Children of the Sunrise Home Page
Chapter 15
Not that my homeland or its inhabitants need any aggrandizement. After all, everyone knows Texans are over six feet tall, wear six shooters and ten gallon hats and live on the biggest piece of dirt in the United States of America, a country which became the greatest in the world after we Texians annexed it back in 1845. (Now I know a few carpetbagger naysayers are going to throw that Alaska thing in my face, but any real Texan knows if you left the state of Alaska in the west Texas sun for two weeks, there wouldn't be enough dirt left after the ice melted to do a good job of resodding the Astrodome. There's more dirt stuck in the hooves of Texas cattle than in that whole outsized meat locker.)
Texas has almost 5,200 square miles of inland water, 23.4 million acres of timber, over ninety mountains more than a mile high, 624 miles of coastline, more armadillos, boots, buzzards, cotton, cows, drilling rigs, desert dust and darn near anything else than any other two states in the union.
We've had a little bad press in the last hundred years or so. People mistakenly see us as racist, vain, greedy, insensitive, violent and crude. This is far from the truth and if the whimpering little Jewboy fag that started that rumor ever shows up down here again we'll kick the shit out of him. (oh lighten up...it's just a joke)
Texans are environmentally sensitive too. Don't let all those oil slicks and chemical spills fool you. We're deeply committed to the natural cycle of life. It all revolves around the cow. The cow grazes on the lone prairie, eating grass under the big Texas sky and dropping cowpatties. The cowboy rides out to the pasture, shoots the cow, butchers it, grills the steaks, grinds the gristle and bones into chili, sticks the horns on the front of his orange Cadillac, uses the cowhide to make seat covers and boots, then drives back to the pasture, smooths down his cowlick, hauls his rangy frame out of the caddy, stands lean and splendorous against the setting sun in his shiny new cowboy boots, then steps right in the middle of the cowpatty. When the cowboy dies, they bury him on the lone prairie, in spite of his requests to the contrary, and the grass eats him. The cow eats the grass and the whole thing starts again. Talk about recycling!
I supply this information not to educate the reader. I am sure these facts are self evident to all. I merely illustrate the grand scale upon which life in the Republic is weighted in order to make a point...There are 76,000 miles of state highway in Texas. After pulling a horse trailer from Houston to Fort Stockton with a pickup full of kids, a dog and a nun, even a real Son of the Alamo gets to feeling like he has traversed every one of them on hands and knees. There are over 1,000 rest areas in the state. Joey, Amy and the little healer must have utilized the facilities in at least a third of them. I was in desperate need of a break.
Sister Willa was so charged up after her visit with my "friend", she spent the next hour and a half in a state of religious and historical ecstasy, reinterpreting all of ecclesiastical history in the light of the "Awakening". By the time we reached Fort Stockton and started up Highway 285 towards Pecos, she had received her new calling and I was fast moving out of agnosticism into atheism.
"Thomas, I am so excited. I haven't felt this way since I entered the convent. I truly believe our Lord has called me to bring this new light to the body of the church. I feel like a girl again."
"I liked you better as a wise old woman." I whined "You're makin' me crazy with all this enthusiasm...Jeez Willa, you sound like a Holy Roller."
"Exactly," she crowed "that is precisely the point. Our maker weaves a cloak we all can wear, like Joseph's, with all the colors of the rainbow. Isn't it glorious... and to think we have the opportunity to live in such a time...to witness the second coming!"
That was the last straw. I was having enough trouble keeping my head together during this mess without her unleashing the hounds of my religious past. You can send a kid to school, teach him philosophy, train him in logic, give him courses in comparative religion..,but once a Baptist, always a Baptist. I was "saved" by the waters of the Clear Fork of the Brazos river when I was a child of six. When someone brings up the "second coming", I start looking over my shoulder. It was time to nip this in the bud.
"Willa, that's ridiculous. This is more like `War of the Worlds' than the second coming. These are little green men, not angels."
"Are you so sure Thomas?" She had that same smug look the little black boy always gives me, like he knows something I don't. It's infuriating. "The friends are beings beyond ourselves, more developed than us. Could they not be angels? They clearly have the power to appear in any form they like. You yourself said they have been our "patrons" for many millennia. Would they not appear in a form that would have the most impact on primitive tribesmen? I tell you Thomas, there are legends that prophesy events similar to the Christian second coming in many native cultures. Could not these legends have sprung from seeds planted by our friends?
"What about their constant references to `Light'. Think man, Genesis says `...and the earth was without form, and void; and darkness was upon the face of the deep. And the spirit of God moved upon the waters. And God said `Let there be light; and there was light.' Can't you see the similarity to the creation story Dusty got from the `friends'. Goodness Thomas, "light" is enlightenment. From the earliest sun worshipers to the most convoluted of contemporary metaphysicians, `light' has remained the symbol for knowledge, spiritual or otherwise. It all fits together."
Willa spoke with missionary zeal, an occupational hazard perhaps, but I found the whole conversation intrusive. I love Sister Willa but I have an ingrained suspicion where religious proselytizers are concerned. Willa and I had always respected each other beliefs behind our sarcastic banter. This was the first time she had aggressively sought my vote in the God game. I didn't like it.
"Sister, I think it is very dangerous to deify the `friends'. I'm not looking for anybody to carry my messages to the big guy. I didn't need the Pope to do it before all this started and I don't need these guys to do it now." I was starting to get nasty. "We don't really know what the `friends' are after. We don't know their plans are truly to our benefit...and I'll be damned if I'm going to swallow their version of God without a long hard look on my own."
"I think it is their wish that you do that Thomas. That is my wish also...that you take a long, hard look at your God and see if he is one that all of us can share." She reached over and pinched my cheek the same way she did the twelve-year-olds in her class at St Maddy's. "I have been overbearing and insensitive Thomas. I apologize. I will change the subject. The Lord will illuminate your true path with messages from the heart, not the ravings of a silly old nun. We should enjoy this unusual country. It won't be long before the President's speech comes on the radio."
"Unusual" is a generous way of putting it. West Texas is a barren place. The southern part looks like the mesa topped scenes from old westerns, almost surreal in its stark beauty. As you get closer to New Mexico it becomes flat..real flat. There are stretches above Pecos where the road seems to go in a straight line forever. Sometimes you can see the headlights of an approaching vehicle minutes before it passes. It's dry, inhospitable country. Passing through, it was hard to imagine that James Purcival's Lipan Apache forebears had ridden across these plains less than 150 years ago and been able to sustain themselves on the deserts sparse bounty. I could see nothing but tumbleweeds and dust. This country must have looked very different to them.
We drove in silence for a while, Willa and I wrapped in our private thoughts. The kids lay napping, swaddled in pillows and blankets on the decidedly uncomfortable back seat of the truck. I knew it had to be tough on them being confined in such a close space for so long. Just like Michael Murphy says...
The sun was going down on a cloudless sky. The sunset would be tame tonight, recent rains had washed the dust out of the sky, not enough heat had settled on the desert floor to send the sun billowing on the horizon. It just settled on the scruffy landscape like a ripe tomato stewing on a griddle. I could hear someone stirring in the back seat.
Joey tapped me on the shoulder. "Something's gonna happen early at the President's speech." He seemed frantic. "Quick Dad, turn on the radio." The speech wasn't scheduled for another thirty minutes but I no longer questioned Joey's prescience. I reached over, popped Murphy's "Cosmic Cowboy Souvenir" out of the deck and thumbed the radio to AM. CBS news had just begun the prespeech background analysis that had become proper journalistic form before any major Presidential address.
The anchor had passed the baton to a correspondent at the White House after droning on for several minutes, rehashing the events of the last week. The White House correspondent introduced three "experts", a retired Air Force colonel who had been assigned to UFO sightings and extra normal activity, an M.I.T. behavioral scientist and a child psychologist. He started with what he called the "...big question on everyone's mind".
"Gentlemen, some call it an invasion from outer space, some call it mass hysteria, some say its the end of the world. In any case, it's global, it's causing massive disruption in world society and it doesn't seem to be going away. Just what is happening to our children?" There was a chuckle in the background and one of the "experts" spoke up.
"Well, I think we can be sure it's not the end of the world." His chuckle was so condescending that the hair on the back of my neck saluted. "We've studied this type of phenomenon for years in the military." (I should have known) "There always turns out to be a logical explanation. I'm sure when this is all over, we'll be laughing about it."
"What a jerk." I thought "...another retired military know-it-all idiot."
By the barely concealed censure in the commentator's voice, I could tell he agreed. "Colonel, several hundred people have died, a goodly number of policemen have been injured and killed, the schools are in a state of chaos, most have closed. Authorities estimate over two hundred thousand runaway children are roaming the streets. Overseas, things are even worse. I hardly think we'll be laughing about it no matter what the final determination of its cause." (Way to go, castrate the stupid bastard.) Dr. Westin, your expertise is child psychology. You have worked with a number of these children in your clinic. What can you tell us about the `imaginary friends'?"
The psychologist had a high, nasal voice and a habit of emphasizing every other word or phrase like he was verbally tapping a pencil on a desk. "Our work has been inconclusive but I can tell you this, the condition is progressive..." There was a loud noise in the background. A woman screamed. Total pandemonium broke out for about ten seconds, then the airwaves went dead.
There was a pregnant pause while we all sat staring in shock at the dashboard, then the anchorman, obviously unprepared and flustered, came back on to tell us that "something had happened" at the White House. In the next few minutes, they began to piece the story together. Someone had brought a weapon into the press conference. It had been detected by the Secret Service and in the process of apprehending the "possible assassin", the weapon was discharged. A female correspondent was badly wounded.
They kept rehashing the facts they knew over and over for those who "just joined the broadcast". I'm sure it made perfect sense, since most people wouldn't have tuned in until right before the President was scheduled to speak, but it had an upsetting effect on me and the others in the truck. More violence, more craziness. We had left our homes, our lives, to get away from it. Now we had to have it rubbed in our face here in the middle of the desert.
The CBS correspondents were predicting the President would not go on. It did seem a bit risky for the guy to stand at the front of a room where an assassin had just been apprehended. They practically assured us that for "security reasons", the address would be delayed or rescheduled. To everyone's surprise, exactly at the appointed time, the President of the United States entered the room and walked up to the lectern.
"I want everybody to settle down and take their seats. This has been upsetting for us all but the Secret Service and the White House medical personnel have things well in hand..." He paused. You could hear shuffling in the background as people went for their seats. I was impressed. It took guts for the guy to stand up in front of the country ten minutes after an some kook had tried to off him. He began again.
"Thank you for your patience. I will not dwell on the events of the last few minutes, but before I start I would like to offer my prayers to the family, friends and coworkers of Ms. Olifont of the Associated Press. You will be happy to know that the White House medical staff characterize her wound as "serious but not life threatening". I know we all wish her a speedy recovery.
"These events, this senseless violence, underlines the plight we find ourselves in as Americans and as citizens of the world. It frames the times, so to speak, and hangs them on the wall for all to see. That is why, in spite of the recommendation of my staff I have gone ahead with this talk. For we are now confronted with a problem that spares no one, a riddle whose answer cannot be found by the normal inquiry. Just as that disturbed individual thought he had no other recourse but violence, so are we all faced with fear and anger at events we cannot understand.
"I say that we stand on a threshold as a nation. I say that how we behave, who we become in the next few days, the next few weeks, will determine not only the fate of our great republic but the very destiny of mankind." He paused to let it sink in. This was no politician's speech. I had the sense that we were in the presence of greatness.
"In the last week, we have been forced to face events that threaten our view of the universe. Fate has confronted us with a fearful and mighty face. We have been asked for more than could be reasonably asked of any normal man or woman. We feel that our children have been taken from us, that they have grown strange and distant. Our roles as parents, teachers, and adults are changing before our eyes, our view of the world no longer aligns with that of our offspring. We feel out of control, undermined and attacked. We fear for our children's safety. There are times in which all of us, not just that poor man who brought violence into our lives tonight, feel trapped, confused and desperate.
"I do not pretend to have the answer. I have the greatest experts in the nation working on a proper response to the times and yet I stand here as your President, not with answers, not with solutions, but with questions...questions and a challenge.
"In this time, with all that we must confront, it would be unreasonable for me to ask more of you. I would be unreasonable for your President to ask you to try again harder...but these are unreasonable times. In the last week I have become an unreasonable man." His voice started to build. "I believe that we are faced with a challenge unique in the history of Mankind. I believe we stand on the brink of our greatest opportunity and face our greatest challenge.
His voice fell. "I talked to my grandson today. He's five years old. Like your children, he has an `imaginary friend'. He has changed a great deal in the last week, but still, I know he is my grandson. I know I am still his grandpa. He still hugs my neck. He is still a precious child, simple and pure, who teaches me how to enjoy my life. None of this has changed. I told him I had to speak to you tonight. I told him I did not know what to say...He looked up at me and said. `Tell them you love them Grandpa. Tell them everything will be okay. Tell them they are good and you will always be their friend.'"
He stopped for a moment. Then chuckled. "Sounds simple doesn't it. Children's solutions have always sounded too simple to me, naive and unworkable. After all we live in a complex world. Things just aren't that easy...right?" He paused for a moment. I could hear murmurs from other people in the room.
"Well, I'm not so sure anymore. Maybe that's all there is to it. Maybe all we have to do is share, just like the kids say...and play fair. Maybe we just need to put things back where we find them, clean up our messes when we make them. Maybe if we just don't hurt each other...maybe if we just said "I'm sorry" when we do, maybe if we didn't try so hard to prove we know everything when we don't, maybe...just maybe this old world would work.
"My friends, my countrymen young and old, I don't have any answers.I really don't know what we should do. I've decided to take the advice of my grandson."
I was in shock. This man was a politician. They always have the answers. Even worse, he was a Republican. I had voted for the other guy. We sat there in the truck, rambling down a desert highway with tears in our eyes while the President of the United States of America told us he loved us all, that everything would be okay and that he would always...forever and ever be our friend.
