Chapter 4

By David Kearns

“Pancreatic cancer’s almost as bad as love.”
Red Dancing Bear.

"The same level of change that brought us out of the trees will be required to prevent us from killing ourselves and our entire planet," -American Confucius

“God told him in a dream that the aliens were here to take the place over - just the way Cortes came and took the land of Mexico away from the Mexicans. Just the way John Smith was trying to take the land away from the Powhatans before young Pocahantas stepped in, just the way ...”
“We get the point Red Dancing Bear, but how did this get your son in trouble with the military,” Jeffrey Thompson said wearily.
“The U.S. government thinks all that stuff they are learning from the aliens is too neat to pass up and they don’t want to hear about any part-Indian trying to tell them that what they are doing is basically selling out their own kind, the way the Ais were sold out by the Creeks and the Yamassee, like the ...”
“Right, Red Dancing Bear, we get it ,” spat Jeffery, with the beginnings of an ulcer flaring up in the area just beneath his esophogeal sphincter.
“So what happened to your son?” asked Jeffery, now more interested by the strange ramblings of the old Indian, than annoyed at the Indian for being in his vehicle.
“Once they found out that Tiger Lester Sun Cloud Owens was not too pleased about what he had been a part of, they realized that they had moved him into control over projects that he had never been cleared for in the first place.
“Those clearances required psychological evaluations that he never took. They always suspected that he was kind of agnostic or atheist or something, but he wasn’t. His momma raised him Catholic, even though he was Christened with the Indian name and everything.
“Anyway, they freaked when he even mentioned God. Let’s not talk about how they felt when my son said God came to him, personally, in a dream. That was, you know, way out there from their line of thinking,” Red Dancing Bear said.
“All at once, his lack of a proper security clearance became the reason for them to move him to other air bases like some kind of chess piece in a never-ending game.
"Like it had been his fault for tricking them into not making him go through all the steps of getting those clearances.
"Now they transfer him more often than some people change clothes. I'm getting tired of it. All the stress is causing me acid backup in my pancreas and if I don't watch that I'll get cancer there and there's no cure for that.
"Pancreas cancer's almost as bad a love," said Red Dancing Bear.


*
"Look, I know you people are heading out west to see the UFO stuff and all the other sights. If you take me I can show you many things out that way and you can drop me off in Nevada because that's probably where I'll find Lester Sun Cloud," said Red Dancing Bear getting down to business.
After haggling for two hours, it was agreed, with Jeffery - whose prostate had grown one millimeter in size because of stress and his greasy breakfast - half-heartedly voting in the minority.
The first place Red Dancing Bear meant to take his new-found family, before then end of it all, was to a man who lived in Alpharetta, Georgia, who would soon be known as the American Confucius.
The tabloids already knew of this man and the major media players were only waiting for a respectable period of time to elapse before they could 'discover' him on their own.
The man happened to live near a woman who said she regularly spoke with the Virgin Mary through a statue in her backyard.
The statue was not the virgin. It never had been faced with the choice of the small shed or the road. The statue had never uttered a word. Red Dancing Bear knew this but the rest of the world did not, apparently.
The woman used this elaborate religious hoax to get money from people who liked to come and kneel in her peaceful garden in Alpharetta.
Many claimed to come away from the garden with a feeling of peace and closure. The garden itself, like many they possessed in their own back yards, had been the reason. The Virgin had not been there at all.
Just the same, the woman who constructed this tax-free hoax was named Dorothy Pickels. She had been named after a 12-year old girl in a movie and her life never really gained a realtime edge to it , to quote Lester Sun Cloud.
The fact Dorothy and her garden existed was the only reason the tabloids had stumbled upon the American Confucius.
He lived down the street from her.
The discovery had gone like this.
Guy with a camera is taking pictures for a tabloid story, of all of these people in Dorothy Pickels' back yard kneeling before a statue. The statue is featureless and gray with the affects of acid rain and bird droppings, which pockmarked and sullied it.
Someone comes up to the camera guy and whispers; "You think this is interesting, we've got a regular Confucius living in this neighborhood too. He's right down the street. You gotta meet this guy."
The rest would soon be history.
The Creator works in mysterious ways indeed, thought Red Dancing Bear.
American Confucius had given up his name. He eschewed all wealth now, despite a successful career as an insurance claims adjuster.
His family had left him to his devices; with his preference for Darjeeling tea and little else in the way of nutrition.
His mortgage had been recently paid off by a trust fund and perhaps not coincidentally, it was at the precise moment when he no longer needed to worry about the mortgage anymore, nor any other financial worries, that he underwent this strange transformation in his life.
The tabloids, of course, got most of his quotes wrong, thought Red Dancing Bear, diluting or bastardizing pure sweet logic that only dawns upon mankind once or twice in a millennium.
"Truth is a substance and a form of energy," was a misquote attributed to American Confucius; a misquote that just so happened to become enhanced in the erroneous translation.
What the man had actually said was "Truth possesses all the properties of matter and energy."
The natural corollary to this, following physics, would be "Truth can neither be created nor destroyed. It merely changes form."
American Confucius had not yet said this but he soon would on an armchair quest to save the planet, which Red Dancing Bear thought would fail miserably.
But American Confucius was interesting. He was like a road sign on the highway to hell. In an easier age, when man was not fighting against the tide of his own creations, American Confucius's logic would have gone to strengthen the culture.
Now he was like a useless prophesier of doom - like Cassandra or Montezuma - spewing truth, which was drowned out by a chorus of noise from his detractors.
He was a sad joke, thought Red Dancing Bear, but he was interesting and like Chimney Rock or Brass Town Bald, he was on the list of things to see in this part of the world.
When they pulled up to the man's house it was evident to Red Dancing Bear that they had come at a good time. He was holding court as evidenced by 12 cars, two trucks, three vans and a semi-tractor trailer rig parked in front of a stately, red brick two story Georgian home.
As the family all piled out of the car and walked towards the front door, Red Dancing Bear explained that American Confucius was actually a man named Fred Heddinger who had been a Lambda Chi Alpha fraternity member at the University of Georgia, a few years back.
That wasn't that important only that he had roomed with a guy who was a first cousin to former President Bill Clinton, while at the fraternity house.
Red Dancing Bear had been impressed by this fact. It was also interesting that the dreams he had begun having in the late 1980s were caused by a small tumor that had grown in the left side of his brain.
The tumor had been sparked by prolonged exposure to video games, which his nephew had been responsible for hooking him up with, like a drug dealer giving a middle school student his first free hit of crack.
Jeffery Thompson asked Red Dancing Bear how he had come by so much information on this man and Red Dancing Bear lied. He said he had read it in an article printed in a tabloid magazine. The article hadn't run yet, but it read essentially how Red Dancing Bear had described it.
The article at that moment was being researched by a writer whose journalism background had consisted of watching, "All the President's Men" and liking the movie very much.
They knocked on the door and waited patiently for whomever American Confucius had asked to be the greeter for the day.
It was known that American Confucius kept strange hours and even stranger rituals. He held forth in week-long celebrations wherein he would invite inside all who came to his door into his home -- from the milkman to the meter reader -- so that they might bask in the glory of being near him while his mind entered the fugues which possessed him between bouts of table tennis, lawn games of every variety, drinking and listening to great hits from 1970s southern rock legends such as The Alman Brothers Band, Lynard Skynard, Marsall Tucker and Molly Hatchet.
The door flung open to reveal a young woman with dark hair and thick eyeglasses, who sniffed the air the moment her eyes fell upon Red Dancing Bear.
In some cultures she would have just asked Red Dancing Bear to go to bed with her, although he suspected she had not been trying to convey that message at all. He suspected that she was a homosexual, anyway.
"Who are you people?" she blurted.
“I have brought these lost people to hear the words of the American Confucius, to give them comfort in knowing that their culture did produce at least one intellect worthy of the ages; one intellect which will survive the passing of Americana, if only in the form of his sayings and his curious brand of haiku," said Red Dancing Bear.
She appeared to actually gulp at this; apparently she had been caught like a balking pitcher just prior to hurling an insult laced with dogma in their direction when Red Dancing Bear's words found their mark.
This was the freelance writer of the article that, though Red Dancing Bear had read it, did not exist yet. He was partially quoting her and she was about to appropriate these words and use them in her article.
Red Dancing Bear loved the phenomenon of circular paradox.
"He hasn't told anyone about his poetry yet. How did you know about it?" she demanded.
"If you will let these tired, soulless people come in, I will try to explain," said Red Dancing Bear.
And the writer let the family into the home of the American Confucius, who had been born Fred Heddinger of Knoxville, Tennessee.
American Confucius was playing bad mitten at that moment, with a cameraman from a tabloid television news network.
His manner and wit had so disarmed the cameraman and the writer/producer of a television spot that was due to air in three days, the writer producer had passed out from drinking those little Jack Daniel's flavored drinks near the poolside.
The writer producer had also smuggled some marijuana into the home and felt the urge to light this evil, sweet smelling weed after taping only five minutes of American Confucious's ramblings.
American Confucius just scored a point against his cameraman opponent, who had made a fair attempt to dive after the birdie only to cut his shin on the edge of a low brick wall beside the pool.
American Confucius paid no attention to the member of the media whose shin now bled freely. He set his racquet down and made his way towards the old American Indian as though the two were lifelong friends.
"I've seen you before friend, in a dream," he said.
“I know. I've seen you too, Fred. You look exactly as you seem in my dreams," Red Dancing Bear said.
"What brings you here?" asked American Confucius, taking Red Dancing Bear's hand almost reverently.
“I wanted the victims of the dying urban white culture to meet you before the end of their days. So there would be one aspect of their culture that they could know would live on. It would make them go to the great beyond a little easier of mind.
"But sir, you have this one here with you. If I am not mistaken I have seen her in my dreams as well,” said American Confucius, regarding the poised little girl named Heather with a blond mop of curls.
"Yes, I suspect she is the mother of all humanity after the great cataclysm," said Red Dancing Bear.
"So it is coming," stated American Confucius.
"As any self-fulfilling prophecy, just as the brain tumor grows inside your head," Red Dancing bear now regarded the lesbian writer...just as this young woman will write an article so laced with inaccuracies and her own opinion it will be a miracle that anything you say will be able to shine through, Fred," he said.
American Confucius bent down to gaze into the eyes of the little child with blond hair.
“I thank you for coming and showing me this little girl. For just seeing her is something that I can take with me, prophet, when the shit hits the fan," said Fred Hettinger to Red Dancing Bear.
Helen Thompson gasped at this. Jeffery was beyond comment now; the afternoon had degenerated too far for him to make any sense of it. All he wanted to do was sit down and apparently this man called the American Confucius was a man of means and there were after all many places to sit in his home, which appeared comfortable and tastefully accoutremented.
They all moved away from the edge of the pool and into an area surrounded by pillars of marble and carpeted by cool, Mexican tile. This was an interpose between the pool area and an expansive living room. The transition from outside to inside was only made known by a rim of metal on the floor that held the glass doors, which for the moment remained flung wide-open.
The music of the Alman Brothers played upon the summer air as American Confucius escorted Red Dancing Bear and his party to some chairs surrounding a translucent glass table near the stereo speakers.
The media man and the writer hobbled past the Thompson’s, American Confucius and Red Dancing Bear, as they made their way inside the house in search of a bong-hit and a band-aid.
"Prophet, what has made you search me out besides these people. Surely there is some wisdom you seek from me. Is there something for me to ponder, some universal truth that you would like to know?
Red Dancing Bear opened his mouth to form a response but he was cut off.
"Is there some burning question in your soul that you must have extinguished with the light of true reason, for if there is, prophet, you have only to ask," American Confucius continued.
Again Red Dancing Bear tried to speak but he was prevented by the truckload of words that fell from American Confucius’s mouth.
Fuck it, thought Red Dancing Bear.
When American Confucius had finally spent himself verbally he admitted to Red Dancing Bear that he would rather have the gift of prescience than the light of deep wisdom, any day.
If there was anything in these end times that he would appreciate more than a bong-hit, he said, he would rather have the ability to know what was the core truth of something immediately, as Red Dancing Bear did, rather than the ability to mouth the esoteric truths which would only be lost when, "the shit hits the fan" as he put it.
"Oh c'mon, Fred, I mean, you're the man. The main man," Red Dancing Bear said unconvincingly.
"Yes, but that's really so transient. Isn't it?" answered American Confucious to this.
"In two months, Fred, you’ll be on the cover of People Magazine. You’ll make the cover of Time Magazine by Christmas and you’ll be on Larry King Live by the New Year.
"I mean, in this culture, what more could you want?” Red Dancing Bear asked.
"Not to have this tumor in my head?" said American Confucius. "Would that be so much to ask?"
Red Dancing Bear let it go.
"A gift and a curse. The Yin with the Yang," said American Confucius, answering his own question.
"Yeah, that's a raw deal fate did you, man. Can't have one without the other," Red Dancing Bear said.
"It must be difficult for you," Red Dancing Bear added.
"Oh, I don't know. I expect the food is a little better from where I'm sitting. You know I once had a dream that you were eating out of a dumpster, Prophet, and the funny thing was the dumpster was located in the parking lot of a Jai ali arena. Were you trying to tell me something in this vision?" he asked.
"Yeah, I was trying to tell you that I was damned hungry," Red Dancing Bear said.
"But you would have only to have crossed that barren parking lot and entered the jai ail arena and bet a dollar on the first trifecta to have started an evening of betting which would have inevitably provided you with enough to eat for weeks.
"So, were you trying to say something to me fundamental about hunger? Were you trying to show me the transience of existence, the bareness, or perhaps the irony, in man's attempt to control fate? What?" demanded Confucius.
“I was trying to show that I was so damned tired that I didn’t even notice where the dumpster was situated. I never saw the jai ali sign, Fred, until after I slept off my hangover inside the dumpster.
"Perhaps God was trying to show you these things using me as a conduit. I'm only glad my misery was both thought-provoking and entertaining," Red Dancing Bear said.
By now the Thompson family was lost in a sea of confusion. How strange the afternoon had become in such a short period of time.
Did Red Dancing Bear actually have some inner knowledge, some prescience that enabled him to delve beyond the veil of reality; that allowed him to see what fate held in-store for some?
"Fred, you got any beer in this place of yours," said Red Dancing Bear, breaking the silence of the mellowing, southern afternoon.
"Shit, I am sorry prophet. I clean forgot my manners," said American Confucius getting up from his seat and moving into his living room.
He looked back at the table and asked if anyone else wanted anything. The boy asked for a Coca Cola, as did the mother of all humanity. Jeffery Thompson also settled on a beer. His wife asked if there was any wine about. She agreed upon a glass of white Zinfandel, which was not white at all, nor was it made in Germany.
When Fred, aka American Confucius, came back to the table he was ridiculously attired as a waiter in a T-shirt that was made to look like the upper portion of a tuxedo. He also wore a giant piece of Styrofoam cheese on his head, obviously a remnant from a recent football season.
"I didn't realize you were a Green Bay fan, Fred. Me I'm kinda partial to the Washington Red Skins," said Red Dancing Bear.
"But prophet, I'm amazed that you don't find the Red Skin emblem and the name the least bit offensive," asked American Confucius.
"Hell no. I love them. I love the Atlanta Braves, the Washington Red Skins the Kansas City Chiefs, the Cleveland Indians and the Florida State University Seminoles.
"They're my favorite. It is good to know where you come from.
"Oh to be sure, it saddens me that white urban culture has a need to pacify that which it fears and respects, almost to the point of extinction before they then honor these beings as totems of what they have conquered," Red Dancing Bear said.
"Fuckin’ A, Prophet. Go on now. Get down with your bad self," said American Confucius.
"That aspect of what white urban culture does bother me, yes. But on the other hand I still think the tomahawk-chop is an awesome tool one group of fans can use on another. It can be extremely intimidating. It's one of the best things that ever to happen to sports.
"Look at what it did for the 1991 Atlanta Braves. They were nowhere until someone thought to steal the chop from the Seminole fans, and then all at once, it was as though they gained a new sense of purpose," he said.
A. Confucius had only listened partially to what Red Dancing Bear was saying now. Some errant thought had drifted into his mind.
“I see your point, Prophet. You can divorce yourself from the anger of the ages," said Confucius.
"No. I just think it's neat," said Red Dancing Bear under his breath. He did not want to offend this man, who for whatever reason, the Creator had decided to endow with a kind of wisdom that only graces mankind once or twice in a millennium.
Today that wisdom was nowhere to be found and more or less, American Confucius was just a man named Fred, who had smoked a little grass and had a couple of beers earlier in the day, and was in a relaxed, somewhat philosophical mood.
The weird thing about this American Confucius was that even though he had a tumor in his head there was no other discernible sign that he would ever acquire any disease or malady currently known to man.
If the tumor stopped growing now, he would never get sick and if he died within the next 40 years it would only be the result of some stupid or tragic accident, assassination, which was entirely possible, or if he decided to kill himself.
The later was conceivable if the pain and swelling inside his head became too great. Red Dancing Bear couldn't tell whether this would happen or not. One of fate's toss-ups.
Otherwise, there was every indication that American Confucius would live well into his 100s, just like figures in the bible who had direct communication with the Creator.
There was some constant within the soul of a man who had heard the voice of the Creator. Somehow that voice had bolstered the soul, it must provide such a bulwark of confidence within the psyche, thought Red Dancing Bear, that it actually affected the physiology of a man, or woman.
Perhaps even the tumor would disappear, just as Confucius had asked. For the moment it was growing but not very rapidly.
Talking with the Creator made those fortunate enough to be able to do so seem impregnable to the maladies which constant killed or crippled other humans, who spent their lives wallowing in fear which cut down their immunity.
"We'd love a pizza at this juncture," said Red Dancing Bear.
"Sustenance will be provided," American Confucius said.
"Hey, you!" he said yelling at the woman from the tabloid magazine.
She seemed shocked that he was speaking to her.
"Me?"
"Yes you. Take $100 out of my sock drawer and go get pizza for everybody," he said.
"What kind of pizza ...master?" she asked sheepishly.
"Dominos. The last pizza I had at Pizza Hut got me sick. Extra cheese, deep dish, everything on them. And get the Cherry Coke in 2 liter bottles," he said.
"Yes master,” she said, before turning back.
"Master?" she said sheepishly.
"What?"
"Dominos' Pizza delivers," she stated hopefully.
“I know but I want you out of this house for a while so I can speak freely with my friends without fear of your incessant scribbling. Now get out," he said before turning to his new-found friend, who he had always known from dreams.
“Red I’ve been meaning to ask you this: exactly how old are you now?”
“I am 157 years old come November.”
“Now that’s complete bullshit!” said Jeffery Thompson.
“Hey, Jeff, glad you finally found your tongue,” said Red Dancing Bear. “No, in fact it is not bullshit. It’s a mixture of batshit and a hyacythn found in the dark, still waters of my homeland brewed in a tea. That and gator meat. I mean to tell you that will surely make a man out of you.”
“I heard that, Red,” said A. Confucius.
“You mean to tell me you’re 157 years old.”
“Yep, I was born on the day Jeb Stuart led the raid of the Rappahannock,” Red Dancing Bear said. “Greatest true cavalryman this country ever saw.”
“Who?” asked Jeffery. “You expect me to believe that since you can dredge up some obscure fact about some dead Civil War general.”
“Well point of fact, Jeff. He was a Lt. General. Grant only gave him full status …”
“I don’t care if he was a major general. There’s no way in hell you’re 157 years old.”
“…after he died. And it’s a good thing for the Lakota nation that it was him who died in 1864 and not Gen. George Custer. Cause Custer it turned out was the worst cavalryman, bar none, the world has ever seen.”
“I still don’t buy it, Chief; or I’m sorry, Red, since we’re calling you that now.”
“This is what I am talking about Fred. I’m not telling him anything but stuff that’s supposedly from his history, and he doesn’t know any of it.”
“For instance, if he knew his own Bible, he’d know that people frequently lived well beyond 100 years in the days before disease and technology. Sure enough they’ll erase that on us too, declare the true parts of the bible are bunk, keep all the crap. He’d also know that a certain Juan Ponce De Leon, newly established governor of Puerto Rico, in the early 1500s sailed for Florida because there was rumored to be a place with waters of great curative, restorative powers; the place of course is Lake Okeechobee. And if this guy had the first inkling that there was a world outside his corporate office, he’d realize that for some strange reason, some government agency somewhere, some when, decided to put a huge dyke around the lake keeping most of the people out of it, most of the time.”
“Ah, now wait a minute, chief, cause this part of my Florida history I do remember,” interjected Jeffery, taking a belt of beer to whet his whistle.
“I’m glad to hear it, Jeff. Continue.”
“There was a hurricane, sometime back in the 1920s. When it crossed over land the backside winds sent a huge wave across the lake from the west and sloshed it up into Palm Beach County killing about 6,000 people, and that was the reason the U.S. Army Corps of engineers decided to build the dyke there.”
“I’m going to get myself another beer,” said American Confucius, “Anyone else? Mrs. Thompson, another glass of wine.”
“Yes, please. I’m just fascinated by all this. Jeffery I didn’t know you were a history buff?”
“When were dating, honey, don’t you remember what my minor was?”
“No, I don’t. Hon. I’m sorry I’ve forgotten.”
“Sure you do, Helen. Don’t you recall? He wanted to be a famous meteorologist, like his grandfather. The computer science and electrical engineering, that just came slightly easier to him.”
Now Jeffery was completely silent.
“Plus there was more money in it,” finished Red Dancing Bear, cooking Jeffery’s goose with a wink and a drag on his bottle.
In the living room A. Confucius was shutting off the CD player and opening the record player. He was in one of his moods. Now he wanted to be contrary.
An electronic low base whir was followed by heart beat drum sounds, then the jabbing notes from a guitar.
“Good choice Fred. Zenyatta Mandatta”
“Well I figured since you guys were talking about Jeff’s college days. And he looks about the same age as me.”
The song, Don’t Stand So Close to me indeed, had reached the top ten, the year Jeff entered school.
“They say that the song that reaches number one the year you graduate high school, has an impact on the rest of your life,” said American Confucius. “It could almost be described as your theme song, your motto.”
He then muttered something about his own penchant for younger women, and his overriding fear of commitment to relationships that he could not totally dominate with his will or his intellect.
It seemed ridiculous, that he was spouting the wisdom of the ages with an enormous piece of cheese on his head, but there it was. He also was slipping the album cover back into its place among a wall of vynl.
“Jesus, you have this on vynl,” said Red, astonished. “I wonder how much it’s worth now?”
“Well Red, you can’t get it on CD. Not unless you call a bunch of people up or send your credit card out over the Internet and even I don’t feel the world is that far gone yet, that I want my identity and my bank account whipped out.”
“Heard that.”
“Jeff, you look like you could use something stronger than Bud.”
“I could.”
“What would you prefer? Some 151 Bacardi? I’ve got some anejo tequila here.”
“Yes, give him the fruit of the agave. This will not only mellow his mood, but take away that murderous look in his eye. Now, I know your history, Jeffery. You are a Romanized Britton through and through. How refreshing.”
“My people are French Canadians,” Jeff said on impulse. “You wouldn’t recognize nor be able to dissect them as easily as you have me, I can garuntee that.”
“Whatever.”
“And your parlor tricks and your half hearted dime-store magic wouldn’t work on them either.”
“Yeah right.”
Jeff obviously thought all this was some act, some strange indoctrination into a cult. The words “identity theft” and Internet, sparked this theory. They had been followed, tailed by cult members who would now swallow them into their ranks.
Sensing her husband’s inflamed paranoia, Helen got up from her chair and walked over to the pool deck. The baby was asleep in a Graco crib near a book shelf. She took Heather by the hand and led her inside the house where Nathan was busy on the Play Station battling a very stoned cameraman in an ongoing X-treme skateboard competition. Nathan was winning. The cameraman, who at one time had been an excellent skateboarder, in the community of Roswell, Georgia, would not relent.
Fred, aka American Confucius brought a double shot of Don Diego tequila in a small snifter along with a lime and salt for his agitated guest, as well as another frosty bottle of beer.
“There now, Mr. Thompson. Get that in you.”
“He grimaces the way a man does when he enjoys it. Look at him, becoming a man again. The weight of the world and the prying eyes of his company off his back for a moment. It’s good to see you this way Jeff.”
“Listen Chief,” said Jeffery sucking his salt lime, and taking up his bottle of beer for the wash-down. “I’m not through with you yet. I sense you don’t want to argue meteorology with me, not to mention debate historic established fact. That’s fine, but just how in God’s name you knew about my grandfather, I’ve got to know that.”
“Your grandfather, yes, something about him going with navy rear admiral Richard Byrd to Antarctica. Yes. Something else about him helping a Dr. Paul Siple of Ohio, come up with the concept of “Wind Chill Factor.”
“See, you could have read that. That’s something you could have read.” Jeffery said, stabbing an accusatory finger at Red Dancing Bear.
“I could, Jeff. But I don’t read much these days. I’m on the road a lot. If you know what I mean.”
Suddenly the fact they had picked the old Seminole up and a truck stop on exit 13 in Tifton early this morning, seemed imbedded in the dim, distant past.
“And I never challenged your theory Jeffery, because it is based in a shred of historic fact, as often these plausible, but inadequate, explanations are. There was a violent hurricane that struck Florida precisely when you say. It did cause massive winds and waves on the lake. Only, the wave that killed all those people, six thousand to be round about, wasn’t caused by any wind this planet has ever seen. In fact, that wave was caused by something else entirely. You know your science and yet I am amazed this had never occurred to you.”
“What are you talking about?”
“You talk about this wave, coming up so fast, killing that many people all at once. Does that sound like storm surge to you?”
Jeff didn’t answer.
“No, that wave reminds me of something else, like what happens when an iceberg falls off the Ross Ice Shelf, or a chunk of a mountain sloughs off into the sea, or two oceanic crustal plates become unhinged.”
Jeffery Thompson again, didn’t answer. Red Dancing Bear could watch each of his words hit the mark on Jeff’s thought processes, the way a fighter pilot walked his tracer bullets into the target. His mind replayed a scene from the World War II file footage where the gas freighter detonated in a shock-wave thud beneath a barrage of tracers.
“Magnetic anomalies aren’t the only things that make flying metallic aircraft fall from the sky, Jeffery. Hurricanes can do that too.”