Chapter 14

"Look, I've already said the van's not for sale. We're in a bit of a hurry. Can you please show us what you have in a reliable used pickup?" It was the third time he had said it. Captain Glennon does not like repeating himself. His cheek muscles were starting to flex involuntarily.

"Well, let me tell ya son...never say never, that's what I always say. That's one o' my slogans...Never say never. You never know when that big dealer in the sky's gonna mark you down and push you off the lot. Nope, never say never." He gave the van one more affectionate pat, then tottered off towards a line of trucks on the far side of the lot.

It had turned out that there was only one car lot in Fredricksburg. When we stopped at the coffee shop and asked, the waitress rolled her eyes and said "That would be Sportin' Willie but I tell ya mister, if I was you I'd take my business to Llano or Austin. You go shoppin' with Sportin' Willie and you best keep your hand on your wallet." Armed with this sterling reference, we followed her directions to "Sportin' Willie's Clean Cars" and had the pleasure of being served by the proprietor himself.

"These proper Germans in this town talk ol' Willie down but half of 'em are drivin' a car off my lot." The man talked enough to give Radio a run for his money. His nonstop soliloquy had begun the moment we walked into the little travel trailer he used for an office. "It makes 'em mad that I don't do things the way they do...but I'll tell ya what, I don't take nothing on my lot that's not cherry, real cherry. That's how I stay in business. That's why I say `You'll go real far...in a Sportin' Willie car'. That's one of my mottos. I got a bunch of `em, yep, a motto for every day of the week. I may be old but I'm still got some moves, heh heh, yep, still got the juice."

"Sportin' Willie" was a dottering old man who wore a bright yellow, paisley shirt and powder blue bermuda shorts. His stringy white hair, still wet from his morning shower, stuck out from under a soiled San Antonio Spurs baseball cap. His right cheek was full of tobacco and every so often, he would go through a ritual spit, starting with a long, tubercular rasping and ending in a massive, globular expectoration that proved that he did indeed still "have the juice". Saliva glands in full production, he took us over to look at three relatively late model pickups, each with a story of its own.

It was amazing what could be learned about a town through its used cars, especially if the dealer approached each vehicle in the same spirit Homer approached the life of Odysseus. I was having a great time listening but poor Sam, plagued with a sad case of direction and purpose, was on the verge of apoplexy by the time he started the "true and exciting" story behind a dull looking '75 Dodge pickup including the family ties and covert sexual habits of its previous owners.

None of the trucks tooked like "the one", so while Sam vented his spleen on gnarled old Willie, I wandered off across the lot towards a dirty Ford F-150 supercab. It was filthy on the outside but a quick look through the window let me know it had low milage, a back seat...and a tape deck. I interrupted "Sportin' Willie" in the middle of a righteous diatribe wherein he explained to Sam that "he didn't sell cars, he sold history...". It was obviously a stock speech.

"Hey Mister Willie, how about this one?" I pointed to the white supercab.

He tottered reluctantly over towards the truck, moaning that it had just come in yesterday and wasn't cleaned up and checked out and besides he had a personal attachment to that vehicle...I reminded him that we were paying cash and as Sam took a look under the hood, he warmed up to the story of the `86 Ford.

"Well, as I said, she just came in yesterday. Belonged to A. C. Winchester, a rancher lives up northwest of town. One of his roughneck hired hands brought it in yesterday with the title already signed and traded her in for a '90 Chevy. I made `em a bad deal cause I don't like the SOB. Ain't nothin' wrong with the truck but his hired tough said Winchester wanted everything off the ranch that had the `stink of that lion on it.' That little cracker didn't know nothin' about cars. I skinned him like a possum." He saw our eyes light up at the mention of a "lion" and knew he had us hooked. He opened the cab, crawled up into the passenger seat, leaned over and demonstrated his ongoing salivation with a huge brown expectoration that splattered on Sam's shoes. "You musta seen around town where kids painted signs about the `lioness'..." I nodded as Sam fumed and wiped his Rockports on the back of his jeans. Four or five times on the way into town and even in the bathroom of the coffee shop, we had noted the cryptic message. "Well," he continued "...that SOB Winchester is her daddy."

"That's a hell of a story, you boys musta not read the paper this mornin' cause the whole thing was writ up in the Austin newspaper. Some reporter come through here two days ago and ferreted out the story," He paused and for the first time, looked thoughtful. "...but that reporter don't know what I know about it, I know that girl and I know her lion. She worked right here on my lot. She's an odd type, always has been, kinda standoffish. Don't study the townfolks' opinions either. I figured us rebel types oughta stick together so I give her a job doin' makereadies in the afternoons after school. She's a good kid no matter what the townies say. Clean a car up in nothin' flat, smart too. Learned all the mechanical things real quick. Spent all her time in the library, readin' like a schoolmarm, always with a book in her face. The stuffed shirts look down on her cause she don't kiss their asses. That's what I like about her, she don't put up with no crap, an hell, I don't blame her, she done put up with enough bull livin' with that SOB Winchester."

With his third reference to Mr. Winchester's maternal history, it was obvious that Sportin' Willie had an axe to grind. I offered a leading question that was probably unnecessary. "Why do they call her the `lioness'?"

"Cause she hangs out with a panther, that's why, raised it from a cub. That's how come all the hoopla, that cougar mauled old Winchester last week and the two of `em run off into the hills. Sheriff cain't catch `em and now lots of other kids is runnin' off and joinin' `em. They got a regular gang up in them hills with a big ol' pack a dogs and that cat. They claim they're breakin' in and gettin' food from ranches out that way and they got everbody pretty spooked." He looked me in the eye. "I don't know where you boys stand about these kids but I tell you what I think. Ever one o' those kids what run off was gettin' beatup or worse at home. That girl used to come in here somedays with bruises all over her back. That don't set right with me, I wouldn't a minded even a little ol' bit if that cat would of took that SOB's head right off, that big shot, holier than thou..." He bagan a creative stream of profanity. I interrupted.

"Why didn't the girl go to the authorities?" I asked.

He rolled his eyes like I was a babe in the woods. "Hey son, you don't know too much about small towns. Her old man is rich. His cousin is the local sheriff. Short of murder in the street, you ain't gonna get him in trouble for nothin. Besides, that girl can't tell nobody anythin', she's dumb...I don't mean she ain't got no sense cause she's smart as a whip. She just don't talk...never says a word."

We settled on the white Ford in spite of its colorful history and wrangled a price that was only somewhat highway robbery. Just as we were leaving, Sportin' Willie turned to Sam and said "You know son, if I had that pretty van and you had a feather up your ass, we'd both be tickled to death." I could almost hear the captain's teeth grinding.

On the way back to Enchanted Rock, we stopped and picked up the Austin American Statesman. On page one, towards the bottom, was the picture of a beautiful, if somewhat somber young woman from her freshman yearbook. The headline said it all...

"The Lioness Rules": Honor Student,
Mountain Lion, Lead Children's Gang

The "Lioness and her gang", as the locals had begun to call them, had become a rallying point for children in the town who were beset by the same oppression from civil authorities that faced kids everywhere. The local sheriff suspected that the renegades were being aided and abetted by local people and had gotten a restraining order to keep local folks from giving them food and supplies.

In response, the kids had raided a convenience store run by the sheriff's brother-in-law. The townsfolk were laughing. The sheriff wasn't. I figured the "lioness" must have been the girl I had seen at the top of Enchanted Rock, the same one who had showed up briefly at the "gifting" ceremony, but I had been too blissed out at that event to take much notice. By the time I came to my senses, she and the cat were gone. It had been an eerie night.

We made a quick call to Jessie. I talked in an agreed-upon code in case our line was bugged. Precautions were probably wise because Jessie descibed things as "hot" in Houston, a redundant piece of information if she meant the weather. I couldn't say any of the things I wanted in the sparse, coded language we had worked out but I'm sure she got from my tone of voice how much I missed her and how much I was worried about her safety. The conversation left me sullen and worried.

Jesse told us one more interesting tidbit. The President was scheduled to address the nation after the six o'clock news tonight. She said he was supposed to address the issue of the "friends" for the first time. So far the White House had been less than forthcoming regarding the crisis. It had been a week since the beginning of the "Awakening" and our top gun had been conspicuously low profile. I figured he was just covering his butt, S.O.P. for politicos as far as I can tell.

Still, this presidential speech could be trouble. If the head cheese comes down on the wrong side of the fence, crazies all over the country will feel justified in making kids their sacrificial goats in the name of "patriotism". I tried to calm my worries. Who ever heard of a politician coming down anywhere but astraddle a fence?

I followed Sam back to camp in the white truck. It gave me a chance to work out of my funk and to test out the new tape deck. It was a far cry from the system in the old Ford but at least I would have some tunes. At the camp, everybody was packed and ready. We unloaded the Ford into the new truck and hitched up the horse trailer. The last thing I did was walk over to my beloved old Ford and pulled the tattered title out of the glovebox. I signed it on the back and left it with this note on the dashboard..."To the lucky person that finds this fine old truck. She's yours...a gift from the gods. You must be living right. I give you full title to my sweet old darlin'. Treat her good and she'll do the same for you...P.S. It's about time to demagnetize the heads on the tape deck."

As we were completing the loading, Sister Willa had approached me.

"Thomas," she asked "I would like to ride with you if you don't mind."

"Sure Willa, we can sort out the world's problems, maybe even put a few new interpretations on the big dude upstairs. You're more than welcome long as I get to pick the music."

"Thank you Thomas," she seemed preoccupied. It was understandable. The previous night's events had been shattering to all of the adults who had attended. It had been the first personal experience of the mysticism of the "friends" for all of them. I could tell she had something on her mind.

I loaded up the three kids who were riding with us. We were a bit crowded so I tried to talk Joey into making Jubie ride in the back.

"Besides Joey, the dog smell was getting a little stiff in the truck yesterday."

"Hey dad," he said "You should get a whiff of how you smell to him. We're talkin' major stinko Dad." It was a hard argument to beat. Given his several times more sensitive nose, Joey pointed out, Jubie was being generous even being willing to ride with me, given I hadn't showered that morning. I surrendered. Jubie piled in with the rest of us. I popped Spirit's "Twelve Dreams of Dr. Sardonicus" in the deck and as we pulled out on the road, I asked Willa what was goin on.

"Something in particular on your mind Willa?"

"Thomas, I want you to help me with something. It is a big request and I don't even know if you can grant it." I had never seen Willa like this. She was always so confident and cheery. If anything, she was hesitant and insecure.

"Anything sweet lady, it would be my honor to satisfy your most outrageous desire...what dragon can I waste for you today?"

She smiled and I felt a little better. "I...I would  like to talk to your `Imaginary Friend'...I must talk to  him." She reached over and put her hand on my shoulder. The need in her eyes was heart rending. "I am having a crisis in my faith...I have talked to several of the children but they cannot translate my concerns...Thomas, you must help me." She sounded truely desperate.

"Willa, it doesn't work like that. It's not like with the kids. He just `fffooops' in and out when he wants to. I never call him or anything and I never know when he's going to show up. I'm awful sorry Willa but I..." Just then I saw the little black boy's smirking face in my rear view mirror and almost ran off the road.

After I regained my composure, I turned to Sister Willa and said, "Well sister, looks like the little smartass is giving you an audience." and to him I said "...and you be nice, she's serious about this."

"I will not cause her any more pain Uncle Tom. I know she hurts."

"He's ready Willa." I said gently.

She looked over at me, the hurt evident in her eyes. "Last night I saw things I cannot deny and they have swallowed my heart and soul...My whole life I have felt a presence greater than myself. I knew him to be the God of Abraham as revealed to the world by my lord Jesus Christ. I gave my life to my Lord, became his handmaiden, his servant, loved him beyond all others. I taught his word and carried his flame. This faith has been the guiding light of my life. All that I am is built around it. Last night, on that mountain I came to doubt..." She seemed to be choking "...I came to doubt my God."

"Ask her what she doubts." he said.

"How can my little God, the God of primitive shepherds on a waystation planet that hasn't even become civilized by universal standards be the God who created all, who knows all?"

 "How could he not?" he asked.

She hesitated at his answer. "But you and the other `friends' know so much more, you have such power, you are so wise...he seems so small in comparison, so...out of date, almost ridiculous."

"The light you see from a star seems small and insignificant in the night, yet you know each light only appears to be small seen from your perspective. In truth, each star is an immeasurably powerful source of light. You assume too much."

"But if the universe is peopled by beings advanced beyond my greatest imagination, if those beings possess powers I had always attributed to my God, then what am I to believe, that you are gods? She sounded almost bitter.

"Yes," he answered "...and so are you."

"But I am only a vessel, I am not the creator. I cannot change wine to water. I cannot bring back the dead..."

"Who has told you these things...was it your Jesus?"

She stopped and was quiet for a while. "No, that is not what he said. He said we could move mountains, perform miracles..."

"Then who told you these things? Who said you must be small and weak?"

"I don't know, I..." Her voice trailed off.

He pointed to the sun. "See the light. It shows all things. If you do not see, you are not looking." I repeated his words. He started again. "The wind blows. If you do not feel its touch on your skin, does it mean there is no wind? Does not the tiniest seed burst forth with life and grow to be the greatest tree? Did not your Jesus say "...Consider the lilies, how they grow: they toil not, they spin not: and yet I say unto you, that Soloman in all his glory was not arrayed like one of these...how much more will he clothe you?"

He accused her. "You do not fear that you have lost your faith...you fear to regain it."

I was getting hyper being the middleman. My "friend" was playing cosmological hard ball. Even so, Willa began to revive. "Are you saying that my God is real?"

My "friend" laughed. It sounded like running water. "Better you should ask if you are real. I am called "imaginary" and yet you come to me for advice. Perhaps you are a figment of my imagination." He giggled. I could tell he was pleased with himself. "If you see it, is it real? If you do not? Is it not?" He was starting to sound like that blind monk on Kung Fu.

Willa was beginning to become a bit frustrated with the questions he was giving her for answers. "No, I mean, is there a God, an almighty being who created all things, an omniscient, omnipotent and omnipresent father of the universe? You know what I mean. Please don't bait me." She was getting her gumption back.

He mugged at me. "You ask several questions." He said. "Answers will not resolve your pain but I will give them to you as you wish. First, there are gods beyond counting. Only that which is in the light can be seen. Thus light creates all things. As far as omniscience is concerned, knowing continues to unfold. All is becoming, all is in process, not static; but becoming, like all things, is a condition of the present." He paused to let his words sink in, then continued. "Knowlege is always incomplete for a creator as that which is created comes from nothing.

Concerning omnipotence, well," He scratched his nappy head "...all power is in the creation. Omnipotence belongs to anyone who sits at the font of creation. You, yourself are omnipotent as am I. We create our lives around us in every detail. It is a mixed blessing. You have a saying `Be careful what you wish for, it might just come true.' Such a saying applies."

He tickled my ear from the back seat as I drove. It was irritating. I was trying to concentrate on repeating his words for Willa. I knew they were important to her. "Stop it!" I barked.

Willa had been tapping her fingers nervously on the window and thought I meant her. She apologized and he started talking again before I could explain.

"Everything is omnipresent. Everything exists only in the present. All life is one. All light is one. The diversity in the universe is held in place by the creation and maintenance of the living. Every room is through every door. Knowledge is a matter of knowing where to look when the doors are opened." He stopped while I repeated his last phrase, pointed to Willa and rolled his eyes. "You can see," he went on "that this information only impacts your intellect. It is not useful unless it is held in your experience where you can live out of it." Willa nodded.

"Regarding fathers, my father looks somewhat like an erect Komodo lizard and yours died without fully expressing his love for you." His voice was mesmerizing. I found myself repeating each word and phrase exactly as he spoke it. "Listen to this baby girl,...your father loves you. The father who held you in his arms, he loves you still. It was you that gave up on him, not he that gave up on you. Daddy loves you. Daddy always loved you and always will. Daddy would never quit loving his Willawoo."

Willa looked shocked. A wavering innocence and vulnerability flickered across her face when I repeated the little black boy's words. At the sound of "...his Willawoo." tears came to her eyes.

"Daddy?" she asked. I thought "What have I gotten myself into. I didn't sign on for a seance." She shook herself back to reality. "How did you know he called me that?"

"The child within absorbs everything. Great psychic blockades are built around pain that we refuse to experience as children. Your father died and the child you were, refused the hurt. You have denied the power of that child and because of that, she still avoids that pain. She must experience the loss of her father or you will forever be at her mercy." He was amusing himself as he talked by showing me Jubie's wagging tail passing back and forth through the insubstantial bicep of his imaginary arm. His goofy "look what I can do" grin and childish antics made a mockery of his serious words. It was hard to concentrate. He started again.

"Your father would remind you of these words from your holy book..." `The little black boy winked at me and began to recite, "At the same time came the disciples unto Jesus, saying, Who is the greatest in the kingdom of heaven?

And Jesus called a little child unto him, and set him in the midst of them, and said "Verily I say unto you, Except ye be converted and become as little children, ye shall not enter into the kingdom of heaven. "Whosoever therefore shall humble himself as this little child, the same is greatest in the kingdom of heaven. And whoso shall receive one such little child in my name receiveth me... for I say unto you, that in heaven their angels do always behold the face of my father...'"

Peace fell over Sister Willa's face in cascades. Whatever catharsis my friend had unleashed was swift and complete. She shuddered, smiled and visibly relaxed. She began a chuckle which deteriorated into a rollicking belly laugh. "I thought..." She struggled to get the words past her laughter. "...I thought it was about me. I thought I was unfit or filled with sin or some such idiocy. My God, sin has nothing to do with it." She burst like an overripe fruit all over the inside of the truck. "I just wasn't listening." She squealed with delight, laughing so hard I started giggling myself. The kids in the back seat dropped whatever game they had been playing amongst themselves and joined in with a mirthful cacophony that got Willa and me to choking and cramping. I almost had to pull over.

Amy Wisenhunt turned to Joey and the little healer. "What a silly nun," she said "...what a very silly nun." Willa commented that she couldn't have said it any better. Randy California and Spirit, blaring from the tape deck, had their own opinion...

"...some are reaching for the gun,
Some are searching for the sun
Love has found a way
I knew it would make it somehow
We will find a better way for making love...
Love has found a way."