping bag, zipped herself in, and didn't re-emerge after she had more than ample time to change.

Sam went straight to Clay's tent and, after changing, he lay down on his sleeping bad and plugged himself into the ear-phones of a transistor radio.

Jacob pulled on a t-shirt and sat down in his wet trunks beside Clay on the picnic bench. Clay was pouring over some maps. "Show me where we are going," Jacob asked.

Clay rummaged through a stack of maps and pulled out one that showed Baxter state park. "Do you know how to read maps?" he asked.

"I've been doing it for years. I'm pretty good at it, aren't I Mom?"

Nadine was sitting on the opposite side of the picnic table drinking a cup of coffee and staring absently at the tent into which Becky had disappeared.

"Aren't you what?" she asked.

"Good at reading maps."

"He is," she said to Clay. "Whenever I'm on a trip with him I turn the whole map business over to him. He seldom makes a mistake."

Clay seemed impressed which pleased Jacob immensely. "Maybe you can be a navigator on our trip," Clay suggested.

"I think I could do that If you showed me where we are supposed to go."

"Sounds good," agreed Clay. "But I'd better show you some things about using this particular type of map. These are topographical maps."

The two were soon totally engrossed in the intricacies of reading the maps, planning trips, and along with this, learning about the old Indian routs through the waterways of Maine.

These maps were very different from the drug store and filling station maps Jacob had used to explore Marion County. These showed mountains and hills, old trails that were no longer in use, swamps, and abandoned logging camps. Lakes and streams were in abundance. These maps were not all going to lead to corn fields and no-trespassing signs.

"Here's the Penobscot river," Clay was saying. "Notice how it is full of islands all through this part. Those are still Indian Lands. Down here where the river opens out into the Penobscot Bay and the ocean is where the Indians spent their summers. During that time of the year they added clams and other sea foods to their diet. In the fall they would start back up the river. They were a river tribe---highly skilled in making birch-bark canoes. The Penobscot was their super-highway---the central thoroughfare through their territory. One of their main camping areas was where the Passadumkeag River comes into to the Penobscot---right here. Sometimes they would come up the West Branch of the Penobscot this way. Clay traced their path up toward the green area in north central Maine that indicated Baxter Park.

"The Indians would come close to the area where we are now, but they would never actually start up Mt. Katahdin itself. It was sacred to them. They feared that if they made themselves too familiar with the spirits, they would be punished. Or maybe they just thought it would be bad manners." Clay said.

"Did they fight a lot of wars with the other tribes?" Jacob wanted to know.

"Not usually. Normally Maine tribes respected each other's territories. The neighboring tribes were pretty closely related. My impression is that for a couple of thousand years before the Europeans arrived, the Native Americans of Maine lived in relative peace. They probably had little skirmishes from time to time just to let each other know that the boundaries had to be respected, but I doubt that they had many full scale wars.

Around the time of Columbus, the Iroquois from the general area that is now upper New York State were becoming powerful and were beginning to aggressively extend their influence. During that time the Penobscots and the other tribes of Maine had to fight to try to hold them a bay.

Nadine found the Indian history interesting, but as they got back into the details of the Penobscot and Passadumkeag Rivers she rose and went to her tent. Inside she found Becky lying face down on her sleeping bag. She had pulled on a t-shirt, but had not changed out of her swim suit.

"Is anything the matter?" asked Nadine.

"No."

"Are you sleepy?"

"No."

"I noticed you seemed kind of untalkative when you came by earlier. I had the thought that maybe you were upset."

Silence.

"It sure is a pretty day. What do you think would be fun to do?"

When this effort at conversation was also met with silence Nadine kneeled down beside Becky and patted her back. "Did something happen while you were swimming, Becky?"

There was still no answer, but Nadine could feel Becky's chest heaving and knew she had begun to cry. "What is it Becky? Are you homesick?"

"Its not that," she heard Becky mumble.

"Do you want to tell me what it is?"

"Becky sat up and said, "Its that stupid brother of mine. I knew he would ruin this. He ruins everything. How come he had to come along anyhow?"

"Here, I think I have some Kleenex. What did he do?"

Becky took the Kleenex and blew her nose on it unceremoniously. "He talked about my body."

"About your body? What exactly did he say about your body?"

"He said he could see that I was growing breasts."

"I see. Well, that's not so bad."

"He called them 'titties'."

"Oh"

"He was making fun of me."

"Well, I guess he doesn't know any better than to talk like that."

"He knows better. He just doesn't care."

"Maybe someone needs to talk with him."

"It won't do any good to talk with him. Mom talked with him until she was blue in the face, and it didn't make any difference. He just does anything he wants to and doesn't pay any attention to anyone."

"I see. What exactly prompted him to say something.?"

There was silence for a moment while Becky thought over whether she wanted to answer this question. Finally she said, "When my bathing suit is wet you can sort of see."

"You mean you can see through it?"

"A little bit. Not much, really. At least not more than lots of bathing suits. But you can kind of tell what shape I am underneath."

"Is that bad?"

"I guess not---not unless someone makes fun of you."

"Well, that sort of sums it up," Nadine said, as much to herself as to Becky.

"Do you think its bad to let people see what shape you are?" Becky asked.

"Of course not. If they say anything it just shows that they don't know how to act. You have a very pretty shape. Its nothing to be ashamed of or try to hide."

"Do you think so?"

"Listen. You are at an age where you are beginning to change. You are just beginning to get breasts, and that's nice. But kids your age are usually super self-conscious about those changes. Its all so new."

Becky seemed a lot more settled now so Nadine suggested she get her shoes on and that they go for a walk together. "I know a place where they are supposed to have a library. Maybe we can find some interesting books about the area there."

"O.k. Give me a couple of minutes. I think I'll change into my clothes."

Nadine went out and joined Clay and Jacob at the picnic table. They were still engrossed in the maps and plans. Jacob looked as though he had been lifted into the seventh heaven. Nadine wondered whether the trip could possibly live up to his hopes---even if didn't fall completely apart.

Clay looked up from the maps. "Becky O.k.? he asked.

Nadine hadn't realized that Clay had noticed Becky's upset, or that he had suspected why she had gone in to see her. "She's a little better now. Sam said some things to her that got her upset."

"Down at the pond when they were swimming?"

"Yes."

Clay looked over at Jacob, his eyebrows raised questioningly.

Jacob avoided his gaze and continued to study the maps as though he had not heard their conversation.

"I see," said Clay.

They were all three somewhat awkwardly silent for a minute or so before Becky emerged from her tent.

"I'm ready," she called to Nadine.

"All right. I'm coming."

After they left, Clay looked over at Jacob who was still engrossed in the maps. "What did Sam say to Becky?" he asked.

"What?"

"I said what did Sam say to Becky?"

After a considerable pause Jacob said, "You mean down when we were swimming?"

Clay nodded.

"Well, nothing really."

"No," said Clay. "It was something. What got her upset?"

"He just teased her, that's all."

"What about?"

"Well, he made comments about her."

"Yes?"

"You want to know what kind of comments?"

"Yes."

"Well, nothing much really. Like I said he was just teasing her. You know how sometimes kids will tease each other. So she got upset."

"What exactly did he say."

"Um. Its not very nice, really."

"I doubt that I'll be too shocked."

"He sort of made comments about her body."

"Like he was making fun of her---of something about her body?"

"That right."

"What exactly?"

"You want the exact words?"

"As well as you can remember them.

"They are not nice words."

"Look, you aren't going to tell me anything I haven't heard before."

"But I'm not supposed to say them."

"Its o.k. to say them if you are just telling me what Sam said."

"Well, he said, 'Becky's getting titties. I can see her titties.' You know, taunting her. Saying it in a kind of sing-song voice like this...'Becky's getting titties...'"

"I see. Why did he say that? I mean did her bathing suit fall down or something?"

"No, you couldn't see anything really. Its just that when her suit stuck to her when it got wet you could sort of see she was beginning to grow there just a little bit. Not much, but some."

"I see. So what happened then?"

"She told him to stop. It really made her mad. I told him to stop too. He stopped for a while but then would say something again to me in such a way she could tell what he was saying. So she got mad and left. I was cold then anyhow, so I came back too, and then so did Sam."

*****

Clay found Sam inside his tent lying on his sleeping bag on his back, listening to a tape.

"Sam, I need to talk with you." Clay spoke loudly in order to be heard above the tape."

"What's that?" Sam asked, taking off the ear phones.

"I said I need to talk with you about something.

"What about?"

"Did you say something to your sister that got her upset?"

"Has she been tattling on me again? What did she say."

"Have you been teasing her about her breasts?

"She hasn't got any breasts. How could I do that?"

"About the fact that she is just beginning to get breasts?"

"What if I did? It was just a joke. Every time I do the least little thing, even like a joke, she runs to an adult and tattles. She's a real bore."

"Whatever you feel about your sister, its still not cool to be teasing her about that. When kids begin to change they're real self-conscious about."

"I'm not," Sam said.

"But most kids are. Its not right to make people feel crummy about their bodies---especially kids her age and your age. "

"What is this?" Sam responded. "Sunday school?"

Clay reddened just a bit. "I'm just trying to tell you something that I think is important. If it sounds like preaching that too bad."

"All right, all right, Clay. I got the message."

Clay stood in the middle of the tent trying to find find words. "Sam, when you came up to the camp and I knew you then, we were real good friends. At least I thought we were. I was hoping we could pick up from there."

"Maybe I've changed too much, Clay. Everybody says I've changed. Its true too. Maybe you won't like me anymore."

"It almost seems like you are trying to make people not like you. But I'm not ready to just say 'Sam has changed. I don't like him any more'."

Sam looked up. "We're still friends, Clay. O.k.? I won't tease her about that anymore."

Clay paused again as though he had more on his mind that he wanted to say. Then he simply shrugged. "Yeah," he said. "We are still friends." And he left the tent.

Sam returned to his tape.

*****

"When it came time that evening to prepare supper, Clay asked Becky where the two boys were.

"Jacob's in the tent, reading. I don't know where Sam is," she answered.

"I thought he was with Jacob," Clay said.

"Nope. Jacob was with me. We were exploring the area up the creek a ways."

"I thought Sam was with you guys," said Lester, who was sitting at the picnic table.

"He was at first, but then he said something to Jacob and left. I figured he just came back to camp here."

"Can you tell Jacob to come here, please, Becky," Clay requested.

"What do you suppose happened to him?" Nadine asked.

"Apparently one of the kids has been missing most of the afternoon, and we didn't even know it," Lester observed. "We're going to have to ride herd on these kids a little more closely."

Jacob appeared to have been sleeping. Rubbing his eyes, he trudged along behind Becky.

"You want me, Clay?" he asked.

"Yeah. I need some help with supper for one thing. But before that, do you know anything about where Sam is?"

"Sam? He he hitch-hiked into Millinocket?"

"Hitch-hiked into Millinocket!" exclaimed Lester. "What do you mean he hitch-hiked into Millinocket?"

"Just that. Early this afternoon he told me that he was bored being out here in the woods with nothing to do, so he thought he would hitch-hike into town."

"Didn't it occur to you to tell somebody about this? asked Lester.

"I'm sorry Dad. He told me he was coming back to camp to let you guys know."

"Didn't it seem odd to you that we would have given a thirteen year old boy permission to hitch-hike off by himself."

"Yeah, it did seem strange," admitted Jacob. "But seeing as Sam has been left to do pretty much anything he wants, I thought maybe you just decided to go along with that."

Lester grunted with disapproval. "Did he say anything to either of you?" he asked, addressing Nadine and Clay.

They both indicated that they had heard nothing about Sam's plans, either from him or from anybody else. "Did he say anything about when he might be coming back?" Clay asked Jacob.

"As he was wandering off he said, sort of casual like, 'see you around supper time.'" Jacob said.

That really nice," Lester said. "We have a boy who just wanders off whenever he pleases. And we are supposed to be responsible for this boy on Katahdin Mountain."

"It does make a person uneasy," agreed Nadine.

"I guess I wonder whether we should go through with this trip at all," Lester said. "Maybe we should just give the whole idea up. Or maybe we should put Sam on a bus home---assuming we are able to find him that is."

Jacob felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach. Again the question came up of scrapping the trip. But there was some hope. His father had mentioned the possibility of putting Sam on a bus home. This made a lot of sense to Jacob. Sam was the main problem, and by his own admission he was bored with the trip. But Jacob kept his thoughts to himself because he could see how angry his father was. Granted, the anger was directed primarily at Sam, but at least part of it was directed at himself for not having said anything.

"I'll tell you what," said Clay. "Why don't you just let me handle Sam. He is pretty much out of line, but I think I can straighten him out."

"So what do you think we should do?" asked Lester.

"For starters I think we should eat supper. No need to let Sam dominate everything."

"You mean just trust that he's o.k. and that he'll be back? asked Lester.

"For now that's what I'd do. Sam is a street wise kid. Nothing terrible is likely to happen to him."

"What do you think, Nadine?" Lester asked.

"I don't really know. Why don't we just go along with Clay's suggestion, and discuss it again later on if he's still not back. If it looks like its going to get dark before he gets back we could drive in to town and look around."

"All right," agreed Lester.

"Why don't you make a salad, and I'll fry the hamburgers," Clay said to Lester.

"The kids and I will set the table and get the juice ready," Nadine volunteered.

It was a good supper, but nobody had much appetite.

During clean-up Lester was washing dishes and Jacob was drying. "What did Sam plan on doing in town? " Lester asked.

"I think he was going in there to see if he could buy some drugs, Jacob answered.

"Great," Lester said. "That's just what we need."

Clay looked up from the map of Katahdin he was studying. "What makes you think that?" he asked Jacob.

"Well, the first thing is that when we were in the mall in Portland I saw him buy some drugs from a guy there. At least I'm pretty sure that's what it was. Then I remember yesterday he said something like, 'I've heard that there's drugs in Millinocket.' So I know he's interested in drugs. And when he talks about being bored I figure that means he's thinking about drugs."

"Now its drugs," groaned Lester. "What the hell has gone wrong with things that we can't even go on a camping trip but what we have to be wondering whether the kids with us are on drugs. Its crazy."

"That it is," agreed Clay.

"I think Jacob's right," Becky said. She had been listening to the conversation while she was helping Nadine put away the food. "Sam is into drugs a lot and nobody has been able to stop him. I knew everything would go wrong if he came along. Why don't you just send him back home."

"Because he's one of us," answered Clay. "For example, he's your brother."

"I didn't have any say in that," Becky observed. "He doesn't treat me like a brother should treat a sister."

"Isn't that him now?" asked Nadine, pointing to the bridge over the stream just below the pond. It was, indeed, Sam. The entire group stood in silence, watching him, as he casually strolled along the two hundred yards of road between the bridge and the camp.

"Where have you been?" Clay asked when he finally arrived.

"I was in town. Didn't Jacob tell you?"

"You told me that you were going to let them know so I didn't say anything to them," Jacob hastily pointed out.

"Oh well, no harm done. Except that it looks like I missed supper."

"Its a little more serious than that," Clay said. I think I would expect any of you kids to get permission to go someplace. Not just walk off."

Sam shrugged. "My dad lets me come and go as I want to."

"I think my rules will be a little different from that," Clay said. "As long as you are on this trip you will let me know any time you are going somewhere. Even if its just to explore up the stream a little ways, I want to know where you are. I can't be responsible for your safety if I can't even keep tabs on where you are."

"I'm not somebody you have to babysit with," Sam protested. "I can look after myself."

"I'm not interested in a big debate about this." Clay's voice was getting louder. "I'm telling you what the rules are here. When you plan to go off somewhere you first get permission from one of the adults here. Is that clear enough?"

"All right, Clay. have it your way. My God, you sure are uptight about your authority."

"If you pull another stunt like this one you'll see just how up-tight I am," Clay retorted, glowering at him. "And another thing..."

"Another thing!" Sam exclaimed. "My God, this really is the day to get on my case isn't it?"

"Do you have any drugs with you?

"You mean like Dristan?"

"You know damn well what I mean. Drugs. Street drugs."

"What do you take me for, Clay? Has that sister of mine been spreading tales again? You can't always believe everything she says.

"Lets just say if you do have anything, get rid of it. If I find any drugs or any evidence you have been using them on this trip, there will be hell to pay."

"God, I can see that this trip is going to be a laugh a minute. What are you going to do, Clay, if you find a joint on me? Beat me up?"

"Lets try to talk about it more later, Sam, when I've cooled off a bit. I'm not wanting to be on your case about something every minute. And I shouldn't be accusing you of having drugs if I don't have good reason for thinking you do. But there have to be some basic ground rules around here if we're not go to end up with a mess."

Sam shrugged and wandered off to the tent. Inside he lay back on his sleeping bag, plugged himself into this tape deck with his ear phones, and ate some Cheese Doodles he had picked up in town.

*****

Later that evening Jacob and Becky and the three adults were sitting around the fire. Sam had come out of the tent briefly just after sunset to roast some marshmallows and drink some hot chocolate with the rest of the group. Everybody had tried to be friendly but the air was still strained, especially between Sam and Clay. Sam had then retreated back into the tent to be with his tape deck.

"Are you going to tell us a story tonight?" Becky asked.

"A story?" repeated Clay.

"Yeah. You said last night that you knew enough Indian stories to tell one every night."

"Oh. Well, yeah. Let me think." Clay was clearly preoccupied.

"Maybe this isn't a good night for Clay to tell a story," suggested Nadine. "You have to be in the mood to tell a story right."

"That's o.k., Nadine," Clay said. "Maybe it would be good for me to tell a story. I know one that has to do with Mt. Katahdin. Its a very old story."

"Let me get settled before you begin," Becky requested. Now that she did not have to compete with Sam, she went over and sat beside Jacob, leaning up against one of the logs in front of the fire place.

"A long time before the white people ever came to this land," Clay began, "A giant called the Spirit of Katahdin lived on the mountain here. Some say he actually lived inside the mountain in an enormous hollowed out cavern.

Because he was known to protect the mountain, people did not ever try to climb it. Once, however, there was a lovely Indian girl who was gathering blueberries not far from where we are camping here tonight. She was really much closer to the mountain than her parents would have advised her to go. She was an especially beautiful girl, but for some reason she had not found herself a husband. "Perhaps" she thought to herself, "I am too particular. Perhaps I should accept the attentions of one of the young men who shows an interest in me." It was a warm day late in the summer. With thoughts about who she might marry in her mind, this maiden laid back in the grass and dozed off.

When she woke up she was startled to find a warrior standing right in front of her. He was taller and more handsome than any brave she had ever known, and she knew at once that there was something not entirely human about him.

"You are very lovely, and I would like you to be my wife," he said. "I want you to come and live on the mountain with me."

"But that's much too far for me to walk." the girl said. "And I would be afraid to live in such a place."

"I will carry you there, and will protect you, so there is nothing to fear."

It was an offer, as they say, that she could not refuse, so she went to live with him on the mountain. Her family, of course, was upset when she did not return from her berry picking. After doing all they could to find her, they finally concluded she had been carried off by some wild animal or a spirit, and they resigned themselves to her loss.

The maiden was well treated by the spirit of Katahdin, for that who this giant of a warrior was. He saw to it that she was comfortable in every way. After a time she gave birth to twins, a boy and a girl. They were handsome and healthy children---all that a mother might wish for. In only one significant way were they visibly different from other children. Both the boy and the girl had stone eyebrows. This feature they inherited from their father.

Now you might imagine that this maiden would have been happy. Her situation was almost ideal in every way. For a while she was content with her life, but gradually she missed her own people more and more. When her husband discovered the reason for her unhappiness, and found there was nothing he could do to alleviate it, he agreed to permit her and the two children to return to her people. "But," he said, "Before you go you should be aware of the two special gifts that the children have. Whatever the girl says will come true if she passes her hand over her mouth after speaking. As for the boy, whatever he points at will die."

When the girl and her two children returned to their own village, there was a famine. It had been going on for some months. After a joyful reunion with her friends and family, they had to tell her of the tremendous suffering they were enduring, and how they would all die soon if help did not come. There was neither fish nor bird, nor deer nor any other game to be found in all the land. Hearing this the little girl said, "but the lakes and streams are full of fish and good things to eat." She passed her hand over her mouth, and it was true. "And the sky is full of birds of all kinds," she said and again passed her hand over her mouth. Again it was true. Needless to say the people of the tribe were well pleased with these developments. Then the little girl went on to say, "the forests are full of deer, and moose, and bears, and all kinds of smaller animals," and when she passed her hand over her mouth for a third time, their joy was complete.

"The men wasted no time going out to secure game. That evening there was feasting and rejoicing as had never before been known in the tribe.

The next day the two strange children and their mother were out on a walk with some of the members of the tribe. The little boy saw an eagle soaring high above them. He pointed at it and the eagle immediately fell out of the sky. The people were amazed. Then the little boy saw a deer and pointed at it. It too fell dead. This was not only interesting, but useful as well. The people were delighted. However, the little boy, not understanding his own power, then pointed at his grandfather, who also died immediately. When he pointed at another member of the tribe with the same results the members of the tribe became alarmed. They called a meeting to decide what to do about this problem. They came to no conclusion, but it made no difference for that very night the spirit of Katahdin came to the village, gathered up his two children, and returned with them to their mountain home.

"The maiden herself chose to live out her life among her own people. She was happy to be home. Yet often at night, or before a storm, she could hear rumblings on the mountain, as her two children rough housed. At such times she felt the sorrow of those whose hearts are divided between two worlds."

When Clay finished speaking they all listened quietly to the crackling of the fire for a while. Then Becky said, "I think that girl is a lot like me."

"Yes," agreed Nadine. "I think she may be a lot like you."

Chapter Five -- Visions

"We will have to be careful to avoid the Culoo Bird," Clay remarked casually. He was sitting at the picnic table drinking coffee from a large stone mug.

"Culoo Bird?" echoed Becky, looking up from the Sugar Frosted Flakes which had been consuming her entire attention for the last several minutes.

"What's a Culoo Bird?" asked Jacob. He was also eating cereal at the picnic table. Sam was the only one who had not yet emerged from his sleeping bag to join the rest of the group.

"That's the giant spirit bird who lives up on the mountain and who carries off children to feed to its babies," Clay responded.

"Right," Becky agreed. "I'm sure we will all be in great danger."

"Well, it doesn't usually carry off children quite as big as you guys. But you can't be sure. It depends on how much trouble it's having finding food for its babies. They have voracious appetites."

"Probably elephants are their favorite food," Jacob suggested.

"And full grown brontosauruses," added Becky.

"I can see you have no faith in the old stories," observed Clay. "There was once an Indian youth who was a scoffer, just as you are. But when the mother Culoo Bird came and carried him off in its talons, he wished he had listened more respectfully to his elders."

"So what happened to him?" Becky asked.

"He was carried up to the nest where the babies were feeding, naturally. What a foul and gory sight that was---all full of rotting flesh and the bones of previous meals, both animal and human! Although foolhardy, the lad was quick witted. He snuggled down into all that debris in the nest, and lay perfectly still. Didn't move a muscle. So long as he was still, the baby birds didn't bother him. For two days he lay there watching the three baby birds swallow whole the squirrels, fish, rabbits, raccoons and other small game brought up there by the mother Culoo. Finally when she saw that her babies weren't going to eat him, the mother Culoo picked the boy up out of the nest in her talons and returned him to exactly the place where he had originally found him. He was the only child ever captured by the giant Culoo who returned to tell about it."

"Why did the mother bird bother to pick him up and return him?" Becky asked.

"Because he was cluttering up the nest."

"Cluttering up the nest? You just got done saying how it was all full of gross and rotting things---bones and stuff like that. How is one live boy going to bother a mother bird when her nest looks like that?"

"A Culoo bird is very tidy by her own standards, but her idea of clutter and yours may not be very much alike."

"I can understand that," Jacob said. "For example, my mom's idea of what is clutter and mine are very different."

Nadine, who had been standing near the table and listening to all this, laughed. "That's certainly true," she agreed.

The banter of the group was interrupted by the emergence of Sam from his tent. Looking very sleepy eyed, he lugged his transistor over to the table. "What's to eat?" he asked.

Clay eyed the tape deck with hostility. "Are you planning to bring that along?" he asked.

"My tape deck? Sure. Why not?"

Clay shrugged and stared into his coffee cup.

"We are just having cereal and fruit this morning," Nadine said in answer to Sam's earlier question. "There's milk in the cooler there. Pick a box of cereal out of the variety pack, and help yourself to a banana or an orange."

Clay said nothing more about the tape deck, but everybody could feel the tension.

*****

The day promised to be bright and clear---perfect for climbing the mountain. They were on the trail toward the peak shortly after sunrise. By late morning they were above the timber-line. They decided to stop for a rest. As far as they could see the only interruptions of the forests were the many sparkling lakes. The stillness had a quieting effect on the the emotions. Nadine, Becky, and Jacob sat in a group, sharing this experience in silence. Sam sat close to them but was plugged into his tape deck. The faint sound of his rock music could be heard coming from his ear phones by the other two children and by Nadine. From time to time Sam jiggled the ear phone jack. It didn't seem to be working quite right.

Clay and Lester were sitting slightly apart from the rest of the group.

"How's your music coming," Clay asked.

Lester shrugged. "All right. I enjoy playing for the Indianapolis Symphony, and I'm doing a little teaching on the side."

"You don't sound too enthusiastic."

"I have nothing to complain about. Nice wife and son, a steady job, and a chance to play some good music. I suppose the lack of enthusiasm you pick up must be what they call"mid-life-crisis." You know, the point where you look at your life and say, 'is this all?' Not that its terrible or anything. Just, 'is this all?' Its a question of expectations I guess."

"Are you composing?"

"I never did compose anything that had too much merit to it. See, in college you always overestimated my ability a bit. I'm a competent musician if I work at it enough. But I'm no genius. I am 2nd flutist in a reasonably good symphony orchestra. I may play first sometime. But basically I've gone about as far as I am going in the music world. This is where I plateau out."

They were silent for a few moments, looking at the view. Then Lester said, "In college we tend to overestimate our own abilities and importance as well as that of our friends. And maybe we just overestimate what life has to offer anybody."

"That reminds me of a dream I had recently," Clay said.

"What was that?"

"It was about this mountain. I was looking out across a plain, and I saw a mountain range dominated by Mt. Katahdin. It was capped with snow and was very beautiful. Then all at once I saw another mountain range rise up behind it. This second range was gigantic. By comparison, Katahdin was a mole hill. I fell down on my knees, overwhelmed by the majesty of it."

"That sounds like a vision of God," Lester said.

"I suppose it must have been," Clay agreed.

"That's what's lacking for me," Lester said. "I've lost any sense that there is anything beyond this range of mountains---anything that might make it worth while to make a big effort."

"Maybe that's why you feel bogged down. Maybe its not because your talent is ordinary."

Lester smiled. "I don't know. Perhaps the second range of mountains only exists for those who have something out of the ordinary about their abilities. Why should I see the vision of heights to which I could never ascend?"

"Nobody could have ascended the heights I saw by their own power. I think there's probably another reason I saw that dream."

"What's that?"

"Maybe I'm being prepared---I mean if this healing spring doesn't do its thing...."

Lester looked at his friend. He wanted to say something re-assuring, something encouraging or philosophical. But he could find nothing. He had little confidence in healing springs, and less in hopes projected beyond the grave. The dream was beautiful, but why should he suppose it was anything more than Clay's own subconscious mind weaving a comforting illusion to assist him in coping with his final task. Lester believed that Clay was dying, and he could think of no way to either minimize this, or to make it better. It was beyond words. He smiled weakly and shrugged.

*****

As the morning wore on the group came to a number of steep and rocky places, some of which they were able to negotiate only with the aid of the steel pegs and steps that had been driven into the rock. It was, for people in a normal state of conditioning, a rather exhausting trip. Clay had always been rugged, but Lester and Nadine could see that the climb was taking a toll on him.

Clay and Jacob were the first to reach the large plateau on the top of Katahdin.

"Lets wait for the others here," Clay suggested.

It was like sitting on the roof of the world. Looking out over the edge at the panoramic view of forests and lakes, Jacob felt a tremendous joy emerge within---it was the joy of accomplishment, the joy of being with a beloved friend, and the joy of being part of the surrounding grandeur and beauty all rolled up into one enormous happiness. Before long Nadine, Becky and Lester came over the ridge and joined them.

For several seconds they sat in profound stillness. Then gradually a noise infused itself into this silence. At first it was only a faint irritant---hardly more serious than a mosquito bite. Little by little it became more prominent until the silence was finally overpowered by the intrusion of Hard-rock music into a domain Clay considered sacred. His face reddened. He stood up and walked over to the edge of the plateau. At about this time Sam came up over the edge dragging the offending tape deck with him.

"I'm glad you guys finally waited up," he panted, with a tone of accusation in his voice. "I guess I rested too long at the last stop we made, and got behind."

"It would probably be easier to keep up if you weren't dragging that machine along with you," Clay said.

"But then I wouldn't be able to hear my music," Sam countered. "My ear phones aren't working right for some reason. I like it better without them anyhow."

"At least with the ear phones the rest of us don't have to listen to it," Clay said.

Sam made no effort to turn down the volume, even though he and Clay were almost shouting at each other above the noise. "Are you going to start in on me about my music now," he protested. "Man, you are on my ass about everything.

"I think the rest of us have a right to live without that 'music', as you call it, pounding in our ears all day long. Part of the reason we come out here is to get away from all that kind of shit."

"I just came along to have fun." Sam said. " My music makes it more fun."

The two stood facing each other like an old and a young bull moose with growing hostility. "It doesn't make it more fun for the rest of us," Clay objected.

"I've got rights too," Sam responded, defiantly. "If I want to listen to my music, that's my business."

"While you're on this trip with me that's not entirely true---especially if you are not using ear phones."

"I told you, the ear phones are broken."

"That's your problem. I want the music off."

Sam turned it down just a fraction. "How's that your highness."

"No. Off. I want it totally off."

"Aw, Clay. Get off my back. You've been riding me about everything."

"I want the tape deck turned off Sam."

"I'm not going to do it, Clay. You can't just boss me around like I've got no rights." With an air of defiance, Sam tried to walk on past Clay with the rock music still blaring. Clay grabbed him by his arm, swung him around, and grabbed the tape deck out of his hand. With a fury that startled the rest of the group as well as Sam, Clay lifted the tape deck into the air and hurtled it to the ground. Hitting rocks, the tape deck was smashed into a useless piece of twisted junk. Sam stared at it for several seconds with amazement and shock.

"You broke my tape deck," he gasped. "You son-of-a-bitch. You broke my tape deck. I can't believe you did that." His voice became louder and shriller as he spoke.

"God damn it, Sam, you're going to have to stop fighting with me ever time I ask you to do something."

"You've got to get me another tape deck. That was no cheapo one either. I want another one just like it."

"I'll get you another one as soon as the trip is done. Then you can do anything you damn well please. But while we are on this trip you are going to do as I tell you."

"That's no problem, Clay. No problem. I'm heading for home as soon as we get back down the mountain. I've had enough of this shit."

"Suit yourself, Sam."

"So when are you going to get me my tape deck?"

"When the trip is over."

"I want it tonight. I came here with a tape deck and I have a right to go home with one."

"We'll talk about that when we get down the mountain."

"Talk about it, my ass. There's nothing to talk about. You owe me a tape deck."

Seeing the look on Clay's face and the way his muscles tightened up, Nadine became afraid that he was going to hit Sam. "Come on, Sam, she said, going up to him. "You're going to get another tape deck. Lets move on and give everybody a chance to cool off."

"Son of a bitch broke my tape deck," Sam muttered, but he allowed himself to be led off by Nadine.

During the rest of the trek across the plateau Sam and Clay made a point of avoiding each other.

When the group reached the summit they all took out the sandwiches and fruit that had been brought along for lunch. Lester paired off with Clay, Nadine with Sam, and Jacob with Becky.

"I'm glad," Becky said to Jacob. Sitting together on a flat slab of rock, they were just out of ear shot from the others provided they did not speak too loudly.

"What do you mean?" asked Jacob.

"About Sam. I'm glad he's leaving."

"Maybe he will change his mind."

"I don't think so."

"Why?"

"Cause he's so mad. When he gets mad he gets stubborn. Besides, Clay is going to make him mind. He doesn't want that."

"Clay really shouldn't have broke his tape deck."

"But Sam had it coming. Are you glad?"

"About his leaving?" asked Jacob.

Becky nodded. Jacob thought this question over for a few moments. He really was glad. He too felt that Sam was ruining everything. But he had also been friends with Sam and felt guilty admitting that he was, in fact relieved. He shrugged. "I don't know," he said.

"Well, I'm glad. Even if he is my brother, I'm glad he's leaving."

Shortly after finishing lunch the group started back down the mountain. Sam moved into the lead with Clay about 25 yards behind, accompanied by the two younger children. As they approached the rim of the plateau they encountered another group that had recently arrived from below, and was proceeding toward the final summit. There were two middle aged couples and two pre-teen boys in the group. As he approached them, Sam raised his arm in greeting. "Hi there."

The group returned friendly greetings, and Sam said, "We're from the Hitler Youth Group. Do you have any children with you who need to be roughed up?"

They stopped dead in their tracks and stared at Sam, speechless. "Its o.k." Sam assured them. "Everything is under control. That's our leader back there." With a sweeping gesture, he indicated Clay. "He's kind of scary looking, but don't worry. He's really not too dangerous unless you like rock music." Sam paused a few moments and appeared to be thinking while he let this information sink in. Then he added, reflectively, "Or if you play with yourself." He looked at the smaller of the two boys, who appeared to be about 9 or 10 years of age. "Do you do that?" Sam asked the boy.

The boy looked inquiringly at one of the adults as if to ask, "how am I to deal with this?" The adults, however, were at a loss for what to suggest.

"Never mind," Sam continued. "I understand. You do, but you don't want to say so with grown-ups around. That's o.k., but don't let on. God only knows what my leader there would do to you if he found out." Sam gave a furtive glance over his shoulder at Clay who was fairly close at this point. "Let me see your hands," he said. The boy held out his hands, obediently. Sam took them in his own and examined them carefully. He then shook his head, ominously. "Keep them behind you, and maybe he won't notice," he told the boy. "Well, I got to be heading on." Anxiously looking over his shoulder again, Sam started on down the path as though driven by a need to keep his distance from Clay.

As Clay, accompanied by the other two children, approached the group with the two boys, he nodded at them and muttered a vague greeting. The adults mumbled something in return. The two boys stared at Clay as though he were The Spirit of Katahdin emerging from a time warp. They both kept their hands behind them.

For the next hour and a half Sam kept a distance of about 50 or 100 yards in front of Clay. Each time he encountered a group coming up the mountain he would announce that he was part of the Hitler Youth Group, and would point out Clay as the leader.

Finally Sam seemed to tire of his role as the herald of the Hitler Youth Group and he began putting more distance between himself and the others. For a while Clay made some effort to keep him in sight but increasingly he felt the need to rest. The children with him noticed that he was periodically taking some pills. Soon Sam was far enough ahead that he could no longer seen.

Nadine and Lester joined Clay and the two younger children during one of the rest stops.

"I could run on ahead and possibly catch him," Lester offered.

What would you do if you did catch up with him?" Nadine asked.

Lester shrugged.

"Let him go for now," Clay advised.

By the time the group arrived back at the camp it was about six in the afternoon. Sam was gone. A quick check around the camp made it clear he had taken his things with him.

"What do you think?" Nadine asked.

"Well, he'll either hitch hike or try to catch a bus," Clay observed. "If he hitch-hikes there is probably no way to catch him. If he tries to catch a bus I think he'll find out he can't get one before early morning."

"Where does that leave us?" asked Lester.

I don't know," admitted Clay.

"I think we ought to make some effort to find him," Nadine said.

"So do I" Clay conceded. "But I don't feel too well right at this moment. Why don't you drive up the road to the expressway and back to see if you spot him. I need to rest for an hour or so. Then if he's not found I'll go have a look around. I'll call his father if we can't find him by then."

"Sounds like a plan to me," Lester agreed. "While Nadine is out I'll put together a little supper for us. I think you need some food."

As Lester rummaged through the back of their station wagon trying to find some things for supper, Jacob came up to him. "I saw Clay cough up some blood while we were climbing the mountain today," Jacob told him.

Lester studied the tension in his son's face for a moment and then said, "Yes, I know. But he has some medicine that will help. Maybe he'll be a little better after he rests."

An hour later Clay did look a little better for his rest, though he was still somewhat pale. Nadine had returned without having found Sam. Clay shoveled in the soup and sandwich that Lester had prepared without showing his usual inclination for supper conversation. Then rather abruptly he said, "its 7:30. I'm going to see if I can find Sam."

"Do you want anyone to come along?" asked Lester.

"No. I think it will work out better if I'm alone."

"Do you think you might be able to find him? Nadine asked.

"I don't have any idea," Clay admitted. "I do know some places that I might check."

Nadine wished that she were going along. She felt that she might have a better chance getting Sam to open up. However, she also realized that it was with Clay and his expectations that Sam had to cope if he was going to be able to continue on the trip. "I really do think Sam wants to be with us, even though he doesn't seem to show it," she ventured.

"I agree." Clay said.

Becky was appalled. Clay, it appeared, was actually going to make a real effort to find Sam and to try to talk him into returning. Why would he do such a thing? Suppose he succeeded? What then? "I don't think Sam will behave no matter what you do, she said to Clay. "He doesn't mind anybody."

"I understand why you're not too keen on having Sam on this trip," Clay conceded. "As I see it, though, all of us are like a single family. We can't just throw a family member away."

Becky shrugged.

"In any case," Clay added, "if he does come back he'll understand that he has to go by my rules on this trip."

As she watched Clay drive off, Becky thought about his comment that they were all one big family. She liked that thought. It made her feel happy to think of Clay as being sort of an extra father, Nadine a mother, and the whole group as a big cozy family. Still she hoped that Sam would be nowhere to be found.

In Millinocket Clay took a spin around a park where he believed most of the drug activity took place in that town. Then he proceeded on down the road another ten miles to a truck stop near the interstate. This truck stop served as the bus station for the area. As he came into the lunch room Clay spotted Sam hunched over an order of french fries in the booth nearest the back wall. Clay slipped into the booth opposite him. Sam looked up without saying anything.

"Hi," Clay said.

"What do you want?"

"Just wanted to talk with you."

"How'd you find me?"

"Figured you might head for the bus station. Besides, in this area there are only so many places a person would be likely to be."

"I thought maybe you had followed my tracks."

"Didn't have time for that."

"So what do you want?"

"What are your plans?"

"I'm going to catch the bus and go back home tomorrow morning."

"Do you have money."

"Enough for the bus."

"When does it leave."

"About six in the morning."

"I see. Where are you going to spend the night?"

"Haven't figured that out yet."

The waitress came and asked Clay if he wanted anything. He ordered onion rings and a cup of coffee.

"You want anything more," he asked Sam.

"No. This is fine," Sam answered, indicating his fries. After the waitress left, Sam ate his fries and ignored Clay for a while. Clay watched him eat and said nothing. Finally Sam spoke. "Why did you follow me?"

"To see if you might want to come back."

"What's it to you?"

"I want you to go with us on this trip."

"I'm not the same boy you knew before. I've changed."

"Changed or not, you're still a friend."

"You treat your friends pretty rough."

"I really will replace that tape deck."

Sam shrugged. "Anyway, why do you care what I do?"

"This is kind of an important trip to me in more ways than I can exactly explain. I want the people who are most important to me to come along on it."

"Don't you understand, Clay? I've changed. I'm not the same guy you knew before."

"Is that because of the drugs?"

Sam squirmed and looked up irritably. "What if it is," he asked.

"I had a problem with drugs, myself." Clay confided. "Alcohol mainly. You knew that didn't you?"

"I guess everybody knew that."

Clay winced slightly. "Its true. That's why my first marriage broke up."

"Why are you telling me this.?"

"I guess so that you will know that I understand about drugs."

"I'm not addicted or anything, you know. I can leave the stuff alone."

"That's good if you can."

The waitress arrived with Clay's onion rings and coffee. "Anything else?" she asked.

"Get him anything he wants."

The waitress looked inquiringly at Sam. "Maybe I will have a hamburger," he said.

"Better get something to drink with it," Clay suggested.

"And a Pepsi," Sam agreed.

Then turning to Clay, Sam continued. "I don't see why you want me along on this trip. The others sure don't want me."

"Nadine and Lester want you to come."

"I mean the kids."

"You've been pretty much of a pain in the ass to Becky. As for Jacob, I guess I don't know what he feels right now about you coming on this trip."

"I think he would rather be friends with Becky."

"You kids will have to sort that out."

After the waitress delivered his hamburger and Pepsi, Sam looked directly at Clay. "I really don't understand what this trip is all about." He said. "I don't know why you want me to come, or what you are hoping to do? Are you really trying to find a healing spring?"

"I've got two purposes for this trip," Clay answered. First, I want to find the spring my grandfather told me about. Second, I think I've learned some things I'd like to pass along."

"What things?"

"Native American stuff, mostly."

"That's why you want to tell the stories and everything."

Clay nodded.

"Clay?"

"Yes?"

"How sick are you?"

Sam reddened with the effort of asking this question.

"I'm pretty sick. I've got cancer and it's metastasized to several places."

"Metastasized?"

"Spread. In other words I've got it in more than one place in me."

"I see." He was silent for several moments while he digested this information. Finally he observed, almost casually, "you really do want me to go on this trip, don't you?"

"I really do. But you would have to leave the drugs alone, and you would have to mind. I'm the chief on this trip."

Sam shrugged. "Maybe I can handle that."

"I think you could."

Clay put his arm around his shoulder as they walked to the cashier.

When they arrived back in the camp Clay responded to the inquiring looks of Nadine and Lester with the comment "Sam and I have it worked out." That was all.

*****

During the next day, everybody rested up. Even the young people were exhausted and sore from the previous day's climb.

That evening the group gathered in a half circle around the fire. Clay sat on the bench of the picnic table, facing away from the table and toward the fire. On the table behind him he had placed a Coleman lamp so he would be able to read from a book. Becky sat beside him on the bench. Nadine and Lester were sitting on a blanket on his right, and Sam and Jacob on logs on his left. Nadine had prepared sassafras tea in a large pot which was propped on the edge of the fire place. The fire, lapping at the side of this pot, kept it warm. People helped themselves from time to time to the tea and to cookies which they took from an package on the picnic table. The stars were bright. The moon, enormous and red, was just rising from the horizon.

"Black Elk was nine years old when he had his great vision," Clay began. "This vision was to be the center of his life---the event that interpreted and gave meaning to everything else.

"As a child Black Elk had never seen white men or "Wasichus" as they were called by the Sioux. But now the Wasichus were pouring into the land. They were after gold. Black Elk had heard frightening prophecies about how they would destroy the way of life of his people.

With the other boys of his tribe he practiced riding, shooting and other skills of war----traditional Native American skills that would prove to be hopelessly inadequate in the face of the superior technology of the Wasichus.

"Black Elk's vision interpreted and give meaning to events that were anticipated and feared---but still in the future. These events, of course, were the military defeat of the Native Americans, and the destruction of our way of life by the Wasichus, the white men. How were the Sioux, and the other native Americans, to deal with this impending catastrophe, this holocaust?

As Lester listened to Clay's description of Black Elk's vision, he remembered him as a student back in college. Many of Clay's professors considered him to be one of their most "promising" students. But when he graduated and returned to Maine, Clay became neither a leader among his own people, nor a respected scholar or professional in the dominant culture. Instead, he went to work in the woods. Even there showed no particular inclination to rise to better paying or more responsible positions. He went through three unsuccessful marriages, none of which produced children, and he struggled with intermittent success with a strong tendency toward alcoholism. Clay haunted the nooks and crannies of the library at the University of Me. at Orono like a specter from ages past that by some fluke or accident had misplaced itself in the 20th century. But he added no books of his own authorship to the shelves.

By the standards of the world, Clay was a failure. Yet Lester was aware of feeling profoundly inferior to him. Clay, however, treated Lester not only as his equal, but as the one friend whom he could completely trust.

"According to the report here," Clay was saying, indicating his copy of Black Elk Speaks, "Black Elk was quite sick while he had this vision. Its not clear what he had, but we can speculate that it was a life-threatening illness, and that his vision was an example of what is currently being called, "a near-death-experience". However, we must understand that this illness was the occasion for, not the cause of, the vision.

"The vision begins, with the appearance of two warriors coming down out of the sky, like arrows or geese. These figures represent the help that we need if we are to transverse the space between the two worlds without undue danger. Black Elk had seen these figures before, as a younger child. They were preparing him then for this trip. They transport him up into the clouds where he sees horses of different colors arranged in a sort of a dance all across the sky.

"What colors were they?" asked Jacob.

"They were blacks, whites, sorrels, and buckskins, corresponding to the four directions," Clay answered.

"When I was little," Jacob said, "I used to think I had a horse ranch with horses of all different colors. They were blue and red and white and all the colors of the rainbow. I can still see them very clearly in my mind. It made me happy to think about them."

"I remember that," confirmed Nadine. "He was always talking about them. I didn't know exactly how to handle it. It sounded as though he actually thought he owned this ranch. But he was young, so I just listened."

"Later I saw pictures in a book by an artist who painted horses that looked just like the ones I had on my ranch. What was that artist's name, Mom?"

"I think it was Franz Marc. You were obsessed with those pictures. I remember we had to send away for prints so you could have them up in your room."

"I think they are still around someplace"

"Those may be the same horses that Black Elk saw," Clay suggested. They appear in different ways to different people. Rainbows play an important part in Black Elk's dream, and the horses could easily have taken on the colors of the rainbow."

This thought was strangely exciting to Jacob. He listened with rapt attention as Clay continued telling about the vision of Black Elk.

"After seeing the horses, Black Elk was led to a great rainbow tepee in which the six grandfathers lived. They corresponded to the four directions and the sky and the earth. These grandfathers were the powers and principalities of the world.

" Each of the grandfathers gave Black Elk an object that gave him special power. I'm only going to tell you about one of these gifts right now---there is too much in this vision to try to give it to you all at once. The forth grandfather gave Black Elk a bright red stick. This was the grandfather who represented the south from which comes the power to grow. The stick represented what he called the 'living center of a nation'. It is this center that has been lost, both by the Native American, and by the Wasuchi. This is the center that Yeats speaks of when he says, "the center cannot hold." Let me read to you the description of the stick.

"And I saw that he was holding in his hand a bright red

stick that was alive, and as I looked it sprouted at the top and sent forth branches, and on the branches many leaves came out and murmured, and in the leaves the birds began to sing." "Do you remember the Mustard Tree that Jesus tells about. It begins small and grows into a great tree, and the birds seek protection in its limbs."

"It does sound similar," Lester conceded.

"It is the same," Clay insisted. "On the level from which important visions come, we all share in the same collective mind. What one of us knows, we all know. The visions and great spiritual truths expressed in one tradition are the same as those expressed in another tradition."

Lester frowned. "Suppose what you say is true," he said. "How does that help those of us for whom all the traditions have lost the power to speak.?"

"Receptivity to the mythic language has to be re-kindled," Clay answered.

"How is that to happen?"

"That's what we are on this trip to find out," Clay said.

Lester shrugged. "Well, I guess we'll see," he said.

"For now, lets get back to the vision," Clay said. "After Black Elk gets his special powers from the six grandfather's, he goes out and defeats a drought that is threatening his people, and offers them the sacred stick to give them power and hope. But his people are to face hard times. This is represented in the vision by the three ascents. You can picture these ascents as three plateaus on a long and very difficult journey. Its a little like Moses trying to get through the wilderness with his people .

"As things get worse and as people become less conscious, humanity loses track of the fact that we are accountable to a moral law higher than our own whims and impulses. The "law written in the heart", as it is referred to by Jeremiah and Paul in the Bible, is no longer taken seriously. Our social conscience evaporates, and with it our capacity to be a "people" in any deep sense. The results are the boredom, anarchy, violence, superficiality and decadence of the modern world. Here's how black Elk speaks of it: "And as they walked the third ascent, all the animals and fowls that were the people ran here and there, for each one seemed to have his own little vision that he followed, and his own rules; and all over the universe I could hear the winds at war like wild beasts fighting."

"With each one having his or her own little vision, and own set of rules, there is no adequate foundation for real community. And with the loss of community, we also lose the sacred. Here is Black Elk's description of the fourth assent. And when we reached the summit of the third ascent and camped, the nation's hoop was broken like a ring of smoke that spreads and scatters, and the holy tree seemed dying and all its birds were gone. And when I looked ahead I saw that the fourth ascent would be terrible.

Clay paused and then said, "That's where we are now."

After another pause Sam broke into the silence. "Come on, Clay, that's depressing." he declared

"It is," Clay agreed.

"Also, you sound like a preacher again," Sam added.

"I suppose I do," Clay admitted.

"So how is all this supposed to end?" Sam asked. "I guess we will all be squashed like little worms by the great grandfathers in the sky and that will be that. Is that more or less it?"

"Interestingly, that's not the way the vision ends. In the vision, Black Elk is successful in effecting a re-creation of the world by using the powers he received from the six grandfathers. And shortly before the two warriors take him back to earth where he re-awakens in his earthly body, he he shown a beautiful and universal vision of how the world might be. That's the last thing I'd like to read to you from this book tonight."

"Black Elk describes himself in the vision as standing on a very high mountain at the center of the world." Clay explained, opening the book again and searching out his place. "He is looking down and can see the 'whole hoop of the world.'" "And while I stood there I saw more than I can tell and I understood more than I saw; for I was seeing in a sacred manner the shapes of all things in the spirit, and the shape of all shapes as they must live together like one being. And I saw that the sacred hoop of my people was one of many hoops that made one circle, wide as daylight and as starlight, and in the center grew one mighty flowering tree to shelter all the children of one mother and one father. And I saw that it was holy.

For about ten minutes the group sat in silence, listening to the night sounds and staring at the fire. Even Sam was quiet and seemed content within himself, and in harmony with the rest of the group. Finally Clay announced that he was very tired, and he went to bed.

Chapter Six -- Crimes

Shortly after breakfast Sam went down to the pond and began to amuse himself by shooting at ducks with his new Wham-o slingshot. The ducks were feeding a fair distance across the pond, and he had not yet quite found the range.

"How's the lovers today," he called to Jacob and Becky as he saw them approach.

"We're not lovers, Sam." Becky protested. "Why can't a boy and a girl just be good friends without everybody teasing them?"

Sam shrugged. "Beats me," he said, turning his attention back to his sling shot.

"What are you doing?" asked Jacob.

"Shooting ducks."

Jacob looked out across the pond where he saw the group of ducks. Then he watched Sam load his sling shot with a ball bearing and take another shot at them. The pellet hit the water quite close to one of the ducks.

"Hey," Jacob protested. "You can't do that!"

"Why not?" asked Sam as he fitted another pellet into his sling shot.

"You can't kill things just for fun. Besides, its illegal in the park," Jacob said, hoping that the legal argument might carry some weight.

"It won't kill a duck even if I hit one," Sam answered, taking aim once again. "I just want to see them jump."

"I'm going to tell Clay," Becky threatened.

Sam looked at her out of the corner of his eyes, without turning his head. "Go ahead. Tattle on me. Clay can't do anything about it."

"I think he can. He sure took care of your hard rock music."

"He's going to get me another tape deck." Sam said. "He and I got all that worked out."

"So I don't think he'll like you shooting ducks very much."

"Its because you're such a tattle tale that nobody likes you hanging around," Sam said. Then, turning his attention back to his sling shot, he took careful aim, and released the pouch. One of the ducks squawked and jumped in a startled manner. Then it started picking at its side with its bill. Sam laughed. "Did you see that sucker jump?" he chortled. He began loading his sling shot for another try.

As he went to take another shot, Jacob pulled his arm down. "No more of that, Sam," he ordered.

Sam pushed him away and took aim again. "Who says? I can do as I fucking well please."

"Its not right," Jacob insisted, coming back at him and grabbing his arm.

Sam pulled away and back-handed Jacob smartly across his face. "Leave me alone, Jacob, or I'll hurt you for real."

All the impotent rage that had been building up in Jacob for the last few of days let loose, and he hit Sam with his fist square in the eye, and threw himself upon him.

Sam was taken completely by surprise, and as they hit the ground Jacob held him in a head lock. Briefly it looked as though Jacob might be his match. As they rolled on the ground Becky shouted, "Clay, come quick. Sam and Jacob are fighting." She could see him at the picnic table in front of their tent some 50 yards off, and she waved frantically.

Jacob was tough and wiry, and in a rage, but Sam was bigger and stronger, and was the more experienced fighter. Gradually he extricated himself from the head lock and staggered to his feet. As Jacob got up Sam hit him hard in his mouth. Jacob was stunned and grabbed his mouth which began bleeding almost at once. Then Sam threw him down on the ground on his back and got on top of him. Being hit in the mouth took a lot of the fight out of Jacob, and he gradually realized that Sam was simply stronger than he was. He began to cry with frustration and hurt while Sam sat on his stomach, held his wrists pinned to the ground, and taunted him. "What you going to do now, you big sissy. What you going to do now? Tattle, just like Becky would do? I guess I'll shoot whatever I want." He let loose of Jacob's wrist long enough to slap him in the face.

"All right, thats enough," announced Clay as he lifted Sam bodily off of Jacob and set him down a few feet to one side. "Whats going on here?"

"Jacob figured he was going to be my boss," Sam explained.

"Sam was trying to kill the ducks and Jacob tried to stop him," Becky corrected.

"Always jumping into my business, aren't you, little sister." Sam said, glaring at her.

His face streaked with tears, Jacob stood up holding his mouth. Twice he began to try to say something but after one or two barely intelligible words he would start to cry. After trying a third time unsuccessfully to control his crying while he talked, he shook his head and began walking off in the direction of his tent. Clay made no attempt to stop him. "Go with him, and make sure one of his parents looks at his mouth," he instructed Becky. She glared at Sam and then ran along to catch up with Jacob.

"I guess you're not hurt," Clay said to Sam.

"Naw."

"Looks like he might have got you in the eye."

"I got him back."

"Is it true you were trying to kill the ducks?"

"Hell no. I was just doing a little target practice with my slingshot. It wouldn't kill them."

"It could if you hit them right."

Sam shrugged. "I doubt it."

"Well, I don't want you shooting anything alive. Where is the sling shot?"

Sam looked around and saw it where he had dropped it when he first started fighting with Jacob. He picked it up and shoved it into his hip pocket. "I won't shoot any more ducks," he said.

"Let me have it," Clay demanded. "You can have it back when we are done with the trip."

"Aw, Clay, get off it. What are you going to do, take everything I own."

"I want it, Sam."

For perhaps fifteen seconds Sam stood staring at Clay in a state of indecision. Finally he pulled it out of his pocket, threw it on the ground, and stomped off.

*****

"Can you tell me what happened, Jacob?" Nadine asked him as she washed his face off with cool water. Jacob only shook his head. "Maybe later?" she prompted. Jacob shrugged non-commitally. "Honey, you've got to talk about these things if we are going to get them worked out," she pleaded. When she still got no response she said, "well, let me look at your mouth." Jacob cooperated with her effort to examine his injury. The bleeding had stopped of its own accord. "I think you're going to have quite a fat lip and a bruise, but I don't think you need stitches. Sure you don't want to tell me anything about it?"

"Sam and me had a fight. Thats all."

"I know that much."

Jacob shrugged. "Can I use your tent?" he asked. Nadine understood that he didn't want to go to his own sleeping place in Clay's tent because he shared his tent with Sam.

"Sure, honey. Lie down on my sleeping bag. We'll talk about it later."

*****

"It sure isn't like having those three pliable little kids we had up at your camp three years ago," Nadine said. "I don't remember Jacob flying off the handle and getting in to a fight like that since he was five or six years old."

Nadine and Clay were sitting under a tree to protect themselves from the afternoon sun while they watched the two younger children play around the pond.

"He was trying to protect the ducks," Clay observed, by way of Jacob's defense.

"Still, its not like him. And now he's clammed up and I can't get him to talk about it"

"His manly pride is hurt," said Clay. "

"Why should that be? He stood up for what he believed?"

"But he lost the fight."

"What difference does it make who won or who lost. That just a matter of who happens to be bigger or stronger. He doesn't think like that. He knows better."

"He's a man," said Clay. "So he does think like that. Or at least he feels that way, and those feelings will over-ride his more civilized thoughts."

"Hes not a man. He's a boy."

"He's a male on his way to becoming a man. He feels what a male feels regardless of what his head tells him, or mental health people tell him, or what anybody tells him. Its wired into the species. Its too ancient to be changed by a few hundred years of civilization."

"I can't accept it that the best we can do is behave like a bunch of walruses around issues of dominance and physical power." Nadine protested.

"I agree, but I'm not sure what the answer is. One problem is that physical power still is the final word in a lot of situations whether we like it or not."

"But we can set up rules that make it impossible for any individual or sub-group to bully another one."

"To some extent that may be possible," Clay agreed. "But it won't be very successful unless we begin with the understanding that men and women start at different points. They need different kinds of socializing experiences. Beneath the thin veneer of civilization, in every male there is a walrus. I agree it needs re-direction, education, and control. But it can't be ignored."

Nadine smiled. "Thats a funny way of putting it."

"The walrus was your image---its a good one."

Nadine shook her head. "I still can't accept it. "I don't want to raise a walrus."

Clay smiled. "You are raising a very beautiful human being."

"Thank you. I think so too...at least most of the time."

"I haven't had a chance to talk with Lester since the fight," Clay said. "How did he react?"

"He was pretty upset. Said he couldn't decide whether we should can the trip or....or...."

"Or what?"

"Or 'smack the shit out of Sam'. Thats just how he put it. I couldn't believe it. Lester doesn't talk that way."

"Its the walrus coming out," Clay observed.

*****

After supper that evening Nadine and Jacob were doing the dishes. "I understand that when you got into the fight with Sam you were trying to protect the ducks," Nadine said, trying to open the topic for discussion again.

Jacob shrugged.

"Even though I don't approve of fighting as a general thing, I think you were trying to do a good thing by that."

"Thanks."

"You know it doesn't make any difference who wins or loses a fight don't you. Really we shouldn't be fighting to try to solve things anyway."

"Sure, Mom. I know that."

Somehow Nadine felt that she still wasn't quite getting through.

*****

When Clay joined the group around the fire that evening, he sat down beside Sam. "Hows the duck hunter?" he asked.

Nadine cringed. Clay had a way of bringing up sensitive issues at exactly the moment that, from her point of view, they needed to be left alone.

Sam grinned sheepishly and shrugged.

"We are agreed, then, no more killing things on this trip, eh?" Clay appeared to be re-iterating an agreement that had been arrived at earlier.

Sam nodded.

"Good." Clay pulled Sams slingshot out of his back pocket and handed it to him.

"Do we get a story tonight?" Becky asked.

"I thought I might tell you all about the Wiwilemec monster," Clay responded. "But I'm not sure whether you are ready."

"We're ready," Becky assured him.

Its something that happened to some friends of mine not too far from here." Clay said. "It could be a little frightening."

"So tell us," Becky insisted, impatiently.

"Being a Penobscot Indian, my friend Tony and his family had all heard of the Wiwilemec monster..." Clay began.

"I don't even know what a Wiwilamec Monster is," protested Becky.

"A Wiwilemec Monster is like a giant slug---about twenty or thirty feet long." Clay explained

"Like one of those slimy things that gets into gardens?" Becky asked.

"Exactly," Clay said

Becky wrinkled up her nose. "Gross!" she said.

My friend thought so," agreed Clay. "And so did his daughter, Mandy. But before you can understand what happened to my friend and his family you have to know about Meteulins and poohigans.""

"About what," asked Jacob.

"Meteulins and poohigans. A meteulin was an Indian shaman---that is a magician or a medicine man. It was a man or a woman with special powers that could be used for either good or for evil. Every meteulin had a special animal that he or she was identified with. That special animal was the meteulin's poohigan. The meteulin received information and power from this animal and, on occasion, could even turn himself into it. A powerful meteulin could also change the size of his poohigan after taking on its form. The original Wiwilemek monster was the poohigan of Micmac meteulin who was a rival to the powerful Penobscot meteulin known as Old John Neptune. Old John Neptune changed into his poohigan, which was an eel, and defeated his rival in a battle in a lake not far from here. The lake is still slimy and stinky from that terrible battle. But some feel that may not have been the last Wiwilemec monster. It might, after all, be possible for some other meteulin to take on the slug as his or her poohigan."

"If I were going to have a poohigan it wouldn't be a slimly slug," Becky protested.

"I'm not sure poohigans are chosen," Clay replied. "I think they may be simply discovered. Perhaps we all have one, though most of us can't literally take on that form."

"Mine would be a fox," Jacob declared.

"That would fit," Clay observed.

An expectant hush fell on the group, and after a few moments of somber reflection, Clay launched into his story.

"My friend Tony had come by to talk with me the day before going on a camping trip with his family. I remember how much he was looking forward to his vacation. He and another guy from Indian Island, named Louis, both worked in a firm that had its office in Bangor. My friend had been chosen for a position that Louis wanted, and Louis was very angry at him. He figured that if it weren't for Tony, he would have been promoted. Louis was a very vindictive man and started rumors of various kinds in the Indian community about my friend. It was very unpleasant, and Tony was looking for a chance to get away from it all.

Tony camped on a lake not far from here with his wife, his daughter Mandy, and his two sons. The forestry department was trying to keep it quiet, but there were rumors that quite a number of campers had been lost in the last few years under mysterious circumstances. Mostly it was children. It appeared that someone or some thing carried them off when they were sleeping out under the stars. All that was ever found was a strange trail of slime leading up to the place where the child was, and back to the lake."

Mandy had heard of the Wiwilemec Monster, but being a modern child, she she didn't believed stories. At least during the day she didn't. After dark she had second thoughts, and the rumors floating around about children disappearing put her on edge."

Thoughts of this kind had made it difficult to fall asleep that night. She was aware that they were camping in the very region where Old John Neptune's fight with the Wiwilemec had happened, and something told her to be wary. She was sleeping out under the stars with her two brothers, who were younger than she. Tony and his wife had gone off for a walk in the moon light."

It was at about eleven o'clock at night when she first heard a strange sloshing noise. She sat up in her sleeping bag and peered out across the lake. At first she saw nothing. Then she noticed two stalks sticking up out of the water. They looked suspicious, and as she studied them more closely she saw them move. Then, much to her horror, she noticed that on the ends of these stalks there were eyes. They were surveying the shore. She knew at once that it was the Wiwilemec Monster out looking for food.

She watched the creature make its way slowly toward the shore. The undulating movement of its lothesome body just beneath the surface of the water created the sloshing noise that had first alerted her to its presence.

Her first thought was to run and try to find her mother and father," but she realized she couldn't leave her brothers alone. Then she thought of waking her them, but they were so young they would panic and she didn't want to have to deal with that. Also she was afraid they might simply die of fright if they saw the monster coming after them. She had heard of people doing that.

She didn't have much time to figure out what to do because the monster was even now oozing out of the water and slithering up toward the place where they were camped.

Mandy thought about trying to lure the creature away from her brothers---but what could she use? She had to find something that this slug creature might like better than small children. What could that be?

She glanced around. The cooler sitting on the picnic table just a few yards away caught her eye. Beer! That was it. Slugs liked beer. That was how gardeners lured them into little jars buried in the ground where they drowned. She had seen her own father use this method of killing slugs in order to protect his garden.

Mandy pulled herself out of the sleeping bag and ran to the cooler. Opening it, she pulled out the six-pack of dark beer her father had brought along, and ran back to where her brothers lay, still asleep and impervious to the danger they were in. The monstrous, quivering, slimly body of the slug was only a few yards away by this time. It slid across the ground more quickly than Mandy would have expected.

Twisting the cap of a bottle off, Mandy sloshed some in the direction of the beast, and then poured out a trail leading away from the sleeping bags occupied by her siblings. It worked! The smell of the beer caught the attention of the beast, and it began following the trail away from the sleeping children.

The creature was able to move about as fast as an adult might walk at a brisk pace. Moving backwards away from it, Mandy sloshed a bit of beer here and there to keep the creature interested. From time to time the creature threatened to overtake her, and she would have to turn and run in order to put some distance between her and it. She found herself heading toward the sand pit that was cut into a hill just little ways from the camp site. Opening additional bottles of beer as needed, Mandy led the Wiwilemec back into this pit. As she opened the sixth beer, she found herself at the back side of the pit, and she began climbing the steep, sandy slope.

The loose sand continuously gave way beneath her feet, and the Wiwilemec was gaining on her. By the time she had negotiated two thirds of the slope the creature was so close she could smell the murky swampy oder of its body. In throwing her last beer bottle at the creature Mandy spilled beer all over herself. She realized that, from the Wiwilemec's point of view, this was like adding seasoning to the meal.

More out of sheer desperation than anything else, Mandy began digging out loose sand with her hands and flinging it at the monster. To her surprise this seemed to slow the creature down. It didn't like sand on its slimy body, and especially it did not like sand in its eyes. So she began shoveling in earnest. The creature reared back, swayed precariously, and then fell backward. Loosing its grip entirely, it then started rolling down the hill. As the Wiwilemec rolled, sand stuck to its body, as it would to a piece of buttered bread.

Mandy turned and finished climbing the hill. When she reached the top she looked back. At the bottom of the hill she saw the Wiwilemec writhing around in the sand. It was totally coated. The sand was drying out its body---which is one thing that a Wiwilemec can not long tolerate. It was quite helpless---neither able to move purposefully across the ground, nor to see where it was going.

When Mandy brought her mother and father to see it the next morning, all that was left was a large, slug shaped mound of slimy sand. Before the forest rangers could come to investigate later, there was a rain, which washed away even this evidence that the beast had ever existed."

But my friend and his family didn't learn the strangest part of this whole business until they returned home. It turned out that Tony's rival at work, Louis, was found dead in his bed the morning after Mandy had her encounter with the Wiwilemec monster. His skin was leathery, dry, and dusty, as though some strange disease had completely dehydrated him.'"

*****

As he lay in bed, Jacob re-called vividly the experience of lying on the ground under Sam's sweaty body, his wrists pinned, and his mouth hurting. The inescapable facts had been driven painfully home: Sam was stronger than he was, and more aggressive, and a more skilled fighter. Vividly he recalled Sam's contemptuous face grinning above him, and heard the words cut into him like knife stabs, "What you gong to do now, Huh?" He felt once again the humiliation of knowing that he could do nothing. In his fantasy he kept playing with a different outcome. Battered and bloody, he saw himself as never-the-less coming out on top. He imagined Sam contritely begging his forgiveness, and agreeing never to shoot ducks again. He imagined Sam professing a new respect for him, and their friendship progressing, with him being slightly dominant. He imagined Becky and even the adults admiring him for his determination, for his gutsy willingness to fight, and for his defending helpless creatures. But it hadn't happened that way. He had been soundly whipped by Sam. If Clay had not come along he would have had to either beg for mercy or take a further beating.

Clay lay on his back in a sleeping bag between the two boys. His mouth hung open and he snored annoyingly. Sam snored less loudly, but just as annoyingly, over on his side of the tent. Usually Jacob was asleep by the time Clay came to bed. This was the first time that snoring had been such a problem. Listening to the snoring while going over and over in his mind about the fight was intolerable. He had to urinate anyhow, so he pulled himself out of his sleeping bag and let himself out through the mosquito netting door of the tent. It was only moderately cool in the night air.

Nobody was up in the campground, so Jacob was not self-conscious about wandering around in just his undershorts. After relieving himself over at the edge of the woods he came back and sat down at the picnic table. He figured it was probably about three in the morning. It was some relief to be away from the snoring, but the memory of the fight continued to intrude painfully into his consciousness. Perhaps what cut most deeply was that it seemed to Jacob that Clay was more fond of Sam than he was of himself. That just wasn't fair. Jacob tried to get along with people and do what adults expected, at least most of the time, while Sam treated everybody like dirt and did as he pleased. And still Clay seemed to prefer Sam. Jacob wondered whether Clay saw Sam as more manly.

He picked up his pocket knife, which he had left on the table the previous evening, and began carving idly on a stick. As he carved he continued to ruminate about the injuries both to his body and to his feelings. When he glanced over at the tent, he saw Clay's cowboy boots parked just outside the door. The thought to go and slash them flashed in his mind. The thought surprised and distressed him. He turned his attention to other matters. In a couple of minutes, however, he caught himself fantasying that he had slashed the boots and that Clay was finding them the next morning. He took perverse pleasure in imagining Clay's rage and helpless frustration as he shouted out "who the hell did this." It was known that Clay was very proud of his boots. Then it occurred to Jacob that it would be by no means obvious that he was the one who did it. Suspicion would most naturally fall, in fact, upon Sam. After all it was Sam's tape deck that Clay destroyed, and it was Sam's sling shot that Clay had confiscated. Finally it was Sam who had the reputation for doing impulsive and destructive things. The idea of Sam being blamed by Clay served so many gratifying purposes that Jacob could not bring himself to just let the matter drop.

Getting up very slowly and quietly, Jacob crept back to the tent. Without allowing himself to argue it back and forth any more in his mind, Jacob picked up one of the boots and scratched deep x's into the leather with his jack knife. He then slipped quietly back into the tent and into his sleeping bag. The tenor-base counterpoint of the snoring of his two companions reassured him that his act had gone unnoticed.

*****

Jacob was wakened by the sound of Clay unzipping the mosquito netting and crawling out of the tent. The memory of what he had done to Clay's boot hit him with the shock of being thrown into a pool of ice water. He knew that it had been mistake. Without moving he peered out through the mosquito netting. He could see Clay sitting on the ground, pulling on one boot. Then he watched him pick up the other boot. For several interminable seconds Clay stared at the boot. Then he ran his finger slowly and reflectively along the scratches Jacob had cut into them the night before. Jacob's heart was beating so wildly that he fancied that the sound of it might give him away. Finally, Clay pulled on the second boot, and glanced back into the tent. As Clay's face turned back toward the inside of the tent Jacob closed his eyes and feigned sleep.

*****

Clay was drinking his after breakfast cup of coffee out of a his stone-ware mug. The others were all sitting with him at the table. Clay had asked them to hang around for a few minutes after breakfast. "As we all know, we are all having a bit of trouble getting along on this trip," he announced. He glanced at the children one after another and, without exception, they averted their eyes. "The question has come up of whether its worth while for us to try to continue."

He looked down at his mug and was quiet for a moment. Then he continued. "I think I owe you all an explanation of my purpose for this trip. Then maybe you will know whether you want to choose to continue or not. Nobody has to come. I will manage with you or without you." He paused, reflected, and then continued.

"Let me try to explain. When I was in college I had a series of dreams that all seemed to have a common theme. I would be trying to bring something from my own culture to the non-Indian people around me, and there was always something that got in the way. Either I couldn't find the thing I wanted to give, or it was broken or somebody didn't want it. It might be an arrow head, or a piece of pottery, or an old artifact---different things.

I remember one of these dreams involved the woman who was to become my first wife. I brought her an Indian blanket---something you might wrap up a baby in. A part of the meaning was clear enough. I wanted her to be a mother to my child. But it wasn't just a blanket. It was an Indian blanket. Well, she just walked off and forgot it. It didn't mean enough to her for her to remember it. I remember how sad I felt when I stood there and looked at the blanket sitting there on the chair where she had forgotten it. Of course that was just a dream---but dreams always show us something about how things really are."

"Its like in those dreams," Clay continued. I want somebody to give the Indian things to. But I don't want to drag along anybody who doesn't want to come."

There was silence for a couple of minutes. Sam was the first to speak. "Thats why you want us to tell us all that Indian stuff," he observed.

Clay nodded."

"I want to go," Sam replied.

"So do I," said Becky.

"What about you, Jacob," Lester asked.

"I want to go, too" Jacob blurted out, with more emotion than he had intended to show. "I want to go more than anything." He was almost at the point of tears. He looked at his father with a pleading expression.

"I think we all want to go," said Lester.

"I'm glad," said Clay.

*****

Later that morning Clay called Jacob over to the picnic table.

"Jacob, I discovered a funny thing this morning,", he said.

"Yes?"

"I found that one of my boots had been scratched up a bit."

"Maybe you did that while climbing those rocks when we went up on the mountain."

"No, this looked like someone actually cut some x's in one of my boots, like on purpose."

"Really? On purpose?"

"Yep, let me show you." Clay pulled his boot off and held it up where Jacob could see it.

"That really does look like someone did it on purpose," Jacob conceded.

"It does."

"I wonder who might have done that?"

"Just what I wondered myself. Do you have any thoughts?"

"I don't know," Jacob said.

"But do you have any ideas? Hear anybody say anything about getting even with me or being mad at me or anything?"

There was a long pause during which neither spoke. Finally Jacob said, "Well Sam might be mad at you for breaking his tape deck and for taking his sling shot."

"Yes, he might be. Probably is, in fact. Do you have any more definite reason for thinking he might have done this?"

"Not really."

"Hmm. Me neither."

"Guess there's no way to be sure." Jacob observed.

"Suppose I could figure out some way to be sure who did it, though. What do you think I should do to whoever did this?"

"I don't know, Clay. It's your boots. Whatever you think."

"I know it's my boots. Still, what do you think would be fair?"

Jacob shrugged. "Maybe send him home?"

"I see." Clay seemed to consider this idea and then said, "Well, I'll think about it, and see if I can find any more evidence. There's nothing to be done right now."

Chapter Seven -- Chief Crashing Tape

"I remember how we used to go skinny dipping at Clay's Camp," Jacob commented. He was walking with his mother down a path toward a small sandy beach.

"That was nice," she said. "But you are probably getting a bit too old to go skinny dipping in mixed company."

"I was just remembering," said Jacob.

After leaving the campground at Katahdin the day before, they had checked into a commercial camping area on Cold Stream Pond. That afternoon they paddled to a secluded area on the opposite side of the lake. There they had parked the canoes at a little clearing, and set up camp. The beach that they were approaching was about a hundred yards from the clearing.

Boulders that protruded from the water a little ways from shore provided good platforms for diving. The children were not long in discovering and taking advantage of this fact. Even Sam seemed to re-gain some of his youthful innocence and capacity for simple pleasures as they dove, splashed, chased and hid among the rocks.

After a brief swim, Nadine returned to shore where she joined Clay on a rock. Now that he wore only his trunks, the toll taken by his illness was plain. He was still muscular, but his ribs stuck out a bit from his sides, and a surgical scar across his abdomen was clearly visible.

"How are you feeling?" Nadine asked.

"Not too bad," he said. "I get tired a lot easier than I used to." He seemed depressed to Nadine.

"You keep up with the rest of us pretty well."

"I was in pretty good shape until this illness came along."

"We're looking for you to set the pace. Don't overdo it."

"I'm doing o.k."

"I hope you don't mind me worrying. I don't mean to get into your business."

"I don't mind." He smiled. "Being sick has made me think a lot about illness," he said. "Its quite interesting, actually."

"How is that?"

"Well, the place of illness in Native American history for one thing. Diseases were much more important than guns in defeating the indigenous populations."

"I think I heard that," Nadine said.

"Its true." Clay continued. "The Europeans brought over a lot a diseases that had never existed in the New World. These diseases must have developed after the group that originally colonized the New world split off and became a separate population from the Asians. That was during the time of the ancient migrations across the Aleutian islands. So the Native Americans never knew these diseases and therefore never had any resistance to them. Mumps, measles, small pox, bubonic plague and a lot of others all developed in the old world, and were brought to the New World by the settlers, mainly in the 17th century. Some of them, like measles, were only of minor importance to the Europeans, but were quite lethal to the Native Americans.

"The early Puritan settlers described how whole villages of Native Americans were wiped out so rapidly by one or another of these diseases that they didn't have time or energy to properly dispose of their dead. The bodies would simply be left on the surface of the ground to rot. Sometimes thousands of skeletons were found near what used to be a thriving community."

"A cheerful topic," Nadine said.

"Some of the early settlers thought it was. Many of the Puritans interpreted this to be an act of God---It was His way of clearing away the land for occupation by the Europeans. Funny the ideas people get about God."

"If it was always the Native Americans that got wiped out by diseases, I can see why the Europeans might have interpreted it as God acting on their behalf. Didn't the Whites ever pick up anything from the them?"

"If it happened it was rare. Some people think syphilis was a new world disease, and for that reason it has been referred to as "the Indian's revenge". However that's not certain. Also some think that yellow fever might have been a new world disease. But overwhelmingly the process was, as you suggest, to the disadvantage of the Indians."

"What do you make of that?"

"I believe that disease is the result of human beings not living in harmony with the natural order."

Nadine thought this over a minute. "So you are suggesting it was because the European's Old World culture was so out of harmony with the natural order that they developed and carried so many diseases?"

"Basically, yes. One could go even further."

"How?"

"From the perspective of the early Native Americans, the ideas the Europeans brought with them were the basic virus."

"In other words, the European culture itself was the disease entity?"

"Exactly."

Jacob had been swimming in the shallow water with his snorkel and goggles on, exploring the area around the rocks. "Mom! Clay! Guess what I found?" he called to them after pulling his mask off. He was standing shoulder deep in the water near one of the diving rocks.

"What is it, dear?" asked Nadine.

"There is a little sun fish under the water not far from here---right at the base of that rock there. It has built a sort of sand nest, about as big as a plate. Its like a little shallow bowl in the sand. And it is guarding it! Just like a mother bird. It must have laid eggs there."

"That right," Clay confirmed. "Sunfish do that."

"When I swim real close, she swims away. But as soon as I back off she returns. Even though I'm a thousand times bigger than she is, she acts like she's ready to fight me off."

"That's the way it is with mothers," observed Nadine. "Even with fish mothers---protecting their homes and babies is more important than anything else."

"Well, I suppose that's the way it should be," Jacob observed. "At least until the babies get big enough take care of themselves." He put his mask back on and continued his explorations.

"Did I tell you about my boot?" Clay asked.

"What about your boot?" Nadine asked.

"During the night after Jacob and Sam had their fight someone cut some x,s in one of my boots."

Nadine looked at him with her eyebrows raised. "You mean on purpose?"

"I don't suppose someone could gouge five deep x's in a boot by accident."

"I never noticed."

"You probably don't stare at my boots a lot."

"Are they ruined."

"They aren't cut clear through, so I can still wear them. But it didn't improve their appearance any."

"I suppose Sam wanted to get even for your destroying his tape deck," Nadine conjectured.

"I'm not sure it was Sam."

"Who else?"

"Jacob was pretty upset about losing the fight that day."

"But why would he have taken it out on you?"

"Suppose he had thought that people would have concluded just what you did---that Sam did it. Then people might also conclude that we couldn't continue to have someone that destructive on our trip with us."

"What evidence do you have for such an unlikely explanation?" she asked.

"I found Jacob's knife near my boots in the morning."

"Sam could have done that to make you suspect Jacob."

"That's true."

"Where is the knife now?

"I left it where it was, and Jacob picked it up later in the day."

Nadine stared at him visibly shaken. "That doesn't prove anything." she said. "He may have just happened to notice it and concluded that he must have dropped it there by accident."

"I agree. Nothing is proven. All I know is that somebody is trying to get somebody else in trouble. As much as it upsets you, though, I can't rule out the possibility that Jacob may the the guilty one"

Nadine frowned. "It wouldn't be like him," she protested.

"People sometimes do things that aren't 'like them'", Clay observed.

From where he sat on the beach, Lester could see Nadine and Clay deep in conversation. Of course there was nothing wrong with their talking to each other. But there appeared to be an intensity and intimacy about how they related to each other that made him uneasy.

*****

"In black Elks vision, which I told you about the other night, Black Elk was nine years old," Clay explained to the group sitting around the fire. "Prior to that vision he had never seen Wasichus. During his life time, however, he witnessed the destruction of his people and their way of life by these aggressive and greedy people with their powerful technology. With the massacre at Wounded Knee, the will of his people to resist, at least in any military sense, was pretty well smashed. It marked the beginning of a period of almost complete despair and hopelessness.

"You will remember that in his vision Black Elk saw the hoop of the world from a tall mountain. He believed that mountain was Harney Peak in the black hills. When he was an old man he expressed the desire to go up onto that mountain for at least one last time, in the flesh. Arrangements, therefore, were made for such a trip to occur. John Neihart, the man who took down his story, and a few others including Black Elk's son, Ben, accompanied him on that trip.

"On his way up the mountain Black Elk remarked to Ben, that if he had any power left 'something should happen on this trip.' He predicted, specifically, that there should be 'at least a little thunder and a little rain.' Not only was the sky perfectly clear, but it was, in fact, a time of drought.

"When they arrived at the top of the mountain Black Elk showed them where he had stood in his vision when he surveyed the hoop of the world. He dressed so as to appear as he had in the vision, and then began to chant and to address his Grandfather the Great Spirit. He first recalled the power and grandeur of the Great Spirit who was responsible for creating all the beautiful things in the world. Then he recalled the vision, the gifts of power he had received in the vision, and the promise he had received that, with his help, the tree that represented the life and health of his people would bloom again.

"Let me read to you a few paragraphs from Black Elk Speaks, in which John Neihart describes what then happened. This section begins with Black Elk speaking."

With tears running, O Great Spirit, Great Spirit, my Grandfather---with running tears I must say now that the tree has never bloomed. A pitiful old man, you see me here, and I have fallen away and have done nothing. Here at the center of the world, where you took me when I was young and taught me; here, old, I stand, and the tree is withered, Grandfather, my Grandfather!

Again, and maybe the last time on this earth, I recall the great vision you sent me. It may be that some little root of the sacred tree still lives. Nourish it then, that it may leaf and bloom and fill with singing birds. Hear me, not for myself, but for my people; I am old. Hear me that they may once more go back into the sacred hoop and find the good red road, the shielding tree!"

We who listened now noted that thin clouds had gathered about us. A scant chill rain began to fall and there was low, muttering thunder without lightning. With tears running down his cheeks, the old man raised his voice to a thin high wail, and chanted: "In sorrow I am sending a feeble voice, O Six Powers of the World. Hear me in my sorrow, for I may never call again. O make my people live!"

For some minutes the old man stood silent, with face uplifted, weeping in the drizzling rain.

In a little while the sky was clear again.

*****

Despite the fact that an occasional logging truck was audible as it negotiated route two, which skirted the Penobscot River south of Lincoln, Jacob was able to imagine, for a while, that he was back in primordial times. It was a delicious illusion that was facilitated by Clay's vivid description of the importance of the River in the life of the Native Americans before the coming of the Europeans.

From their canoe, Jacob and Clay were exploring some of the islands in the river between Lincoln and Howland.

"The life of the Indians centered on the river and followed the seasons," Clay explained, as they glided around the north end of a long narrow island and continued down the river close to its west bank. "They would endure the harsh winter months upstream where they would camp in areas like this. They traveled as far inland as the area up around Mt. Katahdin. During this time of the year they would hunt deer, moose, and other smaller game---also caribou, which still lived in this area back then. Game was easier to track in the winter.

"As the ice in the rivers began breaking up in the spring they would start slowly down river, setting up camps in various places as they went. Near these camps they would plant their crops---mainly corn, squash, and beans. They also planted tobacco which they used for ceremonial purposes. It was considered sacred.

"Summer found them along the shores of Penobscot bay. Except for the insects, that was probably the easiest time of the year. Clams and oysters were plentiful. They fished, hunted, and gathered berries. During the warmer months they were not so confined to their tepees which must have been cramped and smoky in the winter time.

"In the fall the Indians started back up the River, camping as a general rule, in the same areas that they used in the spring. This was a good season for eating, as they were able to harvest the crops that they had planted the previous spring.

"Most of the food that the Indians ate was cooked either over an open fire, or in a clay cooking pot. You would be surprised at the variety of soups and dishes that were prepared in the family cooking pots."

"I didn't know the Indians ate so well," admitted Jacob. I always supposed they had a kind of boring menu--- mainly deer meat, and a few berries."

"Most of the time they ate well---with lots of variety," Clay said. "In fact their whole life had a reasonable amount of variety, enough to make it interesting. Its not that clear that life in the modern world is that better for most people---and its a lot worse for some."

"For example, Indian kids didn't have to go to school," agreed Jacob.

Clay smiled. "I didn't like school much either," he admitted.

Clay guided the canoe into a narrow channel between the island and the bank of the river, and then brought it to a clearing on the bank. "Lets stop here and rest a bit," he suggested.

After they were settled on the bank, Clay produced two granola bars, two big navel oranges, and a couple of Pepsi's from their cooler. "I think we need something to keep our energy supplies up," he explained as he divided up the food.

The two of then ate in silence, staring at the river.

The sun glittered brightly on the rippled surface of the water. A few white puffy clouds drifted slowly across the blue sky. Jacob could not see a sign of civilization. For a few minutes, he was fully back in primordial times. His granola bar was the leg of a rabbit that he had killed earlier while on a hunting trip with his father, and he was drinking an ancient herbal tea in a clay mug. They had heard that there was a party of Mohawks in the area, but he and his father knew how to read the signs around them. They were alert for trouble and would not be caught unawares.

The water sparkled invitingly. Perhaps they would have to hide down under the water while breathing through a reed to escape notice from the Mohawks. "Clay," he said out loud. "Can I go swimming."

Clay frowned. "I think you had better not," he answered.

Jacob looked disappointed. "Why not. I'll be careful. You can watch me."

"I'd like to let you." Clay said. "I'd like to take a dip myself, as far as that goes. But I'm afraid we are downstream from three big paper mills, and they pump their waste into the river. Its treated, and its better than it used to be. But I don't know exactly what's in it."

This information brought Jacob rather abruptly back to the present. When he looked into the water he could see that there was a certain amount of debris in it. It looked like grass, though he couldn't tell for sure. Also the water had a slightly unhealthy color. Bits of white foamy stuff collected in eddies along the edge. It was not so clearly and totally polluted as the big city rivers Jacob was used to, but he could see that it probably wasn't quite clean. Glancing up at the sky, he saw a couple of jet vapor trails that he hadn't noticed before.

"Is there anyplace that isn't polluted any more?" he asked.

"Everywhere is polluted now," Clay said. "Even in the middle of the ocean miles away from the ship lanes, its polluted. But the lakes where we are going are better.

"Do you miss the old Indian ways, Clay?"

"I never really knew them, any more than you did," Clay answered. I heard about them, and I learned something about the old ways of thinking. But the old Indian way of life was destroyed long before I was born."

"That's too bad," said Jacob.

"I think it is. Funny thing, though, coming back to your question. I do miss the old Indian ways. Even though I never knew them myself, I miss them."

"I know what you mean," Jacob said. "I'm not even an Indian and I miss the old Indian ways.

"Maybe you were a Penobscot in a previous incarnation," suggested Clay.

"Do you believe in re-incarnation?" asked Jacob.

Clay shrugged. "It would explain what you are talking about, wouldn't it?"

"I guess it would. Becky says she remembers other lives. Do you think that's true."

"I don't think she's lying. What her memories are I don't know. They could be memories, or they could be wishes. Its hard to say."

"If I was an Indian in some other life, I might have been your son," Jacob conjectured.

"You might have been," agreed Clay.

It felt good to be with his friend like this, and not have to compete with the other kids on the trip for his attention. Jacob was happy to share his dreams, his hopes, and perhaps his memories with this man. Then, glancing down at Clays boot, Jacob remembered what he had done. Like a pollution of the soul, this act of his infused itself subtly into every corner of his life, but most intensely into this relationship.

"Clay, I want to tell you something," he said.

"Yes?"

Jacob looked out across the sparkling water; he saw a heron fly upstream with strong wing strokes; he glanced again at the boot. He struggled with himself in silence for a few seconds, and then decided that he simply could not risk it---could not take a chance on losing what he did have, however imperfect it might be.

"Nothing," he said. "Maybe I'll tell you some other time."

Clay shrugged. "Whatever," he said.

*****

After returning from his trip with Jacob on the river in the morning, Clay had eaten lunch and gone to bed for a nap. Then, about an hour after waking up, he had taken his car to Lincoln with only the vague explanation that "I need something in town". That was about three hours ago. It was now six o'clock.

"Its not like him," Nadine observed.

Lester nodded. "He's always kept us posted about his plans," he agreed.

The two were seated at the picnic table in the Cold Stream Campground.

"Clay seemed down when he came back from his trip with Jacob this morning," said Nadine.

"He did. Are you worried?"

"Do you think he is going to start drinking again?"

Lester shrugged. "I think he might."

"So do I," agreed Nadine.

"Especially if his health is getting worse." Lester added.

"He was talking a lot about sickness yesterday," Nadine said.

"So what do we do?"

"I don't know." Nadine confessed. "Why don't we give it an hour or so while we fix some supper and see if he is back by then. One of us could go in and try to find him if he's not."

"O.k.," agreed Lester. He looked reflectively down at the copy of Black Elk Speaks, which was sitting on the table. "All we need is for Clay to get into some serious drinking."

Sam waited for Lester and Nadine to go to the camp store, and then crawled out of his tent. He had overheard their conversation. He slipped out of the camping area without being noticed and jogged up the dirt driveway to the main road. When he reached the road, he stuck out his thumb, and within ten minutes he had caught a ride to Lincoln.

By the time Sam found him in Paul's Place, Clay had already put away several beers, and was just finishing a piece of pizza.

"Ah, Chief Crashing tape, how good it is that I found you," declared Sam in a loud voice. He joined Clay in a small wooden booth. Customers at the bar turned their heads to look."

"What are you doing here?" Clay asked. "Are you with anybody?"

"Its only me chief. Did you have a good supper?"

"It was all right."

At that moment a waitress arrived at the table with a beer. Sam stared in mock amazement. "Oh! Fire water! Oh, fire water not good for Injun, Chief, not good at all. Make you crazy every time".

"Not funny, Sam. Can your stupid jokes."

"Chief Crashing Tape like fire water? I tell you what. Maybe Chief Crashing Tape like drugs, yes? I show you drugs." Sam pulled out a package of marijuana wrapped in a paper napkin, and unfolded it. Taking a pinch between his fingers, he crushed it and smelled it like a connoisseur. Offering to let Clay smell it, he said, "Good stuff, this. Make you feel good."

Clay pushed his hand down. "Put that shit away," he ordered.

The waitress stood at the table, her mouth hanging open. Conversation at the nearby booths came to a halt.

"Yes," Sam continued. "I show you drugs. Make the head spin like merry-go-round. See pretty lights. Make your heart happy." As he talked he displayed, in addition to the marijuana, a white powder wrapped in a plastic baggie, some white crystals, also wrapped in a baggie, and some sugar cubes.

"You got money, chief? You got to have money if you want happy pills."

By this time the waitress had retreated to a back room. The customers at the bar were staring, unabashedly. Several pool players came to the doorway of the back room, and peered out.

"What the hell is this all about, Sam," Clay hissed. "Get this shit out of sight."

When Sam showed no indication that he was going to follow his instructions, Clay picked up all the items laid out before him, and stuffed them into his own pockets.

"Hey!" Sam protested. "You must pay. Don't take the happy pills and no pay. That's not a good Injun."

Clay took out a twenty dollar bill, threw it down on the table for the waitress, and said, "lets get out of here you idiot. What are you trying to do?"

Following him out, Sam continued to protest loudly. "You must pay for the happy pills, Chief. You no pay, I call the cops. They put you in slammed. Never let you out."

Clay herded him to his pick up truck. They pulled out and started back toward the camp-ground. Clay glanced over at Sam. "What's all this about?" he demanded.

"You were late for supper. I was coming to get you."

"And you needed all those drugs for that?"

"You tell me to leave drugs alone, but you can drink all the beer you want. You told me yourself you can't handle beer."

"What business is that of yours? You've got more than you can handle just keeping your own act together."

"What business was it of yours whether I took drugs," Sam retorted.

Clay glared at him.

"Or whether I took a bus home?" Sam added.

"That was because I care about you, Sam, you simple minded shit-head. Can't you understand that?"

Sam looked at him out of the corner of his eyes, and smiled faintly. "Can you?" he asked.

Clay looked over at him and stared. Tears started collecting in his eyes. He looked away so that Sam wouldn't notice.

"Hey, watch the road," Sam hollered. Clay was swerving toward the shoulder.

Getting the truck back on course, Clay shook his head. "Well, shit," he muttered.

"I hoped you'd see it that way," Sam said.

"What did you have in all those packages," Clay asked.

"The marijuana was really marijuana." Sam opened the window and let it fly off in the breeze. "I got it in the parking lot across the street, from some guys in a truck. "The white powder was talcum powder. The other white stuff was table salt. And the sugar cubes were just sugar cubes, of course."

Clay laughed. "You had me going," he admitted.

"I hoped I would," Sam bragged. "God, you should have seen the look on your face when I started throwing that stuff down on the table. I just about cracked up."

They both laughed, and for the next couple of miles down the road they joked about the scene at the restaurant.

"I guess I just about blew this trip with the drinking," Clay said as they drove into the camp ground. "If I had rolled in drunk in the middle of the night Nadine and Lester probably would have left in the morning."

"They'll never know," Sam assured him.

Chapter Eight -- Initiation

The network of interconnected lakes, streams and waterways now known as the Canoe Basin was probably shared peacefully between the Penobscot tribe of the Penobscot River system, and the Passamoquody tribe of Passamaquoddy Bay and the St. Croix River. These were closely related tribes, situated on either side of the lake region. These tribes were linked in a loose alliance with each other, and with most other tribes of the area for protection against their common enemy, the aggressive Mohawks of the powerful Iroquois Nation to the west.

Upon arriving at the public access on Bottle Lake, the three children and Clay, already dressed in swim suits and t-shirts, immediately ran to the water, and swam out toward a float that was twenty or so yards out from the edge. Jacob climbed up on the float and looked back at the others coming to join him. It was a bright day with high puffy clouds drifting lazily across the sky. Glancing around he could see a scattering of summer camps arranged here and there around the lake. He would have preferred a wilder scene, but the lake was beautiful, and his spirits remained high.

After canoing the length of Bottle lake they entered Bottle Lake Stream. When the group stopped to eat sandwiches and fruit for their lunch on a rock in Bottle Lake Stream, Jacob again imagined himself back in primordial times, an illusion was shattered by a speed boat roaring up through the winding stream, leaving a trail of gasoline in its wake.

In the afternoon they emerged into Junior Lake, an irregularly shaped body of water about five miles long and, and in most places, about a mile wide. They stopped on an Island, just beyond the exit from Bottle Lake stream, for a swim, a snack, and a rest before paddling up the lake to the Big Islands where they planned to camp for the night. While they were setting up camp, Jacob noticed that the faint din of rock music could be heard from a group of campers on a nearby island. Later, as he lay in his sleeping bag, talking with Clay and Sam, he was startled by the thundering roar of a jet passing by overhead at a low altitude.

What was that?" he asked.

"Its a fighter. There is an airforce base near here."

"Awesome," Sam said. "It must have been about two seconds from the time we first heard it until it was gone."

"I hoped it would be more like the old days," Jacob complained.

Before the Europeans came," Clay asked.

"Yes," said Jacob.

"Try to think about it this way." Clay suggested. "Imagine that there are two Canoe Basins. One is the basin as it used to be. Its still here. But it is hidden some of the time by the other canoe Basin---the one with fighter jets roaring through it and all that. That one won't go away entirely. But while we are on this trip we have to try to see the first canoe basin---the one you are looking for. Do you follow me? "

"I think so," Jacob said.

"Its not exactly what you are looking for," Clay said. "I understand that. But you have to find it inside yourself---at least to some extent."

"I see," Jacob said.

Clay and Sam drifted off to sleep before Jacob. For more than an hour he lay awake. Every ten minutes or so another jet roared overhead. They were apparently doing practice maneuvers. He thought about what Clay had told him. It wasn't entirely satisfactory.

*****

By morning low dark gray clouds were sweeping across the sky from the north west, intermittently bringing with them a drizzling rain. When the rain let up for a spell, bright places in the sky became visible, kindling hope that the clouds were on the verge of breaking up, but those hopes were illusory.

As Clay pointed out, once this type of weather settled in, it could last for days. The children ate their breakfasts of cold cereal in solemn silence. Only Clay seemed cheerful. He made sure that everybody was wearing either a poncho or a rain coat, and insisted that they all get their clothes and sleeping bags carefully wrapped up in large plastic bags which he had brought along and supplied to everybody. "A little rain won't hurt us," he explained. "The main thing is to keep our gear dry." His spirits were as warm and cheerful as the steaming cup of coffee that he carried around with him as he surveyed their campsite for water-proofness.

The tents were facing each other about sixteen feet apart. Under Clay's direction, tarps were tied up between the two tents using existing trees and makeshift poles carved out of dead wood. A section near the middle, above a small campfire, was left open to allow the smoke to escape. Dead wood was collected and stored under the protection of another tarp. All these efforts produced a campsite that was not only reasonably comfortable, despite the rain, but even cozy.

Clay suggested that they pass some of their time reading from Black Elk, but when he went to find his book he discovered that the plastic bag in which he kept maps and books was gone. Then he remembered that he had left it back on Bottle Island. "I wonder if you boys would mind going back to get it," he suggested to Sam and Jacob. "I think its behind that big rock down on the beach where we looked at the maps together." The boys were glad to have something resembling an adventure to occupy their time, and were down in a canoe before any more discussion of the project was possible.

The three adults walked to the shore where they could have a clear view of Bottle Island and watch the boys progress. Becky had retreated to her tent with a science fiction novel by Madeline LeEngle.

"Do you think they'll be all right," Nadine asked, a little nervously, staring at the white caps that were being whipped up by the wind.

"They're tough," Clay observed. "Its not good to coddle them."

"How far is it to Bottle Island."

"About a mile and a third."

"Isn't that pretty far for boys their age to go in weather like this?"

"They need something difficult," Clay answered.

Nadine frowned. "But not if its really dangerous," she protested.

"Lester and I could get to them if they needed us."

Remembering that Clay had insisted on their putting on their life jackets, and seeing how closely he observed them now, gave Nadine some reassurance. Yet doubts remained. "You're sure they'll be all right?"

"Trust me," he said.

The boys made their way to Bottle Island with little difficulty, and found the bag with the maps and the books just where Clay said it would be. As they started back they found the wind in their faces. Sam, being the stronger of the two, paddled in the stern, and Jacob in the bow. With slow but steady progress they struggled to about a third of the way to the Big Islands. The wind whipped up a bit more vigorously at that point, perhaps because they were out into more open water. The waves and the wind came at them from an angle that made steering difficult. Jacob noticed that they were ceasing to make progress.

"We have to paddle harder," Sam shouted from the stern.

"I'm paddling as hard as a can," Jacob protested.

"Its not enough. We have to paddle harder," Sam countered.

Although Jacob would have said that he was giving it all he could, in fact he did start paddling harder. The difference this made was not great, but, at a snails pace, they began to move forward again. The water around them was choppy, rough, and speckled with white caps. As waves hit them, water sloshed up over the edge of the canoe, and spray splattered their faces. By the time they were about two thirds of the way to Big Island, the pain in Jacob's arms, back and shoulders was intolerable. He knew that he simply couldn't keep this up. It was at that point that the Sam's voice came to him again.

"You're slowing down. You have to paddle harder!"

The thought was absurd.

"I can't," he protested,

"I hurt too," Sam argued. "Try."

He tried. For a few moments it was agony. Then something peculiar happened. The pain didn't go away, but it somehow became more distant from him. It was no longer him, but a foreign element in his consciousness, and he didn't have to follow its dictates. At the same time a new source of energy seemed to well up from within. It was as though he had run out of gas, and then somebody had hooked him up to another tank, the existence of which he had never suspected. With steady, unfaltering strokes he began to paddle hard. Something of the same thing must have also happened to Sam, for Jacob could feel more power coming from the paddling in the stern, and he noticed that the steering was more steady. Together the two boys began to move forward. Beneath the pain and discomfort, Jacob began to feel a kind of ecstasy. It was partly a feeling of accomplishment, and partly a feeling of comradeship with Sam. But also his senses were becoming more alive. The lake, the white caps, the soggy gray clouds sweeping endlessly across the sky, and the green of the trees on the island all became intensely vivid and beautiful.

The adults on the shore could see the difference.

"They're moving now," Nadine shouted with relief. "I thought they weren't going to make it. Maybe the wind has let up a little."

"No, its not the weather that changed," Clay observed, "its the boys."

"How do you mean?" Nadine asked.

Clay smiled enigmatically and shrugged.

Nadine felt annoyed.

At the increased pace with which they now progressed, it was not long before the boys brought their canoe to the beach where the adults were waiting for them.

"I was worried about you guys out there," Nadine confessed as she hugged Jacob.

"Oh, Mom. There was nothing to worry about," Jacob protested. "We're not little kids, you know. We can take care of ourselves."

Clay smiled at Nadine, but she did not return the smile. She was proud of Jacob--of both boys in fact, but she felt like punching Clay in the nose.

"You guys go get some dry clothes on, and we'll fix something warm for you to drink," Clay instructed them. "The rest of the day we are going to take it easy."

By the time the boys were changed, Clay had some sassafras tea boiling for them in a pot on the fire place, and had some cookies out to eat with it. "You need some sugar," he said.

They had no argument with this.

After everybody was settled in with tea and cookies, Clay stood up and went over close to the fire. He had a package in his hands.

"I think Sam and Jacob deserve an award," he announced with a slight parody of ceremonial formality.

Not quite sure whether he was serious, Jacob grinned and asked, "For real?"

Clay nodded and answered, "For real. Come over here."

The two boys came and stood in front of him.

"First, I thank you for getting the book for me. Since I've been sick, little trips like that are a bit rough for me. Second, I want to initiate you into adulthood. When you two hung in there and didn't give up against the wind, you became men. I was very proud."

"What exactly does 'getting initiated' mean," asked Sam, a little suspiciously.

"It doesn't hurt at all," Clay assured him. "You have done the hard part. All I do now is give you each a gift, and a new name."

"Sounds good to me," Jacob said.

"Hey, lets go for it," Sam agreed.

Clay pulled a beaded Native American belt out of his package and turning to Sam said, "You are now 'Great Heart' of the Secret Order of the Manitu.

"Awesome," he said.

"Of course it is," agreed Clay. "What did you expect?"

Sam shrugged, and Clay turned to Jacob. Pulling a second belt out of his package, he handed it to Jacob and said, "And from this day forward, you are now Little Fox, of the Secret Order of the Manitu."

Jacob thanked him for the belt.

"Now," said Clay, addressing both of them, "you are brothers, and you belong to the same secret order. So from here on, there will be no more fighting between you. Understand?"

Both boys nodded.

"Good. Then shake."

They did as they were instructed.

Becky watched the initiation proceedings with mixed feelings. She was glad that the boys would probably not be fighting any more. She was also relieved to see that Clay seemed to have securely established his authority with Sam. She had not thought that would be possible. But where was her belt? Where was her new name and place in the Secret Order? And what would become of her place among the children? Would Jacob have time for her now that he was buddies with Sam?

Nadine came over and sat down beside her. "What do you think, kid," she asked, in a voice that only Becky could hear. "Will we women have to form our own Secret Order?"

The weather continued to be gray and drizzly the rest of the day. The two boys both collapsed shortly after lunch and took long naps---an unusual behavior for either of them.

After a late supper that evening, the group gathered around the camp fire. The rain pattered lightly on the tarps, and dripped in larger drops from the trees, but the but the campsite was dry and cozy.

"What's the biggest animal there is," Clay asked the children.

"A blue whale," Becky said.

"No," said Clay. There is one much bigger than that."

"No," Becky insisted. "I read it in a book about animals. The Blue whale is the biggest."

"What about the earth," Clay said.

"The earth?" Becky asked.

"Yes. Isn't it bigger than an elephant?"

"The earth isn't an animal," Becky protested.

"What is it then?"

"Well, its...its just the earth. That's all. Everybody knows what the earth is."

"Do they?" Clay asked."

"Sort of," Becky said. "It least they know its not an animal."

"Have any of you ever thought that maybe the whole earth was alive?"

"Not exactly," said Jacob. "But I have thought about how a city is like an animal or a person."

"Interesting," said Clay. "Tell more about that."

"Well, the telephone lines are like nerves. That's the nervous system. The streets are like veins and arteries, and the trucks and cars in them are like blood cells carrying supplies all over. The police and fire departments are like white blood cells, fighting diseases and trying to fix injuries. The bricks and steel out of which things are built are like bones, and the big machines like bulldozers and things like that, are muscles. And the Mayor and the Government is the brain that rules the body. This idea came to me once when I was studying biology in school, and I was walking down the street looking at things."

Clay nodded approvingly. "Very interesting. Yes, my idea is very similar to that. Everything on the earth is connected to everything else, and everything depends and everything else. Its all one big system. And its alive. As a total thing its alive. We are like cells in its body. You and I even though we have many many parts, have a single mind and will. Some scientists think the earth itself might have something like a mind."

"That's freaky," Sam protested. "They never said anything like that in general science class."

Did they teach you about how oxygen is made on the earth," Clay asked.

"Yeah, we learned something about that. The plants make it," Sam answered. "Its called photo-something-or-other."

"Photosynthesis," Clay agreed, supplying the word. "That's right. The plants make oxygen and the animals use it and give off carbon dioxide, which the plants use. Its like the earth breathing."

"Well, they never said anything about the earth breathing, "Sam protested. "That sounds weird."

"I like the idea, " Becky said. "I think its true because sometimes when I am out walking in the woods I feel real close to someone. I thinks it Mother Earth. Its like She knows me and I know Her."

"I feel that way too, sometimes," Jacob concurred.

"That's just imagination," Sam argued. "The Earth isn't a creature that can know things, like a dog or a cat."

"Sam may or may not be right," Clay said. "Its a hard thing to know for sure. But lets just pretend for a minute that the earth is a creature. Then it could get diseases just like you or I could."

"What would be an example," Nadine asked.

"Good question," Clay said. "Who can thank of what might be an example."

They thought for a few moments in silence. Then Becky piped up. "I know," she said.

"What" asked Clay.

"Boys are acne on the face of the earth." she said.

Everybody laughed. Becky beamed. She looked up at Nadine, with whom she was cuddling. "Isn't that a good example, Nadine?" she asked.

"I don't think I want to get into this one," Nadine said.

"What about pollution?" Jacob said. "Would that be like a disease?"

"That would be like the earth having b.o and bad breath," Becky suggested.

"I don't think you are taking my theory seriously," Clay said.

"After what you told us about mosquitoes being angels, who could," Becky replied.

"So you think my theories are goofy."

"But I like them," Becky said. "Go on."

The main point is that whenever anything comes along and disrupts all the delicate natural balances that keep things running as they should, we call it a disease. Cancer, for example, is simply what we have when a group of cells begins to multiply freely, without consideration to the needs and balances of the whole organism."

"You are losing me," Jacob confessed.

"Suppose in that city you described, a group of people would begin to act as though they didn't have to pay any attention to the needs of others, or the needs of the city as a whole, and suppose this group raised their children to think this way. Pretty soon the city would be in trouble."

"I see," said Jacob. "So that's what cancer is like in the body?"

"Right. They are like gangster cells," Clay said. "Now what would you imagine the city would do when faced with this?"

"They would get more police to protect people," Becky suggested. "That's one thing they might do," Clay agreed.

"That's what the conservatives would do," Nadine said. "The liberals would start an education program in the schools suggesting that students should make choices about whether they want to be gangsters or not."

Clay laughed. "They might," he agreed. "In any case the city would try to do something, and maybe several things, to protect itself from this threat. All natural systems, whether biological systems or social systems, try to protect themselves from things that threaten them."

"So what you are getting at," Nadine suggested, anticipating him, "is that the earth as a living system functions in this way too."

"Right. The earth will see anything that disrupts its natural processes as a disease, and it will try to get rid of it, just as the body tries to fight off germs or cancer cells, or a city tries to get rid of gangsters."

"So what kind of disease could the earth get," Jacob asked.

"The white race has been terribly destructive to the ecology of the earth---to its natural processes. The earth might experience this as a sort of disease. If it did, it would try to get rid of the whole white race just as your body might try to get rid of a disease causing organism, a germ for example. One way it could do this would be to produce germs. This would be similar to how the body produces what are called anti-bodies to fight off diseases."

"We learned about anti-bodies in science," Jacob said. "They work with white blood cells to get rid of germs."

"So you are saying that the diseases of the European races might have been the earths effort to heal itself." Nadine suggested.

"It seems like a possibility," Clay agreed.

"I don't think you can blame the white race for everything," Sam said. "The Indians weren't always so pure. I've been reading this Black Elk book you like so much, and some of the things the Indians did were pretty bad."

"Most of what you are reading about there is how they were trying to protect their lands from the Wasuchi," Clay answered.

"That isn't what I meant," Sam said. "I'm thinking about the place where it describes how they killed that Crow brave who tried to steal some of their horses. Of course when it was them stealing other peoples horses, like in that other story about High Horse, then they were heroes But if other people tried to steal their horses, that was something else."

"But they would have respected him for his bravery, even if they killed him to protect their horses," Clay suggested.

Is that why the women cut him up in little pieces and spread him around the ground?" Sam argued. "That don't sound like respect to me."

"That's disgusting," Becky said. "Did they really do that?"

"It right in that book that Clay reads from," Sam assured her.

"It was disgusting," Clay agreed.

"But the Indians were also capable of real gentleness and tenderness even with animals," Nadine pointed out. "Do you remember where Black Elk would not shoot the little bird because he saw it as a relative of his?"

"Yeah," agreed Sam. "But what did he do next. He went and killed a frog just to show he wasn't soft on wild things. How is that so different than white people? Maybe he cried after he killed it, but he killed it."

"What you say is right," Clay conceded. "Both Indians and whites are capable of cruelty, and both are capable of gentle and noble things. But in general, it is the technological civilization developed by the whites that seriously threatens the natural balances of the earth."

"It seems to me that you are not talking about one race or another, but about technology," Nadine said.

Basically, yes." Clay agreed. "What I am really talking about when I say "Indian" or "Native American" is not a race, but a way of thinking. Its a way of thinking that I believe we all have to learn if we are to survive."

"So its like I said before, you are trying to turn us all into goddamn Indians," Sam said.

Clay smiled at him. "I already have. Don't you remember?"

Sam glanced down at the beaded belt he was wearing. "Chief Crashing Tape speak truth," he admitted.

"You haven't turned me into an Indian yet," Becky pointed out.

Clay sipped sassafras tea from his clay mug while he thought about Becky's comment. "You're right," he said, "And I can see that's not exactly fair. The truth is I'm not sure just how one does initiate a girl into the tribe. Maybe Nadine could help."

"You're the Native American," Nadine objected. "What do I know about things like that?"

"But you're a woman," Clay said."

Nadine shrugged.

Clay looked at Becky. "I promise that you will also be initiated in the Secret Order of Manitu, Becky," he said. "Just give me a little time."

"O.K." she agreed, only don't forget."

"What about a story tonight," Jacob asked.

"You never seem to believe any of my stories," Clay complained. "Why should I waste my time telling stories to a bunch of skeptics?"

"What is it that makes you think we don't believe your stories," Jacob protested.

"I don't know," Clay mused. "Perhaps its the way that you laugh and ridicule them."

"Well, yes," Jacob said. "But other than that what is there?"

Clay laughed. "That's probably the main thing," he admitted.

"Tell us another one about the Wiwilemec Monster," Becky pleaded.

"The truth is that I'm tired tonight. I don't think I have it in me to tell a story," Clay said.

"Maybe just a little one," Becky begged.

Clay thought a moment. "Well, I do know a real short one about Glooscap that I might tell."

"Tell it," Becky pleaded. "We promise to believe every word you say."

Clay smiled at her. "How come I feel like you are putting me on?"

"Its because I'm putting you on," she explained.

"I thought there must be a reason," Clay said.

"So tell the story," Jacob ordered.

"All right. As you know, Glooscap did many amazing things, and he was not at all bashful when it came to letting people know what a remarkable person he was."

"One day he got to bragging about his mighty deeds. "I have defeated all my opponents," he said. "I defeated giant dangerous beasts; I defeated my evil brother; I defeated great magicians. I have even defeated the wind. There is no one who I cannot conquer."

There was a woman in the tribe who was listening to him. "I know someone who you can't defeat," she said.

"Who is this person you think I can't defeat?" Glooscap challenged her.

He's right in my tepee," the woman told him. "Come and see."

So Glooscap went to the woman's tepee to find out who this powerful creature was. He looked in and saw only a little baby. "Where is the one who is supposed to be able to defeat me," he demanded.

"You are looking at him," the woman said.

"What? This little baby here?" Glooscap laughed at the idea. When he did so the baby screamed. Glooscap laughed again and the baby screamed louder.

Glooscap tried to get the baby to stop screaming but he was unable to do so. Finally he lost his patience. "So you think you can scream louder than Glooscap, do you?" he hollered. Then Glooscap began screaming and crying just as the baby was doing.

It was hard to tell who screamed louder, but after a bit the baby decided to stop screaming and began peeing all around the tepee. Not to be outdone, Glooscap did the same thing. Finally the baby tired of that, and pooped. He then turned around and took some, and ate it."

"Gross," declared Becky. "That's really gross."

"Well," Clay concluded, "Glooscap was conquered. Right then and there he was defeated. Glooscap could not do that."

"I guess he couldn't," Sam said, laughing. The others laughed with him.

"What kind of story was that?" Becky protested, trying to suppress her giggling.

"I think that is one of the kinds of stories that Indians used to tell when they sat around their campfires," Clay answered.

Chapter Nine -- Frogs

"Why didn't you go with the rest of them this morning," Nadine asked.

"Because Sam said he didn't want any girls tagging along," Becky answered.

Nadine frowned. "I don't think its up to Sam to decide that," she said.

"Well, its not." Becky agreed. "But he can make it miserable for me if he wants to."

"I thought that pretty well stopped after Clay talked to him ."

"Its better," Becky admitted. "But when he doesn't get his way he still gets at me."

"How does he 'get at' you?"

"Mostly he just says things."

"Like what?"

"Oh, I don't remember. Just things. You know---calls me names or something."

"Maybe you could just ignore that," Nadine suggested. "Does he do anything else to 'get at' you?"

Becky sighed, and continued drying the breakfast dishes. Nadine could see that she was trying to hold back tears. "I think he has turned Jacob against me," she said finally."

"Really? Has Jacob done anything to make you think that?"

"Not really. Its just that he hangs out with Sam all the time now that they are brothers in that stupid Secret Society. He doesn't have any time for me."

"I see."

"Sometimes I hate Sam, even if he is my brother. Didn't I tell you he would spoil everything on this trip?"

"I wonder," Nadine ventured, "whether you might be mad at me also."

"What for?" asked Becky.

"Well, I was the one who encouraged Sam to come along when we visited your father's house."

"Yeah. Why did you do that?" Becky asked.

"Because I care for Sam, just as I care for you, and I thought maybe the trip would help him."

"The only thing that will help Sam is a good kick in the but," Becky exclaimed, and giggled.

Nadine chuckled too. "I can see how you might feel that way," she said. "But I am still wondering if you might not have been a little angry at me for asking him to come."

"Maybe a little," Becky confessed. "I mean you didn't just ask him. You acted like you really wanted him---I mean like it would be just the greatest thing in the world if he came. Well, it not exactly the greatest thing for me."

"Maybe you were even a lot mad at me," Nadine suggested.

Becky looked down at the ground. Tears were visible on her cheeks. Nadine put down the pan she was washing, and dried her hands on her pants. Then she put her arms around her. "You were real mad, weren't you," she said.

Becky nodded, and put her arms around Nadine. "Its hard to be mad at you," she said. "You are my mother on this trip. Sometimes you are more like my mother than my mother is. I really didn't want to be mad at you."

"Well, people do get mad at people they love," Nadine observed.

"I love you more than I'm mad at you," Becky said.

Nadine squeezed her. "I love you too, even when you are mad at me," she said."

When the dishes were done, Nadine and Becky settled down in two of the lawn chairs that Nadine had insisted they bring along on the trip. The morning sun had begun to warm up the sand, the air, and the water. "There's another reason I don't feel welcome when Clay and Lester go out with the guys," Becky said, picking up on their earlier conversation.

"What's that?"

"Sam told me that they go skinny dipping sometimes when no girls are women are around." Becky said.

"Yes. I knew that. Lester told me."

"He did?"

"Yes. We don't have too many secrets from each other."

Becky looked thoughtfully at Nadine while she took in this new piece of information. Nadine knew they went skinny dipping and she wasn't that perturbed. "Sam told me that nobody wanted me along because then they couldn't go skinny dipping."

"I suppose I should have figured out that something like that might happen," Nadine said.

"He told me that even Jacob and Clay didn't want me along," Becky said.

"Why don't you ask them?" Nadine suggested. "I don't think you can be sure that what Sam tells you is true."

"That would be hard to do."

""Asking them?"

"Yeah. They might not want to tell me the truth."

"How would it be if I talked with them?" Nadine suggested.

"I don't know," Becky answered. "I think at least a part of what Sam said is true."

"What's that?"

"That I'm not supposed to be skinny dipping where the boys are."

"Who told you that?"

"Jacob told me that a couple of days ago. He said that you told him we were too old to go skinny dipping where there were boys and girls together, like we used to do at Clay's camp."

"I guess I did say something like that to him."

"Well, if that's true, Sam's kind of right. If I'm the only girl along it takes away their fun if they want to skinny dip."

"That is a dilemma," admitted Nadine.

*****

A couple of hours had passed since the conversation on the beach, and Nadine had not seen Becky during most of that time. She decided it was time to check up on her. The island where they were camping was roughly almond shaped, and about the size of a football field in area. On each side of the island there was a small sandy beach, and a camping area. The better camping area, tucked away just a little behind its beach, was occupied by her own group. No one else was presently camping in the other area.

As she was negotiating the last few yards of the little path between the two sides of the island, Nadine caught a glimpse of Becky between some trees. She was naked. It was clear that she was involved in acting out some inner fantasy in a manner that aroused Nadine's curiosity. She was walking up and down the beach with large ponderous steps as though she were very big and heavy. Her stomach was pushed out as far as she could make it go, and she held her hands over her belly. Despite Becky's skinny and still very girlish figure, Nadine was easily able to recognize her intent. If any doubt remained in Nadine's mind as to what she was witnessing, it was dispelled when Becky laid down on her back and gave birth to a bouncing, healthy nine pound towel, (which had been rolled up so as to depict a baby). This she pulled from between her legs with a couple of grunts that expressed her eleven year old concept of labor pains. She then sat up, brushed the "baby" off, and began breast feeding it.

Nadine coughed conspicuously, noisily slipped on some gravel, and proceeded on down the path as though she were as yet unaware of Becky's presence. Arriving at the beach she acted mildly and pleasantly surprised to see Becky. Becky unrolled the towel and made some effort to cover herself.

"I see you are dressed for swimming," Nadine commented casually. "What a good idea."

Becky smiled sheepishly. "Well, all the boys are off skinny dipping so I thought I might do the same," she explained.

"A very reasonable thought," Nadine said, "except that you should not be swimming alone. How about if I join you?"

"Sure," agreed Becky.

Any last residue of embarrassment at being caught naked vanished as Becky watched Nadine undress. This was just the kind of woman she wanted to be when she finished growing up. She wanted to have Nadine's warmth, her intelligence, her cheerful laugh, and....her ample breasts.

Nadine had almost forgotten the delightful feel of sun and breeze on naked skin. A new sense of reality---something simple, wordless, and exciting---was ignited in her as she stood naked in the sunlight on the little sandy beach.

"Last one in is a slimy slug," Becky announced, as she galloped into the water. It was no contest. Becky was already happily paddling around as Nadine slowly eased herself into the chilly water. Once Nadine was accustomed to the water she announced that she was not just any old "slimy slug"; she was in fact the Wiwilemec Monster itself. For about twenty exciting minutes Nadine played the part of the Wiwilemec Monster sneaking up on unsuspecting swimmers and campers, all of whom, of course, were Becky.

After swimming they came up onto the beach for a rest. For several minutes they sat together in silence, basking in the warmth of the sun, and watching a couple of loons swimming around lazily about a hundred yards off the shore. "I have an idea," Nadine suggested finally."

"What's that?"

"Lets get our snorkeling stuff and go explore those rock formations that are just a little ways from the other beach."

"Neat idea," Becky said enthusiastically.

They picked up all their clothes, and without dressing, started down the path to their campsite. In no time they had on their masks and frog feet and were paddling slowly out toward a pile of rocks that emerged from the water about fifty yards from shore. They stopped to explore some of the underwater boulders and formations that they encountered along the way. Watching Becky's naked body twist and turn among the rocks brought the idea of mermaids and mermen to Nadine's mind. She remembered that Clay had told her that the idea of mermen had emerged also in the Native American culture, and that Governor Neptune, who was the one who defeated the Wiwilemec monster, was imagined by some to be descended from mermen and mermaids. Perhaps the idea of mermaids and mermen derived from a primordial memory of a time when the human race was a semi-aquatic creature. How else was one to explain the deep fascination of all people for the water and for swimming?

The sun was immensely bright as the two climbed out onto the rocks and sat down to rest. "That was pretty," Becky whispered. "Isn't is neat the way the sunlight glimmers on everything?"

Nadine nodded in agreement.

"Becky stared at her feet. "Nadine?"

"Yes?"

"Do you think I'm funny looking?"

"Funny looking?"

"Yeah."

The idea came as something of a shock to Nadine. In view of how beautiful she thought Becky was, it didn't occur to her that Becky might have a very different view of her own self. But then she realized how silly this was. What budding adolescent was there who never entertained the notion that he or she was funny looking?

"Of course I don't think you are funny looking. Whatever gave you such a notion?"

"Well, you know. I'm pretty skinny, and my face is freckled, and it sometimes doesn't seem to go with the rest of my body."

"I think you are beautiful."

"Do you think I'll be pretty when I get...bigger...like you are."

"I think you are beautiful right now, just the way you are. You will, I'm sure be very beautiful as a full grown woman too, but don't wish away your years. Eleven is a good age. You will never be that again."

Becky smiled. "It feels good to be here like this," she said.

"It feels good to me too," Nadine agreed. "But we had better be getting back. Its almost lunch time and they said they would be back between twelve and one."

Becky giggled. "Wouldn't it be funny if they paddled around the corner and saw us here on the rocks like this," she said.

"They would think it was the invasion of the mermaids," Nadine said. They both laughed.

After swimming back to their camping area, Nadine and Becky dressed and began fixing a big pot of lentil soup for lunch.

"Maybe I was wrong about you kids being too old to skinny dip together," Nadine said, as she diced a potato for the soup.

Becky looked interested, "Really?" she said.

"Yes."

"You think its o.k.?"

"Maybe. But first I'll have to talk with Clay and Lester."

"They will probably agree with what you say," Becky conjectured.

"You have a lot of confidence."

"Everybody listens to you."

"You think so?"

Becky nodded. "But what do you think the boys will say," she asked.

"You are concerned with what they might think? "

"They might be embarrassed to be naked around a girl."

"They might be. But Jacob asked me about skinny dipping earlier. I think he would like it regardless of who was around."

"Maybe." Becky still looked a little worried. "You really don't think I am funny looking," she said.

"Not at all," Nadine assured her. "And I'll bet the Jacob has the same fears you do."

"He shouldn't. I think he's kind of..."

"Handsome?" Nadine suggested.

"Sort of," Becky said with a giggle.

"So do I" Nadine said. "Its o.k. to notice when people are beautiful."

"Why did you change your mind about skinny dipping?" Becky asked.

"It came from being naked with you this morning."

"Really?"

"Yes. It was so harmless, and at the same time so beautiful. I loved it. And all at once I saw that always covering up our bodies... not talking about the things they do... not allowing for curiosity ...withholding from people the happiness of being naked with each other...that all these things were simply not the best way to teach people to live by the rules. The rules are important, you understand. But there just have to be a better way of teaching them.

"I believe in the rules," Becky said. "They are there so we don't get pregnant, right?"

"That's one reason for them," Nadine said.

"I don't want to get pregnant until I am married. When I get married I'm going to love my husband forever and nobody else. And we are going to have a bunch of kids."

"Those are good thoughts. I hope it works out that way for you."

"I do too."

"As we were swimming back from the rocks this morning a picture came to my mind that made all these things clearer to me," Nadine said.

"Tell it to me."

"It was a picture of how fire is used in a house. Fire is used for cooking, for keeping the house warm, for making things cozy around the fire place, etc. It seems to me that we have a certain kind of energy in us that's like that fire. Lets call it 'love energy'. This love energy can be used in all sorts of ways. It is what makes us happy when we breast feed; its what makes us glad to be with friends; what makes it so exciting to be naked in the sun, and what makes us fall in love with a man. Its what makes us love music or art. And its what makes me happy when I am with you." She smiled at her.

Becky looked down at the vegetables she was cutting. "Yes,", she said, "I can understand that." She glanced shyly up at Nadine, happy to know that her own feelings were reciprocated.

"Now we know that fire in a house must always be contained or we get into trouble." Nadine continued. "It is contained in a furnace or a stove, or a fire place, and the heat it puts off must be to some extent controlled and channeled."

"Or the house gets burned down," Becky said.

"Exactly," agreed Nadine.

"Like my house," said Becky.

"Like your house?"

"Like my family. Like how it got all messed up."

"Yes," agreed Nadine, a little startled at how quickly Becky saw the ramifications of what she was talking about.

"What you are saying is that that creep, Nancy, shouldn't have got my Dad into fooling around with her." Becky said. "That's what broke up my family."

"I wouldn't have put it quite that way. But in general, yes, that's the kind of thing I'm talking about."

"So, how are kids supposed to behave if they look around them and all they see is grownups doing whatever they please?"

"A good question," Nadine conceded. "Maybe kids sometimes have to learn more than their parents knew."

Becky nodded.

"The rules aren't there just to keep us from getting pregnant, or to protect families," Nadine added. "Certainly that's an important part of it. But it is also true that almost all the great religions have taught that some degree of control over our love energies is needed if we are to grow in our ability to love God."

They were finished with the vegetables. After throwing them into the pot they went down to the beach and sat side by side in the lawn chairs, while they watched for the men-folk to return.

"When are you going to talk with Lester and Clay about skinning dipping?" Becky asked.

""Tonight or tomorrow morning, probably."

*****

The lentil soup was a big hit with everybody, and Becky was pleased to have shared in the glory of its preparation. After helping with clean-up, Clay said he was tired and went to take a nap. Becky noticed that he did this most days. She decided to look for Jacob. She found him sitting on a log on the beach on the opposite side of the island.

"Hi," said Becky, sitting on the log beside him.

"Hi," Jacob returned.

"Whatever you doing?"

"Nothing,"

"Did you find anything interesting this morning?"

"We had fun."

"But did you find any clues?"

"Clues?"

"You know. Anything that might show where to find the spring Clay is looking for?"

"Not really."

"Do you think we will find that spring?"

"How should I know?"

"Well, don't you wonder?"

Jacob shrugged. "Sure. Sometimes."

Becky stared at some loons that bobbed on the waves about twenty yards from shore. Finally she said, "Jacob, do you think Clay will die?"

Jacob stared at her. He didn't frown, but Becky could tell that he was not pleased with the question.

"Well, I guess we all die sooner or later," he finally conceded.

"You know what I mean," Becky persisted in spite of Jacob's coolness. "Will he die soon---like from his cancer?"

"Maybe they will find some medicine to help him. They find new things all the time, you know."

"He says he doesn't want any more of their treatments."

"Well maybe he'll change his mind after we come back from this trip."

"You don't think he'll find the healing spring?"

"I don't know if there is a healing spring."

Becky was shocked. "Why do you say that?" she demanded.

"I heard my Dad talking to my Mom about it the other day. He says he thinks its just a superstition."

"How does he know that?"

Jacob only shrugged by way of an answer. The possibility of Clay's death was not something he wanted to think about. When they were just thinking about the trip, he had believed in the healing spring. But everything was different in real life than it was in your hopes and imagination. In real life you never got past the corn fields.

From his lack of responsiveness, Becky understood that there was little to be gained from pursuing the matter. So she shifted the subject to her other big interest. "Nadine and I went skinny dipping this morning," she announced.

Jacob looked up. "You did?"

"Yep. It was great."

"We went skinny dipping too on our canoe trip this morning."

"Was that fun?"

"Sure."

"Are you surprised about me and Nadine?"

"A little."

"Girls can skinny dip just like boys can," she said.

Jacob shrugged. "I guess so," he said.

Becky stood up. "Well, I've got to go," she announced.

*****

That evening Nadine told the story around the camp fire.

"Once upon-a-time," she began, "there was a girl who was fond of swimming. She lived near a lake. One day a big ugly slimy frog came up to her and said to her, "I am a prince, I am a prince."

"Yuck!" said the girl. "You look just like a big ugly slimy frog to me. Go away."

But the Frog would not leave her alone. It followed her all over the beach repeating its simple minded message, "I am a prince. I am a prince." It became so annoying that the the girl, Sally was her name, finally could stand it no more, and she retreated to her house.

That night Sally consulted her fairy tale books. She had heard about frogs that were really princes and wanted the inside story. She learned was that sometimes witches would turn princes into frogs or toads and that it took the kiss of a beautiful girl to undo the curse. Worse yet, sometimes you actually had to take the loathsome thing to bed with you. "Not likely," she thought to herself.

"The next day when she went down to the beach the frog was there once again, pestering her. "Go away," Sally told it. "Find some other beautiful girl to kiss you."

"I want a princess, I want a princess," the frog replied.

"Well I'm not her," Sally retorted.

Nevertheless, as long as she was on the beach, the frog followed her around with a pleading look in its eyes. It was intolerable.

That night she lay in bed thinking about the frog problem. She realized that she would not be able to swim all the rest of the summer if the situation didn't get sorted out somehow. There was only one thing to do. She had to build up her courage and kiss the thing so that it could be free of its curse. Then maybe it would leave her in peace.

The next morning she went out onto the beach to swim as usual, and sure enough, along came her old friend the frog.

"I am a prince. I am a prince. I want a princess. I want a princess," the frog told her with monotonous insistence.

"All right," said Sally. "I give up. I'll do it."

"The frog sat patiently, expectantly, just a couple of yards away, its cold, slimy, bulging eyes staring at her.

"I hate this," Sally said to herself. But she screwed up her courage, went over to the frog, and kissed it solidly on its slimy forehead."

"Oh yuck," said the frog. "That's really yucky."

"Yuck is it?" exclaimed Sally, indignantly. "I suppose you think kissing your old slimy head is my idea of rainbows and unicorns. That was supposed to turn you into a prince."

"I am a prince already, you silly turkey," said the frog, "a frog prince. There are no frog princesses in this pond. That's my only problem."

"Oh, said Sally. "I didn't understand. Why didn't you tell me in the first place."

"People should be able to figure some things out for themselves," the frog told her.

"'All right," said Sally. "You need a frog princess. I'll see what I can do."

"'Thanks,' said the frog.

The next day Sally went hunting for frogs at a nearby pond. She found one that she supposed might be passably good looking by frog standards, and she returned with it to the pond where she lived. She realized as she turned it loose, that she didn't have the vaguest idea whether she had found a boy frog or a girl frog, but she supposed that the frog prince would be able to tell.

Apparently she was in luck. That night, as she lay in bed, she heard the frogs singing to each other in the moon light. Somehow she understood what they were singing.

"You are my princess. You are my princess." sang one.

"You are my prince. You are my prince," returned the other.

It was a lovely song. "Someday I may want a prince of my own," Sally thought to herself. "But for now I would rather just have frogs as friends."

Chapter 10 -- Mysteries

Lester and Nadine had just finished cleaning up after breakfast and were sitting at a picnic table drinking a second cup of coffee. Clay had risen early and set off with the two boys to explore Bear Island. It was about an half hour trip by canoe from the site on Jr. Stream where they were now camped.

"We need to talk about skinny dipping," Nadine said.

"Skinny dipping?"

"Becky feels she not wanted along when you guys go out. She thinks its because no one can skinny dip if she's along."

"That's a problem," Lester said."

"It is," Nadine agreed.

"So should we stop skinny dipping?"

"I don't think so."

Lester shrugged. "What then?"

"Let her go."

Lester frowned and stared at his coffee."I thought we agreed that we needed to cut back on skinny dipping now that the kids are getting into puberty."

"I changed my mind."

"What made you change your mind?"

"I went skinny dipping with Becky a couple of days ago. It was very nice."

"It is nice," Lester agreed.

"Its really fairly simple," Nadine said. "The main point is that we ought to let everybody enjoy innocent pleasures, and simply teach them the rules they ought to go by."

Lester reflected on this. "I see," he said finally. "But how would you get kids to identify with the rules. Its not always easy to get teen-ages to curb their instincts, you know."

"Adolescence can be a very idealistic age," Nadine said.

"It once was," Lester agreed. "But look around you. These are the new days.

"It's a decedent environment. I agree. But we need to come to terms with it."

"Sounds good in theory."

"I think it can be done. Very few people, adults or teen agers, really believe that its o.k. to just screw around with anybody you feel like, whenever you feel like it. But if you asked, point blank, why not, they would probably only be able to talk about unwanted pregnancies and diseases. Well, suppose that technology gets perfected to the point of taking care of these two concerns. Then why not?"

"That certainly is the question we are up against," agreed Lester. "If technology gives us the freedom---why not use it?"

"Because the energy of eros needs to be channeled. Right? We have talked about that."

"Thats fine," said Lester. "But Gopi Krishna's ideas on the raising of Kundaleni, and Socrates' ideas on eros are heavy duty stuff to be trying to teach to kids."

"I think it can be done," Nadine said. "At least in a simplified way."

"Really?"

"Yes. In fact, I think I got most of the idea across to Becky yesterday."

"And she understood?"

"I'm sure of it."

"I'd like to hear how you did that?"

"For the moment lets just suppose it could he done, would you then see anything against the kids skinny dipping together?"

There was a long pause. Finally, Lester said, "Well, I suppose not, if we supervised them."

"I'm hearing a big reservation in your tone of voice," Nadine observed.

Lester shrugged.

"Whats it about?"

He shrugged again. Nadine waited.

"Would all the adults be skinny dipping together too?" Lester asked finally.

"I suppose so," Nadine said. If we are not examples, then our preaching probably won't be worth much."

"I guess I don't feel comfortable about that," he said.

"Why."

Again there was a period of silence, and again Nadine waited patiently.

"I don't want Clay to see you naked," Lester said finally. "And I'm not sure I want you to see him."

Nadine sighed. "Its that damn jealousy again," she said.

"I guess so," Lester admitted. "Clay has got to be a very attractive person to you. You don't choose how you feel about things like that."

"I did choose who I wanted to marry. And I think I had some good reasons. You are a sensitive, intelligent and talented person, and most of the time at least, a joy to be around."

"I may have a certain amount of talent. But Clay has genius. And charisma. People like me all right. But they don't find me exciting."

"Why must you try to put yourself in some sort of rank order with other people all the time?" Nadine asked.

"Because I'm afraid that you will be attracted to greener pastures elsewhere."

"I married who I meant to marry, Lester. Give me credit for knowing my own mind".

"You never knew Clay when you married me." Lester pointed out.

Nadine shook her head with frustration. "Lets let it drop for now," she said.

"Maybe we better," agreed Lester.

*****

Clay had already begun his dive when Jacob made his confession. "I'm the one who cut your boot," he said simply. Clay tried to stop his dive half way through in order to focus on what he thought he might have just heard. With his mental faculties drawn so completely in different directions, Clay fell awkwardly into the water in a state of complete mental and physical confusion.

He surfaced, swam back to the rock where Jacob was sitting, and said, "run that by me again."

"I'm the one who cut your boot," Jacob repeated.

Clay looked over his shoulder and saw that Sam was swimming off to explore a cave-like formation about fifty yards up the shore line. He conjectured that this was why Jacob had chosen to speak just then---he wanted to talk to him alone.

Clay climbed out onto the rock and lowered himself beside Jacob. "Tell me more," he said.

"Theres not much to tell. That night after I got into the fight with Sam I got up in the night to pee. Then I saw your boot, and my knife was on the picnic table. So I went and cut x's on your boot.

"Why did you do it?"

"I was mad at Sam 'cause he beat me in the fight, and I was mad at you because I thought you liked Sam better than me."

"Weren't you afraid you would get caught?"

"Yes, I was afraid. But I thought you would most likely blame Sam, and that maybe you would send him home."

"That was clever."

Jacob shrugged. "I know it wasn't right," he said.

"No, it wasn't."

Jacob felt a sinking feeling in his stomach. He had visualized this moment of confession countless times in his fantasy during recent days, and he had dreaded it. But this was almost worse than he had expected. "I'll try to make it up to you," he pleaded. "Maybe I could pay for a new pair of boots."

"Those are pretty expensive boots."

"Maybe I can find a way to earn the money."

"Do you remember what you told me when I asked you what I should do if I caught the person who did this?" Clay asked.

Jacob nodded.

"What do you think, now?" asked Clay.

After a pause, Jacob said, "You should send me home just like I said." He began crying. His arms were folded tightly across his stomach. He began rocking back and forth slightly, shaking his head from side to side in silent no's. But his act could not be undone. "I'm sorry, Clay. I really am," he moaned.

Clay put his arm around him and waited for the crying to subside. Then he washed Jacob's face off with some water. "Why did you choose to let me know this?" he asked.

"I don't know."

"Were you afraid I would catch you anyhow?"

"Not really. I didn't think you could know."

"Then why?"

Jacob shrugged.

"Try to think---let yourself know why you decided to tell me. Its important."

Jacob allowed his mental gaze to focus on some inward point in his being. "I wanted to have fun on this trip..." he began finally. "wanted to learn about Indian things...wanted you to like me...."

"And?" Clay prompted.

"And I knew I couldn't really have fun...not really...if I knew I didn't deserve it. You acted like you liked me but it wasn't right...because....because...." Jacob didn't seem to be able to go on.

"Maybe because you kept having the thought 'but he really wouldn't like me if he only knew' or something along that line," Clay suggested.

Jacob nodded.

"Well, now I know," said Clay.

Jacob looked up at him.

"And I still love you," Clay said.

The astonishing possibility occurred to Jacob that Clay had known all along and was simply waiting for him to confess. He began crying again---quietly this time. His tears now were tears of relief. Clay knew the worst, indeed may have always known the worst. Yet he did not hate him, and would not cast him out.

"Theres one more thing," Clay said

"Whats that?"

"You'll have to let the rest of the group know."

Jacob had already thought about this possibility and was not taken entirely by surprise. His biggest fear was what his mother would think of him when she found out. But he knew that he had to face this too, just as he had to face Clay.

"I know," he said.

"I want you to tell them tonight, after supper."

"O.k."

"We need a little swim now," Clay suggested. "You have snot and tears all over your face."

Jacob giggled. As they stood up and prepared to dive into the water Clay gave him a little hug.

Jacob did a belly flop into the water, and together they swam over to join Sam in his explorations.

"Jacob, were you crying over there?" Sam asked.

"He got a speck in his eye," Clay explained, and gave Sam a look that made it clear that it wasn't a good idea to pursue the matter any further.

*****

Walking up behind Nadine, who was sitting at the picnic table reading, Lester put his arms around her, and began unbuttoning her shirt. She was wearing no bra.

"Hey, what are you doing?" Nadine protested.

"That should be obvious to a woman of your insight into the complexities of human nature," he replied, bending over and kissing her under her right ear.

She squirmed. "Well, I do have a certain intuition about what this might be leading up to," she laughed. "But I mean, whats it all about."

"This is my way of showing you that I think you are right about what you said earlier this morning."

"You mean about skinny dipping."

"That and what you said about me and my problem with jealousy."

"Really?"

"Really," he said, reaching both hands under her breasts and gently squeezing them."

"I must say, you have a nice way of coming to an agreement."

"Well, you pointed out that I was a man of talents. I think your suggestion was that I should be more generous in sharing my talents with the needy. So I resolved to begin doing so at the first opportunity.

"What makes you think I'm one of the needy?" she asked.

He smiled. "Time will tell," he replied, coming around in front of her and kissing her on her breasts.

Nadine laughed. "But don't you think we should talk a little more about it first?" she suggested.

"The time for talk has passed," he said, pulling her up to face him and putting his arms around her.

Nadine relaxed in Lester's arms. "Don't forget that Becky is still somewhere around," she reminded him.

"Becky is over at the other beach looking for frogs, whereas your frog has come to you. Thats uncommonly good fortune I must say."

"Is that something like the mountain coming to Mohammad?" Nadine asked.

"Something like that."

"I am still concerned about Becky. I don't really want her coming upon the primal scene."

"Indeed," agreed Lester. "There are limits to sex education even in this enlightened age. Let me invite you to the privacy of my burrow."

Nadine allowed herself to be led to their tent.

*****

"I think Jacob has something he needs to tell the group," Clay announced.

Looking around him at the faces glowing in the fire light, Jacob screwed up his courage. "I think most of you probably noticed that one of Clay's boots got cut and sort of messed up," he began. He looked down at the ground in front of him. "Well, I'm the one that did it." Timidly he glanced up first at Nadine, then at Lester, then at Becky, and finally at Sam.

Sam was the first to speak. "Thats what you were upset about this morning---why you were crying---isn't it. You were talking with Clay about it."

Nadine winced. Sam was like Clay in that respect---he never seemed to have any tact.

Jacob nodded.

"I thought that Sam was the one who did it," said Becky. "Why did you do it, Jacob?"

"I wanted to get even with Sam."

"For beating you in that fight?" asked Becky.

Jacob nodded.

"But that was Clay's boot."

"I thought Sam would get blamed. Then I thought they would send him home."

"That was a smooth move," Sam said. There was real admiration in his voice for the cunning that Jacob had displayed.

"I thought you would be mad at me," Jacob said.

"Well, I didn't get sent home," Sam observed matter-of-factly. "And I might have done that to Clay's boots myself if I had thought of it. I was mad enough at him for breaking my tape recorder"

"But it was wrong." Becky reminded them. "Clay never did anything wrong to you Jacob."

"I know I was wrong," Jacob said with some irritation in his voice. "I'm going to try to pay for it or make it up to him."

"How are you going to do that?" Becky asked. "Those were his special boots."

"I know what we can do," Sam announced. "Toss me your other boot, Clay." He pulled out his pocket knife. "We'll doctor up you other boot and then they'll both match. No problem, eh?"

"No problem," agreed Clay, smiling, "except for the broken arm you'd get doing it."

"I don't think you ought to make a joke of it, Sam," Becky challenged him. "Its a serious thing that Jacob did."

"Didn't you ever do anything wrong?" Sam retorted. "I'm glad that I'm not the only bad one around here now. Jacob can do bad things too. So can you, but you just don't like to admit it."

"Well, its nothing to brag about," Becky answered.

"I don't think anyone is bragging about the wrong things they have done," Clay said. "Jacob felt bad about what he did, as he should have. But its time to put that behind us now."

"Are you going to have him pay for your boots," asked Becky.

"Well, my forgiveness is free." Clay said. But sometimes restitution is good for the person who has done something wrong. What do you think, Jacob?"

"I'm not sure what you mean?"

"I'm asking whether you feel you should do something to make up for what you did?"

"I told you I wanted to make it up to you."

"Well, I want my boots to stay just like they are. They will remind me of our journey together when we get back to ordinary life. But there is something you can do.

"Whats that?"

"I want you to promise that as soon as you get a chance to do a book report when you get back to school, you do it on Black Elk Speaks."

"How will that make it up to you?" asked Jacob.

"It will," Clay said. "Do you promise?"

"I promise," Jacob agreed, relieved to have something within his power to do that would help "make it up" to Clay.

"And send me a copy."

"Sure. But it might not be that great."

"You do your best, and I'll worry about whether its good enough."

"O.k." Jacob agreed.

The group sat quietly for a few minutes, listening to the crackling of the fire. Finally Nadine asked whether people might be interested in a snack of hot chocolate and cookies.

As Jacob was fixing his hot chocolate, Lester came up to him and put his arm around his shoulder. "Its o.k.," he said. "We all do things like that sometimes. I'm glad you admitted it."

"I was worried what you would think of me."

"Well, I think you are a pretty neat son to have, and a decent human being; and I think that you sometimes make mistakes just like everyone else."

"But that was a pretty bad mistake I made this time."

"It wasn't a great thing to do," his father agreed. "But I've done worse."

*****

"Once there was a young and virtuous girl who was fond of swimming," Clay began when they had all settled in around the fire with their evening refreshments.

Her mother felt that she spent too much time at this pastime, and warned her that a water nymph might come and get her if she persisted, but the girl could not be discouraged. Playing in the water seemed to be her main joy in life, so they called her Fond of Swimming.

One day as she was wading along the shore of a lake, Fond of Swimming noticed some foam bubble up to the surface of the water not far from her. As she watched it, it formed itself into the shape of a baby and then started drifting toward her, under the influence of a breeze. It made her afraid, but before she was able to pull away it touched her and then disappeared. After this she felt afraid of the water, and didn't go swimming anymore.

As time went on her belly began to grow. Her mother was the first to notice it. "You have been with one of the young men in the tribe," she accused her, but the girl denied it.

When she grew even larger her father noticed it, and he also accused her of having been with a young men of the tribe. When she again denied it, he would not believe her. "I am disgusted with you," he told her. "You have shamed the entire family. I want nothing more to do with you."

Now this family's tribe lived under the rule of their chief, Big Screech Owl. They had used up much of the game in the area where they were now living, and they were preparing to move on to new hunting grounds. It was decided that the pregnant girl would be left behind. "You may starve, but it will serve you right," her father told her.

After Big Screech Owl led his people away, and Fond of Swimming was left alone, she began to cry. "Now I am all by myself, and I probably will starve," she thought to herself. "Even if I could care for myself, how could I care for a baby as well?"

Just then a kingfisher came to her. "Don't cry," he told her. "Nothing bad will come to you in this land. I will take care of you with the help of my grandmother." That evening a very old woman came to the girl. The old woman wore a cloak that was woven out of moss and a belt made out of cedar bark. Her name was Maskiksi.

Maskiksi and Kingfisher took good care of Fond of Swimming, and when it came time for her to have her child, Maskiksi knew just how to help her. "What shall you name him," Maskiksi asked, after Fond of Swimming gave birth to a baby boy.

"Froth," the girl answered, 'because he was conceived in the water.'

"Thats a good name for him," Maskiksi said. "Froth will be a Great Shaman."

This made Fond of Swimming very happy.

As froth was growing up, Maskiksi and Kingfisher brought them the things they needed, showed them how to be safe and warm and the woods, and taught Froth how to hunt and take care of himself. In time Froth became able to trap and hunt enough food for himself and his mother.

When Froth became a man, Kingfisher came to him and said, "You might wish to think about finding your relatives."

"Are there other two legged people in this world?" Froth asked.

"Many of them, living in many different groups we call tribes," explained Kingfisher. "Your tribe is led by a chief by the name of Big Screech Owl. You have grandparents and many relatives in that tribe."

Froth no sooner heard this than he had a great longing to go to his people. "How do I find them," he asked.

"You must go in a northerly direction and cross the mountains. It is a long way but will not be hard to find."

Froth started out the next day. After traveling a long time he came to the mountains and crossed them. On the other side he came to a village where many people lived. Half of these people lived at their leisure, entertaining themselves with sport and song. The other half worked all the time to support the needs of the whole tribe. This seemed like a very unfair way of doing things to Froth and he asked an old woman who befriended him about this. This old woman was named Woodchuck. Although Froth did not know it, this was his grandmother. Woodchuck told Froth about the circumstances that led to the captivity of her people.

"Once we were a free people and we lived in another land on the other side of the mountains," she began. When the game ran out in our hunting grounds, our chief, Big Screech Owl led our people over the mountains to the north. There they came into this land where another tribe of people lived under the rule of their chief, White Bear. There was plenty of game for both tribes in this new land, but White Bear's people were not generous or friendly to us newcomers in their area. One day a messenger came from White Bear and said to Big Screech Owl, "We are not happy to have you here. Your way of life is strange to us, and you are not our relatives. White Bear has said that you must fight us. If you cannot conquer us you must remain as our slaves." Big Screech Owl had no choice but to accept this challenge. No one from his tribe had, up to that time, ever seen White Bear.

"The next morning White Bear's tribe attacked our people. For some time they fought bravely and the battle was about equal. But then White Bear appeared and began to fight. He was a giant---about half as tall as the trees of the forest. When he saw White Bear, Big Screech owl knew that he could not win. Not wanting our people slaughtered for nothing, he called out to White Bear, 'We surrender. You have conquered us, and we agree to be your slaves. Call off your men.'"

"White Bear called off his men, and we became their slaves. It has been a miserable life. White Bear's people spend their time in sport and games while our people do all the work for both tribes."

After finishing her story, Woodchuck asked Froth to tell about himself and his people. When he told her about himself, Woodchuck realized who he was and, she cried for joy. "I knew you would come," she exclaimed, and she explained to him that he was her grandson, and a member of Screech Owl's tribe. She then invited him to her tepee for food.

While they were eating, one of White Bear's men came to the tepee and called to Froth. "Stranger, you must come and share in our sport. We are tracking a small beast and want you to have the honor of killing it. This is our way of showing hospitality."

"You must at least leave him alone until he has finished eating," protested Woodchuck, who suspected that White Bear's people were up to some trick.

"Never mind," said Froth. "I will go and join them at their sport. Do not be afraid for me."

When Froth joined the men in hunting the 'little beast', he saw that its foot prints were as big as the marks left by tepees after they were pulled down. As they tracked this creature the men pulled back and left Froth in the lead.

When they caught up with the beast, the men all laughed at Froth's astonishment. Half as tall as the trees around him stood White Bear, looking down at Froth. Froth shot an arrow at White Bear but it did him no harm. If fact he hardly seemed to notice it. Froth then shot again, and again until he had only one arrow left. White Bear only smiled, and then started toward him.

Just then a little chickadee came and lighted on Froth's shoulder. "Heel," he whispered in Froth's ear.

Froth looked at the creature's heel and noticed a bulging place that throbbed rhythmically. This was White Bear's heart. Froth aimed his last arrow directly at this place. His arrow found its mark, and a great quantity of blood gushed forth. White Bear fell to the ground with a loud crash and was dead immediately

Froth turned and smiled at the braves around him. "That was good sport," he said. "Thank you. This beast is your's to do with as you please"

The braves did not meet his eyes. They were ashamed at what they had tried to do to Froth, and were afraid of anyone who had magic and power enough to defeat White Bear.

When they returned to the village, Froth told Woodchuck about what he had accomplished. She cried for joy, and when the news was spread to Big Screech Owl's people throughout the tribe, there was great rejoicing. No longer would they have to live in slavery.

Froth returned back over the mountains to find his mother, and he brought her back to live once again with her people. Her people asked her forgiveness and welcomed her back.

Froth was made chief over both tribes of people. Being a very old man at this time, Big Screech Owl was happy to turn this responsibility over to him. Froth insisted that both tribes live in friendship and as equals, and he was a very great chief all his life.

*****

After the story was over Jacob went up to his mother and asked if he could go down to the beach by himself for a while.

"That will be all right," Nadine said. Then she took his face in her hands and very gently kissed him on his forehead. "I love you very much," she said. "So be sure the Wiwilemec Monster doesn't carry you off."

The moon was not full, but it was bright. Jacob watched two deer on the opposite shore of Jr. Stream as they cautiously ventured down to the water to drink. He took off all his clothes in order to feel closer to everything around him, and sat down on a log. The slight breeze on his skin felt like the hands of the night gently caressing him, and welcoming him into a secret place into which only a beloved few were permitted to enter.

Overhead the Milky Way swept across the sky. It continued to astonish Jacob that this great smear of light was actually made of of millions of gigantic stars. He remembered how his science teacher had told him that when you looked at the stars you were really looking at things that happened thousands or millions of years ago. It was like looking back into time. Jacob wondered if you looked far enough whether you could see the beginning of the universe. Time was one of those incomprehensible fundamentals that you could only ponder but never understand.

Jacob sometimes asked his friends strange questions. Where does space end? Why am I me and not you? Why is it this moment and not some other moment? Why is there anything at all? Would my mother know the difference if somebody who looked and acted just like me came and took my place---would she miss me? What is this stuff out of which everything is made?" If his friend would answer this last question with the word "matter" and think that he had given a real answer, Jacob knew that he did not understand. And so it was with the other questions. The questions either got the point across that everything is a great mystery or they didn't. There appeared to be no way of explaining it to someone who did not see it.

It seemed to Jacob that most people hid from the great and imponderable questions that frightened him, by weaving a comfortable illusion of understanding out of mere words. It was not out of maliciousness that he wished to destroy the illusion his friends seemed to have that they understood anything at all---but out of loneliness.

Tonight the Great Mystery of All There Is seemed gentle and friendly, despite its vastness. Jacob was not alone. He was accepted, and was comforted.

*****

Later that night Becky lay in her sleeping bag next to Nadine. Lester was out by the stream playing his flute.

"Nadine?" Becky said.

"Yes?"

"Are you awake?"

"Yes."

"The flute sounds real pretty," she said.

"Yes," agreed Nadine. "It does."

"What song is it?"

"Its a song that Lester made up just yesterday. Its called "Frogs".

"Like the story you told about the girl and the Frog Prince?"

"Yes, like the story."

"That was a silly story."

Nadine smiled.

As she snuggled cozily in her sleeping bad, sharing this moment with Nadine, Becky thought about the story of the Indian youth who was killed and turned into a loon because he wanted to marry his cousin. Again, she wondered whether it was incest to marry a cousin. There were so many questions without answers...

Chapter Eleven -- Slime Mold

Spanning the stream between Sysladobsis and Pocumcus lakes, the lock served as a one lane wooden bridge to the primitive camping area on Sysladobsis. From this bridge, Nadine and Clay watched Sam, Becky, Jacob, and a small assortment of other children, as they swam up to the wooden platform at the base of the lock, and then pushed out into the swift water coming out of the sluice, for a ride down the stream. The water level was high, so the Forestry Department had the gate wide open, much to the delight of the children.

"Becky is feeling left out," Nadine said.

"Oh," said Clay. "How is that?"

"When you and the guys go off exploring she doesn't feel welcome."

"Why?"

"She has heard that you guys go skinny dipping."

Shielding his eyes against the sun, Clay looked at Becky. She was standing on a rock in the stream below wearing her white bikini with its bright red and yellow flowers. She dove off the rock, swam over to the wooden platform and joined Jacob. They talked and laughed for a few seconds, and then pushed off into the current and were swept down-stream. "They seem to be getting along all right now," he observed.

"They get along all right for the most part, but Becky still feels left out."

"I had noticed that lately she has been choosing not to go with us."

"She was told she wasn't welcome."

"By whom?" There was a hint of irritation in Clay's voice.

"By Sam. But I don't want you to get on his case. I think he was just saying something that others were feeling as well."

Down below Sam climbed onto a rock and stood up. Seeing that he was being observed, he waved at Nadine and Clay. They waved back.

"There may be some truth in what you say," Clay admitted.

"That Becky is not welcome?"

He shrugged.

"Why?"

"We do go skinny dipping from time to time."

"That's not a sin," she said.

"I thought that you felt the kids are too old for that now...at least for boys and girls together."

"Suppose I changed my mind?"

"I guess that would remove the major obstacle," Clay replied.

"Would it remove all the obstacles?"

After some hesitation Clay said, "I'm not sure."

"There is another issue here, isn't there?" Nadine asked.

"I suppose there is," Clay admitted.

"What's it about?"

"I'm really not wanting to get into all this woman's liberation stuff." Clay answered. "It really is good that girls and women have more opportunities and all that. But sometimes it seems to me that there are things that are getting lost as well," He looked at Nadine with an almost apologetic expression.

"I'm not going to jump down your throat about it, Clay. What you think is being lost?"

Clay thought about her question before answering. "I guess one thing is the special camaraderie that is found in single sex groups." he said finally. "Take, for example, a boy scout group, a men's club, a sports team of any age, or just a group of men and boys going on a fishing trip. There is something that happens in a single sex group that doesn't happen when it is co-ed. Women feel it too, I think. Every time you turn around now there is a woman's group for this or a women's group for that---work-shops, courses, clubs, self-realization groups, self help groups, political groups, spiritual discovery groups.... There is no lack of opportunity for women to have the camaraderie of a single sex group. But just try to set up any group at all for all boys or all men and there is some woman, or some girl cheered on by a bunch of women, knocking at the door and screaming about 'male chauvinist pigs.'"

"You've got a lot of feeling about this."

"I really am a little weary of it. I'm aware that there was a lot that needed correction. I'm only asking if we aren't going too far in the other direction. There are differences between men and women, after all. It seems to me that we need to take that into account too."

"What would that mean, in a practical sense?"

"I don't really know, exactly. I used to think about it a lot, for all the difference that makes now. I mean, I won't..." He caught himself mid sentence.

"You won't what?"

"Never mind. You got me going. I didn't mean to talk so much."

"Tell me what you were going to say."

"I was going to say I won't be here much longer anyhow...in this world, but maybe that's not true."

"I see." Nadine looked down at the children playing in the water below. Becky had taught them all the Wiwilemec Monster game. "Don't you believe in the spring any more?"

"I believe that this trip is healing for me, and I want to look for the spring. Whether it will cure my cancer or not I don't know. It depends on which day of the week you ask me what I'll answer."

"I see."

"As for Becky, of course we have to include her. I'm just not always sure how. Have you and Lester talked about whether you want everybody skinny dipping together?"

"Yes."

"And you agree its o.k.?"

"We agree."

"Well, I don't have any problem with that."

"What about those things you said about the single sex group?"

Clay shrugged. "A time and place for everything as they say."

Nadine nodded. "Becky and I have had our special moments, and our heart to heart talks---which wouldn't have been possible with men around. So I can understand what you are saying.

"I realize that we can't go back to birch bark canoes. But maybe we should look at what is getting lost."

"It sounds as though you do still care what happens in this world," Nadine observed.

Clay laughed. "After I'm gone, who's going to be around who can figure it out?" he asked. "The world needs its cranks and crabby non-conformists like me if it is ever to move ahead."

Nadine put her hand on the back of Clay's, which was resting on the railing of the bridge. "You are my favorite crank," she said. "and I love you."

"The feeling is mutual," Clay replied.

"Like a brother," Nadine said, looking him straight in the eye.

Clay smiled. "Maybe in another life time it will be something more," he suggested.

"Who knows," said Nadine. "Maybe in another incarnation Becky will be your daughter. She is looking for a father, you know."

"I suppose most people are looking for mothers and fathers who are wiser than the ones they had. Not everybody is as lucky as Jacob."

"You always wanted a son, didn't you Clay."

He shrugged. "Things in the wife and kids department didn't work out too well for me this time around," he said.

"I think there are other times," Nadine said. "Somehow being on this trip has made me believe that."

"I hope you are right," Clay said.

*****

Becky stood on the shore of Sysladobsis lake and looked across at Big Island. She had a sweat shirt on over her swim suit as it was still a little bit chilly in the early morning air. The sky in the east was becoming lighter, and the mist rising off the lake was drifting lazily to no-where in particular. The head of a muskrat swimming slowly but steadily toward Big Island was just barely visible. The animal cut a graceful arc in the water as his path curved gently, and two ripples spread out into a long slightly bent v behind him.

They were up before sunrise because the previous evening Clay had announced that he had some intuitions about where the spring might be found. He said they needed an early start.

Waiting for the sun-rise was full of happy anticipation. It felt like the whole earth was holding its breath. Becky thought about how somewhere on the earth, no matter what time of the day or night it was where she was, there would be people and creatures caught in the magic of this moment just before sunrise. The memory of waiting on the end of the dock somewhere in the Scandinavian forests came back to her. Waiting. So much of life was waiting. Longing for someone or something that was not yet there was painful. Yet waiting also had is own kind of happiness if one made oneself calm and patient. Her revery was interrupted by Nadine calling to her from the campsite.

"Becky," we're almost ready to go. Come and help carry things down to the canoe."

"Coming Mum," she said.

Arriving back in the camping area, Becky grabbed one end of an ice chest. Jacob took the other, and together they hauled it down to the canoes. She was glad that they were all going together today.

They put into the water just below the locks and allowed the current to carry them down to Pocumcus lake where they began paddling in earnest. Becky was in the bow of the canoe with Clay in the stern. They pulled out ahead of the others. The previous afternoon Clay had spent some time pondering over contour maps of the area.

As they reached the middle of the lake the sun suddenly poked above the edge of the horizon directly ahead of them. Becky felt a thrill of excitement ripple through her body, and she glanced over her shoulder at Clay. He smiled at her. He too understood the beauty of it. She looked back at the other canoes, and then at the shore in back of them. The tops of the trees on that shore burned with a reddish glow. She pointed this out to the others, and then turned back to watch where they were headed. A few patches of mist were still hovering above the surface of the water.

The sun had risen more than halfway toward its noon-time position when Clay led the group into a long cove that narrowed as it cut into the shore line. As they reached the apex of the cove, the water became increasingly clogged with sedge, lily pads, fallen trees and branches. Clay, however, managed to find a narrow channel that led to a gurgling brook that flowed into the lake, forming a small area of shallow water with a clear sandy bottom where it entered. Clay got out and waded up to the shore, pulling the canoe behind him.

"I'd like to wade up this stream a ways and see what's there," Clay said.

The water tumbled down a gradual slope in a series of little waterfalls and swirling pools. Moss covered the boulders in and around the stream, and was thick on the surrounding trees. There was little undergrowth near the stream. The sun, filtering down through the tall trees, created an emerald glow in the cathedral like clearing below.

A little further on the ground leveled, and the stream widened and deepened to form a pool. The water was quieter here as it eased slowly around the rocks and boulders in the stream bed.

Clay climbed up on a rock and sat down, surveying the irregularly shaped little pool. "We should look around here," he announced. "This is the kind of place where Indians might have camped on a hunting trip had they wished to be hidden from view.

Clay had made similar announcements about quite a number of other places the group had found, and nothing in particular had turned up. However the three children were eager to search the area to see if they could find anything of interest.

****

Lester stood by the stream, and listened to the sound of water. He felt that he was in a holy place. It was a familiar feeling---like meeting an old friend. As meeting the friend brought back memories, so it was with the Holy. In his youth, memories of the holy were usually connected with some natural scene. As an adult it was more often in relation to a particularly beautiful piece of music. A recording of the choir of St. John's College at Cambridge singing Benjamin Britten's "A Ceremony of Carols" came to his mind.

Incidents of this experience, he felt, were less frequent and generally less intense now that he was an adult. Nevertheless, scattered throughout his days, like pieces of a broken bottle scattered on a beach, there were these uncollected moments. His mind, in the modern manner, treated them simply as "experiences"---as subjective events that did not necessarily have any reference point beyond themselves. This, however, left him no where at all spiritually speaking. Spiritual experience became simply one species of aesthetic experience---something that was either enjoyable or not according to one's taste, but was of no significance beyond any momentary pleasure that it might provide.

Lester realized that normal people did not treat the rest of their experience in this manner. Philosophical arguments aside, no normal person doubted the existence of rocks and trees as having objective existence beyond the sensory experience we have of them. And though we have no direct experience of the consciousness of our friends, no-one seriously doubts, during an intense conversation, that one is encountering a consciousness opposite oneself that has objective existence in the world. In normal waking-life experience always carries with it the conviction of the independent existence of the thing experienced. What then of this experience of the Holy that was so intense at this moment? Did he not experience a presence in this bit of creation around him, a spirit that "rolls through all things," as Wordssworth had put it, that was just as clear and compelling as the experience of the subjective presence of a friend?

Was it, then, simply a peculiar convolution of modern mentality that led to a truncating of our experience when it came to the Holy? If so, how could this be understood except as as pathological endeavor to systematically ignore the significance of a whole dimension of experience? What might motivate such a perverse denial? The lines from a Dostoyevsky novel came to his mind. "If God is dead, then anything is possible." If there is no natural order, no divine direction, no objective moral order, then anything is possible. Yet Lester was weary of a world in which anything was possible ---anything, that is, except a meaningful existence. "Suppose," he thought to himself, "I simply assume an objective reference point for this experience just as I do my other experiences, and be done with the modern deception."

Certainty, of course, was never captured in the net of human knowledge. Mushrooms could be mistaken for toadstools. Optical illusions might be mistaken for rocks, stage props for trees or mirages for lakes. Friends could be mistaken for strangers. Knowing this, however, does not stop us from believing in mushrooms, rocks, trees, lakes and friends. Why then, should the inherent uncertainty of all human knowledge cut us off from that most basic of all our needs---the need for a relationship to the Holy One?

Like the boy singing the initial processional during Britten's the Ceremony of Carols, the Holy was once again able to enter his life---not only as aesthetic experience but as compelling reality. Lester was again eager for the full performance.

*****

Clay was tearing up moss and digging with a stick not far from the edge of the pool. "The rocks around this area have been burned." he observed. "This was a fireplace."

He poked around a bit more and pulled something out of the ground. "Look at this," he said.

Both Lester and Nadine viewed the object in clay's hand. It looked like a broken piece of a flower pot about two inches wide and three inches long.

"I think its a shard from an Indian pot," Clay said.

As he washed it in the stream, white lines became visible."See, that's where the decoration was," he said.

"Fantastic," exclaimed Nadine. "Do you think there might be more things around?"

"Probably," Clay said. "But I don't want us tearing up the area. This tells us what we need to know for the moment."

"The kids will be thrilled," Nadine said. "Here they come now. The children could be heard crashing noisily through the woods on the opposite side of the stream.

"Clay! Clay! guess what we found," Becky shouted as she broke out into view. "We found a spring," she hollered, excitedly answering her own question.

"That's great. You can show it to me in a minute." Clay said. "But first come see what I found."

The boys were close behind as the three of them negotiated a path across the stream jumping from rock to rock. "Come and see," she shouted to the boys. "Clay has found something."

"What is it," demanded Jacob as they gathered for a closer look.

"Its a shard," explained Clay.

"A shard?" repeated Becky.

"A piece of an old Indian pot."

"Hey!" exclaimed Jacob. "Where did you find it?"

"Right over here. There used to be an old fireplace here. You can see how the stones were burnt by the fire."

"Then real Indians used to camp right here," exclaimed Becky.

"Real Indians?" asked Clay. "'As opposed to 'fake Indians?'"

"You know what I mean," countered Becky. "Old time Indians."

"Yes," said Clay. "Real old time Indians used to camp here.

"It could have been sort of like an Indian Motel," said Sam.

"Something like that," agreed Clay. "It would not have been a camping area for the whole tribe. Most of those would have been along the big rivers. This might have been used as a hunting camp, or a stop over place for small groups of Indians visiting back and forth between the two tribes who bordered on either side of this lake area."

"Or groups on the war path," suggested Sam.

"Possibly, but not likely," Clay answered. "Most of the local tribes around here would have been on friendly terms most of the time. The Passamaquoddy and the Penobscots were pretty closely related. I don't think they were usually at war."

"What do you think the shard was from." asked Becky.

"Probably a cooking pot. It was right in the fire place. Probably a women dropped a pot by accident or perhaps a child knocked it over and broke it. The fact that there was a pot here at all suggests that women and maybe children were here at the time. Men on a hunting trip would not have taken a pot with them."

"I wonder what it was really like, living as an Indian back then," Jacob mused.

"It is fun to imagine that," Clay agreed.

"Come on and let us show you what we found," Becky said, impatiently.

"O.k.," said Clay. "Lead the way."

Sure footed and graceful as a herd of young gazelles, the children bounced from rock to rock across the stream. With somewhat more caution, the three adults followed. Less than a hundred yards upstream they came to a small tributary. Following it up the hill-side soon brought the group to its source. Water gurgled up from between rocks and formed itself into a little pool before it before it bounced and splashed down the narrow creek bed.

"You found the spring," Clay observed with approval. He reached down and took some water in his cupped hands. He washed his hands. Then he took some more and splashed it on his face. Finally he kneeled down and drank several times from his cupped hands. "This is good," he said. "We have found the spring."

Jacob repressed an impulse to point out that he had been the first to see it.

" The spring?" Nadine asked.

"Yes," Clay said. "This is New Bethel, the place of dreaming. Here we will find the ladder between the realms."

*****

It was about five in the afternoon when the group arrived back at Dennison Point. "What about a swim," Jacob suggested.

"This is my turn to fix supper with Becky," Nadine observed. "Clay and Jacob are on clean up. So why don't you guys head on down for a swim while Becky and I get supper started."

They required little persuading. The week-end campers had cleared out, and they had the beach to themselves. We'll skinny dip," Clay said, removing all his clothes.

Jacob looked at him with some uneasiness. "What if someone comes over the bridge or paddles up the stream?" he asked.

"What if they do?" Clay said with a shrug, and he dove into the water.

"What if they do?" echoed Sam, stripping down. "If they don't like what they see they can look somewhere else." With a few joyful bounds and an uninhibited scream at the coldness of the water, he was in.

Jacob glanced around furtively, removed his clothes, and somewhat cautiously entered the water, carrying his snorkel tube and mask with him. He swam down to the pool under the end of the wooden platform and began exploring under water. Clay, also wearing a snorkel mask and tube, joined him and showed him how to swim under the rapids that came off the end of the wooden sluice. The turbulence extended only a couple of feet down, and you could swim right under it to the calm water on the other side of the stream. After they tired of exploring they returned to the rock near the beach for a rest, and to give Lester a chance to swim. He had been acting as life guard. Sam, who never seemed to tire, continued running the rapids.

As he chatted with Clay, Jacob glanced up the path and saw his mother and Becky sauntering down toward the beach. He poked Clay in the ribs with his elbow and said, "Hey, here come the women."

Clay looked up and nodded. "I guess they are coming down for a dip," he commented casually. He made no effort to either conceal himself or move toward his clothes. Jacob realized that he couldn't make it to his clothes without being seen even if he wished to. So he followed Clay's example and waited to see what would happen next.

Nadine waved at them in a friendly manner and said, "Hi guys." We got supper started and decided to join you while things are cooking"

"Sounds like a good idea," Clay replied.

As Jacob watched, Nadine and Becky removed their clothes on the beach and began wading into the water. Jacob could only conclude that a new rule had been, as if by magic, suddenly established. He stood up on the rock and waved. "Hey Becky," he shouted. "Lets go down the rapids." And he dove into the water.

Sam took this new development into stride without comment as he joined the other two children at the rapids. Becky felt grateful that Sam said nothing about her body this time.

The three children ran the rapids a few times, and then began playing Wiwilemec Monster. In this simple game, created by Nadine, one person was the Wiwilemec. He or she tried to catch someone else. Technically a Wiwilemec monster slimes its prey to death, but how much of a production one wished to make of this was left to the individual discretion of the monster. Once you were caught you became a monster too and shared in the pursuit of the others. The last one caught became the beginning Wiwilemec monster on the next round. Boundaries were defined beyond which nobody could go, and for the next half hour everybody played Wiwilemec Monster with abandon.

One by one the adults tired and retreated to the rock by the beach, and the game came to a close. Sam at this point decided to swim down to look at the boiler down stream again.

"Did you know you can swim under the rapids, Jacob asked Becky. They were resting in the shallow water near the beach.

"No." said Becky. "Can you?"

"Yeah," said Jacob. "Let me show you. Its best with swim masks."

He ran up on the beach and grabbed two masks. After they put on their masks Jacob led her up toward the lock. "Follow me," he told her. "Its easier than it looks." And he dove down under water and began swimming under the rapids. Becky followed close behind him. They emerged on the opposite side of the stream and paddled over to some rocks where they climbed out for a rest. "I'm glad you are with us now," he said. "I missed having you along when we went on our trips."

"Sam told me not to come along because you were all skinny dipping," she said. There was a tone of accusation in her voice.

"Well, Mom had said she didn't want us skinny dipping together," Jacob said. "I couldn't help that."

"Was skinny dipping was more important than having me along?" Becky asked.

"Not really. I wanted to skinny dip, and I wanted to have you along. I wanted both things. I didn't want to leave you out."

"You and Sam are blood brothers in the Secret Society, so probably you don't want a girl tagging along," Becky said.

"It not true I don't want you along," Jacob protested. "But its no picnic trying to be friends with both you and Sam the way you fight all the time."

Becky thought about this for a few moments. "Well," she said, "I can see how that might be a problem."

"I'm sorry about you being left out," Jacob said.

"Are you really?" asked Becky.

Jacob nodded.

Becky seemed satisfied with this. "Clay said we are going back to New Bethel tomorrow," she observed.

For some sort of ceremony," Jacob said.

"Do you believe in the spring now?" she asked.

"We've seen it with our own eyes," he said.

"Do you think it will cure him?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know anything for sure, do you," Becky said with impatience.

"I guess I don't," Jacob admitted.

****

Nadine, Clay and Lester were sitting on the rock by the beach watching the children play in the water.

"Humanity is like slime mold," Clay said."

"That's real complimentary to humanity," Lester quipped.

"It may not be that complimentary to slime mold," Nadine added.

"But what specifically is the resemblance?"

"Slime mold is a beautiful thing," Clay said. "Its found on rotting logs and in other damp shaded places in the forest. In one stage of its life cycle it looks sort of like a coating of slime."

"Sounds beautiful," Nadine agreed.

"Its sort of an ugly duckling story," Clay said. "I admit that during this stage its not that gorgeous. But it is interesting. In this stage it consists of millions of individual one celled organisms, each one being pretty much like the others, and all of them more or less capable of independent existence. In other words, at most it is a sort of loose knit community of one celled organisms. Then all at once it begins to pull itself together and look more and more like a single organism. It develops a base, a stalk, and a bulb at the top. Some of the cells in the bulb at the top differentiate themselves into spores which are later carried by the wind to new places to start new communities. During this stage it can be very brightly colored and quite beautiful. But what is curious is that a community of independent individuals suddenly acts as if it were a single organism. There are several interesting questions here. First, what guides the differentiation of the different cells? Second, what coordinates the behavior of these individual one celled creatures when they gather together and form a single organism? They have no nervous system to coordinate their activities. Third, should we conceive of this as a community of individuals, or as a single organism?"

"That is curious," agreed Lester.

"Slime mold can be thought of as a metaphor for humanity," Clay suggested. "The single organism with its differentiated parts and overall unity is like our corporate identity. This is what cultural heroes such as Glooscap represent. Glooscap is an image of the corporate Indian community. I believe that this corporate aspect of humanity must be thought of as having real existence---as being, in fact, one of the two poles of human existence. Humanity exists simultaneously as individual people and as a cooperate entity. The major difference with slime mold is that slime mold oscillates back and forth between these two forms of existence. We are both at the same time."

"I always wondered what distinguished us from slime," Nadine commented.

Clay laughed. "Not so much as we might wish to think," he said. "So Jung's 'collective unconsciousness' would simply be the mind of this corporate entity----the mind of our collective existence," Lester suggested.

"Exactly," agreed Clay. "But it is important to understand that this collective mind is divided against itself. This is the meaning of the duel images of Adam and Christ that Paul talks about in his letter to the Romans."

"This is heavy duty stuff," Nadine said. "But supper is going to burn unless we get moving."

"First things first," Clay said. "And eating is always first."

As Nadine stood up to call the children in she was suddenly captivated by their beauty, and was overwhelmed by the sense of community she felt. "We are, in some sense, one as well as many, aren't we," she said. "I mean us---this group of us on this trip."

Clay smiled. "We are a slime mold," he said.

*****

"Back in Primordial times," Clay was saying, "death was not yet inescapable."

A bit of a chill had settled in after the sun went down. In her night gown, and wrapped in a blanket, Becky snuggled up next to Nadine. Lester was sitting near by, leaning up against a rock. The two boys, sitting together on a log, were dressed in flannel shirts and long pants for warmth. The flickering light from the fire beside him, vividly etched the hollows of Clay's cheeks, and gave his eye sockets a sunken appearance. The moon, low on the horizon, was blood red.

The First Mother had not yet died and been turned into the corn and the squash which was to be re-born each spring to feed her children. This could not happen until there was first winter. The people did not understand this.

There lived in the tribe at that time a man who came to be known as Two Sons. He resided in a tepee with his wife and their seven year old son. One day a strange boy came into the camp and to Two Sons tepee. This boy had never been seen before by anyone. He was beautiful to look at, but also a little frightening. He was all white. Not white like "white people" who are actually all shades of red and brown. He was really white---like a sheet of paper. His hair was flowing, and white like his skin. He wore a loose white cloak, and kept a bag at his side which was attached to a strap that went around his shoulder. He appeared to be exactly the size and age of Two Son's seven year old boy.

"What is your name?" Two sons asked.

"You can call me Frost. After I am here seven years you will learn my true name," the boy answered.

"And where are you from?" Two Sons asked.

"From another land," was all the boy would tell him.

"How old are you," Two sons asked.

"I have been seven for many years," the boy answered.

Seeing that the boy had a strange mind as well as as strange appearance, Two Sons did not persist in his questions. He told him that he could stay with him as long as he needed. Without more discussion, Frost joined the family and was treated just like Two Sons own child.

Two sons wife was uneasy about Frost. "I feel that some evil thing will come of this," she said.

"How can a small child harm us?" asked Two Sons. "Besides, we cannot turn him out to starve or be eaten by wild animals."

Although she still felt uneasy, Two Son's wife could find no argument against this.

The next seven years were fairly uneventful. The only peculiar thing was that, while Two Sons natural child continued to grow and mature during this time, Frost remained just the size he was when he first came to live with them.

One morning there was a great commotion among the people of the tribe. A little child had been found dead. There were no marks upon his body to explain the cause of his death, but it was finally discovered that his mouth was full of blood. To a tribe of people who had no real knowledge of death, this was naturally a confusing and very distressful event. The elders of the tribe gathered to discuss the matter but could come to no way of understanding it.

At about this time Two Sons noticed that Frost's habits and manner became even more strange than they had been before. He slept all day and became wakeful and active only during the night. Often he would roam around outside during the night, and there seemed to be no way of stopping this. This made Two Sons suspicious that Frost might have had something to do with the death of the child in the tribe, so he began watching him closely.

A few nights later Two Sons observed Frost come from one of his wandering episodes. He watched as Frost went over to the fireplace in the center of the tepee, took something out of his pouch, and began cooking it in the glowing embers of the fire.

"What are you cooking," asked Two Sons.

"Only this tongue from a small child," Frost answered him, and he offered to share it with him.

Two Sons was, of course, horrified, and did not accept this ghastly offer. In the morning he told what had happened to the Elders of the tribe. Any doubt that might have remained as to what had happened was dispelled when it was discovered that a second child had been killed, and was found with its tongue cut out.

The elders called the two fathers of the murdered children to them, and instructed them to bind and kill Frost, and to tie rocks to his body and throw him into the deepest part of a cold lake that was near the camp. The two fathers, almost insane with rage and grief, needed little persuasion. It was accomplished while the morning was still young.

That night Two Sons was wakened by someone coming into the tepee. To his horror, he saw that it was Frost. The child was shivering. "I'm cold," he complained, and went over to the fire to warm himself. After he was warm he took two more tongues out of his bag, and began cooking them on the coals of the fire. After eating them, he lay down on some furs, and went to sleep.

Shortly before dawn two more children were found with their mouths full of blood. The village was in an uproar. This time the decision was made to kill Frost, and then carefully burn his body. He was taken out and handled roughly by the relatives of the children. Finally his throat was cut. According to those who near by at the time, when the blood gushed forth from his throat it was cold as ice water. The child's body was then carefully burned and the ashes were scattered in four directions. Everybody was confident that was the last they would see of this accursed creature.

You can imagine, then, what amazement and horror Two Sons felt when Frost returned once again that night. This time he took three tongues out of his bag and angrily threw them on top of the coals. Then, after eating them, he threw himself down on the furs and fell asleep. Three more murdered children were discovered. The village, learning that Frost had returned, fell into a state of despair. There was, it seemed, no way to be safe from the ravages of this evil child.

Finally the women of the tribe came up with an idea for a different approach. "This child is clearly supernatural being of some sort with powers too great for us to defeat," they argued. "And he is taking from us the one thing we value above all else---our children. Our only hope is to try to appease him with gifts." With no other plan being offered, the village quickly agreed to this course of action and the rest of the night they gathered together all the valuables that everyone in the village had. No one held anything back.

When they offered their considerable pile of wealth to Frost in the morning, he was not interested. "No," he said. "I do not want your presents, nor could you control me by appeasements in any case. I have been sent by the creator to announce my presence in this first hour of creation, so that you will be ready for me when I come to you. I will be known by many names. Winter, suffering, sickness, death. But always I will be called No Mercy. I will not be loved when I visit you, but I am also a part of creation and have my job to do. My work is not the work of First Mother, nor the work of Glooscap, but it is necessary just as theirs is. It is good that my work is not your work, for you are to show kindness, and pity and gentleness to one another.

"There will be much to celebrate in creation. But five months out of every twelve will belong to me. I will give you healing herbs and medicines to help you before I leave, but do not be sentimental about me, nor lax in preparing for my coming. For I will be true to my name."

True to his promise, No Mercy showed them the herbs and the medicines before he left them, and true to his word he returned at regular intervals to do his work. This was the beginning of the seasons.

Chapter Twelve -- New Bethel

The sun had not yet risen when Clay called the group together around the camp fire. He had warned them the night before that he would be waking them early. "Today we are returning to New Bethel," he told them. "While we are there we will be on a vision quest. This will require some fasting, some loss of sleep, and some effort. You may be uncomfortable at times."

Clay glanced around the group. Everybody looked very sleepy. "If you don't want to go through with this you need to say so now," he added.

Nobody spoke.

"Good. You will need to follow my instruction carefully when we get there." He looked at Sam.

"You're the chief," Sam said.

Clay smiled. "One more thing before we leave," he said. "Becky, come over here."

"Me?" she asked.

"Any other Becky's around?"

She stood up and came over to Clay. "I'm not real sure of myself when it comes to initiating girls," he said, "So bear with me."

He put his hand on her shoulder. "Nadine tells me that you and she have had some heart to heart talks. She didn't say about what, but that's none of my business. She is your mentor into the Indian life, and the one who must share with you the mysteries."

"Now it is time for your initiation, Becky. So I give you this cup. It is empty, and waiting, like we are to become on our trip this day and tomorrow. After tomorrow you can drink anything you like from it, and it's yours to keep." Clay gave her the clay coffee cup with the Indian decorations that he had been using every morning on the trip.

"Your Indian name is "Fond of Swimming" after the girl in the story of Froth," he continued. "You will give birth to children from your mind, from your heart, and perhaps some day from your body as well---strong and beautiful children who will be helpful to your people."

Becky took the cup and smiled. "So I'm an Indian now, am I?" she said.

"A real one, and a member of the Secret Society of Indians. Jacob, Sam, come up here."

When they joined him at the fire Clay said, "This is your sister in the Secret Society. You must treat her as an equal---with the same respect you treat each other."

"My little sister--as an equal?" questioned Sam.

"It's an order," said Clay.

Sam thought this over a moment and then shrugged his shoulders. He turned to Becky. "Come here, Fond of Swimming." To everybody's astonishment he put his arms around her, and gave her a hug. "You are my sister," he said. "I won't tease you any more."

"Thank your," Becky stammered, trying to think of something she could say or do in response. "I won't tell on you anymore." She said, finally.

Sam nodded. "That would be nice," he said.

When Jacob also gave her a hug, and welcomed her into the Secret Society of Indians, the initiation ceremony was complete.

*****

The sun rose in a cloudless sky and by mid morning was beating down on them uncomfortably as they paddled. When the boys removed their shirts, Becky followed their example. It felt very good to be wearing only a pair of shorts, like the boys. It didn't make her feel like a boy, however. She was very conscious that she was already beginning to look somewhat different from them. But it did make her feel like she belonged.

When they arrived at New Bethel late in the morning, Clay first had the children go down to the edge of the lake and gather rocks. While they were doing this Nadine and Lester collected dead wood for a fire. Clay went out to cut some green branches and saplings for the frame of the sweat lodge.

Lunch time came and went with no mention of food. An inner alarm clock went off in every stomach present, announcing that it was time to eat, but after being ignored for a while the bodies message became less urgent.

Clay, it seemed, had very specific ideas for what each part of the campsite should look like. He began with the fireplace. After studying the rocks that the children brought in very carefully, he selected a big one that seemed unusually round, and he placed this in the center of the area where the old Indian fire place had been. Around this he constructed a circle of rocks, leaving a space of about four inches between the center rock and the rocks surrounding it. Leaving another space of about the same size, he constructed a second circle around the first. This resulted in a circular fire place with a diameter of about three feet. Carefully selecting only the driest wood, Clay then started a fire. "We will keep this fire going the rest of the day, and all night," he explained. "Anybody can feed it to keep it going as is needed."

In order to construct the sweat lodge, Clay began with two pliable poles that were about nine feet tall. He buried the ends of the poles in the ground about seven feet from each other. He then brought the two top ends together and tied them so as to form a rounded arch. Between two and three feet away he repeated the operation making a parallel arch. He then made two more arches of similar dimensions perpendicular to, and across the first two. These arches were tied together at the points where they intersected at the top. Finally he prepared two longer poles which he arranged across the already existing frame in a diagonal manner. Once the intersecting points of these two poles were secured at the points of intersection with other poles at the top, and their ends were secured on the ground, Clay obtained a dome shaped frame that was about seven feet in diameter and about five feet tall at its highest point. In the middle of the floor space created by this frame, Clay dug a round hole about eighteen inches in diameter and a little over a foot deep. Over all of this he arranged semi-transparent plastic tarps. The finished sweat lodge was about thirty feet from the fire, and had an opening which faced the stream where it widened into the pool.

Next Clay turned his attention to the sleeping quarters. "During the day we will all work together," he said. But at night the men and women must sleep in separate areas. Nadine and Becky can make their sleeping quarters on the opposite side, upstream just a bit so as to be closer to the spring."

"I think I saw a nice place for that," agreed Nadine.

"We men will camp on the same side as you but down stream a bit. What we need to do now is to collect pine needles for our mattresses. We will sleep in sleeping bags under the stars.

"The camp site looks good," Clay declared, when the preparations were complete. "Becky, get your new cup and go fill it at the spring. The rest of us will be waiting here."

Jacob was hot, sweaty, tired and hungry. Mosquitoes were appearing in larger numbers as evening approached. Black flies were swarming around his head. A cool swim and a hearty supper would have mended most of his discomforts, and, he felt, would have prepared him more adequately for a spiritual encounter. Clay, however, seemed oblivious to the insects that were feeding off of him, and unaware that his body might be suffering any unmet needs. He sat quietly at the edge of the stream, staring into the water, occasionally brushing away one of the more aggressive insects. Lester and Nadine were obviously somewhat uncomfortable, but suffered quietly. Jacob resolved to follow their example. Sam slapped at the mosquitoes and muttered oaths under his breath, but he too became quiet when Clay stared at him. Jacob recalled hearing people say they didn't go to church because they could find God just as well in nature. It seemed a highly romantic notion to Jacob at this moment.

When Becky returned Clay said, "we must now clean our bodies from the days work, and purify ourselves for the evening." He removed his shirt and trunks and eased himself into the stream. The other members of the group followed his lead.

The cool and soothing water seemed to cure even the gnawing ache of hunger in Jacob's belly.

Clay drew them into a circle and had them hold hands when they emerged from the stream, and he began to pray. "Great Spirit. Holy one who is our Mother, the Earth, our Father, the Sky, bring us back to Your good path. Enter into our hearts, and our minds, and our bodies on this trip. Heal us from all the many forms of distress, suffering, and error that seem to separate us from you, and from one another. Help us to read and to understand all holy texts, whether from the great spiritual traditions, or from our own individual dreams and visions. Teach us to discern the spirits so that we may learn to distinguish between your leading and our own confusion. Guide us especially on this trip that we may find whatever healing each of us needs."

He turned to Becky. "Bring me the water," he said.

When she did so he took a sip, and then passed it on to Jacob who was at his side. The cup went around the circle, each taking a sip. "This is the healing water," he announced at the end of the cup passing," and he gave Becky back her cup. "Now we need to soak in the stream again. When you begin to feel chilly you can get out and warm yourselves at the fire. Put on whatever clothes you need for comfort, but don't put the sweaty ones back on. And until I tell you differently, try to talk only as much as you need to for practical purposes."

For a few minutes the cool water felt good and refreshing to Becky, and it was a happy feeling to be there with her spiritual family. Before long, however, she began to feel chilled. She decided to return to the woman's area and get into her night gown. By the time she returned she saw that Sam was the only one left in swimming, and she surmised that the rest of them were in the sleeping area getting dried off and dressed. She found a comfortable mossy place and sat down. Soon she saw Sam get out of the water and start toward the men's area. Not long after that Jacob came and stood close to the fire. He was wearing blue jeans and a flannel shirt but was still shivering. He smiled at her and waved. She returned the gesture. Both were observing the no talking policy. She liked this. It surprised her how little talking really was necessary to communicate the things needed for everyday life.

Nadine was the next to join them. She gave Jacob an affectionate hug and then sat down next to Becky. In a short while Clay and Lester arrived. Lester had his flute with him and Clay had the group's big cooking pot. They sat down near one another. When Sam finally arrived he joined Jacob.

The sun was very low on the horizon by this time, and the sky was ablaze with bright purples, and pinks. The fleecy clouds scattered across the sky soaked up the colors like sponges, and showed them off in concentrated form. A mosaic of all these colors and the sun itself could be seen through the trunks and limbs of the pine trees that lined the ridge on the opposite shore of the stream.

The silence was complete. Even the birds were quiet, as if out of respect for the gentleness of the moment. Nothing hurried. No urgent message clambered to be said. All of the inner children in each of the people around the fire were content and still, their real needs cared for. None tugged at the sleeves begging, like children in a shopping center, "do this for me, buy me that, feed me something else, fix this little discomfort". Becky snuggled closer to Nadine, and glanced at her beloved friends around the fire. Stillness and happiness like this she had never known in the city. She wanted it to last forever.

In the stillness, the sun set, and even then no one broke the silence for a long time. Finally Clay arranged the pot between his legs, like a drum, and began tapping out a rhythm with his fingers. He began to chant. At first it seemed almost like a moan or like the wailing of a woman at a funeral. But there was joy in the sound too. It was a natural sound, like the howling of a coyote or the sound of loons. The words were from the Indian language. As Clay began repeating the chant over and over, Lester picked it up on his flute and accompanied him. They gathered momentum and volume, and for perhaps an hour this music proceeded without let-up.

At first Becky was impatient with the repetitiveness of the song. But gradually the chanting had an hypnotic effect on her, and in some peculiar way her relationship to time changed. She ceased being in a hurry for the song to end, but neither did she cling to it. She felt that she now understood how her cat could sit for hours, doing nothing, content in whatever the moment was, yet ready to do any new interesting thing that might come along.

By the time the music stopped it was dark. The stars were out, but the moon had not yet come up. The silence was even deeper than it had been during the sun-set. Loons wailed out on the near-by lake.

Becky began to cry. She didn't really know why. It was as though all the unhappiness that had been pent up in her for so long had suddenly been released and was leaving her. Nadine looked at her with some concern. "Its so nice," Becky whispered, to re-assure her.

Nadine seemed to understand and arranged for them to wrap up in the same blanket, so they could snuggle more closely together.

The boys built the fire up with fresh wood.

"There is something I want each of you do do before the night is over," Clay said, after the fire was stronger again. "Becky's coffee mug is over there on that rock." He pointed toward a rock about half way between the camp-fire and the sweat lodge. "Some time during this night I want each of you to take that up to the spring and get some water, and drink it. I want you to do this by yourself, whenever you feel like it. The moon will be up soon, and you all know the path there."

"We will be chanting and sitting for some time. Whenever you want to get up and soak in the stream, do so. Do not talk un-necessarily. You can go to bed whenever you wish. You can stay up all night if you wish. I will be waking everybody very early."

Clay then taught them the words to the chant that he had been singing. It was not difficult because they had already heard it so many times. When the chanting started again, all were joining in.

Jacob remembered what Clay had told him about the two canoe basins, about the first one that was as it once was, and the second one that had fighter jets roaring through it, and gas slicks on the water, and Mc Donald's styrofoam containers littering the beaches. As he joined in the chanting he was aware of leaving the second one behind him. He was back with his people in the primordial place---the place he had searched for so long on his bike trips. And he sensed that the other world, the one that Black Elk entered in his vision, was also very close. This place to which Black Elk went in his vision sounded very much like the land in which he had once owned a ranch with rainbow colored horses. "How many worlds there are?" Jacob thought. "I wonder how they all fit together." He wished that he would never have to return to the ordinary city world again.

As he joined in the chanting, Jacob set aside his questions and his thinking and simply merged with the music and the people he loved. The chanting seemed to drive all thoughts, all worries, all fantasies about other times and places from his mind, and he became empty. Happiness as he had never before known slowly and gently welled up inside of him.

At first, when he saw that Clay seemed to be crying it was something of a shock to Jacob. He had been told by Nadine, of course, that it was o.k. for men to cry as well as women, but he had seldom seen any man he knew do it. Especially he did not expect this of Clay, whom he considered to be the toughest man he knew. He could well imagine Clay undergoing almost any torture without complaining. Yet here he was with tears rolling down his cheeks. He thought he had also seen tears in Becky's eyes earlier, and had wondered about that too.

As he studied Clay's face more clearly he suddenly saw the image of Black Elk standing on the mountain as an old man praying to the six powers of the world. Black Elk's tears expressed the grief and the humiliation of his whole people at their defeat, and at the loss of their way of life. "Make my people live," he had prayed, and in his words was the hope of all his people. And because the clouds came at so unlikely a time, and rained on him, he must have been heard.

And now Clay's chanting was expressing the sorrow of of his people. But his grief was not only for their defeat. Clay understood that the enemy, the white people, the squinty eyed, gold hungry Wasichus, had destroyed their own ladder to God as well as the Indian's, by their greedy and short sighted manner of living. Clay's tears were for them as well as for his Indian brothers and sisters. And his hope was for them as well.

Jacob did not know what the words of the song were that they were singing, but he felt that one way or another the song must have the same meaning as Black Elk's prayer: "Make my people live."

Clay swayed to the rhythms he beat out on the pan he was using as a drum, and stared off into space as if at a world unseen by the others. Jacob studied this face. Perhaps because of too much pain, and perhaps because of his sickness as well, it was a face that appeared to be growing old faster than it should have. Jacob realized that, with the possible exception of his parents, he loved this man more than anyone else alive. He picked himself up and went over to sit down next to Clay. Careful not to interrupt the drum playing or the chanting, he put his hand on Clay's shoulder, gently leaned his head against his arm, and swayed back and forth with him.

The drum and flute playing and the chanting, interrupted now and then with times for rest, continued into the night. When he introduced a new song Clay would sing it alone a few times until Lester picked it up on his flute. Then Clay would chant it for a while before teaching it to the rest of the group. Once they all learned it, the group might stay on one song up to an hour. From time to time someone would get up to cool off briefly in the stream, or to take the cup to the spring for some water. But until they tired and went to bed they always returned to the circle where they chanted the ancient songs.

Gradually the members of the group did tire. First Becky went to bed, and shortly after that Nadine went to be with her. Then Sam retired to his sleeping bag. Not long after Jacob joined him the the men's sleeping area. Sam was already snoring. Jacob took his clothes off and crawled into his own sleeping bag. For a few minutes he lay awake, listening to Clay's chanting, to the rhythm being beaten out on the pan, and to his father's flute playing. How like the sound of loons it was. Then he was asleep.

*****

The silence was the most striking thing to Jacob about the night when he woke. There was no sign of morning yet, but the moon was very bright, and he could see without difficulty. Jacob saw that his father was in his sleeping bag, but Clay was not in his.

The warm sleeping bag felt cozy on Jacob's naked body, but he was thirsty. As he contemplated whether he really wished to get up and find some water, it came to him suddenly that he had not gone to drink from the spring as Clay had told them all to do the night before. So he crawled out of his sleeping bag, and without bothering to dress, started out toward the campfire area. Strangely, he did not feel sleepy. As he was making his way across the stream, he paused on a rock and listened to the gurgling of the water as it swirled around the rocks beneath him and tumbled down the hillside. He imagined that he could hear voices and laughter in it, and he supposed that this was probably where stories of water spirits originated. He imagined that a lovely little girl fairy was watching him from behind a nearby rock, and was inviting him in for a dip. Gently so as to make no splash, for he did not wish to disturb the silence, he lowered himself into the water and slowly swam to the opposite shore. The water was cold and he didn't wish to stay in long, but it felt exciting and pleasant on his skin.

When he climbed out he saw that the fire was still burning brightly. Some one had fed it recently. He went over to get the cup and then returned to the fire to warm himself. Only then did he see that Clay was sitting with his back against a rock just a few yards away. He was very still, almost as if he were in a trance, but when he caught Jacob's eyes looking at him, Clay smiled and nodded. Without any words Jacob understood that he was welcome to share the fire in silence with Clay as long as he wished.

Jacob remained by the fire until he was dry and warm, and then started off toward the spring. The path up to the spring was clearly visible in the moon light. As he neared the spring Jacob could feel his heart beating a little more vigorously. In part this was in response to the exertion of the climb up the hill side, but it was also due to a growing sense of excitement. This was, after all, the spring which was the stated destination and goal of the whole trip.

Beside the little pool into which the spring first gathered itself, Jacob sat quietly on a mossy rock. When he found that he was beginning to feel sleepy again, he took some of the water in his hands and rubbed it on his face. The coolness felt good. He dipped his cup into the pool and slowly drank. It tasted very good, and Jacob imagined that it was making him healthier. But when he thought about it he realized that he really had no disease from which he needed healing. Clay, however, did.

Jacob dipped the cup in the spring water a second time, and then prayed to the spirit of the spring, to God, or to whatever benign Mystery it was that seemed, with unseen vividness, to occupy this sacred place. "Thank you for helping us find this spring. Please make Clay live."

Without allowing himself more time to dwell on the fear that he prayed about, Jacob stood. With unfaltering steps, and with care not lose any of the precious medicinal water, he retraced his path to the camp fire. Even as he negotiated the rocks across the the stream he managed to avoid spilling the water.

Clay was sitting in exactly the same place as when Jacob had left. Slowly, and with a little fear in his heart that Clay might be irritated at having his quietness disturbed, Jacob approached him. Clay hardly moved, but with a faint smile he communicated to Jacob that he was at least not annoyed by this interruption.

"I brought you some spring water," Jacob said, holding it out to him.

"Thank you," Clay answered, taking the cup. He drank some of it and set the cup down beside him. "I'll drink the rest of it in a little bit."

"You'll be o.k. won't you?" Jacob asked.

"O.k.?"

"You know---your sickness."

"Oh that." Clay shrugged as though some incidental item that had temporarily slipped his mind had been brought back to his attention. "I don't know?" he said.

Neither spoke for a few moments. Only the gurgling of the stream was audible.

"I think you will be all right," Jacob said finally.

"Thank you," Clay said.

Annoyed that he didn't seem convinced, Jacob continued. "This is the healing spring, isn't it?" he asked.

"Yes, I think it is," Clay agreed.

"Well then?"

Clay stared at him. "Sit down a minute," he said. When Jacob settled himself close to Clay, Clay said, "A Persian King once went to the Delphic Oracle to ask whether he should attack Greece. He was told that should he do so he would destroy a great army. Acting on this advise he attacked. Only as his saw his own army being destroyed at sea by the highly skilled Greek fleet did he realize that the great army he was destroying by this act was his own."

Jacob thought this story over for a few moments. "Does that mean that we can never know what oracles and things like that mean?" he asked finally.

"That's one interpretation," Clay agreed. "Another is that is is not for us to judge how the purposes of the gods will be achieved."

Jacob felt confused. Everything he cared about seemed surrounded by uncertainty, and he couldn't even think of a question to ask that might lead to greater clarity.

Clay looked at Jacob and smiled. "I've got something for you," he said.

"What's that?"

Clay placed a stone object in his hand. Jacob looked at it. It was the shard. "Take good care of it," Clay told him. "It may have magic in it."

"Thank you, Clay."

"This is something special just for you. You don't need to make too much of a big thing about it with the others."

"O.k."

"I'm glad you came on this trip, Jacob."

"So am I." Jacob could feel a hard knot forming in his throat.

"So why don't you get just a little more sleep. I'll be waking everybody in a little over an hour."

Jacob did feel sleepy. He stood up to leave. Then, on an impulse, he bent over and kissed Clay on his forehead. "Goodnight, Clay," he said.

"Good night, Jacob. Thank you for the water."

Jacob returned to his sleeping bag and was asleep almost immediately.

*****

It was the kind of dream from which she hated to be wakened. But Nadine persisted. "Its time to wake up," she insisted.

Time to wake up indeed! The sun wasn't even close to rising. Just the faintest hint of light was visible in the eastern part of the sky. "Oh, Nadine, I didn't get any sleep," Becky complained.

"Clay asked that we all remember our dreams, if we had any," Nadine instructed her. "He asked me to remind you of this the minute you woke up."

"I remember it," Becky said. "That's why I don't want to wake up. I want to finish dreaming it. We were having such fun."

"Don't tell me now. Just remember it. We will be telling dreams later."

"With just a little more sleep maybe I could get a couple more dreams for the group," Becky suggested.

Nadine laughed. "Good try," she said. "But we really do have to get up. "You will wake up and feel fine before you know it," she added with a cheerfulness that was just a bit forced. "Later in the day you can catch up on sleep."

"And food?" asked Becky.

"We'll have some food for lunch."

"Lunch? That's a million years away! What about breakfast?"

"No breakfast. We're still fasting."

"This is child abuse," Becky complained

"Come on, baby. Try."

"Oh Nadine," Becky groaned, but she crawled out of her sleeping bag.

In spite of her full length night gown Becky felt chilly. Nadine was wearing a long, man's flannel shirt. "After we get a cold dip and into the sweat lodge you'll feel better," Nadine assured her.

"Cold dip?" Becky stared at her through bleary, astonished eyes. "Cold dip? You've got to be kidding."

"No. That's how we are to begin this day. Then we go to the sweat lodge."

"This is madness. I'm freezing already."

Nadine enveloped her in a warm hug. "Hush. I know how you feel. For me, now, just try to be real quiet and endure the discomfort of getting started. Just tell your body its going to do what you say. Trust me. You will start feeling better pretty soon."

"For you, Mum, I'll try."

"Thanks."

By the time they arrived at Bethel pool the boys and men were already in the water swimming slowly around, or just standing on the bottom. Without hesitation, Nadine took off her flannel shirt and joined them. Becky stood for just a moment, hesitating to surrender the last shed of comfort she possessed on this bleak morning. Then, because Nadine had asked her to, she removed her nightgown and told her body to get into the water whether it liked it or not. Somewhat to her surprise it obeyed her. After the initial shock, being in the water really wasn't as bad as she had expected.

After couple of minutes Clay climbed out of the water and proceeded to the little sweat lodge he had constructed the day before. Becky noticed that some puffs of steam were emerging from the door way. Sam and Jacob followed close behind Clay and disappeared with him into the sweat lodge. Nadine nodded to Becky, and they also climbed out of the water and went over to the sweat lodge. Nadine entered first. Becky then bent over and pushed in through the half open flaps of the door way. Clay took hold of her arm almost as soon as she entered. "Wait just one second for your eyes to adjust," he instructed her. "There are hot rocks in the hole in the center of the hut, and you don't want to step on them." It was hot and steamy inside the hut.

As her eyes adjusted Becky could see the people who were already in the hut. Jacob, Sam and Nadine had arranged themselves around the edge and were sitting crosslegged.

Clay held Becky's hand to steady her while she made her way to a place between Nadine and Jacob. Soon Lester came in. He seemed to be familiar with the inside of the hut, and found himself a place to sit on the other side of Nadine. Finally Clay sat down next to Sam.

Clay allowed them to sit in silence for several minutes. The warmth in the hut felt good to Becky. When the steam began to settle Clay picked up a canteen. "The steam from the spring water here will bring healing to our bodies, our minds, and our spirits," he said, sprinkling water into the pit. Fresh clouds of warm steam emerged and filled the hut.

"I must tell you what came to me as I meditated," Clay said. "The spirit to whom I sometimes speak in my meditations told me some things." He paused a moment, and then began speaking as if he were reciting a poem:

Everything is alive.

All life is One

All life is Holy

All life is significant.

The visible order of things is continuous with a larger

invisible order of meaningful connections.

We attune ourselves to this larger network of meaningful

connections through dreams, visions, music, poetry,

stories, sacred scriptures and worship.

When we fail to so attune ourselves, all our creations are

doomed to failure, and our healing efforts themselves

will finally produce more disease.

Outside the One there is neither significance nor health.

Clay sprinkled more water on the rocks and the hut became even more dense with steam. Becky could tell that the sky was beginning to lighten because the sides of the hut began to glow slightly. The first birds of the morning began calling to one another. After perhaps five minutes Clay spoke again. "Now we will share dreams," he said. We will begin with the youngest person. Becky, did you dream anything."

"Yes," she said. "In fact I was having a real nice dream just as Nadine woke me up. I hated to leave it."

"What was it?" asked Clay.

"I dreamed that I was playing frisbee with Jacob," Becky said. She paused to try to think of something more to say. It had seemed to her that there was more to her dream than just that. But when she boiled it down to words, that was about all there was to it. "We were in a very big, open field. It was very sunny and pretty. It was...fun." "Fun" hardly explained it. It was glorious. It was the culmination of some deep and unarticulated longing and hope. It was heaven. How exquisite was the sky! How joyful it was to throw and catch the yellow frisbee which sailed in graceful arcs across the sky like a second sun! Yet words were just words. How could she explain all that? "It was very fun," she added, weakly.

"I understand," said Clay. Oddly enough, Becky felt that he did. "Jacob and you will be very important to each other in this life," he added. "I hope that the possibility suggested by your dream becomes a reality."

"What is that?" asked Becky.

Clay didn't answer. She knew that he had heard and was simply choosing not to answer, and she accepted this. Perhaps Nadine would tell her later what he meant. If not, it was enough to simply know that her dream was the picture of some wonderful possibility for her future. The birds outside were sounding more excited now as sunrise approached.

After a few more minutes Clay asked Jacob what dream he had had the night before.

"Its kind of complicated and didn't make too much sense," Jacob said. "But I'll try to tell it. I was out on a hunting trip with an Indian. I was sort of an Indian too, or at least I was accepted by this other guy as being one. He was like Glooscap in some ways, but was more like an ordinary person than that. Anyhow, all at once we were in a city. You know how dreams just change like that. We were at my School in Indianapolis. There was a big earthquake that was shaking all the buildings down. My Indian friend was in the school building and he got killed. The building collapsed on him. I felt real sad. I saw his arm hanging out from under some rocks and things. It was terrible, and I started to cry. Then a fox came along and said to me, "his ring is your's now." Don't ask me where that fox came from, but anyhow I looked and, sure enough, there was a ring on the guy's hand. I was supposed to take it off and wear it. Then the dream ended. I guess I did take the ring off."

Clay nodded, "Little Fox," he said and then waited about a minute before continuing. "That was an important dream. When we are done here I want you to to write it down in the note book I brought along. I want you to do that too, Becky with your dream. When this trip is over, I'll type up the things my spirit man told me along with your dreams and send everybody here a copy of it all.

"But what does it mean?" asked Jacob.

Clay only shook his head. "Lets be quiet again," he said.

After a while he asked Sam if he remembered any dreams. Sam confessed that he didn't, and he seemed a little disappointed.

"That's o.k., " Clay said. "Don't try to force these things. Your vision is mainly turned outward. That's where most of your work will be. It is neither more nor less important than the work of those who tend to be focused more on inward things."

He turned to Nadine. "And do you remember any dreams?"

"In fact I did have a very peculiar sort of dream," Nadine confessed. "I dreamed that I went down this very steep stone staircase in an underground tunnel. I followed it quite a ways. Finally I came to a room that appeared to be partly a natural cave and partly a man made structure hollowed out of the rock. At the far end of this room there was a pool or small lake with a little pebbly beach. I felt that I was in a very ancient place. I went over to the beach and there I saw a baby lying half in the water. At first I thought it was dead but then saw it move. Its head was not immersed. I picked it up and began to breast feed it. It was a very hopeful feeling. I could see some movement in the water and could hear the ocean surf. In some way, perhaps through a system of underground waterways, this pool was connected to the ocean, and the movements and disturbances in the ocean caused ripples and waves here."

Again Clay allowed a period of silence to follow the telling of a dream. After about five minutes he looked at Lester. "What about you?" he asked.

"I don't remember much. Only that I was back with the Indianapolis Symphony and we were playing something by Benjamin Britten."

"Good," said Clay. "Now we should go out and see the sunrise."

This announcement was a relief to Becky. By now she was feeling excessively hot and a little faint from the steam, and it was hard to breath. Lester and Clay rose and left the lodge first. Becky was next. As she pushed her way through the flaps it reminded her of being born---at least it was her idea of what being born might be like. Leaving the warm and secure, but confining enfoldment of the sweat lodge behind her, Becky emerged into a new world. Although the sun was not quite yet above the horizon, in this world everything was already bright and clear. Colors were vivid, and the outline of each object was distinct and sharp. The sound of the birds and the gurgling of the water flowed together like the bass and the treble lines of a fugue, familiar in its general form, but ever unpredictable in its nuances.

Becky paused outside the lodge briefly and watched the others being born. First Nadine emerged, and smiled at her. Then Jacob pushed his way through the flaps to stare in innocent astonishment at the new world. Finally Sam came out ready, as always, for action.

They all followed Clay's lead when he emersed himself in New Bethel pond, and briefly swam around to get his circulation going. As they emerged from the pond, each member of the group found a comfortable mossy place to sit, just a little separated from the others, and they waited in silence for the moment of sunrise. With beauty beyond words the sun broke over the horizon and the world became golden, and green and blue and living. Becky looked over at Jacob who was sitting just a few yards away. He too was beautiful with the gold of the sun rinsing his body and shining from his face. She smiled at him, and he returned the smile. In their hearts they both understood that this was the first day of creation.

Chapter Thirteen -- A Good Day To Die

The phone call came at supper time.

After Nadine hung up, Jacob asked, "who was that?"

"Clay's lawyer."

"Is Clay...."

"He died Tuesday morning," Nadine said.

Jacob felt a certain giddiness, but little else. He had heard the progress reports throughout the fall and winter, and into the spring, so in a sense it was no surprise. But waiting had become the expected order of things. The actual event was still unexpected.

"The lawyer said that Clay wrote out very specific instructions about the memorial service." Nadine said. "He asked to be cremated. And he asked for Lester to read something during the service."

Jacob looked across the table at this father, and then down at his plate.

"Clay had his lawyer send plane tickets for us to go to the service." she continued.

"When do we go?" asked Jacob.

Nadine studied her son. He was pale, but showed no other sign of emotion. "This Friday." she told him. "The service is scheduled for Sunday. We will be back on Monday."

"Will we see Sam and Becky?"

"They will meet us with their mother at the airport."

Jacob stared for some time at the spaghetti and the garlic bread that his mother had prepared for supper. It was one of his favorite meals. "I'm not very hungry," he said, finally. Without any more explanation he got up from the table and retreated to his bed room. He threw himself face down on his bed and buried his face in his pillow. The first sound of his crying was like the howl of a wounded animal.

Nadine came to his room and sat down on the side of his bed. She gently rubbed his back. But she could think of little to say.

*****

At the arcade Jacob was restless. The games bored him. After playing three of them he went to Sam, who was engrossed in playing Russian Attack, and said "I'll see you back at the meeting point."

Sam shrugged. "O.k." he said.

For a while Jacob wandered aimlessly up and down the corridors of the Mall without really looking at anything. He had an hour to kill before the whole group was to meet in front of Jordon Marsh's Department Store, as Nadine had arranged.

Jacob drifted into a Woolworth's store where a display of bargain rate Easter candy caught his eye. The store was trying to get rid of its surplus out of season items, now that the holiday was passed. Everything was half price. Easter baskets, fake grass, easter egg coloring kits, and miscellaneous candy were all jumbled together on a single set of display tables. Jacob picked up a large chocolate easter bunny, brightly decorated with colored gooey candy. At seventy nine cents this was certainly a bargain.